Death in a Beach Chair by Valerie Wolzien Page A

straight.”
    “Our stories straight? I’m sorry, I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
    “Of course, you don’t. How could you? Let me begin at the beginning. You see, I have insomnia.”
    “So . . .”
    “So I don’t want to bother my husband. Burton gets so cranky when he doesn’t get his eight hours a night. At home, I just go downstairs to our den and turn on the TV. Some of those shows advertise very interesting products, I find.”
    “But you can’t do that here,” Susan guessed.
    “That’s absolutely true.” Ro beamed as though Susan had made a deduction that would have made Sherlock Holmes proud. “I can’t do that here, so while we’re on vacation, I get up and sit out here. I have a battery-powered light so I can read my books or magazines—I always bring along all the reading material that I get at home and have no time to read—and I look around, as well.”
    Susan glanced down at the water. She was pretty sure she knew what was coming. “You were here the night Allison was killed,” she guessed.
    “Yes. I was.”
    “Did you see her?” Susan asked, leaning forward.
    “I saw a few people . . .” Ro didn’t finish her sentence.
    “I went out on the pier for a while,” Susan said. “Did you see me?”
    “I’m glad you brought that up,” Ro said approvingly. “Yes, in fact, I did.”
    “Who else?” Susan decided to ignore the possibility that this woman thought she was the murderer.
    “Well, the place was pretty busy that night. Let me think. James and one of the kitchen workers were walking on the beach when I came out. A girlfriend, not one of his many relatives who work here, I think, from the way they were holding hands. They’re not supposed to use the facilities for their own purposes, of course, but at night, Lila isn’t around to keep her staff up to snuff.
    “After a minute I saw your friend Jerry. He was walking with someone back and forth in front of his cottage. Then, when James and his girlfriend came up from the beach, Jerry and his companion hurried out to the gazebo. They were there for quite a while. Then one of them—I couldn’t see which one—came back alone. The other stayed out there.”
    “In the gazebo.”
    “I assume so. To be honest, I was feeling a bit peckish and went back inside to see if I could find something to eat. We keep a stash of fruit and pastries downstairs for when the kitchen is closed. You must help yourself if you’re hungry in the middle of the night.”
    “How long were you inside?” Susan asked, ignoring the suggestion. Just what she didn’t need—more food.
    “Certainly not more than five minutes. Very little could have happened in that time.”
    Susan didn’t agree with that; she could even imagine an improbable situation where everyone in every cottage exchanged places in those five minutes. But she didn’t share her thought. “So when you came back,” she prompted.
    “That’s when I saw you leave your cottage and walk out on the pier.”
    “And did you see me return, as well?”
    “Yes. I could see you, you understand, but I couldn’t hear you or any conversation you might have had with anyone out there.”
    “I didn’t talk with anyone,” Susan said honestly. “I wasn’t even sure who, if anyone, was out there at the same time I was.”
    “Really?”
    “Really,” Susan assured her. “I thought—well, I assumed, I really didn’t think about it—that I was alone, but I did notice some noises. To be honest, I thought I might be interrupting a couple who was out there . . . ah, making out.”
    “Oh, yes, that little gazebo is a favorite spot for romantic trysts.” Ro glanced over at the binoculars lying beside her, and Susan wondered if birdlife was the only thing Ro’s husband spied on. “I gather you were too polite to look over and see who was there?”
    “I didn’t want to interrupt.”
    “And naturally you had no idea Allison would be found there less than eight hours