The body: This morning, a man was found dead in the middle of the snow-covered golf course. Sofia believes it’s the work of a serial killer named the Black Tongue, and that the victim didn’t die from exposure. According to Lucy, no one is missing from the hotel guest list. If you think that her telling me this is suspicious, I’ll remind you that Juliette, who, as the owner, has access to the guest list, coined the anonymous nickname Green Boots, which implies that Lucy’s gossip is correct. The problem is none of us could possibly be linked to the dead man by motive, because none of us know who the hell he is.

Here are some important nuggets I’d like to highlight at this point:

1. Someone was in Sofia’s chalet when she was in mine; they called my room’s phone.
2. Sofia’s also the only one with an alibi, because she was with me in my chalet at the exact time Green Boots died, which you’re not technically supposed to know, but I’ve told you anyway.
3. Marcelo called off dinner because my mother was unwell. I had no contact with Andy, Katherine, or Lucy overnight.
4. Sofia, Andy and I have seen Green Boots’ face, but Crawford didn’t exactly spend the morning holding an open casket, so we might be the only ones. None of us recognised him.
5. I still don’t know where the bag of cash came from. It’s about to occur to me that someone may be after it.
6. There were three sets of footprints to Green Boots, only one back, and it didn’t snow overnight.
7. Lucy’s taste in make-up is second only to Erin’s taste in men and Michael’s taste in terrain-appropriate vehicles.
8. I haven’t forgotten I dangled the plural ‘brothers’ before.
9. Michael would rather be suspected of murder than tell the truth about where he and Erin were the previous night.
10. We are seven chapters away from the next death.

And in the middle of it all is me. Someone who writes books about how to write books, with no legal background, who has just, for reasons I can’t yet fathom and with questionable legality, been nominated as legal counsel for a suspected murderer – or maybe serial killer, if I take Lucy’s word about the dramatic prerequisites – who is supposed to despise me.

If you’re happy that I’m playing fair, we’ll move on.

CHAPTER 15

I could have caught Audrey easily, but we had all flocked into the foyer as a group and I wanted to wait until everyone spread out. As Michael was guided away to the Drying Room, he told me he’d send for me – he actually used those words, as if I was a court jester – once he’d had some time to think. Some time to conjure a convincing alibi, I suspected.