The next day, I kept pace beside Barbie along the beachfront walkway on the north side of the island. NB finished sniffing at an aloe plant, and then we turned toward Barbie's building.

"Is the new security company going to fill our streets with all these men?" she asked, staring at Dalton as he cut across the path about fifty feet ahead of us.

I scowled at the beefy former SEAL and stuck my tongue out. We still had animosity over his stupid island rules. "Yes. That's their MO."

"Good." She chuckled and shook her head as we lost sight of Dalton.

A bird chirped. I glanced upward, scanning the sky for the culprit. Three seagulls circled overhead, but they didn't chirp. At least I'd never heard any gull in Pelican Bay chirp.

The bird chirped again. Louder and closer this time. And then another series of clucking sounds. I lowered my gaze.

"Barbie, your butt is chirping," I said once I located the source of the noise.

She jerked forward in shock. "It is me! I forgot."

"What is it?" I asked as we slowed our pace.

NB and I came to a stop as she pulled a rhinestone-covered phone case from her pocket. Her fingers swiped over the screen as she scowled at it. "That's my reminder for the stories. We're going to be late if we don't get the lead out."

She clutched the phone in one hand and Biscuit's leash in the other before setting into a power walking stance. I did my best to keep pace, pumping my arms and forcing NB to keep it moving.

Barbie wasn't the only one who wanted to watch the daily update on Nick and his harem of women. The show had to be working toward one hell of a blowup when all the girlfriends learned of each other.

We made it to the apartment with three minutes to spare, which gave Barbie enough time to grab one of her disgusting sparkling waters from the fridge. I took my usual spot on the second couch and pulled NB into my lap for our afternoon watch party.

"They're pushing the boundaries on Nick's women. Do you really think they'll keep this storyling going for months?" I asked as NB circled and then lay down beside me, placing his head on my thigh. My chest tightened, but I didn't think it was in anticipation of Barbie's answer, more related to what I had to ask her later.

She stared at the television screen and shook her head. "I think these new writers are young. They have decent hearts, so they'll probably carry it on for a while. They aren't worried about heart attacks."

I laughed.

The show started, and we tuned in, watching in silence. Scene one focused on a family event. Barbie said it would be drama later, but not that important this time. Second up was a recap of Nick's flirting in the grocery store scene from a previous day. Nothing new in his department.

"Why are they showing us old stuff?" I asked Barbie. The tightness in my chest grew. I wanted to see what happened with Nick, but I also hated sitting around watching television. Murders didn't solve themselves. I needed to be out on the streets hunting down witnesses.

She shook her head. "Two reasons. One, the writers aren't worried about dying before they finish the story line, and it means he has big stuff coming soon but probably not today. I'll have to get on Facebook and see if there's any staff gossip."

"They have groups for this show on Facebook?" I asked. Man, they had Facebook groups for everything.

She turned her head toward me slowly, like I'd just said something colossally stupid. "Yes, dear. And on Twitter and Instagram. I hear there's even a Reddit room, but I don't understand that website."

"Wow." People really got into these shows. They went to a commercial break, and I asked Barbie the question I'd been holding in since I picked her up for our morning walk. "You know everyone on the island. Right?"

She pursed her lips. "Probably not everyone, especially with the new tourism policy, but more than most. I have a certain way with people."

"Do you recognize this card or handwriting?" I asked, showing her the envelope and card left for me at the resort desk yesterday.

Barbie leaned forward to grab them from me, losing her place on the white couch. She readjusted and placed her bare feet under her before pulling the card free from the envelope. "This is expensive. No one sells anything like this on the island."

"Do you recognize the handwriting?" I asked as she flipped the card open. My stomach tightened to match the stress in my chest. What if she knew the writer, and we had to confront them?

She shook her head as she stared. "No. Sorry."

"No worries," I said and accepted the card back from her before shoving it in my pocket. My stomach unclenched, but my chest stayed tight. I still hadn't told Broadrick about the suggestion-threat to mind my business, and I didn't plan on telling him anytime soon.

Barbie checked the screen, found it still at a commercial, and turned back to me. "Why? Did someone write that to you?"

How else could I have it?

"Yeah, they left it for me at the resort's front desk without a signature." I gave NB an ear scratch while he fixed his position on my lap after I jostled him, putting the card in and out of my pocket. "I figured unless Harold had some feminine handwriting, it has to be this other case I'm working."

She lifted an eyebrow but then shushed me when the show returned. "At the next break."

I scrolled my phone while she watched the different couples argue in hushed whispers and dramatic music. The only person I had an interest in was Nick and his cheating ways.

"Okay, tell me about this other case," Barbie said when it cut to another commercial. "Is it Melissa's accident?" Barbie used both hands to make air quotes around the word accident.

"How did you know?"

She snorted. "There's not that much activity on the island."

"I just don't see how it was an accident. No one accidentally falls on a knitting needle straight in their ear. What are the Florida cops thinking?" Were they drinking too much ocean salt water?

She balked at my description of the murder and I realized she might not have known the details. Oops.

Since the elegant swirly font didn't belong to Harold, did that mean a woman killed Melissa? Had I pissed anyone else off during my short time on the island? Maybe the rude bakery owner, Peggy. Her grumpiness was a frequent conversation during the Stitch and Bitch nights, but I didn't think she knew her reputation.

"If you didn't think Melissa's death was an accident, why didn't you say anything?" She probably had more clout with the cops.

She shrugged. "Everyone always wants them to be accidents."

"Them?" I asked immediately after she finished her sentence.

She shrugged again while checking the television to find it was still on a break. "Well, sometimes when a man dies, the wife needs it to be an accident. We don't want them going to jail, so it's best not to ask questions."

"What?" I asked louder while trying to work through her words. Was she implying?

No.

Yes.

No. There were not a bunch of rich wives killing rich husbands on Killdear Island.

Oh shit.

She nodded twice, her expression indifferent considering the topic of discussion. "Times were different when a lot of us married."

My eyes widened so large the breeze off Barbie's balcony threatened to dry them out.

I'd been right all along.

We were living on an island of killers.