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inn all evening. In Margaret and Rudley’s absence, they were overseeing games night. Snakes and Ladders and canasta.”
    â€œAren’t they those clicking things the flamenco dancers use?”
    â€œI don’t think so.” Brisbois checked another index card. “The Lawrences, Bonnie and Tee. What does the T stand for?”
    â€œNothing. That’s his name. Tee James Lawrence. T-e-e. It’s his mother’s maiden name.”
    â€œHe was on the fishing charter with Norman,” Brisbois murmured. “Bonnie Lawrence had dinner in the dining room with Geraldine, then retired to her cabin, and spent the rest of the evening planning Miss Miller’s wedding.”
    â€œDoes it take that long?”
    Brisbois gave him a long look. “Believe me, it can take months.”
    Creighton grinned. “Well, I can’t wait to find out where they’re going to have it. So far, I’ve heard it might be in the woods, or in a canoe on the lake. I heard one rumour they might tie the knot in goggles and flippers.”
    â€œI think that’s just a rumour. OK” — Brisbois took out another index card — “the Benson sisters. They were watching a James Cagney marathon. They didn’t hear a thing.”
    â€œAre they still alive?”
    â€œSo they say.” Brisbois closed his notebook, put it into his pocket, stacked the index cards, put them into the desk drawer and locked it. “Maybe Mr. Arnold’s slept it off by now.”
    â€œI’ll bet he doesn’t remember anything.”
    â€œIt’s worth a try,” Brisbois said, “if only for the satisfaction of waking him up.”

Chapter 5
    â€œWhere did you find him, Lloyd?” Margaret reached to stroke the handsome black horse.
    â€œHe came into the garden where I was hoeing. Nice as you please.”
    â€œHe seems very gentle.”
    â€œLike a lamb. Name’s Ned. Says on his bridle.”
    Margaret’s eyes fell on the horse’s shoulder. “My goodness, he’s got a nasty gash there.”
    Lloyd nodded. “Must have got into the brambles. Had blood all down his shoulder and onto his leg. He was dirty, too, and full of burrs. I washed him down.”
    â€œThat was very kind of you.” Margaret smoothed the horse’s mane. “He must belong to someone near here.”
    â€œDon’t know.”
    â€œI’ll call Animal Control,” Margaret said. “Someone must be looking for him.”
    Creighton hammered at the door to the Pines. Brisbois stood by, hands in pockets.
    Creighton massaged his knuckles. “This is like trying to wake the dead.” He tried the door. “It isn’t locked.” He turned to Brisbois, grinned. “Did you hear somebody say ‘come in’?”
    Brisbois nodded. “Yeah, I think I did.”
    Creighton pushed open the door. “Mr. Arnold?”
    Arnold lay sprawled across the bed on his abdomen.
    â€œMr. Arnold. Police.”
    No response.
    Brisbois glanced around. “The place looks as if a tornado hit it.”
    Creighton pointed to a pair of pants, halfway across the room. “He’s got mud up to his knees. He must have crawled home.”
    Brisbois gestured toward the bed. “Let’s make sure he’s OK.”
    Creighton snickered. “Blue boxer shorts with little white clouds.”
    â€œCloud 9,” said Brisbois.
    â€œYou’ve got to be kidding.”
    â€œThat’s what it says.” Brisbois leaned over the bed. “Mr. Arnold.” He grabbed him by the shoulder, gave it a vigorous shake. “Sir, wake up.”
    Arnold groaned, turned over, opened one eye.
    Brisbois produced his badge. “Police.”
    Arnold blinked.
    â€œSit up, please.” Brisbois turned to Creighton. “Could you get him a glass of water?”
    â€œOver the head, I hope.” Creighton found a mug on the table. He took it to the sink, filled