“What do you want to tell him?”

“I just want to bring him up to date, and I want to get more information about the Assa locks.” She continued typing, stopping now and then to read the replies.

“You’re using regular instant messaging?”

“It’s highly irregular instant messaging,” she said, “but the result is the same.” She typed a few more keystrokes, then ended the session. “He’ll get back to me.”

“I’m going back to the Times,” Stone said. “There’s the crossword yet to do.” He went back to his chair, grabbed the paper and put his feet up on the ottoman.

“I’m going for a run,” Holly said. “Want to join me?”

“I’m too comfortable,” Stone replied. “Go armed.”

“You think that’s necessary?”

“How many more murders do you need on an island this size to make you cautious?”

“Oh, all right.”

“And stick to the roads; don’t run down any trails.”

“Oh, stop it.”

“I just want to know where to look for your body later.”

“All right, all right!”

HOLLY WENT UPSTAIRS AND changed into sweats and sneakers, strapped her 9 mm on, then left by the front door and headed toward the main road past the house. She stopped at the end of the driveway and did some stretching, then headed down the road, running lightly on the left side of the road, facing traffic. The day was bright and cool, perfect Maine weather. She had gone about a mile when a police car began coming toward her. It slowed as it approached, then stopped, and the passenger-side window rolled down.

“Morning,” a uniformed officer inside said.

“Good morning,” Holly said, stopping and going to the open window.

“I’m Sergeant Young of the Maine State Police,” the man said. “Who might you be?”

“I’m Holly Barker. I’m staying with Stone Barrington at the Dick Stone house.”

“I’m glad to know that,” Young said. “My partner and I are interviewing every living soul on the island in connection with the recent killings.”

“I can sympathize with your task,” Holly said. “I’m a retired police officer, and I’ve done my share of canvassing, though I’ve never interviewed a whole population.”

“Only about six hundred, locals and summer folk,” Young said. “Where did you serve?”

“First I was an army MP. Then I retired from that and became chief of police of a small town in Florida, Orchid Beach.”

“How long have you been on the island?”

“Arrived yesterday, with Stone,” she said. “My second visit with him, though the last one was only a couple of days.”

“How long you staying?”

“I don’t know, really. Until Stone kicks me out, I guess.”

“What do you do now, Ms. Barker?”

“Oh, I live the soft life.”

“I see you keep in shape.”

“Sporadically.”