"Why on earth would someone sneak in here and unroll a ratty old bearskin in front of Resnick's bedroom fireplace?"
"Bloodstains on the other rug?" Michael suggested. "Maybe he wasn't killed outside; perhaps he was killed here and then the murderer replaced the bloodstained rug with the bearskin."
"It's possible," I said. "But I think it's more likely that Resnick did it himself. Shortly before he died, which would account for the wet leaves under it."
"And why would he do that?" Michael asked.
"To make Dad jealous," I said. "We know the bearskin rug hasn't been here all that long. How long has that picture been in the entryway?"
"Possibly as long as the house has been here. How many people brave the shotgun blasts to visit him?"
"Yes, but he had to have workmen, delivery people. I'm sure if it had been there any time at all, someone in the village would have seen it, and they would have said something about it by now. Mrs. Fenniman practically broadcast the news that Resnick was Mother's beau before Dad came along, and I'm sure other people know about it."
"But would they recognize who it was?" Michael said. "No offense; your mother's in wonderful shape for a woman her age, but would anyone really recognize her in the picture?"
"A stranger wouldn't, but at least a dozen people on the island right now knew her then. Maybe more. And that's not counting anyone who's leafed through Aunt Phoebe's photo albums; she's always dragging them out at parties."
"Well, that's true," Michael admitted. "They'd know it was a Hollingworth, at any rate."
"I bet he put it there deliberately, to make sure someone saw it and spread the word," I said. "Heck, maybe he planned to invite Mother and Dad for dinner and hope the sparks flew."
"There's another possibility," Michael said. "Maybe he wanted to stir up another kind of spark."
"What do you mean?"
"What if he planned to invite just your mother over? Show her the picture, claim he'd kept that ratty old bearskin all these years as a souvenir, and try to rekindle their romance?"
"I'm sure Mother has more sense," I said.
"Yes, but did Resnick?"
I pondered it for a while and sighed.
"I wish we wouldn't keep finding evidence that points at members of my family."
"Cheer up," Michael said. "Let's go through Resnick's desk. We're probably already on the hook for trespassing and interfering with a murder investigation; let's not stop before we find something useful."
"We're just making sure nothing's getting damaged," I repeated.
"Or we could always pretend we were taking advantage of the empty house to get a little privacy in which to… misbehave."
"You think they'd believe that?"
"They will if we show them that sunken tub," Michael said, quirking one eyebrow. "If the town decides to raze the house, do you suppose they'd give us the tub?"
"I'm not sure it would survive the move," I said.
"True. In fact, it may not have survived the hurricane," he said. "Perhaps we should check it out."
"Maybe later," I said, "when we've finished burgling."
"And when you're feeling less frantic about clearing your father," Michael said with a sigh. "Just a thought."
"Well, hold the thought, but let's worry about the desk for now."
Chapter 20
The Puffin Who Liked to Quote Kipling
Michael led the way back to the living room and pointed at Resnick's desk.
"Good work," I said. "I'd overlooked it somehow."
"Overlooked it?" Michael said, staring at the huge antique rolltop desk. "How could you overlook that thing? It's over five feet tall."
"I'm afraid my idea of a desk is a mound of papers with legs sticking out from under it," I said. "I never imagined that anything that tidy could be a working desk."
"You're describing your own desk, aren't you?" Michael said.
" 'Fraid so."
"And yet I'll bet you're going to say that, despite its messy appearance, you can find any piece of paper you need in five minutes."
"Are you kidding? Five days, working full-time, and that's if I'm lucky. Now that's more like it," I said as we rolled up the top, revealing a desktop computer and a reasonably promising quantity of paper. "A little too tidy for my taste, but at least there are signs of life here."
"Luckily, the desk is awfully close to that cracked window," Michael said. "See, it's getting wet already."
"I don't suppose we could possibly hit the desk," I said.