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was that Coralie, beneath the complaints, had come to say.
    “Greg absolutely loathes her now, of course,” Coralie continued, firmly. “Especially since he heard the news about the will. When we met you that morning up at the church he’d just been told. Hence, well, I’m sorry, but hewas very rude, wasn’t he? I wanted to apologize for that, explain.”
    “More hostile than rude.” But Jemima had begun to work out the timing. “You mean, your brother knew about the will
before
Miss Izzy was killed?” she exclaimed.
    “Oh yes. Someone from Eddy Thompson’s office told Greg: Daisy Marlow maybe, he takes her out. Of course we all knew it was on the cards, except we hoped Joseph had argued Miss Izzy out of it. And he
would
have argued her out of it—given time. That museum is everything to Joseph.”
    “Your brother and Miss Izzy—that wasn’t an easy relationship, I gather?” Jemima thought she was using her gentlest and most persuasive interviewer’s voice.
    But Coralie countered with something like defiance. “You sound like the police!”
    “Why, have they—?”
    “Well of course they have.” Coralie answered the question even before Jemima had completed it. “Everyone knows that Greg absolutely hated Miss Izzy, blamed her for breaking up his marriage, for taking little Tina and giving her ideas.”
    “Wasn’t it rather the other way round? Tina delving into the family records for the museum and then my programme. You said
she
was such a schemer.” Jemima wondered if she was beginning to see some kind of pattern in all this.
    “Oh,
I
know she was a schemer! But did Greg? He did not. Not then. He was besotted with Tina at the time, so he had to blame the old lady. They had a frightful row … very publicly. He went round to the house one night, went in by the sea, shouted at her. Hazel and Henry heard, so then everyone knew. That was when Tina told him she was going to get a divorce, throw in her lot with Miss Izzy for the future. I’m afraid my brother is rather an extreme person and his temper is certainly extreme. He made threats—”
    “But the police don’t think—” Jemima stopped. It was clear what she meant.
    Coralie swung her legs off the bar stool. Jemima handed her the huge straw bag with the Archer logo on it which she slung over her shoulder in proper Bo’lander fashion.
    “How pretty,” Jemima commented politely.
    “I sell them at the hotel on the North Point. For a living.” The remark sounded pointed. “No,” Coralie went on rapidly before Jemima could say anything more on that subject, “no, of course the police don’t
think
, as you put it. Greg Harrison might have assaulted Tina all right, but Greg Harrison kill Miss Izzy when he knew perfectly well that by so doing he was handing his ex-wife a fortune? No way. Not even the Bo’lander police would believe that.”
    Coralie Harrison sauntered off down the beach, swinging the bag which she sold “for a living.” She was singing that familiar and celebrated calypso under her breath. This time Jemima Shore could swear the words ran: “This is my graveyard in the sun.”
    That night Jemima Shore found Joseph Archer again on the beach under the stars. But the moon had waxed since their first encounter. Now it was beginning to cast a silver pathway on the waters of the night. Nor was this meeting unplanned as that first one had been. Joseph had sent her a message that he would be free and they had agreed to meet down by the bar—and the moon and the sea.
    “What do you say I’ll take you on a night drive round our island, Jemima?”
    “No, let’s be proper Bo’landers and walk along the sands.” She wanted to be alone with him, not driving past the rows of lighted tourist hotels, listening to the eternal beat of the steel bands. Jemima felt reckless enough not tocare how Joseph himself would interpret this change of plan.
    They walked for some time along the edge of the sea in silence except for the gentle