“Excuse me, but suspects? You actually just called them suspects,” I said. I saw both Viv and Andre shake their heads, but I ignored them. “What are you implying?”

“I’m not implying anything,” Detective Stewart said. “The medical examiner has made a preliminary determination that Dooney Portis was murdered, and their relationships with the deceased make them suspects.”

Viv blinked in surprise at his blunt speech. The detective glanced at her and then Andre, who also looked taken aback by the detective’s tactlessness. I knew he was thinking about the ghost and the curse, and I really hoped he didn’t say anything and make us sound like a bunch of ghost-hunting weirdos.

“How was he murdered?” I asked. I’d seen Dooney. The memory of finding him was burned in my brain. There were no bruises, no marks, no pool of blood, nothing. There had been nothing to indicate that he hadn’t just died of a brain aneurysm or something.

“I’m not at liberty to discuss the details,” Detective Stewart said. “But it has come to my attention that both Ms. Tremont and Mr. Eisel have a history with Mr. Portis.”

“History?” Andre cried. His voice was much higher than normal. “No, there’s no history with me and Dooney.”

“Didn’t you go to the same primary school?” Detective Stewart asked. He studied Andre closely.

“Well, yes, but—”

“And didn’t he bully you?”

Andre stopped walking and his jaw dropped. “How do you know this? Dooney didn’t even recognize me when I took his engagement photos.”

“Oh, yes, he did,” Detective Stewart said. “He told his bride-to-be that he had bullied you in school. In fact, it was why he insisted that you be their photographer. According to his fiancée, he was trying to make amends and he thought that being the photographer for the wedding of the year would be a way to do it.”

Andre looked as if the detective had just sucker punched him. I reached out and squeezed his arm in support.

“So, tell me, Mr. Eisel, were you here to exact revenge for the childhood torment he inflicted upon you?” He stepped forward and loomed over Andre, looking impressive with his overcoat billowing about him. “Did you murder Dooney Portis?”

“What? No! That’s mental,” Andre cried. “I would never.”

“He would never,” I seconded.

The detective stepped back. “Where were you during the cocktail party?”

“He was with us,” Viv said. “He escorted us from our rooms to the cocktail party and he was with us the entire time.”

The detective turned to her. His tone was gentler with Viv, naturally, as she had that uncanny ability to soften everyone—men, women, detectives.

“And what about you, Ms. Tremont?” he asked.

“What about me?” Viv met his gaze, looking bored.

“Is it true that you and Mr. Portis had a relationship?”