The crowd around the store was entranced. To my satisfaction, scattered applause greeted the conclusion of our reenactment.
"Notice anything?" I asked.
"Looked pretty authentic to me," Mamie said, sipping her coffee. "Pretty much as she described it."
"Exactly," I said. "So if they were struggling like that, how did she hit him on the back of the head? That's where the wound was; in fact, it was pretty far down the back of the head. I can manage the forehead--like this."
I tapped Michael on the forehead. Just at the hairline, where I remembered seeing the bruise on Resnick's face.
"I can even manage the top of the head," I continued, demonstrating.
"But there's no way I can manage the back of the head unless he turns his back to me. Her confession doesn't hold water."
"Then why'd she do it?" Mamie asked. "Confess, I mean."
"She probably feels guilty over having hit him on the head," I said. "She's had all night to stew about it; by this time, she probably really believes she killed him. You know my family; by tomorrow, she'll be convinced that she left him lying in a pool of blood with her stick stuck through his heart like a stake."
The nods and chuckles from the locals around the stove showed I'd hit home. I didn't mention the other possibility: that Aunt Phoebe might be covering for someone. Mamie and Jeb looked at each other.
"Go look at Resnick's wounds if you like," I offered. "I'm sure you'll see what I mean."
"No, no," Mamie said. "I mink you're right. We'll pass that along to the police."
"And another thing. Jeb, remember we told you Aunt Phoebe was going up to Resnick's. And you went dashing up in Fred Dickerman's truck, right?"
He nodded warily.
"So why didn't you see this supposed murder? You couldn't have gotten there before she did, or you'd have seen her come storming up a few minutes later. And if she really left him lying dead in the middle of the yard, you'd have found him there. But you found him alive, remember? And madder than a wet hen; I believe that was the expression you used. And according to Aunt Phoebe, she left him lying dead in his yard. So how did he end up floating in the tidal pool?"
"That's right," Jeb said. "Guess it's not her after all."
"No problem," one of the locals said. "Not as if they have to look far for a suspect."
Murmurs of agreement followed this statement, and I could see my worst fears coming true. By the time the police arrived, the locals would have Dad tried and convicted in the court of public opinion.
Of course, at the moment, they were doing it in absentia, which reminded me of my real mission, now that we'd defused Aunt Phoebe's confession.
"By the way," I began, but before I could get much further, the door burst open, letting in another blast of wind and water. We all turned to see who was coming in.
"Dad!" I cried, and ran over to hug the wet, bedraggled figure staggering into the store. I felt as if someone had just lifted an enormous weight from my shoulders, and I heard Michael sigh with relief.
Dad was covered with mud and had bits of leaves and twigs stuck in his eyebrows and clinging all over his clothes. The bandage was half off his head, and the gash had opened up again.
"Meg!" he said. "And Michael! I thought I saw you two in here. What are you doing out in the storm?"
"Never mind that; where have you been?" I asked.
"I got lost and had to spend the night under a bush on the far side of the island," he announced, as if he'd managed to pull off something clever. "Did you miss me?"
"You have no idea," I muttered.
"Meg, you should have seen what it was like, watching the hurricane hit!" he cried, waving his arms as if trying to imitate a gale-force wind. "It was awe-inspiring! Invigorating! Absolutely breathtaking! I feel reborn!"
"That's nice," I said. "Now come down to earth for a while; a lot of things have happened while you were out being reborn."
"Was anyone hurt?" Dad asked, no doubt sensing my serious mood.
"Victor Resnick's dead," I said.
"Oh dear," Dad said "I suppose I should take that as a lesson. I've been so busy enjoying the hurricane, I haven't stopped to think that it can be deadly as well as beautiful."
"Well, actually--" Jeb began.
"And now I shall always regret having parted on unfriendly terms with him," Dad went on.
"Parted on unfriendly terms?" I said while the rest goggled.
"Yes, I ran into him on my way to Green Point," Dad said. "I couldn't understand why he kept trying to invite me in for a drink. I'm afraid I treated him rather rudely. Never liked him much, actually; and I was in no mood to waste time on him when I could be watching the hurricane. Ironic, isn't it?"