“I still can’t believe it,” Norton said. “I’ve known Jasper since he was six years old. It just doesn’t make sense.”

Murder rarely does. “This must be tough, then,” I said. “Try to think back. Anything out of the ordinary happen yesterday?”

“Well, the family did their own thing until cocktail hour. Everyone was together for that, I know. After dinner they had some more drinks. A couple of ’em went to bed on the early side—Miss Beaudry was one of those. Jasper stayed up, I’m not sure how long. I turned in pretty early myself. It was a long day for me, prepping to welcome Miss Beaudry and the others, and I slept like the dead. Like a log,” he said quickly, mortified. “Next thing I know, it’s morning and she’s screaming her head off.” He scrubbed his temples as if trying to dislodge the memory from his mind.

“And Miss Beaudry is . . .” I pulled a notepad and pen from the pocket of my coat.

“Abella Beaudry.” Norton spelled it out and watched my hand glide across the pad, making sure I got it right. “She’s Jasper’s girlfriend,” he said.

“And you heard her screaming this morning?”

“Shrieking at the top of her lungs. Camilla—Mrs. Sinclair—was right behind me when I got to their room. She saw everything. God, I wish she hadn’t.” Norton’s frown sank deep into his skin and stayed there as water trickled down his face.

“What’s ‘everything’?” I said, leaning in. “What did she see?”

“The bed. The . . . blood.”

“Who else was in that room this morning?”

“Nobody.”

“Not even to take a peek?”

“No. Just Miss Beaudry, Mrs. Sinclair, and me. I thought it would be better to keep everyone out so you could . . . well, do your thing.”

“Thanks for that.” Three people leaving footprints, fingerprints, and DNA in the room wasn’t good, but it sure as hell was better than eight. I ran down my mental checklist. “Any blood on Abella? Body or hands?”

“A little on her clothes, maybe. I’m not sure. By the time we got there, she was across the room, hiding in the corner like a mouse.”

“What happened next?”

“She—Mrs. Sinclair—sent me to call 911.”

“You called as soon as you noticed Jasper missing,” I said. Paraphrasing drives some witnesses crazy, but it’s crucial for re-creating the scene. “That means you found him at, what, eight a.m.?”

“No.” His mouth twisted and a dimple appeared in the center of his clean-shaven chin. “I didn’t call right away,” he said. “I told Mrs. Sinclair and Abella to stay inside while the rest of us went looking for Jasper. Everyone was hoping there was a simple explanation. We thought we’d find him. Injured, maybe, but . . .”

“But alive.”

Misery is a master of disguise. I’ve seen beauty buckle under its weight, unsightly faces turn sublime. Norton’s grief manifested itself as an anguished, misshapen smile. “We looked everywhere,” he said. “All through the house, all over the island. Down here by the river. In the woods.”