“You don’t know that,” I said. “What if Dooney was just a victim of convenience? What if there is a serial killer at this wedding and they murder anyone they find alone?”

“Scarlett,” Viv scolded. “Rein in your imagination, or else there will be no more mystery shows for you.”

I felt someone staring at me and glanced over to see the May cousins all watching me with their eyes wide and their mouths open. They looked petrified.

“Oh, I’m not saying there is a serial killer,” I said. “Just that, you know, you should be careful.”

They huddled together, not even acknowledging me. Okay then.

Viv was walking away. Andre and I fell into step behind her.

“Do you believe what the caretaker Archie said?” Andre asked.

“Which thing that Archie said?” I asked.

“That the murderer is the ghost?” he asked.

“Why would a ghost want to kill Dooney Portis?” I asked.

“Because he was . . . not a good person,” he said.

“Piper isn’t an especially good person either,” I said. “If that was the criteria, wouldn’t the ghost have gone after her, too?”

“It only takes one death to stop a wedding,” Andre said. “Maybe Dooney was a more convenient target.”

“I don’t know,” I said. “I don’t even know if I believe in ghosts. I certainly don’t know if one could kill a person. I mean, they don’t have the physical means to murder, so how could they cause a death? Scare someone into a heart attack?”

“That’s it. I’m sleeping on the couch in your sitting room,” he said. “I absolutely can’t sleep alone in my room. I’ll die of fright.”

“We’ve got you,” I said. “Right, Viv?”

“You may sleep wherever you want, Andre,” she said. “Our suite is your suite.”

“Thank you,” he said. “I’ll get my things and be right over.”

Viv and I entered our suite while Andre went on to his own. I didn’t lock the door, knowing that he would return shortly. I stared at the divan. It seemed short for Andre, and I realized I’d better take it and give him my bed. Yes, because I am an awesome friend like that.

Viv stomped across the sitting room to her room. I could tell by her posture, back straight and chin jutting out, that she was mad. Usually when Viv was in a mood, I avoided her and let her cool down. But we were stuck here, so I figured it would be better to let her vent.

“You’re upset,” I said.

“Upset? Me? Whyever would I be upset?” she asked. Her voice was full of that annoying exaggeration people do when they’re really mad but not quite to the throwing-things stage.

“Wild guess here,” I said. “It’s because we’re stuck here for a few days.”

“By George, I think you’ve got it.”