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groups of two and three. I spotted Logan sitting in a corner alone, partially obscured by the ficus. He was texting on his BlackBerry, his white dress shirt now wrinkled. I wasn’t sure why almost everyone had congregated here, but at least the only people near the cabins were the couple I’d seen earlier.
    Gordon saw me enter the room and broke from his group to join me. “What the hell is going on? Have the police told you anything?”
    I pulled him into the hall and kept my voice low. “Maxwell didn’t die of natural causes. The police haven’t said anything official, but he was probably murdered.”
    Gordon’s face turned as red as a stop sign. “You’d better be kidding.”
    I stared at him. “I wouldn’t joke about murder.”
    “How could he go and get himself killed during my opening weekend? What am I going to tell the clients?”
    A man was dead and that was Gordon’s first question? “I’m sure Maxwell didn’t plan to be murdered. But I think we should tell the guests. The police will want everyone available for questioning. No sense making the cops chase people around the farm all afternoon.”
    “Fine, I’ll tell them.” Gordon whirled around and stepped back into the lobby. “Everyone, could I have your attention please?”
    Conversations petered out and all eyes turned on Gordon.
    “Unfortunately, there’s been a death here at the farm.” Several gasps emanated from the group. “Maxwell Mendelsohn.” At this, Logan stopped texting and looked up, a lock of hair breaking loose and hanging in his eyes. “Please wait here until the police have a chance to speak with each of you.”
    Several people started talking to each other, the volume gradually rising. Gordon raised a hand and the room fell silent.
    “I understand what a terrible inconvenience this is for everyone,” Gordon said. “I’ll make sure the police conduct their interviews as quickly as possible so you can get back to enjoying all the fine amenities the O’Connell Farm and Spa has to offer.”
    Enjoy the spa after a man was murdered? I could use a little of whatever spiked cider Gordon was sipping.
    “In the meantime,” he continued, “I’ll arrange for some snacks and drinks to tide you over.” With that, he walked past me and headed toward the kitchen.
    The minute he moved, everyone started talking at once.
    “Maxwell’s dead?” Tiffany said, her hazel-green eyes wide.
    “Which one was Maxwell?” a man I didn’t know asked.
    Guess his vacation wouldn’t be too affected by the news.
    I backed out of the room before anyone could ask me questions and bumped into someone from behind.
    “Dana,” Heather said. “What’s happened? Why are the police here?” She was chomping on gum, the mint scent mingling with the fainter smell of cigarette smoke.
    I studied her, looking for a spark of guilt. Why had she really asked me to change the towels?
    “Maxwell was murdered,” I said without preamble, just to see her reaction.
    Heather’s face paled, her bottom jaw dropping open, exposing her tongue ring and a wad of gum. Her surprise seemed genuine enough, and I felt a tinge of guilt myself at suspecting her of anything. But a man had most likely been murdered and someone was guilty.
    “My God, do they know who did it?” she asked, fingering her T-shirt hem.
    “Not yet.” I looked Heather in the eye and hoped my voice wouldn’t tremble with my question. “What were you doing when I was taking the towels to the rooms?” I held my breath as I waited for her answer, wondering if she’d ever ask for my help again. Probably not.
    A shadow of emotion that I couldn’t quite name flitted across her face as she broke eye contact, but then her gaze settled over my left shoulder and her expression was replaced with wariness. I turned to see what had caught her attention.
    A man approached us from the lobby. His shoulder holster and buzz cut announced his status as a cop before he opened his mouth.
    He stopped before