Page 70 of Isla

"Do you fault her for it?"

"Yes."

"You feel she's a gold-digger?"

I start to protest, then remembered I have to answer based on what’s on my card. "Yes," I admit, looking down at my lap.

"I believe those are the only questions I have right now, Mrs. DuPont. Do you have any questions for me?"

"Do you know who Peter is having an affair with?"

"Yes, but I'm not at liberty to share."

"Can you tell me if it's someone on this boat?"

"Yes, it's someone on this boat."

Bingo.

"Was anybody else injured in the attack?"

"Yes, the blade grazed Camila before Franklin was stabbed."

Could she have been the intended target all along?

"Did Camila know that my father willed his half of the business to me?" I ask, finally coming to what may be the most important question.

"No."

Fucking hell. They've made it so absolutely everyone is a potential suspect.Think, Isla.The image of the hand holding that scrap of paper comes back to me. Could that have been Theo? Peter? Emily? I say my goodbyes to the detective and make my way back to the dinner table. Franklin's body is covered, and I rein back my curiosity to pull the sheet back and see if he's actually still under there or if there's a mannequin in his place. I make sure nobody is watching and remove the cup over a scrap of paper and fold it into my palm, walking to the women's restroom and closing myself in a stall before examining it.

Keep he–

out of th–

I stare at it, tilting it back and forth under the dim lighting, trying to decipher the missing words. I glance at my phone. Only five minutes until I meet back up with Theo. I head back into the salon to go back over my notes, coming up with several hypotheses to run by him.

"Ready, wifey?" Theo comes up behind me, his breath tickling my ear as he rests his chin on my shoulder, his arms wrapping around my middle.

"Did you get any good information?" I ask, turning in his arms and looking up into those mesmerizing eyes.

"I did. You?"

I nod, letting him lead me into the corner where we can talk in private.

"Was it you that burned the scrap of paper?" I ask, pulling it from my pocket.

"Yes, it was slipped in front of me right before the lights went out. It said Keep her out of the way. That's why I grabbed you."

"Any idea who put the paper there?"

"No, I didn't see."

Bummer. We compare notes, and after about ten minutes, we have a solid theory just in time for the lights to lower twice, calling us back to the dining room. I'm relieved to see that the sheet-covered body is gone as I slip back into my seat. The detective stands at the head of the table, and the room falls into a pregnant hush.

"Has anyone deduced who murdered Franklin Astor?" he asks, his gaze sliding to each of us.

Emily stands. "I believe Camila murdered her husband in order to inherit his fortune."

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