Jessica's assurance hung in the air with a matching silence, until Parker grabbed their attention back, Parker addressed the group with a questioning dare.

"What the hell then, what say we all fess up. See if there is something we have in common. I'll start. Desdemona is a professional dancer on Broadway--"

"Get out!" Deborah sat up, lifting her big sunglasses for a better look and aiming her phone camera, as was Billy.

"It's off Broadway, actually." The sudden attention seemed embarrassing, and Des blushed.

"Don't be so defensive," Parker said. "She's always like that. When she saw her first strands of grey hair, she thought she'd dye."

"Parker, please?"

"Oh- hey, I just got that! That was funny, man." Miller grinned. "Are you a comedian?"

"Don't encourage him, please." Des begged. "You'll have to excuse him he's always practising his routine."

"So you're really a comedian?" Billy asked. "Is that hard work? I've always wondered."

"It can take its toll. Sometimes I wake up grumpy . . . other times I let her sleep."

"Parker!"

"Deb and I own a small hotel in the California desert." Gordon spoke up, spreading his hands in question.

"He's also the mayor of our little town." Deborah added.

"Really, that sounds cool. Make your own laws to suit?"

"I leave that to the council . . . and Deb." Gordon laughed when she swatted at him.

"Well Verna is the backbone of a very special diner in Toronto." Hart held up a hand when she shot him a look. "Beautiful, intelligent and addicted to turkey wraps."

"He's a questionable, private investigator." Verna shot back.

Desdemona fired a warning look at Parker.

He made a face and shrugged innocently. "I wasn't going to say anything."

"I can imagine. Just see that you don't."

"So you are Canadian, you two. You being a Mountie?" Verna hurried on.

Jessica nodded. "Western Canada originally. Jeff is from Toronto."

"Really? Where abouts?"

"The Beach. Born and bred and now retired" He smiled a reply.

"Somewhat." Hart added, repeating Jeff's earlier remark.

"What do you do, Billy?" Jeff asked.

"My father owns a resort in the Caribbean – Windy Palms. It's near the Mexican coast. I help out there in high season."

"Other than that, she's my lady of leisure and light of my life." Miller puffed proudly. I work in inventory control for a high-end shoe manufacturer."

Arny stated that he was an executive with an advertising firm, and Gretta was a revered, globe-trotting, treasure hunter, also operating out of Toronto. Scourge of the underground antiquity trade.

"Isn't he good," she smiled. "He writes jingles too."

A few questions followed, that Gretta fielded with aplomb, and directed the conversation back to Gordon's original question.

He nodded. "Doesn't look like jobs or location are a factor."

"Or being single couples." Parker added.

"Coincidence?" Miller wondered aloud.

"Well, it seems like we're all happy," Gretta grinned.

"Des and I were happy for years. Then we met."

"Parker, please?" Des sighed openly to the amused chuckles.

"Sorry, I don't often have a captive audience."

Billy looked across at Miller. "Don't even think of stealing that line."

"Ditto for you, Gordon." Deborah gave Billy a smug smile.

"Well when women are in charge--"

"Stow it, Parker!" Desdemona's glare worked wonders.

****

There was a further exchange, of hobbies and other interests, and current business that might offer clues, and then the group switched to admiring what they had seen of the resort. The breeze and the shade from the surrounding trees belied the punishing temperature in the sun, and soon conversation dwindled to one or two short remarks while each silently considered what they knew.

"Here comes our new guide. Guess it's time to go." Gretta stood and moved from under the canopy. The rest followed, moaning as they left the shade and crossed the lawn behind the stone-faced servant.

****

"Gee, this reminds me of our place." Gordon said sarcastically, as he sat on the giant king-sized bed and looked about the room. "We have a colour like this in number six."

"That paint probably cost more than the whole room . . . more than our whole hotel." Deborah strolled around touching furniture and feeling material. "Just look at this, Gordon." She parted a space between floor to ceiling opaque drapes and a vista of blue sea and cotton clouds appeared.

"That's it? The room is wide open to the outside? No doors or windows?"

"Seems so. Think I'll wear pyjamas to bed."

"I don't think I'll be able to sleep until I know what's going on."

"What do you think of the others?" She asked.

"Seem like an okay group. Parker's funny. Attractive women." Deborah's eyes turned to slits. "Of course you're a stand-out, Deb . . . uh, goes without saying."

She strolled back to the wardrobe and opened the doors, surprised to find her clothes had been unpacked and hung up.

"They went through our bags."

"They just unpacked them, Deb."

"Still, that's a little intrusive. I have personal things I prefer to keep that way."

"Anything I should know about?"

"You're starting to sound like that comedian."

A tiny bell rang and they both looked to the small speaker on the wall, listening to instructions for dinner, and inviting them to pass the rest of their free time exploring the resort.

"Thank god he didn't say formal dress. I never brought a tux, just my blazer."

"I'm sure you won't be noticed among all those attractive women."

"Deb . . ."

"I was joking, Gordon."