Murder at five finger light by Sue Henry Page B

I’m on my way to spend the next few days with friends on an island.”
    “Really?” Karen said brightly. “How fascinating. Tell me.”
    The question seemed defensively designed to focus the conversation on Jessie rather than herself and Jessie found that she felt somehow oddly reluctant to share her plans with this stranger. As she hesitated the waitress appeared suddenly with a second menu and glass of water. “Your dinner will be right up,” she told Jessie. “Or would you want to wait while your friend orders?”
    “Oh, please don’t.” Karen waved off the offered menu. “Whatever it is, it’ll be cold if you wait. What kind of soup do you have?”
    “It’s minestrone or clam chowder tonight.”
    “I’ll have a bowl of the minestrone, toast, and coffee, please.”
    She watched the waitress cross the room to the kitchen, then turned back to Jessie, renewing her simulated smile of interest. “Now, tell me all about your island. Is it close to Petersburg?”
    What harm? Jessie decided, wondering why she should feel disinclined to share. There was something about this woman that seemed slightly off-key, as if she were pretending to be something she was not, but maybe she was naturally nervous in getting to know new people.
    “Not really. It’s a very small island at the north end of Frederick Sound and has an historic lighthouse. And it isn’t mine. It belongs to friends of mine and I’m going to spend the rest of the week there with a volunteer renovation crew.”
    “Interesting. How do you get there, by boat?”
    “Yes. A friend is picking me up tomorrow, when he comes to town for roofing materials.”
    She had been watching Karen carefully as she spoke, noting that the woman’s attention still seemed a little scattered as she directed another glance or two toward the front door of the restaurant, as customers came and went through it. About half of the tables were full, but the place seemed to have a fairly steady flow of people, either sitting down for dinner or picking up take-out food. Though appearing to listen, Karen was evidently on the lookout for someone. Jessie wondered who—and why. But, if she was anticipating the arrival of someone else, why had the woman asked to sit with her?
    “Are you expecting someone?” she asked.
    “Oh—no,” Karen said almost too quickly, turning back. “Of course not.” But the bright interest faded from her face and was replaced by a guarded expression as she turned her head to look out the window at the public dock where a series of lamps on tall poles cast pools of light at regularly spaced intervals.
    “Is something wrong, Karen?” Jessie asked.
    “Not at all,” Karen denied, turning back with a smile that faltered and did not reach her eyes. She hesitated, then seemed to give in. “Oh hell—yes. Very wrong.”
    “What?”
    The waitress chose that moment to appear at their side with a tray, bearing the pasta, salad, and soup they had ordered. As she arranged their food on the table, Karen once again turned her head to stare out the window.
    When the waitress had gone, Jessie leaned forward over her plate and gave up all pretense of politeness.
    “Look, Karen. I don’t know anything about you, but it’s obvious that you followed and picked me as a sort of cover for some reason. If you’ve got trouble, don’t I at least deserve to know what’s going on? I won’t be part of anything I don’t understand. So you’d better tell me what it’s all about.”
    Surprised at Jessie’s straightforward demand, Karen faced her, eyes wide.
    “I’m sorry,” she said after a second or two of silence while Jessie waited. “I wanted to get to know you a little and see if you were someone I could trust.”
    “Trust about what?” Jessie countered. “If I don’t get answers, I can always move to another table.”
    Karen took a deep breath, put elbows on the table on each side of her soup bowl, laced her fingers together so the gnawed nails were