We were back at the bungalow.
Just two college chums and their annoying new friend, all supposedly catching up - and most definitely not talking about murder.
Supposedly.
"You think they bought it?" asked Allison.
"Hard to say," said Tara. She'd brought a bottle of wine with her, of which we were all partaking. Some of us more vigorously than others.
"I think they bought it," said Allison, pouring herself yet another glass of wine.
"Tell me more about Edwin," I said to Tara.
"He's Junior's only son."
"Your cousin," I said.
"Right." Outside, rain slapped against the bungalow's windows. Tree branches groaned overhead, as the bungalows were closer to the surrounding forest. "He was never much interested in the family's business."
"But I bet he's interested in the family money," said Allison, laughing. "Oops, sorry. Was that inappropriate?"
"No," said Tara. "Of course not. You guys are here to find answers to my grandfather's death. I'm not sure, at this point, if anything could be inappropriate, or if I would even care. And to answer your question...I'm not so sure about his desire for money."
"What do you mean?" I asked.
"He lives fairly simply. In fact, he often lives here."
"Living here isn't living simply," said Allison.
"True, but even while he's here, he lives simply. In fact, he prefers sleeping in the basement. On a cot, of all things."
"He's here a lot?" I asked.
"Often. In fact, he's rarely not here."
"What does he do here?"