Linus had a severe allergy? I thought.

But I'd barely had a chance to form the question in my mind before Missy cried, "Daddy ate eggs?"

"But that's impossible!" Brock exclaimed. "Eggs haven't been allowed on this island for decades!"

Eggs? I thought, not sure I'd heard correctly.

But then a lightbulb went off in my head as I pictured the breakfast buffet. It had included sausage, bacon, and hash browns--but no eggs. It wasn't until this moment that the significance of the omission struck me.

"Eggs have always been treated like hand grenades around here," Tag muttered. "Who would have had the audacity to sneak any onto the island?"

"Obviously the person who wanted to kill him," Scarlett said. She immediately turned the same color as her name, as if it had just occurred to her that she might have said something she shouldn't have.

"That's certainly what it looks like," Winston agreed softly.

"Wait, go back to the beginning," Townie insisted. "Tell us exactly what they found during the autopsy."

Winston took a deep breath. "A lot of this terminology is new to me, so forgive me if I get some things wrong. But basically the medical examiner's conclusion is that Linus suffered from the symptoms of anaphylaxis, which is most commonly a.s.sociated with a serious food allergy."

"It's something we've all worried about for years," Charlotte said in a strained voice. The color had drained from her face, making me glad that the ladies happened to be sitting down, after all.

Scarlett still looked confused. "It seems as if the rest of you are familiar with this ana ... ana--"

"Anaphylaxis," I said, unable to resist jumping in. "The term refers to an allergic reaction that's severe enough to be life-threatening. When certain people ingest a food they're allergic to, the airways in their lungs become constricted, their blood pressure drops dramatically, and their tongue and throat swell to the point of causing suffocation.

"It's not all that common," I added, "at least not to such a serious degree. I seem to remember reading that the number of Americans who die from food allergies every year is about one hundred fifty."

"And the old man was one of them," Brock said, sounding amazed.

"I don't know much about this," Betty interjected, "but isn't there some kind of injection people with allergies can give themselves--something they always keep with them?"

"EpiPens," I said with a nod. "People who know they have serious allergies generally carry one with them at all times. It's the size and shape of an ordinary pen, but it's actually a shot of epinephrine, the antidote to allergic reactions."

Automatically I glanced over at Charlotte.

"Of course we have EpiPens," she said, still looking as if she was in shock. "Dozens of them, all over the house, in the cars, even on the ferry. I can't imagine why Linus couldn't get to one any more than I can imagine who allowed a food that he was so horribly allergic to onto this island."

Turning to his mother, Brock demanded, "Tell us exactly what happened that night. After dinner, I mean, when you were with him. How was Dad acting right before he died?"

"I--I don't know," Charlotte replied, twisting her hands in her lap. "You see, I wasn't actually with him. I left him alone after we finished dinner and all of you went your separate ways throughout the house. He told me he was tired and wanted to rest. He went up to our bedroom, and I stayed down here to read by the fire. When I went upstairs a while later, I found him ..."

Once again, her voice trailed off before she finished her sentence.

Tag let out a low whistle. "So the old man was murdered."

"But couldn't it have been an accident?" Missy protested. "After all, everyone loved Daddy!"

"Apparently not," Tag observed dryly.

"It seems unlikely that it was accidental," Brock said. "Mother is right. Everyone in this house, including the staff, was fully aware of how terribly allergic Dad was to eggs. The possibility that an egg--or something made with eggs--was served to him without someone fully intending to do him harm seems pretty remote."

"According to the medical examiner, allergic reactions occur quickly," Winston noted. "That means that whatever food contained the eggs had to have been ingested shortly before he died."

"This is horrible!" Scarlett cried, looking stricken. "What you're saying is that he probably died because of something he ate at his birthday dinner!"

"Given the contents of Linus's stomach at the autopsy," Winston added somberly, "the medical examiner believes the cake was the culprit."

"Not his birthday cake!" Scarlett exclaimed. "That's too horrible to imagine!"

"Death by chocolate," Tag said under his breath. "Literally."

"It makes sense," Brock mused. "I'm not what you'd call a great cook, but even I know that nothing else served at that meal was likely to have contained eggs. A birthday cake could not only contain them, they would be impossible to detect."

"Cook is the one who prepared Linus's last meal, including his birthday cake," Townie pointed out, his forehead furrowing. "Doesn't that make her the most likely suspect?"

"I'm sure the police will do everything they can to find out if she knows anything about this," Betty said.

"It couldn't have been Cook," Brock scoffed. "She's been with our family for close to forty years. Not only did she make all the meals at our place in the city, she also came out here on weekends and vacations whenever we did. She's practically a member of the family."

"She certainly kept us well fed," Missy piped up.

"She did more than that," Brock insisted. "The woman practically raised the three of us. I remember all those times she made us fudge or some other sweet that didn't require eggs, then decorated whatever goodies she'd whipped up with little jack-o'-lanterns or Christmas trees--"

"She taught me how to bake," Missy said wistfully. "In fact, I remember bringing my entire Brownie troop here to the house so she could teach us how to make a cake. I even remember her telling us all about food allergies and talking about how to subst.i.tute the ingredients in a recipe."

"I remember one Thanksgiving when each of us insisted we simply had to have a different kind of pie," Brock added. "I wanted apple, Tag insisted on pumpkin, Missy wanted pecan ... Anyway, I remember Cook staying up half the night making three different kinds." With a deep sigh, he added, "That woman has been dedicated to this family for practically her entire life."

"But she's hardly the sole suspect," Tag observed. "After all, Cook isn't the only person who could have interfered with the old man's last meal."

While I didn't feel it was my place to chime in with my opinion, I couldn't have agreed more. In fact, I'd come to that exact conclusion while Missy and Brock were reminiscing about the role Cook had played in their family's life while they were growing up.

Tag continued, "I can't resist pointing out that there's room on the suspect list for almost everyone in this room right now, as well as Jives and Gwennie--anyone who was in this house that night.

"Besides," he went on in a jeering tone, "either that day or the day before, every one of us was on Long Island, where eggs are as easy to find as ... as traffic. Missy, Townie, Brock, and I all showed up here at the house that afternoon, a few hours before Dad's dinner. So did Harry and Scarlett. Any one of us could have stopped somewhere on the trip over and picked up a dozen ticking time bombs.

"As for Mom and the servants, they were no doubt traveling back and forth between Solitude Island and Long Island for days, shopping and running errands and doing whatever else they needed to do to get ready for the big birthday bash. They had as much opportunity to sneak eggs or something made with eggs onto the island as we did--which means that any one of us could have added the magic ingredient to the old man's food."

"Tag, that's a vile thing to say!" his sister protested.

"Even for you," Brock added in a snide voice.

"We can count out Winston and Betty and Jessica, of course, but let's face it," Tag went on breezily. "Every other person who's in the house had something to gain from the old man's death--which makes each and every one of us a suspect."

"Tag, please stop!" Charlotte protested. "This is hardly the time and place--"

"Why not be honest for a change?" Tag interrupted. "True, it's something this family has never been very good at. Owning up to the truth is simply not an area in which the Merrywoods have ever excelled."

"And for some reason you've decided this is a good time to turn all that around?" Brock sneered.

"I'd say this is the best time," Tag replied archly. "Our father is dead. Wouldn't it be nice to figure out who was responsible?"

"Of course it would," Missy said, her voice wavering. "But the idea that any one of us could have done such a horrible thing is absolutely despicable!"

"And Tag's claim that each one of us had something to gain is simply wrong," Brock declared.

"Is it?" Tag asked, his eyes glinting as he c.o.c.ked his head provocatively. "In fact, we can't leave Harry and Scarlett off the list of people who stood to benefit from the old man's death, either."

Scarlett gasped. At the same time, Harry said through gritted teeth, "I think you'd better watch yourself, Tag."

"My feelings exactly!" Missy seconded, her cheeks turning pink. "Besides, poor Scarlett had something to lose! Daddy's death means she's now out of a job."

"That's true," Tag agreed. Pointedly ignoring Scarlett, even though she was only a few feet away, he added, "But there could have been some other reason she wanted him dead."

"Like what?" Missy challenged, wrapping her arm around Scarlett protectively.

"Revenge, anger--who knows? It's even possible he was about to fire her, and none of us was aware of it." Tag's overly blue eyes narrowed as he added, "Or maybe the two of them had a relationship that went beyond employer and employee, and she was losing patience because he refused to leave Mom--"

Scarlett let out a cry. "That's ridiculous! You have no idea what you're saying!"

"Taggart Merrywood, you have an evil mind!" Missy cried.

She'd barely gotten the words out before Charlotte interjected, "That's enough, Taggart. If you weren't my son, I'd order you out of my house right now for saying such horrid things."

"But what I'm saying is true," he insisted, glancing around the room. "And you all know it. Let's face it, our father was an extremely powerful man. He could have made an enemy of any one of us. Any one of us could have killed the old man--and for a hundred different reasons, from getting revenge to silencing him."

Don't forget money, I was tempted to say, for the first time wondering about the provisions of Linus's will.

For the next few seconds, the room remained eerily silent. The only sound was the rain slapping against the windows and the wind whipping tree branches around outside. It was as if everyone was starting to grasp the magnitude of what they had just learned.

It was Charlotte who finally spoke.

"I don't care what the medical examiner's office says," she said, her voice low and controlled. One by one, she looked at Tag, Missy, and Brock. "I find it impossible to believe that one of you was responsible for Linus's death. You three are his children, and I know you all loved him. There's absolutely no way any of you could have wanted something bad to happen to your own father.

"The same goes for Scarlett and Harry," she continued, glancing at them. "You both thought the world of Linus. Even if you sometimes had differences of opinion about the way he ran the business, I'm convinced that neither of you would have ever wanted to hurt him.

"I also believe that Cook, Gwennie, and Jives are innocent," Charlotte added. "Brock is right about the fact that Cook has spent nearly her entire life working for us, and she's practically a member of our family. I can't imagine a more dedicated employee. As for Gwennie and Jives, even though they came to us only recently, I never ever questioned their loyalty to the man."

"You left out one person," Tag commented.

Charlotte frowned. "But Winston and Betty--and of course Jessica--weren't even here the night of Linus's birthday party."

"No, but you were," he replied simply.

"Taggart!" Missy cried. "Now you've really gone too far!"

He shrugged. "I'm just making an observation. If somebody poisoned the old man the night of his birthday, we have to consider every single person who was in the house."

"You're despicable," Missy seethed.

"That's putting it mildly," Brock seconded.

"I hate seeing my children argue," Charlotte said, shaking her head tiredly, "and I hate having any of you suspect such a terrible thing of family members. Taggart, I'm going to do everything I can to forgive you for what you just said." She sighed before adding, "If it were up to me, I'd put all these horrible accusations behind us so we could do our best to move on."

"Unfortunately, that probably won't be possible," Winston said.

"For goodness' sake, why not?" Charlotte asked.

"Because Linus's death has now become a criminal matter," Winston replied somberly. "In fact, we should all brace ourselves for a visit from a homicide detective."

Missy gasped. "A homicide detective?"

"That's right," Winston said with a nod. "I was told that the Norfolk County Chief of Homicide, Lieutenant Anthony Falcone, will be paying us a visit shortly."

While every member of the Merrywood household seemed horrified, their reaction didn't come close to mine. I'd dealt with this particular individual once or twice before.

Great, I thought. It's not bad enough that I'm stuck on a creepy island. Now I'm going to have to deal with a genuine creep.

Chapter 5.

"An army of a.s.ses led by a lion is better than an army of lions led by an a.s.s."

--George Washington The Merrywoods had barely had a chance to digest the fact that a real live homicide detective would be paying them a visit before Jives appeared in the doorway.

"I'm sorry to interrupt," he drawled in his thick English accent, "but a visitor has arrived. A Lieutenant Anthony Falcone."

As the members of the family exchanged looks of alarm, I jumped from my seat.

"I'll bring him inside," I offered. By way of explanation, I added, "He and I already know each other."

"Thank you, Jessie," Charlotte said, sounding grateful. "I think we all need a moment to compose ourselves."

I was already rushing out of the room and into the hallway. I immediately spotted Falcone standing in the foyer, his black raincoat dripping water all over the marble floor. His sopping wet coat, combined with his small stature, reminded me of a little black dog someone had left outside during a rainstorm. One of those yappy dogs that drive even me crazy. In fact, I half-expected him to shake himself, splattering the dour old crones in the oil paintings so that they ended up looking as if they had tears streaming down their cheeks.

Instead, his beady dark-brown eyes darted around as he took in his new surroundings.

"Madon'!" he muttered. "This place looks like the haunted house at Disney World! And didn't anybody around here ever hear of dusting?"

His eyes drifted over to me. A shocked look pa.s.sed over his face, but only for a second. Then his tight lips relaxed into a sardonic smile.

"Docta Poppa. We meet again."

Thanks to Falcone's cla.s.sic New York accent, the man acted as if the letter R was silent, like the H in rhapsody--or the K in knucklehead.