Hopefully, Anarchy had found a gun marked by bloody fingerprints or a witness who’d noticed the killer sneaking to or from Graham’s cabin. Hopefully, my friends would be cleared of suspicion.

I wasn’t that lucky.

One horse ride, one shower, and one much-need nip of brandy (thank you, Libba) later, and my feet dragged me toward the main clubhouse.

“Mrs. Jones?” Misty appeared on the path. Despite her eyes being red and puffy, the young woman was still pretty. She gave me a tremulous smile.

“Are you all right?” I asked.

She nodded. “Yes. I—you. You found Mr. Landingham?”

“I did.”

“It’s so awful.”

Murder was bone-chilling and reprehensible and awful. Most people went their whole lives without having to really consider the taking of a human life. Sure, they might read an Agatha Christie and treat death as a puzzle, but when the victim was someone they knew, the mystery was overwhelmed by the horror. I was willing to bet a trip to Italy that this was Misty’s first brush with violent death. “Terrible,” I agreed.

She kicked at a stick on the path. “I have so much I should be doing. Lunch isn’t going to serve itself. But I can’t focus. Does your husband know who killed Graham?”

“I haven’t seen my husband since breakfast, so I don’t have an answer to that. Unless there was a witness, I doubt he has the case solved.”

“He asked me questions.”

“Oh?”

She nodded and wiped her eyes. “Who came in for coffee? What time? That sort of thing.”

“What did you tell him?”

“Mr. Geller came in first. He filled a thermos. Then you.”

I’d filled two cups. “No one else?”

“Maybe. I thought I heard someone, but I was in the kitchen making cinnamon rolls. When I went to the dining room, there was no one there.”

“When was that?”

“After Mr. Geller, but before you.” She sniffled, then smoothed her hair, caught in a long blonde ponytail. “What will happen?”

“Anarchy will question everyone once. Maybe twice. Then he’ll corroborate alibis.”

She wrung her hands. “Being questioned was scary. And I don’t have an alibi.”

“I don’t know about that. Bill saw you, then I did. Also, you don’t have a motive.”

She sniffled, then looked at me as if I’d offered her a longed-for present.

“There were plenty of people with reason to kill Graham.” I kept my voice gentle. “I don’t think you need to worry.”

She wiped the smudged mascara beneath her eyes. “He seemed like such a nice man.”

“You didn’t know him well.”

“He was always kind to me.”

“You’re young and pretty. Of course he was nice to you.”

Her cheeks colored.

“I’m sorry. That wasn’t kind.” I sounded bitter and old and entirely too jaded by life. “Graham made unpopular decisions.”

“Isn’t that what leaders do?”