“If Dooney died in the library shortly after being here, then doesn’t it stand to reason that he was poisoned at the cocktail party?” he said. “You said there were no marks on him, so that would leave poison as the most obvious cause of death. And with a crowded bar who knows how many people had access to his drinks?”

“Bartenders, waitstaff, anyone who brought him a drink,” I said. “Meaning anyone who was at the party is a suspect.” I groaned.

“Which would be why Detective Stewart is keeping you all here,” Harry said.

“We’re getting nowhere.” I tapped my chin with my forefinger. “I remember that Dooney and Quentin, his best man, were at the bar, and Dooney was being rude to the bartender.”

“His usual self then,” Harry observed. “Sorry, shouldn’t speak ill of the dead and all that.”

“No, but his off-putting personality could be the cause of his murder,” I said. “So, it’s a factor to consider. Perhaps the murderer is just someone who was tired of him.”

“What was Dooney’s relationship with his best man like?” he asked.

“That is an excellent question, and I wish we could ask Sunny,” I said. There was nothing left to see on the veranda. “Why do you suppose Dooney was in the library? He didn’t strike me as a big reader.”

“Could be that he started to feel poorly,” Harry said. “And, like you, maybe he couldn’t find the loo.”

“Let’s walk over there,” I said. “Maybe we’ll get an idea on the way.”

We left the veranda and cut through the dining room. There were no staff or guests buzzing around. I was grateful for the quiet because it made it easier to think.

“So, we’re Dooney,” I said. Harry made a face, but I ignored him. “We’ve been poisoned and we feel wretched.”

“He’d likely want to find a place to either be sick or lie down,” Harry said.

“But I found him in the library while I was looking for the washroom, so he could have made the same error I did. Or maybe he went into the library to lie down?”

“But never made it to the couch, and collapsed on the floor.”

“Exactly.”

I was beginning to learn my way around the castle and was pleased that I made only one wrong turn—Harry corrected me—on our way to the library. The door was open just a few inches and there was no constable in sight. Huh. Had they stopped guarding it then?

Harry and I were about to cross the hall and enter the room, when the door opened wider. Harry pulled me to the side into an alcove that was framed with heavy brocade drapes. We pressed ourselves against the wall, trying to stay out of sight behind the fabric.

Chapter 15

“How can you not have found it? You’ve had days.”