Bob sat down and gulped his wine. They waited, and finally Bruce asked, “Is that the end of it?”

“No. A few minutes later, Nelson called. The last call before we lost service. He told me she was at his place and acting really bizarre. What was going on? I said I didn’t know. He said he would try to take care of her.”

Another pause, and Bruce asked, “Okay, anything else?”

“No. That’s all.”

For a long time nothing was said. Bob had settled down but was breathing heavily, his eyes drooping, defeated. “I don’t know how to handle this,” he mumbled.

Bruce said, “Well, you have to tell the police, that’s for certain.”

“I suppose, but I really don’t want to get involved. After meeting Officer Hoppy I don’t have much faith in these cops. Hell, he’ll probably suspect me and I don’t need that.”

“How can he suspect you?”

“I have a record.”

“Come on. That’s history. You can’t be a suspect.”

“Stranger things have happened.”

“Did you get her last name?” Nick asked.

“Murphy. Ingrid Murphy, from Atlanta. But I doubt if any of that is true.”

“The hotel will have records,” Bruce said.

“Maybe. Right now the hotel is about to tilt over. You saw it today. They’ll probably condemn it.”

Nick said, “I doubt if she was staying there.”

Both looked at him, confused. “What are you talking about?” Bruce asked.

“If she is the last person known to be with Nelson before he was bludgeoned to death, then let’s assume she is the killer. Indulge me here, okay? I honestly doubt the same tree hit him four times. Someone took a blunt weapon and cracked his skull, right? Given her physical attributes that Bob has so nicely described, she has the capability.”

“So, what’s the motive?” Bruce asked.

“There is none. How did she meet Nelson?” Nick asked Bob.

Bob replied, “Like I said, we had lunch.”

“Was it her idea?”

Bob scratched his chin, thought for a moment, and said, “Well, sort of. She claimed to be a big reader, liked my books and all, and we talked about other writers on the island. When I said Nelson was a friend, she got excited. Clicked off all his titles, seemed to know them inside and out.”

“Odd,” Nick said. “Not exactly girl stuff.”

“I thought the same thing.”

Nick said, “Ingrid just met Nelson and then she killed him, but it wasn’t random. She came here for that purpose. The motive was money, because she was paid to do the job. Where did you have lunch?”

“At the Shack, down under the bridge.”

“Where I’ll bet they don’t have cameras,” Nick said.

“Herman probably doesn’t lock the door at night,” Bruce said.

“Who suggested the Shack?” Nick asked.

“So you’re still the detective, huh?”

“I’ll bet it was her idea.”

Bob scratched his chin more, tried to remember. “Matter of fact, it was her idea. She said she had read about the place and wanted to try it. This sounded true because it gets its share of reviews. Travel magazines and stuff. Keep going, Sherlock. I want to hear your theory.”

“She set you up. She managed to catch your eye around the hotel bar, where you’re known to prowl. She got you in the sack, surprise surprise, and you led her to Nelson, the target. She got lucky when the storm took aim at us and provided the perfect setting. A murder in the middle of a hurricane. She’s a pro, fearless, tough, and waited until the storm had passed and daylight was coming and made her getaway. She’ll probably never be found. I’ll bet you a hundred dollars, which I don’t have, that she was not registered at the Hilton.”

Bruce appeared dumbfounded. “Anything else?”

“Just speculating, of course. But I’ll bet she had a team with her. Probably rented a condo for a week or two. Had plenty of backup and they knew how to get off the island about the time that Leo was leaving. Don’t ask me how.”

“So what was the murder weapon?” Bob asked.

“We may never know, but it could’ve been Nelson’s seven iron. I looked at his clubs this morning when you two were sitting on the patio. There’s a stain and some matter on the seven iron. Could be blood, I don’t know. I didn’t touch anything. When swung properly, a seven iron, or any iron for that matter, can do some real damage to a skull.”

Bruce asked Bob, “And she was strong enough to move his body?”

“Oh sure. I weigh two hundred pounds and she really bounced me around. Of course I wasn’t resisting, mind you. Nelson weighs, weighed, a buck-seventy at most.”

Bruce said, “But there was no electricity. How could she find his golf clubs with no lights?”

“He had at least two flashlights. We used one this morning. Maybe she had been there before. Maybe someone else scoped the place when Nelson wasn’t home.”

“A lot of maybes,” Bob said. “You got quite an imagination.”

“I do. Let’s hear your theory.”

“I don’t have one and I’m not thinking too clearly right now. Hell, we don’t even know if it’s a murder. I say we wait till the autopsy.”