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me and cleared his throat. “You’re Dana Lewis, right?” His voice was flat and businesslike.
    I nodded mutely, my throat suddenly dry.
    “I’m Detective Caffrey. I’ll be questioning you. Is there somewhere private we can talk?”
    “Let’s use the office,” I managed to choke out, my voice sounding scratchy. The room was only a few short steps away and I sank into the desk chair, suddenly unsure if my legs would continue to hold my weight.
    Detective Caffrey remained standing, looming over me. “You state that you found Mr. Mendelsohn’s body when you entered his room with fresh towels. Is that correct?”
    “He was lying on the bed. I thought he was sleeping.” Once more, an image of Maxwell’s prone body came to mind but I blinked it away.
    “Doesn’t the maid usually handle the towels?” Detective Caffrey asked.
    “Right, but she had something else to do and asked me to help out. Apparently the towels weren’t dry yet when she cleaned the rooms earlier.” What had Heather been doing? She’d been so vague when I asked. Had she somehow known Maxwell was dead and wanted me to find the body? Had she killed him herself and wanted to point the finger at me? Ridiculous.
    Detective Caffrey studied me, pen poised over his notebook, as those thoughts galloped through my brain. “Did you want to add anything else?” he asked. “The slightest detail may be important.”
    Perhaps Heather had a legitimate reason for not replacing the towels. No sense getting her in trouble with the police until I had a chance to ask her. I looked at Detective Caffrey’s shoes, black and shiny, much like Gordon’s. “No, nothing to add.”
    “Had you spoken to Mr. Mendelsohn on previous occasions?”
    I thought back to his stay at the farm. “Not that I recall. I mean, I’ve spotted him here and there, but we never spoke. I did talk to his assistant, Logan, when he didn’t show up for lunch.”
    “The assistant didn’t show up for lunch or Mr. Mendelsohn?”
    “Mr. Mendelsohn. I asked Logan if he was expecting his boss, so I could keep a plate of food ready, and he said yes.” Had Logan been lying to cover his crime? Trying to create an alibi? Good grief, if I kept suspecting everyone, I’d drive myself batty.
    Detective Caffrey jotted down a note. “Did you see Mr. Mendelsohn earlier in the day?”
    “Around eleven. He was in a yoga class, although he was struggling with the tree pose, got angry, and left.”
    Detective Caffrey stopped writing. “He was angry with the tree pose?”
    “Right. He almost fell over in front of the whole group.”
    “And that’s the last time you saw him?”
    I brushed at a patch of dirt on one knee that I had missed earlier. “He went back to his cabin after that.”
    “Did you actually see him enter his cabin?”
    I thought for a moment, trying to picture the scene. “No, I was helping Esther catch Wilbur before he ate all the vegetables.”
    “Are guests restricted on the number of vegetables they can consume?”
    “Wilbur’s a pig.”
    Detective Caffrey frowned. “He can’t eat that much.”
    If the detective had this much trouble following a simple conversation, Maxwell’s killer could rest easy. “No, Wilbur is an actual pig. You know, the oink-oink kind.”
    A muscle pulsed below Detective Caffrey’s eye. “Of course he is.” He looked over his pages, then snapped his notebook shut. “If you think of anything else, please contact me immediately.” He pulled a business card from his shirt pocket and handed it to me.
    I tucked the card under the keyboard on the desk. “What now?”
    “I need to question the rest of the staff and the guests before they find out what’s happened.”
    Uh-oh. “Um, the guests already know Maxwell died.”
    The tic under his eye beat faster. “How did they find out?”
    I shoved the business card farther under the keyboard. “I explained to Gordon what had happened, and he told them.”
    “Who authorized you to release this