Hounded to Death by Laurien Berenson

or heard anyone else in the vicinity?”
    All three of us stopped and thought about that. Then we all answered in the negative.
    â€œThen you saw Mr. Evans in the hot tub…”
    â€œWe didn’t know who it was then,” said Aunt Peg. “We didn’t find that out until I reached in and turned him over.”
    Detective Wayne walked us slowly through each of the remaining steps we’d taken. Unfortunately the rest was fairly straightforward; none of us had any brilliant insights to add.
    â€œYou’ll probably want to talk to Margo Deline,” Aunt Peg said at the end. “She’s the director of the event. And of course Caroline, Charles’s wife.”
    â€œAlready being attended to,” the detective said. He pushed back his chair and stood. “Ladies, thank you for your time.”
    Detective Wayne left the bar. We prepared to do the same.
    â€œMaybe Charles had a heart attack,” I said hopefully as Bertie nabbed the check and charged it to our room.
    â€œMaybe he slipped and hit his head,” she suggested, scribbling a signature on the bill.
    Aunt Peg was ever the realist.
    â€œMaybe someone wanted to shut him up,” she said.
    Â 
    The next morning at breakfast, the only thing anyone wanted to talk about was what had happened to Charles. And since Bertie, Aunt Peg, and I had had a ringside seat for the proceedings, we were the most popular people in the dining room.
    The first person who stopped by to see us was Richard. He slipped into the empty chair at our table for four and took Aunt Peg’s hand in his.
    â€œI’m so sorry I wasn’t there to help in your time of need,” he said. “Mother and I were dining in our room. So it wasn’t until this morning that we even heard about what had happened. Why didn’t you call me? You know I would have come to your aid.”
    The notion of Aunt Peg calling a man to help her cope with a problem seemed like an utterly foreign concept to me. So I was curious to see how she would respond to Richard’s solicitude. And just in case things weren’t already interesting enough, Florence was wending her way toward us through the roomful of tightly packed tables.
    The woman’s large purse was tucked in its customary position beneath her arm, with Button’s head poked forward out of the top like the figurehead on the prow of a ship. The little Chihuahua looked around as his mistress navigated in our direction. He seemed to be enjoying the ride.
    â€œThank you for your offer of assistance,” Peg replied. “But I wouldn’t have dreamt of disturbing you.”
    â€œDon’t be silly,” Richard chided her. “Mother would have completely understood the need to cut our evening short.”
    Maybe it was just me, but it had been my impression that Mother was not necessarily the understanding sort. Nevertheless, I was sure we would hear her take on the situation shortly, as Florence was fast approaching.
    â€œIncoming,” Bertie muttered under her breath.
    I was seized with the sudden impulse to duck.
    â€œGood morning, everyone,” Florence chirped.
    Her purse bobbled beneath her arm. Button lifted a lip and sneered.
    â€œI understand there was some excitement here last night. And that you…” Florence’s gaze scanned the table and came to rest on Aunt Peg. “…seem to have found yourself right in the middle of it.”
    â€œThere was an accident outside in the hot tub,” said Bertie. “We just happened to be in the right place at the wrong time.”
    â€œHow very unfortunate for you.”
    I lifted a brow. “More so for Charles, I should think.”
    â€œRichard.” Florence tapped her son’s shoulder smartly. “Go find us another chair, would you?”
    â€œYou can have mine,” Peg said smoothly. “We’re almost finished anyway.”
    Almost finished? Not even close. We’d just