"In that case," she said with an odd little smile, "I'll give you a clue."

"Great!" I cried. "What is it?"

She hesitated. "On second thought, I think I'll wait."

I felt like a balloon that had just had a close encounter with a cactus. "Why?"

"Because I like you," she replied, her chin jutting in the air defensively. "You're s.p.u.n.ky, like me. I like s.p.u.n.ky. And I want you to come back to visit. We can even play another game of rummy, if you want. I need to check my calendar, but I believe I'm available tomorrow."

"I'll come visit you anytime you'd like!" I insisted. "I promise! You don't have to lure me up here with promises of information."

"Aw, I know how it is," she said, waving her hand in the air dismissively. "People get busy and they forget about things they intended to do. This way I know you'll be back.

"Besides," she added mysteriously, "who knows what you'll find out between now and then? You might not even need my help."

Suddenly her face lit up. "Hey, if you're coming back to visit me tomorrow, how about doing me a favor?"

I hesitated before asking, "What kind of favor?"

"Bring me some of Cook's homemade fudge. Every once in a while she makes a batch and sends some up with my dinner. I'm supposed to watch the sugar, but lately I've been craving that stuff like you wouldn't believe."

Everybody has their price, I thought. I supposed that in the grand scheme of things, buying information with fudge wasn't such a bad deal.

Especially since it wouldn't pave the way only with Alvira. Securing a batch of homemade fudge would also give me an excuse to talk to the woman who'd prepared Linus Merrywood's final meal, the one that had apparently done him in. And while Falcone had been quick to take Margaret Reilly off his list of suspects, I didn't see why I needed to be in such a hurry to remove her from mine.

Just as Aunt Alvira had promised, by the time I went back downstairs to the part of the house where the really quirky people hung out, I was out eighty-three cents. But instead of agonizing over my newfound vice, I was mulling over what to do next.

I yearned for the chance to sit down with each member of the household, one at a time, to see what I could find out--just as Falcone had. But the chief of homicide possessed credentials I lacked, which meant I was going to have to come up with a more creative strategy.

I was still pondering possible ways of accomplishing my goal when I wandered into the sitting room in the front of the house, right off the front hallway. I'd hoped to have it all to myself. Instead, I found Charlotte, Missy, and Scarlett standing at the window, peering out into the fog that still surrounded the house.

"This never happens!" Missy cried. "People just know better!"

"Goodness, I hope it's not someone from the press," Charlotte added. "That nice Lieutenant Falcone warned me that reporters and photographers were doing everything they could to sneak across the bay."

"It couldn't be a member of the press!" Scarlett insisted. "The cops would stop them--wouldn't they?"

"What's going on?" I demanded.

"A boat just pulled up at the dock," Missy replied. "Someone's coming onto the island! A man--someone the family hasn't authorized."

I didn't know if her explanation for why the three of them were in such a tizzy was good news or bad news. From the way the three of them were acting, it sounded as if Attila was lining up outside with all his other Hun buddies. Instead, one lone soul had ventured across the stormy seas to Solitude Island, someone who was either very brave or very foolhardy.

When the knocker sounded, I realized we were all about to find out which of those characteristics the individual in question possessed.

"I'll get it!" Missy cried, dashing toward the front door with such speed I suspected Jives would be no match for her, even if he'd been capable of mustering up the energy to try.

I followed, with Charlotte and Scarlett close behind. So I had an excellent view as Missy flung open the door, revealing a hunched-over figure, his face covered by the hood of his dripping-wet raincoat.

He wasn't readily recognizable. But I couldn't say the same for the two friends he'd brought along, both of them even wetter and more miserable than he appeared to be. And I couldn't remember having ever been so happy to see anyone in my life.

Chapter 6.

"An optimist is someone who gets treed by a lion but enjoys the scenery."

--Walter Winch.e.l.l Nick!" I cried, resisting the urge to hug someone so wet. "You're here!"

"I missed you," he replied. He gave a little shrug, and the lock of dark-brown hair that's always falling into his eyes did exactly that. "And I decided that even second-year law students are ent.i.tled to the occasional weekend in the country. Or, in this case, a remote island."

"Definitely," I agreed. Glancing down, I added, "And I'm so glad you brought Max and Lou!"

Nick's eyes were shining as he came toward me, and he was wearing that smile that always makes me feel as if my internal organs are melting. As soon as he peeled off his sopping jacket, he took me in his arms. Then he gave me exactly the kind of kiss you'd expect from someone who's been married to you for only five months.

But our romantic reunion did not go uninterrupted. My Westie and my Dalmatian kept jumping up and down, pressing their paws against our legs as if they were saying, "Pay attention to us!" I didn't know which of the new arrivals seemed happier to see me, my husband or my two dogs.

And as delicious as kissing Nick was, I couldn't say no to my beloved canines.

"I think you'd better show them how happy you are to see them, too," he said, as I pulled away from him reluctantly. Grinning, he added, "You and I will have plenty of time to catch up later."

I crouched down so that I was at eye level with Lou, who was wagging his tail so hard I was glad there were no valuable antiques close by.

"Hey, Lou!" I cooed, pressing my face against his. "How's the best doggie in the world?"

The other contender for that highly coveted role wasn't about to take that comment lying down. Max, being a terrier, is the more energetic of the two--which is just a polite way of saying he's pushier. Terriers are known for their tenacity, which means they have absolutely no qualms about shouldering their way to the front of the line whenever something of value is being doled out. And that includes affection.

"h.e.l.l-o, Maxie-Max!" I cried, turning to him. He was jumping up and down, panting and waggling his nearly tailless b.u.t.t. I scratched both his ears and rubbed my nose against his wet, pulsating snout. "I missed you, too! I'm so happy to see my favorite Westie in the entire universe!"

"I left the cats and Prometheus with Suzanne," Nick told me as he stood by, watching us luxuriate in our joyful reunion. "And Leilani will be fine in her tank for the next few days."

Suzanne Fox is a veterinarian, too, which meant she'd undoubtedly taken adding two felines and a blue-and-gold macaw to her household in stride. At the moment, her only other animal resident was Skittles, who partnered with her boyfriend and roommate, Trooper Kieran O'Malley, on the New York State Canine Unit. I had a feeling Tinkerbell and Cat would be bossing that German shepherd around in no time.

I suddenly remembered that we weren't alone--there were witnesses to the humiliating behavior I always indulge in around my beloved doggies.

I stood up and made some quick introductions, relieved to see that Charlotte, Missy, and Scarlett looked a tad sheepish, too, even though they hadn't just reverted to baby talk and goofy conduct. I supposed that their embarra.s.sment was rooted in their panicked reaction to the arrival of someone who turned out to be interested in their houseguest rather than them.

"It's lovely to meet you, Nick," Charlotte greeted my husband warmly, shaking his hand. "And you're more than welcome to stay as long as you like--now that we know who you are, of course."

"We should probably leave you two alone," Missy said, leading her mother and Scarlett away. "Or I suppose I should say you four."

"I'm really glad you found the time to come," I told Nick after the others were gone and we'd done some more catching up in the kissing department.

"Me, too." His grin faded. "It wasn't easy, though. You should see the madhouse on the other side of the bay!"

"Paparazzi?"

Nick nodded. "The entire coastline is packed with photographers and reporters and vans from all the TV stations. Even the snakes from the tabloids are standing out there in the rain."

"It serves them right," I said, chuckling.

"I'll say," Nick agreed. "You should see the sound bites they're coming up with, Jess. Billionaire Bites the Dust--Literally. Captain of Industry's Death Is No Yolk. It's really horrible."

"I can't believe how quickly word spread," I said, grimacing. "It sounds as if those reporters found all this out even before the family did. It's just as well that the Merrywoods are keeping away from all the craziness out there. Speaking of which, how did you manage to get over to the island?"

"Turns out I know a couple of the cops on duty," he replied, "from before law school, back when I was still a private investigator."

Turning back to my doggies and giving them both an even more vigorous ear-scratching, I gushed, "You sweet little doggies are going to love it here! There are lots of long hallways to run down, lots of corners to sniff, Frederick is here--and you're going to make two terrific new doggie friends named Admiral and Corky!"

"What about me?" Nick asked teasingly. "Am I going to love it here, too?"

I stood up. My eyes widened as I breathlessly told him in a near whisper, "Nick, you're not going to believe this place!"

Glancing around, he replied in a soft voice, "I already don't believe it. Have I just walked onto the set of a horror movie?"

"Trust me, the way this place looks is the least of it," I a.s.sured him. "Wait until you get to know the Merrywoods and everyone else who's a.s.sociated with Solitude Island. As far as I can tell, everyone who's in this house right now is a suspect."

Nick grimaced. "In that case, maybe I should pack up Max and Lou and get the heck out of here."

"Don't you dare!" I cried. "I need you. In fact, I can't wait to get you upstairs in my bedroom--alone."

He sidled up to me, wearing a big, sloppy grin. "Because you so desperately missed my hot, irresistible body?"

"Not exactly," I told him. "It's more like I missed your hot, irresistible a.n.a.lytical mind."

He looked so crestfallen that I couldn't help laughing.

"Okay, I need you because of that other reason, too," I told him, wrapping my arms around his neck. Leaning closer, I whispered, "But not until I've filled you in on what's been going on around here."

As Nick lugged his suitcase and his black nylon backpack through the door of the bedroom, with Max and Lou following right behind, he let out a low whistle.

"Whoa!" he exclaimed as he dropped his suitcase onto the floor. "Talk about a haunted-house motif! Are those eyes in that wallpaper?"

"Quite a design, isn't it?" I replied with a grin. "Wait until you see that hidden staircase I mentioned."

His eyes widened. "I thought you were joking!"

"This is not a place you joke about," I a.s.sured him, lowering my voice so Aunt Alvira--or anyone else--wouldn't overhear me. "There's even a crazy aunt locked up in the attic. Except that she's not actually locked up. She's not crazy, either. It's more like she's quirky. One heck of a rummy player, too.

"But there are plenty of other weird things going on here," I continued. "At first I was taken aback by the house and all the bizarre things in it: a stuffed raven, the dusty suits of armor in the front hallway, the creepy portraits hanging all over the house ... Then there's the hidden staircase. It's behind a door that opens when you take a copy of Frankenstein off that shelf over there."

Looking at my face, Nick said, "You're really not kidding, are you?"

I shook my head. "But I realized this house is only the tip of the iceberg as soon as I met the Merrywoods and all the other people who were here the night Linus died," I told him. "Believe it or not, they're even more intriguing than all that other stuff."

"We have a lot to catch up on, don't we?" Nick commented. After kicking off his shoes, he dropped onto the bed, crossed his legs at the ankle, and folded his arms behind his head. "So let's hear it, Detective Popper."

I lay down on the bed with my head resting on his shoulder. Max immediately jumped up to snuggle with us, nestling next to my hip. Lou must have decided the climb was too demanding, since he sat on the floor and rested his head on the edge of the mattress, gazing at me with his soulful brown eye. I got the feeling he wanted to make sure he was within petting distance--and that I knew it.

"I'll start with Taggart, the Merrywoods' oldest," I began, reaching over to stroke Lou's smooth head. "After Winston met with all of us to reveal the medical examiner's conclusion, Tag came right out and said he believes that every single person who was in the house the night Linus died could be the murderer. He insisted that the old man's death would have benefited each one of them in some way."

"Such as?" Nick prompted.

"All the usual reasons," I replied. "Tag feels the motive could have been jealousy, revenge, or even wanting to silence him. Then there's the obvious angle: getting at Linus's fortune."

"Whoa. I guess that about covers it." Nick reached over to scratch Max's neck. My hedonistic Westie sighed in ecstasy. "But I'm shocked that Tag thinks the members of his own family could be capable of killing Linus."

"Including his brother and sister," I agreed. "Which brings the concept of sibling rivalry to an entirely new level. Then again, he also named his own mother as someone who couldn't be left off the list of suspects."

"And what do you think, now that you've had a chance to meet all of them?"

"I'm afraid I have to agree that it's not out of the question," I said, "though I haven't had a chance to find out enough to pin a motive on any one of them."

"Wait a minute." I could feel Nick's entire body tense. "I thought you were here to keep Betty and Winston company while they paid a condolence call."

"I am!" I insisted. "But in addition they asked me if, as a favor to them ..."

Nick let out a loud sigh. "I think I know where you're going with this."

Abruptly, I turned on my side so that I faced him. "This whole thing is so fascinating, Nick! This huge spooky house, which you said yourself looks like something out of a horror movie, is absolutely crawling with suspects! Besides, it really seemed to mean a lot to Betty and Winston that I was willing to help figure out the truth behind Linus's death. They were suspicious even before the results of the autopsy came in, since Linus had called Winston shortly before he died and said he thought someone close to him was trying to kill him."

"Are you serious?" Nick cried. "That's something that hasn't even made it onto the Internet."

"Winston didn't say anything about it to the police until this morning," I explained. "But it just makes the people in this house look more suspicious. And makes the case more difficult to solve. Lieutenant Falcone told me--"

"Falcone?" Nick repeated, looking surprised.

I could feel my cheeks burning. "I guess I forgot to mention that he showed up here this morning. After all, this is the highest-profile case that's come up around here in a long time, and he is the head guy. He questioned every member of the household. But he admitted that even he feels that Linus's murder will be a tough case to crack. Believe it or not, on his way out he asked me to help!"

From the skeptical look on Nick's face, I could tell he wasn't quite buying this.

"It's true!" I insisted. "He said something about becoming claustrophobic on islands--and apparently he gets seasick. Besides, he's sharp enough to see that I can get an inside look at the goings-on in this house, which gives me a real edge."

"Okay," Nick said with an air of resignation. "So tell me exactly who's in the house and what their motive might have been for wanting Linus Merrywood dead."

Suppressing the urge to grin, I said, "Nick, each person in this place is a real character in his--or her--own way. For example, Tag seems like someone whose whole life is devoted to living extravagantly. He even has the car to go along with that image."

Nick let out a low whistle. "If you're talking about that red Ferrari that's parked near Winston's Rolls, I have to agree."

"That's the one," I said. "Interestingly, Tag's little brother, Brock, the youngest of the three, couldn't be more different. He seems to be stuck in 1967." To drive home the point, I added, "He makes beaded jewelry for a living."