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with me again later, probably in much more detail.
    After that she went back outside to attend to things there. I did the same, though I tried to stay out of everyone’s way. Mostly I hovered around listening and watching, trying to ascertain what was going on. Apparently, Floyd had continued mumbling and talking the whole time they stabilized him, placed him on a stretcher, and rolled him toward the ambulance.
    I couldn’t imagine what had happened to him to make him sound so crazy. According to one exchange I overheard between the paramedics, hewasn’t wounded anywhere that they could see. His blood pressure was very high and his airways were dilated, but so far they had no idea what had happened to him to get him in this state. They were going to run a tox screen at the hospital for drugs, which I felt sure would come out positive. However they had gotten there, I had no doubt that drugs were definitely in Floyd’s system.
    Knowing the detective would be here soon, I tried to decide how much I would have to tell him beyond the fact that I owned the inn and I had been the one to stumble across both bodies. I wasn’t sure if I should volunteer the information about my suspension and government investigation or not. On the one hand, if he found out about all of that some other way, my omission might make me seem as though I had been hiding something. On the other hand, I had no idea if that was even related to this, despite my strange phone call with Troy earlier.
    Obviously, I had to call Liz, tell her what had happened, and ask her what to do. Slipping into the bathroom, I pulled out my cell phone and made the call with my heart in my throat, praying she would be more sympathetic (about what I had been through) than angry (that I had come out to see Troy). She didn’t answer her home phone, office, or cell, and in a way I was relieved. I knew if she understood the situation here fully, she would insist on being present during my interrogation—something I thought would make me look far more guilty, not less. Leaving a simple message on her cell to call me when she had a chance, I decided to wing the detective’s questions on my own. I would answer honestly, try not to fill the silences or volunteer excess information, and above all keep my mouth shut otherwise as much as humanly possible. Nothing was wrong with presenting a modified version of the truth, I told myself as I put my phone away and returned to the main room.
    Hearing a commotion outside, I went to the door and looked out, wondering if Floyd’s “creature” had been caught. Instead, I realized, the excitement was about Nina. They had found her, alive but unconscious, lying on the driveway that ran through the covered bridge next door. I wanted to know if she had been mauled, as Troy had. I heard someone say that though she had no visible wounds anywhere, her vitals were dangerously bad.
    Because she was soaking wet, the police thought she had been the one to pull Troy from the pool. That reminded me of the footprints I had photographed earlier. I quickly reviewed them and, with Georgia’s help, texted them to the detective who would be handling this case.
    I then wandered to the pool area and peeked over the fencing, taking in the sight of Troy’s body all over again. With several technicians hovering over him, he looked like a butterfly being pinned down in a collection.
    Everyone was waiting for the medical examiner to arrive, but the general consensus was that the wound in his leg didn’t look like a gunshot at all but instead a long, deep cut. Poor Troy! We may have had our issues, but he hadn’t deserved to suffer like this. I thought of his family—his parents, his sisters, his extended relatives—all who would soon learn of his fate. Blinking back fresh tears at the thought of their pain, I said a prayer for them and turned away.
    From the pool I went to the driveway, which was lined with emergency vehicles of all sorts, even two fire