A rooster's racket dragged Miller's eyes open and he squinted once again into the blast of early morning sunshine filling his room. He pulled his sheet over his head and thought with a touch of irony how the building he was staying in was so aptly described. Brighthouse might even be better. The image of Billy, glimmering in the moonlight, as she slapped him in her role as resort representative in charge of saps pestered his mind.

The thought gave him a headache. The rooster crowed again and he tossed the sheet back in disgust and checked his travel alarm. Six-thirty. How bloody considerate, he muttered, climbing out of the bed and looking at his clothes from the previous evening all heaped over the two chairs.

Reluctantly, he gathered them up and hand pressed the creases out before hanging them carefully in the wardrobe. The water sputtered and spit then settled into a weak stream in which he washed and shaved and after choosing some shorts, a t-shirt and his sand-crusted sandals, brushed his hair and climbed down to the ground floor. It was about time he began getting something out of his damned vacation. Today he decided he would walk to the restaurant and give himself a private, unhurried tour.

The sun was warm on his head and shoulders and he smiled thankfully up at the sky as he picked his way down the road track and through the forest of palm species, bougainvilleas in a blaze of colours and many plants and shrubs he had never imagined. A narrow path broke off to the ocean side of the track and he paused, wondering if it might lead to the beach.

Hoping it might be a shortcut Miller boldly stepped into the unknown, whistling. The path twisted around rough rock surfaces and more plants and shrubs, some less friendly than others. His legs were getting scraped and one particularly ugly growth drew blood.

Just when he began regretting his choice the path ended on a shallow bluff overlooking the ocean and below was the end of the resort beach with a few early birds setting up towels and chairs. He recognized the steps below and off to his left as those leading to the Fonda Anita. He tried working his way down the slope, finding a foot purchase increasingly difficult and finally finished with an uncontrolled run to the beach where he crashed in the sand, plowing up a large dune with his outstretched arms.

"That was kinda dumb, mister." The young voice caused him to turn as he stood up, brushing sand off his clothes and out of his hair and he saw the boy from the plane whose father had threatened him.

"Accidents happen, sonny." Miller half snarled. He dug himself out and started away when another voice stopped him and he turned again, this time to watch the irate father slogging through the sand, carrying a child's surfboard and wearing a large pair of goggles on top of his head.

"I warned you once, pal, about messing with my kids." His face was burned a bright pink and the circles around his eyes stood out like white poker chips.

"Excuse me?" Miller put his hands on his hips.

"You heard me." He dropped the board and gathered the boy close to his side.

"Actually . . . sir, your son made a rude comment to me because I happened to fall in the sand, otherwise I wouldn't have anything to do with the little- with him."

"Yeah? Well I don't want you around him at all so just buzz off."

"Oh, this is your beach is it? Well you might hang that little creep up as a sign indicating such."

He turned and marched through the sand with as much dignity as possible, ignoring the harangue following his passage. He reached the steps to the dining room and stopped to empty the sand from his shoes and then went right up and into the Fonda Anita.

Anita de la Gonango el Nutrado stood at the entrance with her arms folded watching Miller approach.

"Buenos dias, senorita," Miller greeted her. "I have come for breakfast." They faced off, eyes locked.

"I believe I told you the other day, senor, no breakfast chits are accepted here."

"Really. Well if you'll be kind enough to let me use that phone I'll get Carlos on the line and we'll see if chits are accepted for breakfast." The sentence finished through clenched teeth and the manager wavered then agreed. The call wouldn't be necessary. Would the senor like a window seat? Clenched teeth back at him.

Miller pointed out his order on the menu to a pleasant young lady dressed in a traditional costume of off the shoulder peasant blouse and a bright, flared skirt. She poured him some water and left him to gaze out at the ocean. Every damn time I start something it goes to crap!

His mood lifted only slightly when his breakfast came but he found he was starving and he dug in with gusto, adding another serving of the crisp bacon to his bill. Sated and enjoying a coffee sans milk-Billy had been right-he was surprised when Anita arrived at his table with a pair of uniformed policemen-her face the definition of smug.

"Senor Miller Hunt?" The shorter of the two asked briskly.

"Si. Yes. What's this about?"

"You will accompany us, senor."

"Oh for God's sake." He looked to the manager who backed away, hands clasped in determination. "Is this because I insisted on a breakfast chit?

"Senor?" The other policeman took his arm. "Por favor."

Before he could object again, Miller recognized the security manager, Charles as he approached and with a brief, vain protest, Miller stood woodenly and allowed himself to be led out of the dining room.

********

The large office was filled with people. Carlos had surrendered his desk to a stiff looking, small man with a wire-line for a moustache even thinner than Carlos', matching eyeglasses and a uniform that looked so crisp it would leave crumbs if you touched it. Billy sat off to one side with Mendoza and another young man in a waiter's uniform.

Four staff members sat on an adjacent sofa and standing at intervals about the room, several uniformed police. Carlos smiled grimly as Miller entered and was ushered to a chair in front of the huge desk. He noticed that there were no other guests present just staff; management, police and him.

"Senor Hunt." The statement sounded ominously sharp. "I am Captain Eduardo Warez of the District of La Loma Investigation Office. I am conducting interviews with respect to the death of one, Senor Winston Graves." The glasses came off and Miller stared hard at the black eyes meeting his.

"Huh?"

"You had an altercation with Senor Graves on the resort patio last night."

"Uh yeah . . . I- I got some of my drink on his jacket accidentally. He's dead?" Miller looked around to Billy, helplessly.

"Address your attention to me, Senor Hunt, if you please."

"What? That's it. That's all I know."

"You left the party but you did not go to your room."

"So?"

"Senor Hunt, it would be wise of you to cooperate with this interview here at the resort. I can assure you that if we have to take it to la comisaria, you will not be very happy."

"I went for a walk on the beach. I sat on the dock and just- I just watched the ocean."

"And did you speak with anyone?" Miller didn't know what, if anything, Billy had said and he took longer than necessary to answer. "Senor Hunt." The voice grew sharper.

"Miss Estrada wandered on to the dock a little later. We had a couple of words and she left."

"What words, exactly?"

"She ah- she just asked if I was okay. She was with Graves when I spilled my drink."

"And you said fine and she just left."

"Yes."

The Captain made a few notes on a large pad and sat back again. "Then what did you do?"

"I found what'shisname, Miguel, the driver and got a lift back to the lighthouse where I'm staying."

"So there is no one to verify whether or not you remained there for the night?"

"Sorry, no. It's the resort's exclusive accommodation for guests who can't be easily noticed."

Warez looked at Carlos. "Senor?"

"Senor Hunt is upset because we had to move him . . ." There was a huge shrug. "He feels that we have been taking his advantage."

"Is this so, senor?"

Miller made a face. "Taking advantage. Scammed. Tricked. Pushed around. Fooled. Take your pick."

Carlos stepped forward, hands extended in supplication. "I can explain, Captain. It is all a simple error of reservations." He shrugged and smiled, stepping back.

"So, Senor Hunt, you are not pleased with your treatment here at the resort. You assault an eminent guest and you have no support for your alibi."

"You are joking. Alibi? Why do I need an alibi? I went to my room and slept until some mangy rooster woke me up this morning."

"Ah yes. And then you had an altercation on the beach with a young boy and his father-a second altercation with that family since your arrival."

Miller laughed uneasily. "This is nuts. I fell on the sand and the kid called me stupid then his old man came running over and threatened me! I brushed him off and went to breakfast."

"And there you proceeded to bully the dining room manager, Senorita Anita de la Gonango el Nutrado."

"I didn't bully her! I was told by him," Miller pointed at Carlos, "that I could use chits for my meals-a sop for living in that wreck of a lighthouse for my vacation. She said no and I said I would call him. She backed down and then your guys arrived."

"Your record of behaviour since arriving here is one of much interest, Senor Hunt. We will be speaking again I am certain."

"So can I go?"

"You will sit over there until this interview is finished." Captain Warez pointed the sofa seat beside Billy.

Miller sat down without speaking and stayed that way until Captain Warez declared his interview over and gave instructions for all in attendance to remain available at all times to his men. The police filed out and the rest followed like sheep. At the door, Helen spoke to Billy and then offered her sympathy to Miller, assuring him that things would work out in the end. Miller muttered a doubtful agreement.