Die Again (Rizzoli & Isles, #11)(35)

In the morning, I wake up to birdsong. For once there are no screams, no shouts of alarm, just the sweet melodies of dawn. Outside, the four members of Team Richard are huddled together at the campfire, sipping coffee. Johnny sits by himself under a tree. Exhaustion seems to drip off his shoulders, and his head bobs forward as he tries to fight off sleep. I want to go to him, to massage away his weariness, but the others are watching me. I join their circle instead.

“How’s Keiko doing?” Elliot asks me.

“Still asleep. She was quiet all night.” I pour myself coffee. “I’m glad to see we’re all alive this morning.” My quip is in poor taste, and I regret it as soon as the words are out of my mouth.

“I wonder if he’s glad about it,” Richard mutters, glancing at Johnny.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I just find it strange, how everything’s gone so wrong. First Clarence gets killed. Then Isao. And the truck—how the hell does a truck just go dead like that?”

“You blame Johnny?”

Richard looks around at the other three, and I suddenly understand that he’s not the only one who thinks Johnny’s at fault. Is this why they’ve been huddling together? Exchanging theories, feeding their paranoia?

I shake my head. “This is ridiculous.”

“Of course that’s what she’d say,” Vivian mutters. “I told you she would.”

“Meaning what?”

“It’s obvious to everyone that you’re Johnny’s favorite. I knew you’d stand up for him.”

“He doesn’t need anyone to stand up for him. He’s the one keeping us alive.”

“Is he?” Vivian glances warily in Johnny’s direction. He’s too far away to hear us, but she drops her voice anyway. “Are you sure of that?”

This is absurd. I search their faces, wondering who started this whispering campaign. “You’re going to tell me Johnny killed Isao and dragged him up that tree? Or maybe he just delivered him to the leopard and let her take it from there?”

“What do we really know about him, Millie?” Elliot asks.

“Oh God. Not you, too.”

“I gotta tell you, the things they’re saying …” Elliot looks over his shoulder and even though he whispers, I can hear his panic. “It’s freaking me out.”

“Think about it,” says Richard. “How did we all end up on this safari?”

I glare at him. “The only reason I’m here is because of you. You wanted your African adventure, and now you’ve got it. Is it not measuring up? Or has it gotten too adventurous even for you?”

“We found him on the Internet,” says Sylvia, who has been silent up till now. I notice that her hands tremble around her coffee cup. Her grip is so unsteady she has to set the cup down to keep it from spilling. “Vivian and I, we wanted to do a camping trip in the bush, but we couldn’t afford to spend a lot. We found his website, Lost in Botswana.” She gives a half-hysterical laugh. “And so we are.”

“I tagged along with them,” Elliot says. “Sylvia and Viv and I, we’re sitting in a bar together in Cape Town. And they tell me about this fabulous safari they’re going on.”

“I’m so sorry, Elliot,” Sylvia says. “I’m sorry you ever met us in that bar. I’m sorry we talked you into coming.” She takes a shaky breath and her voice breaks. “God, I just want to go home.”

“The Matsunagas found this tour through the website, too,” says Vivian. “Isao told me he was looking for a true African experience. Not some tourist lodge, but a chance to really explore the bush.”

“That’s also how we ended up here,” Richard says. “That same f*cking website. Lost in Botswana.”

I remember the night Richard showed it to me on his computer. For days he’d been surfing the Web, drooling over images of safari lodges and tented camps and feasts spread across candlelit tables. I don’t remember why Lost in Botswana was the site he finally settled on. Perhaps it was the promise of an authentic experience. True wilderness, the way Hemingway would have lived it, although Hemingway was more likely just a convincing bullshitter. I had no part in planning this holiday; it was Richard’s choice, Richard’s dream. Now a nightmare.

“What are you all saying, that his website’s a fake?” I ask. “That he used it to lure us out here? Do you people even hear yourselves?”

“People come here from all around the world to hunt big game,” says Richard. “What if this time, we’re the game?”

If he’s angling for a reaction, he certainly gets one. Elliot looks as if he might throw up. Sylvia claps her hand over her mouth, as though to stifle a sob.

But I respond with a snort of derision. “You think Johnny Posthumus is hunting us? God, Richard, don’t turn this into one of your thrillers.”

“Johnny’s the one with the gun,” Richard says. “He holds all the power. If we don’t stick together, every single one of us, then we’re all dead.”

There it is. I hear it in his bitter voice. I see it in the wary looks they all give me. I’m the Judas in their midst, the one who’ll run to Johnny and tattletale. It’s all so ridiculous I should laugh, but I’m too f*cking angry. As I rise to my feet, I can scarcely keep my voice steady. “When this is over, when we’re all on that plane back to Maun next week, I’m going to remind you of this. And you’re all going to feel like idiots.”