Die Again (Rizzoli & Isles, #11)(52)

Not even Richard is what he implies, although he doesn’t say it. Does he really think that Richard’s to blame for what’s happened? Or is this part of Johnny’s game to divide and conquer, by planting the seeds of suspicion?

Already the seeds are taking root.

Later, as I lie beside Keiko in her tent, I think about all the evenings when Richard came home late. Out with his literary agent, he’d tell me. Or dinner with his publishing team. My biggest fear used to be that he was having a fling with another woman. Now I wonder if I suffered from a lack of imagination and his reasons were darker, more horrifying than mere infidelity.

Outside the tent, the nightly chorus of insects sings as predators circle our camp, held off only by the fire. And by a lone man with a gun.

Johnny wants me to trust him. Johnny promises he’ll keep us safe.

That’s what I cling to as I finally fall asleep. Johnny says we’ll live through this and I believe him.

Until daybreak, when everything changes.

THIS TIME, IT’S ELLIOT who’s screaming. His panicked yelps of Oh my God! Oh my God! wrench me awake and toss me back into the nightmare of real life. Keiko’s gone, and I’m alone in the tent. I don’t even bother to struggle into my trousers, but roll out of my tent in T-shirt and underwear, pausing only to shove bare feet into boots.

The whole camp is awake and everyone has converged on Elliot’s tent. The blondes cling to each other, their hair greasy and disheveled, their legs bare in the chill dawn. Like me, they’d rushed out of their tents in only their underwear. Keiko’s still wearing pajamas, her feet clad in tiny Japanese sandals. Only Richard is fully dressed. He stands gripping Elliot’s shoulders, trying to calm him down, but Elliot keeps shaking his head, blubbering.

“It’s gone,” says Richard. “It’s not there anymore.”

“It could be hiding in my clothes! Or in the blankets.”

“I’ll look again, okay? But I didn’t see it.”

“What if there’s another one in there?”

“Another what?” I ask.

They all turn to look at me and I see wariness in their eyes. I’m the one no one trusts, because I threw in my lot with the enemy.

“A snake,” says Sylvia, and she hugs herself, shivering. “Somehow it got into Elliot’s tent.”

I glance down at the ground, half expecting to see a serpent slither toward my boots. In this land of spiders and biting insects, I’ve learned never to walk barefoot.

“It was hissing at me,” says Elliot. “That’s what woke me up. I opened my eyes and it was right there, coiled on top of my legs. I thought for certain …” He wipes a trembling hand across his face. “Oh God. We’re not going to make it another week!”

“Elliot, stop,” Richard commands.

“How can I sleep after this? How can any of you sleep, when you don’t know what might be crawling into your bed?”

“It was a puff adder,” says Johnny. “That would be my guess.”

Once again, he’s managed to startle me with his silent approach. I turn and see him toss wood into the dying fire.

“You saw the snake?” I ask.

“No. But Elliot said it hissed at him.” Johnny moves toward us, carrying the ever-present rifle. “Was it yellow-brown? Speckled, with a triangular head?” he asks Elliot.

“It was a snake, that’s all I know! You think I bothered to ask its name?”

“Puff adders are common out here in the bush. We’ll probably see more of them.”

“How poisonous are they?” Richard asks.

“Left untreated, the venom can be fatal. But if it makes you feel any better, their bites are often dry and carry no venom at all. It probably just crawled into Elliot’s bed to get warm. That’s what reptiles do.” He looks around at us. “That’s why I warned you all to keep your tents zipped up.”

“It was zipped up,” Elliot says.

“Then how did it get into your tent?”

“You know how freaked out I am about malaria. I always zip up to keep the mosquitoes out. I didn’t think a f*cking snake could get inside!”

“It could have gotten in during the day,” I suggest. “While you weren’t in the tent.”

“I’m telling you, I never leave it unzipped. Even during the day.”

Without a word, Johnny circles to the other side of Elliot’s tent. Is he searching for the snake? Does he think it’s still lurking somewhere under the canvas, waiting for another chance to invade? Suddenly Johnny drops down where we can’t see him. The silence is unbearable.

Sylvia calls out in an unsteady voice: “Is the snake still there?”

Johnny doesn’t answer. He rises to his feet and when I see his expression, my hands turn to ice.

“What is it?” Sylvia asks. “What is it?”

“Come see this for yourselves,” he says quietly.

Almost hidden by scrubby grass, the slit runs along the lower edge of the tent. Not a mere rip, this is a clean, straight cut in the canvas, and the significance is instantly clear to us all.

Elliot looks around at us in disbelief. “Who did this? Who the hell cut open my tent?”

“You all have knives,” points out Johnny. “Anyone could have done it.”