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men in the group they have to work harder at staying in shape.”
    “You all look so fit. I’m beginning to get a complex.”
    “You look just fine to me for a man your size,” Pam complimented him with a seductive smile.
    Covering his embarrassment with a polite cough, Rex took his leave of the Southern belle and, adjusting the towel around his waist, made his way to Mrs. Winslow’s spot, greeting several guests on the way.
    The night before, he had asked them to confine themselves to the resort for the next few days for interviews and, for the most part, they had complied with civility, expressing themselves anxious to find out who had committed the crime. Brooklyn had pleaded business appointments, but had promised to make himself available whenever possible. None had provable alibis other than the von Muellers and possibly the Irvings, whose itineraries he would have to verify.
    According to David Weeks’ testimony, Sabine was last seen just after six p.m., which was close to the time when the male members of the group returned from their diving excursion. No one began looking for Sabine until ten that night. A window of four hours existed during which time she vanished. If a guest had killed her, there was only one hour of opportunity before they all met up at The Cockatoo restaurant for Paul Winslow’s birthday dinner at seven.
    Rex hoped that under constant surveillance the perpetrator might give himself or herself away by making that incriminating slip that everyone did sooner or later. Possible, too, that the body might be washed ashore during that time. Or what was left of it.

“Good morning,” Elizabeth Winslow greeted Rex behind a huge pair of designer sunglasses. “Are you going to try to cultivate a tan?”
    “I canna spend ten minutes in the sun without turning pink.”
    “Nor can I with my Irish complexion,” Nora said from the lounge-chair beside Elizabeth’s.
    “I was a sun-worshipper when I was younger,” Elizabeth confided. “Now I’m paying for it.” She had the fragile skin of a natural redhead. In broad daylight, the heavy gold jewelry around her neck could not hide the sun spots and premature wrinkling on her chest. “Won’t you have a drink?” she asked. “The waiter will be along in a minute.”
    “It’s still a bit early for me.”
    “Oh, we don’t have rules here,” Elizabeth said in her well-bred English voice. “Besides, alcohol is so cheap out here it’s criminal not to take advantage.”
    Nora relinquished her spot beside Elizabeth. “I’m going to do my laps. Rex, you’re welcome to use my chair for twenty minutes.”
    He duly slipped into the lounger beneath the shade of the umbrella. A parade of nudists strolled along the beach while couples and families frolicked in the sea. If his starchy Scottish colleagues could only see him now …
    “So,” Elizabeth began. “We dragged you halfway across the Caribbean to look into our friend’s disappearance. What do you think now that you’re here?”
    “It’s a bit soon to say.”
    “Forgive my impatience. You only arrived yesterday afternoon, after all.”
    “I take it you were close to Sabine Durand?”
    “We met ten years ago when she came from Paris to work at David’s restaurant. That was before he opened his cookery school. David and Toni had a small flat in Kensington back then, so Sabine lodged with us. Paul and I became quite attached to her. We married late and have no children of our own.”
    “And you’ve kept in contact with her ever since.”
    “We didn’t see so much of her when she became involved in the theatre. The hours of rehearsal were grueling and she toured a lot. But she dropped us a line here and there, and I saved all the programmes and newspaper articles for my scrapbook.”
    “What do you, personally, think became of her, Mrs. Winslow?”
    “Elizabeth—please.” She removed her sunglasses, revealing green eyes glassy with tears. “It’s not easy to say this,” she