“Like to see the picture of a murderer?”
Miss Marple’s nephew was very kind to send her to the West Indies. And it’s very pleasant to sit on the beach, beneath swaying palms. But isn’t it maybe just a tiny bit…dull?
Even when a fellow guest’s stories turn to murder, her attention wanders. Something about a man whose wife died after a previous suicide attempt; very sad, except that it had happened to him before, under another name. Major Palgrave even has a photograph of the man. Then he catches sight of someone over Miss Marple’s shoulder and hastily changes the subject, shoving the unseen snapshot back into his wallet.
Miss Marple wouldn’t have thought anything of it. Except that Major Palgrave dies that night. And the photograph has disappeared.