A Tale of Two Biddies by Kylie Logan

somebody did try to kill him at the party the other night. Did you remind Hank about that?”
    I didn’t. Partly because Hank had heard it himself from Richie after we pulled him out of the lake. Mostly because I wasn’t sure I believed the story in the first place. “There was no sign of foul play,” I told Chandra. “Nothing more than a trickle of blood. It didn’t look like there had been a struggle. It looked . . .” I wanted to say
natural
, but there isn’t anything natural about dying alone in a dark bar. Though I would have preferred to forget the whole thing, I knew that was impossible, so I allowed myself to think back to the scene. I’d left Chandra and Luella near the bar and walked back toward the restrooms. That’s when I spotted Richie, and that’s when I said hello and he didn’t say hello back.
    “Richie’s head was propped against the wall behind him,” I told Chandra. “It was tipped to the left just a little. His elbows were up on his knees, and his fists were clenched. His expression was . . .” Again, I forced myself back to the scene. “Pained” was the only word I could think of. “His mouth was drawn out, but not in a smile. More like something hurt. Richie’s jaw was clenched. Honestly, when I saw him, I thought he’d had too much to drink and just fell asleep like that. It wasn’t until I looked a little closer . . .” A chill shot up my spine and I did my best to thaw it with a sip of coffee.
    “That’s when I realized he was dead. But honestly, Chandra, whatever else he is, Hank’s a good cop.” Really, I didn’t need to remind her. In spite of the fact that she had a well-deserved reputation as the island crackpot, Chandra was as honest as the day is long. She was the first to extol Hank’s virtues. I mean, his virtues in addition to the ones he apparently showed off in bed.
    I shook away the thought. “Hank saw all the same things I saw, and if there’s anything fishy, you know he’ll pick up on it. He’ll talk to everyone who was at Levi’s last night. He’ll get the details. He did ask me if I knew if Richie had been sick. Or if he took any medications. So maybe he’s thinking it was some kind of overdose. I’m afraid I couldn’t help. I didn’t know Richie all that well.”
    “I’m not sure any of us did.” Chandra cradled her coffee mug in both hands. “And that’s the real shame, isn’t it? Here we are, all on this island together, and even though we see some people every day, it’s like we’re strangers.” She plunked her mug on the counter and, shoulders back and head high, headed for the door. “I’ve got to light candles. And burn some incense. It’s the best way I can think of right now to honor Richie’s life.”
    I was not about to argue. Not at this time of the morning.
    Instead, I followed her, pulled open the front door, and stopped cold. There on my front porch was a man with his hand raised; he’d been just about to knock.
    I can’t be blamed for staring. First of all, like I said before, it was way early. And as for the man . . .
    Middle height. Middle weight.
    Nothing unusual there.
    But then there was the long frock coat, the narrow trousers, the plaid, double-breasted vest with its shiny metal buttons. Oh yes, and the cravat, a stiff, two-inch-wide piece of silk tied into a wide horizontal bow. He had a high forehead and poofs of hair over each ear, a bushy mustache and an unruly goatee trimmed long and squared off at the bottom.
    “Good morning!” His smile was as bright as the sunshine that lit up the eastern horizon, and he had an English accent that struck me as more the community theater type than authentic.
    “I do hope I am not calling upon you at too early an hour of the morning, but you see, I have had quite a challenging travel itinerary and this was the only time at which it was amenable for me to arrive.” He glanced from Chandra to me. “I know from the signboard out front that I am in the