'That's nice,' I said. 'Now come down to earth for a while; a lot of things have happened while you were out being reborn.'
'Was anyone hurt?' Dad asked, no doubt sensing my serious mood.
'Victor Resnick's dead,' I said.
'Oh dear,' Dad said 'I suppose I should take that as a lesson. I've been so busy enjoying the hurricane, I haven't stopped to think that it can be deadly as well as beautiful.'
'Well, actually--' Jeb began.
'And now I shall always regret having parted on unfriendly terms with him,' Dad went on.
'Parted on unfriendly terms?' I said while the rest goggled.
'Yes, I ran into him on my way to Green Point,' Dad said. 'I couldn't understand why he kept trying to invite me in for a drink. I'm afraid I treated him rather rudely. Never liked him much, actually; and I was in no mood to waste time on him when I could be watching the hurricane. Ironic, isn't it?'
'What is?' I asked.
'Well, at one point when I was stumbling around, trying to find my way back, I began to regret how uncivil I'd been to him. I promised myself that when I got safely back to the village, I'd go and have that drink with him and apologize for the way I'd acted. And now I'll never have the chance, with him taken by the very storm that spared me.'
'Actually, he wasn't,' I said. 'Taken by the storm, that is. He was murdered.'
'Murdered!' Dad exclaimed. 'How dreadful!'
He didn't sound as if he thought it dreadful. In fact, he sounded suspiciously enthusiastic. I hoped Jeb and the rest wouldn't take his tone the wrong way. I made a mental note to explain to the police about Dad's obsession with murder mysteries.
Then again, maybe I should wait until the police caught the real murderer. They might not realize I was talking about fictional murder mysteries. No sense letting them jump to any more false conclusions.
'How was he killed?' Dad asked.
Several of the locals around the store guffawed.
'He was hit over the head,' Jeb said. 'But we don't know whether the blow actually killed him or just knocked him unconscious into a tidal pool, causing him to drown.'
'Well, we'd better examine him to see if we can find out,' Dad said.
'Examine him?' Jeb exclaimed.
'Yes,' Dad said. 'Of course, you'll need the coroner for the actual autopsy, but--'
He suddenly yawned prodigiously and blinked slightly.
'Sorry, where was I?' he went on. 'Oh, yes: Examining the body early on could be very important. Have you done anything to preserve it?'
'You don't expect us to let a suspect just mess around with the body,' Jeb said.
'A suspect?' Dad repeated. His face lit up. I should have known. For a mystery buff like Dad, being a suspect in a real, live mystery was probably the next best thing to playing detective.
'Everyone on the island's a suspect,' I said.
'Why so they are!' Dad exclaimed. 'It's like a classic locked-room mystery! How exciting! Still, it could be important for someone with medical knowledge to observe the body early on. There might be another doctor or two among the bird-watchers. Perhaps we could get together a panel and do a noninvasive examination, under close supervision, before the body deteriorates. Take pictures. And--'
He yawned again, even more broadly.
'Dad, the body's in a refrigerator, and it isn't going anywhere. You need some rest--why don't you take a nap while Jeb considers your suggestion?'
'Yes, but--'
'And Mrs. Langslow's worried sick about you,' Michael put in. 'Have you seen her yet? Does she know you're all right?'
'Oh, goodness!' Dad exclaimed. 'I never realized. I'll go right up there. Meg, do explain to them how important the examination could be. I'll--' He yawned again, and made no protest as Michael and I hustled him out the door. Michael stood, watching him trot up the street while I turned back to Jeb.
'You know, he does have a point. You could do worse than have some doctors examine the body.'
'Like I said, we can't have a suspect messing with the body,' Jeb replied.
'Why not?' I said. 'We did last night, when you and Mamie and Fred fetched it down to the Anchor Inn. Are you trying to tell me that none of you had any possible reason for disliking Resnick?'
Jeb looked taken aback, and chuckles from the locals confirmed that I'd hit the mark.
'Yeah, Jeb,' one of them said. 'Bet you killed him just to get him off your back.'
'Off your back?' I repeated.
'Bastard wanted to buy my store,' Jeb said. 'I told him to take a hike, of course. Been in the family since my grandfather's day; not likely I'd want to sell it. And even if I did, I wouldn't have sold it to him. Wouldn't take no for an answer, always hanging around here, waving his damned checkbook.'
'You see,' I said. 'You need to protect yourself from suspicion, as well. Of course, it's your jurisdiction, but if I were you, I'd think very carefully about seeing if you can't find another doctor or two among the bird-watchers, as Dad suggested, and letting them all examine the body to verify its condition.'
'I'll think about it,' Jeb said. I wasn't sure if this really meant he'd think about it or if, like beleaguered parents, he used 'I'll think about it' as a gentle way of saying 'Hell no!'
'And you may want to stop making such a big deal about any person in particular being a suspect,' I said. 'Of course, I'm not a lawyer, like my brother, but I imagine people do get sued for that type of thing. Especially since you have so many possible suspects.'
'You ask me, Fu Manchu there did it,' one elderly local piped up from his place by the stove. 'They were having a big set-to just before he died.'
'Fu Manchu?' Jeb repeated.
'Ayah,' the old man said, and buried his nose back in his coffee.
'Ayah,' Michael murmured to me. 'They really do say that, then?'
'Only to amuse the tourists,' I whispered back. 'Fu Manchu?'
Michael shrugged. Jeb didn't seem very impressed with the revelation that Sax Rohmer's sinister pulp villain was alive and well and plotting on Monhegan. Could dacoits and Thugs be far behind? And then I saw someone passing outside the store windows, and enlightenment struck.
'Well, if I were you, I'd think about finding those doctors,' I said. 'Meanwhile, we'd better run along,' I added, tugging at Michael's sleeve. After one plaintive glance at his coffee mug, he sighed and followed me outside.
'What's up?' he asked.
'We're going to interrogate Fu Manchu,' I said.
Chapter 18
'Interrogate Fu Manchu?' Michael said. 'You're not serious.'
'I think the old guy meant the Asian man we saw quarreling with Resnick yesterday,' I said.
'The one too well dressed for a birder?'
'Exactly. And if I'm not mistaken, that's him right now.'
I pointed across the street to the front porch of the Island Inn, where the Asian man was stamping his feet and shaking himself. He had a brightly colored bag with the name of the other, upscale grocery on it. With a bottle of wine inside, from the shape of it.
'You could be right,' Michael said:
'I'm positive,' I said. 'If we had to find a middle-aged Caucasian woman with binoculars, we wouldn't have a chance in the world of figuring out which birder it was. But Monhegan in flyover season isn't exactly a hotbed of
