“Whoa. The dead girl is the killer.” Jude pulled his hand back from the butler’s pantry door.
“I mean, she might not be the killer,” Plum argued. “Just, she could be.”
“You Never Asked Me!” Marlowe grabbed and squeezed Plum’s hand.
“I would, but, I mean, do you know something?” Dude asked, perplexed.
“No, it’s an old movie! Continent Pictures, 1946, starring Ester Winslow and Gerald Sterling. In it, a man fakes his own death so he can have his vengeance on his estranged wife and her lover, who conspired to kill him in the first place.”
“But why?” Jude asked.
“For the insurance money. You know, it was after Double Indemnity, and everyone was riding that femme-fatale-out-for-insurance wave.” Marlowe shrugged, one hand on her hip.
She looked like a femme fatale herself, Plum thought. Even if her usually perfect clothes were a bit rumpled.
“No, I mean, but why would Brittlyn be the killer?” Dude asked, sounding somewhat wounded at the thought that anyone would have a premeditated reason to want to kill him.
Plum wanted to gently take him by the arms, look earnestly into his eyes, and ask him, if they all made it off this island, did he perhaps want to rethink his entire social media strategy? Did he really want to be the Killing it dude if he was going to be so consistently hurt when people didn’t like him?
“Revenge,” Marlowe said. “I mean, she clearly had a chip on her shoulder.”
“That doesn’t make her a killer,” Sofia argued, repositioning Henrietta on her hip.
“Well, she clearly didn’t like Sean,” Marlowe said.
“Who are we talking about again?” Peach asked, pushing through the doorway from the atrium.
“The first murder victim, Brittlyn, is missing,” Dude tried to sum up.
“Listen, none of this matters right now,” Plum said. Suddenly the way ahead was totally clear.
Dude popped back into the room from the swinging door that linked with the conservatory.
Plum hadn’t noticed he’d left. That was unsettling.
“Sean’s still there. Still dead,” Dude reported.
“Hey, we should still stick together,” Plum scolded Dude.
“Oh, sure.” Dude looked abashed. “You’re right. Sorry.”
“Now what?” Jalen pulled out a chair and sat heavily. “Do we just search again? Look for wherever she’s hidden or hiding?”
“No one moved her! We’ve been together nonstop since last night!” Dude argued.
“That we know of,” Plum said. “You just went into the conservatory, and I didn’t notice you’d left. How hard would it have been for any one of us to slip away for a few moments?”
“You think one of us just tiptoed in here.” Dude’s voice took on an edge. “Moved a body just easy-peasy like it was nothing, and what? Threw it off the cliff? Put it in a cabinet?”
“I don’t know,” Plum protested. “I’m just saying it’s possible, so we should still stick to the plan, stay in groups.”
“Yeah,” Marlowe agreed. “I mean, if we stay in groups, even if Brittlyn is lurking somewhere, waiting to kill us or attack, then there’ll always be two others who can fight her off.”
“Okay, let’s move Sean, at least.” Jude looked determined.
“I honestly don’t think I can take it if he starts to smell,” Jalen said.
“Ugh, me either,” Sofia agreed.
“Sure,” Dude said, nodding. “If we’re going to stick to the plan, then we should stick to that part of the plan, too.” He made ironic little quote marks with his fingers. “‘Move the bodies,’” he said.
“Well”—Jalen smirked—“the body we have.”
“Why is this funny to you?” Sofia asked, but a telltale smile hovered around her own mouth.
“Stress?” Plum suggested, feeling a giggle fit bubble up within her own chest.
“You kids are sick,” Peach proclaimed without looking up from her phone.