A Murder Among Friends. Ramona Richards

meet our current retreat residents. To my left are Lily Dunne and Scott Jonas. Next is Patrick Stanfield, cabin three. Dan Jameson, cabin—” She stopped and smiled weakly. “I’ll give you those later. Carter Everson, Tonya Marino, Frank Petersen, Laura Baker and Mick Lovett. And down at the end there is Tim Miller.” Maggie went through the names of the nine residents and the groundskeeper slowly, noticing that Fletcher made distinct eye contact with each of them. “Fletcher is here, at the request of Korie, to look into Aaron’s death.” The table fell silent as they all stared at Fletcher.

      “I thought it was an accident,” said Patrick, a writer who’d been at the retreat almost as long as Scott and Lily.

      Fletcher opened his mouth to speak, but Maggie beat him to it. “It was, Patrick. But you know Korie and her drama-queen ways. We just want to make sure there are no loose ends. Don’t be surprised if Fletcher asks you about Monday night, just to see what you remember.”

      “But I don’t remember anything,” Lily said.

      “You never do,” responded Scott.

      Dual pink flushes colored Lily’s cheeks, and there was a brightness to her eyes that everyone tried to ignore. She picked up her fork in her left hand and tried to eat, but mostly moved food from one side of the plate to the other. Maggie knew from long experience that she would probably be silent the rest of the night.

      At the far end of the table, Tim Miller stood up suddenly, taking his plate back to the bar. Second helpings hit his plate with mushy slaps, as Fletcher said evenly, “I won’t bother anyone unnecessarily. Tyler has completed his report. This is just for Korie’s peace of mind.”

      “In other words,” Scott said hoarsely, “she thinks one of us killed him.”

      Maggie bristled. “Scott, I don’t think—”

      “Oh, Maggie, just shut up,” Scott said. “Stop protecting her. You know what she’s like. She wants us out of here. What better way than to stir up the idea that we’re all killers?”

      Maggie flared. “No, Scott, I will not shut up. You’re being obnoxious. Again. No one knows what’s going to happen to the retreat, but Korie has said nothing at all about closing it.”

      “What about that offer?” Scott demanded.

      “What offer?” asked Dan.

      “Yeah, Maggie,” Scott continued. “Why don’t you tell us all about the offer? Especially Korie’s point man here.”

      Maggie took a deep, calming breath. She looked at Fletcher, but he showed no emotion in response to Scott’s gibe. He merely looked at her, waiting.

      “A few weeks ago, Aaron and Korie received an offer from a developer who wants this property. It was a fairly good one, but Aaron turned it down flat. He doesn’t—didn’t—need the money, and he wanted to keep the retreat up and going.”

      “But Korie didn’t agree.”

      Maggie looked at Scott patiently. “Korie knows what this place means—meant—to him, Scott. Even more, Korie is all about image, and the awards associated with this place mean image to her. She may change it, but I can’t see her closing it.”

      “She’s also about money,” Scott answered.

      “She will have plenty of money,” Maggie answered. “Aaron was heavily insured.”

      “Enough to run this place?” asked Dan.

      “Probably not,” Scott snapped, “but enough for Korie to want him dead.”

      Maggie took a deep breath but ignored Scott. This is getting out of hand. “The retreat is self-supporting. Aaron set up an escrow account large enough that the operating expenses are covered by the interest earned every year. He once told me that he was having that handled separately in his will, but I don’t know for sure what that meant.”

      “Maybe he meant he’d leave it to you. He does seem to take care of all his toys.”

      Maggie slammed her hand down on the table. “Scott!”

      “So who else do you think would profit from his death?” Fletcher asked quietly.

      Scott slid down in his chair and took a swig of water. “Certainly none of the ones he’s tortured over the years.” He paused, then looked at Maggie. “Who’ll be the judge of the requirements now?” he asked. “Surely not you or Korie. Neither one of you knows diddly about literature. Or did you plan to claim that part of his fame, too?”

      Lily looked up sharply, first at her husband, then at Maggie, who sat without answering. Fletcher cleared his throat and addressed Maggie. “I thought you had worked in the publishing industry.”

      Scott made a gargling sound. “Yeah, in retail. She managed a bookstore. That’s like asking a fast-food manager to judge the food at a gourmet four-star restaurant.”

      Lily slapped her napkin into her plate, then stood, picked up the plate and her glass, and went to the kitchen. Silence ruled as she left, then Dan chuckled. “Got a couch for tonight, Scott?”

      Scott pushed away from the table. “I don’t need her. And I don’t need this.” He stood up and pointed at Fletcher. “Whoever did it should get a reward. Aaron got what he deserved.” He strode across the room and left, slamming the door behind him. Tim got up and went to the window, watching Scott disappear through the trees. Then he turned and watched Lily as she started cleaning up in the kitchen.

      Dan lifted his glass and toasted Maggie. “Now I see why you spend so much time at Cookie’s, Maggie. We are a temperamental lot.”

      Maggie frowned, then forced herself to smile. She really hadn’t wanted Fletcher to know about Cookie. “Dessert, Dan? They sent Boston cream pie and strawberry sorbet.”

      Dan laughed. “Are you suggesting I eat and not talk?”

      Maggie looked innocent. “Moi?” she asked, pointing at her chest. “Why, Dan, I never get tired of all my lovely writers. They keep things so lively around here.”

      Fletcher stood up. “I think I’d like some of that sorbet.”

      Everyone else wandered away from the table. Some to get dessert, some to get coffee and stand by the fire. A few went downstairs to the game room. Frank and Laura left, holding hands, and Tonya returned to her room. As Maggie started to the kitchen, Tim caught her by the arm. “Is she going to be all right?” he asked, nodding toward Lily.

      Maggie touched his cheek. “They’ll work it through.”

      “He shouldn’t hurt her like that.”

      Maggie shook her head. “No, but she’ll be fine.” Maggie glanced at Lily, then back at her groundskeeper. “She always is.”

      Tim nodded, then retreated to the fire, where he poked at the flames, keeping constant watch on Lily. Maggie paused, then said softly, “I had to get two of the cups out of your room tonight.”

      He looked surprised, then shrugged and looked back at the fire. “That’s okay, Miss Maggie. It’s your house.”

      Maggie shifted her shoulders, feeling weary. Tim sounded unusually Southern tonight. Must be her imagination. “Still, I promised I wouldn’t go into your room without telling you.”

      He shrugged again, poking harder at the logs. Sighing, Maggie went into the kitchen, took a dishrag out of Lily’s hands and clutched her fingers in her own, shaking them gently. Lily’s green eyes met her blue, and Maggie wished she could pass some of her own stubbornness and strength through their mere touch. The pain and anger in those green eyes seared her heart.

      “Did he hit you today?” she whispered.

      Lily shook her head. “Still just that one time…” Her eyes glistened.

      Maggie frowned. “No tears, not tonight. Okay?”

      Lily