Model Suspect 3 by Carolyn Keene

job,” George said, glancing around the spotless sitting room. “Figures. A place like this doesn’t mess around.”
    Bess had wandered farther into the room. “As long as we’re here, I want to see what the honeymoon suite is—Hey! What’s that?”
    Taking note of the curious tone in her voice, Ihurried over to join her in the bedroom doorway. The bedroom was just as luxurious and spotless as the outer room. The only thing that seemed out of place was a sheet of paper lying on the bedspread.
    George was peering over our shoulders by now. “What’s the big deal?” she said. “Probably just a welcome note for the next set of honeymooners.”
    “Maybe.” But I doubted it. My heart was thumping. I have a sort of sixth sense about things sometimes—George likes to call it my hunch-o-meter. And it was going off now.
    I walked over and pushed aside the mosquito netting surrounding the bed. My eyes widened as soon as I got a clearer look at the paper.
    “It’s not a welcome note,” I said grimly, picking it up. “At least not the kind you meant.”
    It was an ordinary sheet of white paper. Someone had used a black marker to draw a bulbous shape that took up more than half the sheet. Written below the drawing in a rough scrawl were the words: M r S SEES & HEARS ALL .
    “Whoa!” George let out a low whistle as she took a look. “MrSilhouette strikes again!”
    “Looks that way.” I stared at the paper.
    Bess looked alarmed. “Is that drawing supposed to be his bald head?”
    “Must be,” George said. “But why’d he leave themessage here? Syd and Vic aren’t even coming back to this room.”
    “Maybe he doesn’t know that,” I suggested. “In which case, maybe he doesn’t see and hear quite as much as he thinks.”
    “But if he’s here at the resort, wouldn’t he have to know they’re in another cabin?” Bess pointed out. “Especially if he’s disguised as, like, a member of the crew or if it’s Akinyi and Jamal….”
    “Good question.” I frowned down at the paper, trying to puzzle out exactly what this meant. “Could he be hiding somewhere else on the island? Or maybe even doing things remotely from back in the U.S., maybe paying off locals to wreck the room and do the other stuff, or—”
    Bess was nodding with interest, but George had turned away, not seeming to be paying attention. “Hey,” she broke in, sniffing at the air. “Does anyone else smell smoke?”
    I hadn’t until that moment. But now that she mentioned it, I did. “Is that coming from outside?” I asked.
    Bess reached the bedroom doorway in two strides. Peering out into the main room, she gasped. “No!” she cried. “This place is on fire!“

BURNING QUESTIONS
     
    George and I raced over and saw that she was right. Fingers of flame were licking at the fabric shades on a couple of the windows, and the sofa and one of the wicker chairs were already fully engulfed. “Hurry!” I yelled, coughing from the thickening smoke. “Let’s get out of here!”
    Bess led the way to the door. It was closed. When she yanked on it, it didn’t budge.
    “It’s locked!” she cried.
    “It can’t be. Let me try.” George pushed past her and grabbed the knob, pushing and pulling at it desperately. “No way! Now what?”
    I was already scanning around. The fire was growingwith every passing second—we didn’t have much time to find a way out. As soon as the flames reached the dry thatched roof, the whole place would become a deadly fireball.
    “Check the windows!” I choked out, doing my best to cover my nose and mouth with the neck of my T-shirt.
    I ran over to the closest one that wasn’t aflame. Scrabbling past the shade, I found a metal screen attached firmly to the sturdy wooden frame. My first attempt to punch through it left me with nothing but scraped knuckles to show for it. Holding my breath, I leaned forward to try to see if there was an easy way to unlatch it. My heart sank as I saw that it appeared to be