The Lion's Den(92)

She shakes her head emphatically. “If you heard arguing, it was all of us telling her to get off the railing, that she was going to fall in, and her refusing to.”

I hold my hands up. “Okay.”

“Now I really do have to get to sleep. Good night.”

“Good night,” I say. But she’s already closed the door.

Back in my room, I stare at Amythest’s empty bed, wondering what to do. My gaze lands on a pair of earrings on the bedside table, and suddenly I have an idea. I rummage in my jewelry bag and come up with an earring, the size and shape of which allows me to jam the lock on the door so that I can’t be locked in—one of the many tricks I learned acting in the kind of second-rate horror movies where girls get locked in rooms, a tool I never expected to have to use in my real life.

I perch on the edge of the bed, my head spinning. Wendy certainly doesn’t seem like she’s secretly waiting to tell the cops that she saw Summer shove Amythest into the water.

Which means either it didn’t happen and I’m just being paranoid, or she and all of the other girls are covering for Summer.

Rhonda would cover for Summer in a heartbeat. Summer’s her daughter and also her meal ticket, so it’s a no-brainer. Brittani has a big mouth, but she also has no moral compass and, despite her shit-talking, she worships the ground her sister walks on. Also, John got her into college and she’s clearly banking on him paying for it, so she would definitely cover for her sister.

Wendy and Claire are the wild cards.

Wendy may be a flake, but I don’t think she’s a bad person. Sure, she’s out for herself, but at the end of the day, aren’t we all? And the fact that she won’t go out of her way for anyone leads me to believe that she wouldn’t cover up a murder for someone. I check myself. It’s not true that Wendy won’t go out of her way for anyone; she won’t go out of her way for me, but I have nothing to offer her. I have no jet. I have no yacht. I have no key that opens doors to the rich and famous. Summer does. Nevertheless, Wendy’s never been cold to me until today, which makes me think Summer must’ve said something to her in my absence, perhaps forced her to choose a side. And the way Wendy acted toward me just now would seem to suggest that she’s chosen her side and has every intention of covering for Summer.

Claire, on the other hand, is a good girl, a wilting flower. She goes to church and doesn’t make waves. She’s not interested in being a part of this world…but she’s loyal to Wendy. She does have a moral compass and I think she’d want to do the right thing, but would she have the balls to speak up if no one else did? Doubtful.

I’m slowly coming to the terrible conclusion that if I don’t come up with some kind of evidence to support my theory before I leave this boat, there will be no investigation into Amythest’s death. It will be swept under the rug the same way Eric’s was.

Oh, Amythest, why did you have to be so hardheaded?

Maybe there is something I missed on the deck where she fell, some proof of what really happened. I close my eyes and picture the scene: the shattered glass, the spilled wine, Amythest’s broken nail…the nail. Summer had that scratch on her shoulder. Could the shred of red nail I saw on the deck have Summer’s DNA on it? Damn it, I should have picked it up, but maybe it’s still there.

I know I’m not supposed to leave my room, but what’s the worst they can do to me if they catch me? I don’t think they’ll risk killing off two of us in one night, and I’m being sent home tomorrow morning anyway.

But first…First I need to contact the outside world. Let someone not on this boat know what’s going on. In case something happens to me. Oh God, I can’t think like that.

I’ll have to sneak upstairs to use the hardwired computer, which of course means my email will be read, so I can’t say too much. Just enough to cast doubt if anything were to…

I take a deep breath and quietly poke my head into the empty hallway. Before I have time to second-guess myself, I slip out and press open the entry to the crew quarters. To my relief, the doors to all their bedrooms are shut and no one is out. It occurs to me to wonder if they get locked in, too. Surely not? But I can’t risk checking.

I quickly move down the hall and up the stairs, all the way to the second landing, where I press my ear to the door marked UPPER DECK. I can’t hear anything. I push it open a crack. Silence.

I edge into the darkened hallway and press my body against the wall, my breath shallow. A light shines through the crack beneath the door to the bridge. I look up to see a camera directly over my head. I have to bank on the assumption that either the cameras have been disconnected to cover up tonight’s events, or at this hour no one’s watching.

The living room is lit only by the starlight through the windows and the glowing green of the EXIT signs above the doors. I tiptoe past John’s portrait and take a seat at the computer. When I click the mouse, the screen comes to life with blinding brilliance. I quickly turn the brightness down to its lowest setting and log in to my email.

I have new messages, but I don’t dare open them in case someone is watching my screen. I compose a new message at the speed of light, hyperaware that at any moment someone could walk in:

Hi Sis,

Amythest has gone overboard, probably dead. Summer says it was an accident, that she fell in. Coast guard came briefly but left after speaking to John. She was wearing my watch, and my computer and phone are gone so I’m writing from the boat computer. I was being sent home tomorrow, not sure if that will change now. In other news, I had the sea urchin tonight, and it was everything you said it would be.