Speaking in a low voice one would use to calm an anxious animal, Locke told her the time the 911 call had come in and the approximate location of where the body had washed ashore.

“Where the pier is?” she said. “That’s near the marina where Elaine’s yacht is moored.”

“It left the marina a little after seven this evening.”

“She took it out alone?”

“Would that be unusual?”

“Yes. She was adept at piloting it, but conscientious and careful. It wouldn’t be like her to take it out on a night like tonight, especially by herself. Maybe she loaned it to someone. Or it could have been stolen.”

“Mrs. Conner was onboard. Investigators have talked to several people who corroborate having seen her on deck.”

“Investigators?” She looked at Menundez, whose expression remained disturbingly impassive, then came back to Locke. “Do you think the woman found on the beach was the victim of a crime?”

“We don’t know yet. Several agencies are looking into it. Isle of Palms PD called us in to assist. A Coast Guard patrol discovered the dinghy.”

“Dinghy?”

He told her that it had been found capsized.

“That makes no sense. Why in the world would Elaine get into the dinghy, after dark, in this weather?”

“Questions we’d like answered,” he said.

They seemed to expect her to provide the answers. “There must have been an emergency onboard. Did Elaine call in an SOS or send some kind of distress signal?”

“No, ma’am.”

“That yacht is equipped with state-of-the-art technology. She’s bragged to me about it. At the first sign of trouble, she would have sent out an alert.” Locke just looked back at her, saying nothing. With emphasis, she said, “There must be a mistake. It can’t be her. Who discovered the body?” Locke told her. “Oh. How awful for the little boy.”

“When his dad realized what it was, he made sure the kid didn’t see it.”

She tried to connect Elaine and her effervescent personality to a lifeless body washed ashore. It was impossible. “I don’t believe it’s Elaine.”

Locke gave her a nod that could have been interpreted any number of ways, but she interpreted it to mean that he disagreed.

They all heard the beep signaling that the email had come in. Menundez opened the cover on his iPad, accessed his email, then gave Locke a nod.

Locke turned to her. “Can you give it a look?”

Talia tried to distance herself from the surreal situation, to withdraw emotionally, to become an observer rather than a participant, believing that watching from outside herself was the only way she would get through this.

“Do I need to prepare myself for what I’m about to see?”

“Are you asking if the face is disfigured?”

“Yes, that’s what I’m asking.”

“No. No blood, nothing like that.”

She took a deep breath, then nodded, and Menundez held the tablet out to where she could see the screen.

The face as captured by the sketch artist showed no signs of trauma. But it was definitely a rendition of Elaine’s face without her vitality and animation.

The detectives must have known from her reaction what the answer was, but Locke asked quietly, “Is that Elaine Conner?”

Talia nodded, spoke a raspy yes, then said, “Excuse me, please.” She didn’t wait for permission.

She went into the powder room, the nearest bathroom, and bent over the toilet. She retched. Hard. Repeatedly. But she hadn’t eaten since breakfast, so nothing came up. The bout left her feeling wrung out and trembly.

She cupped water from the faucet with her hand and rinsed her mouth out, then used a guest towel to bathe her face with cold water. She raked back her hair with her fingers, then rejoined the detectives.

Locke said, “Can we get you something, Mrs. Ford? A drink of water?”

She understood then that their business with her wasn’t finished. They weren’t offering condolences and bowing out with an apology for having ruined her night. They had come to her with questions that needed answers.

She wanted to cover her head and weep over the loss of her friend with the infectious laugh and joie de vivre. Instead, she wearily offered the detectives coffee.

“Coffee would be good,” Locke said.

“Coffee, thanks,” Menundez said.

She led them into the kitchen, then stood before the elaborate coffeemaker and stared at it, dazed, as though it were the control panel on a NASA spaceship. She couldn’t remember which buttons to push or in what sequence.

Noticing, Menundez stepped in. “I have one like it. Allow me?”

“Thank you.” He took over for her. Maybe he wasn’t an automaton after all.

She put a kettle on the stove to boil water for tea for herself, then sent Jasper a text asking him to call her as soon as possible. When she saw Locke looking at her quizzically, she said, “I texted Jasper.”

“Have you heard from him?”

“No, but I didn’t expect to. We had a late dinner reservation.”

Simultaneously she and the detective looked at the clock on the microwave. It was almost eleven-thirty. “If he doesn’t call soon, I’ll try to reach him through the hotel switchboard. He’ll be very upset. Elaine was his friend, too.”

“Yes, mutual friends told us that they had drinks together yesterday at the country club.”

“And stayed for dinner.” Although she had voiced her suspicion of an affair to Jasper, she felt a need now to set the record straight: Their date yesterday hadn’t been behind her back. “I didn’t feel well last evening. Rather than join them, I stayed in and slept through dinner.”

Locke nodded thanks to his partner, who had passed him a cup of coffee. He blew across the top of it. “Why didn’t you go to Atlanta? Was it a business trip for Mr. Ford?”

“No. He’s retired.” Becoming increasingly uncomfortable with the tenor of his questions, she turned her back to him, opened a cabinet, and took down a box of chamomile tea. “The trip was to have been a getaway. I made it as far as the airport, then began feeling queasy. I begged off but insisted that Jasper go ahead without me. It’s a new hotel. Jasper is a gourmet. He looked forward to trying out the chef.”

“What new hotel?”

“The Lotus.”

Menundez left his freshly brewed cup of coffee on the counter, stepped out of the kitchen into the dining room, and got on his cell phone.

“Did you get over it?”

Talia had watched the other detective leave and could now hear him speaking quietly into his phone. She turned back to Locke. “Pardon?”

“The queasiness.”

“It comes and goes.”

“Nothing serious, I hope.”

She shook her head. “I had some dental work done yesterday morning. The prescribed pain pills must not have agreed with me.”

“You were sleeping them off last night while your husband and Mrs. Conner were at the country club.”

“I thought I had slept them off. I guess I didn’t. The upset recurred today.”

Locke set his unfinished coffee on the table. “Do you have an explanation for the house alarm going off this afternoon?”