He closed his eyes, then canted his head. “And then my mother and father, and now Phillip … everyone I love … they’re all gone.” He opened his eyes and stared at the closed freezer door. “If it weren’t for William, we wouldn’t be standing here right now.”
I knelt to clean up the fallen strawberries. “What do you mean?”
“I was introduced to money once we received payments from William’s life insurance policy.” Wallace stooped to help me clean the mess. “After that, grief drove my parents to drink and to fight until their deaths, and I received checks after they’d passed. And I saved and I saved and I bought my first piece of land, and then…” His gaze shifted from the berries in his hands to the freezer door. “Not a day goes by when I don’t think about William.”
“Wallace, I’m so sorry—”
He flicked his hand at my condolence like it was lint on his slacks. “Enough melancholy.”
We tossed the berries into the trash can, then washed our sticky hands.
Hungry, I pulled the platter of asparagus closer to me.
Wallace peered at me but didn’t speak.
I said, “What?”
“Close call, wouldn’t you say?”
I didn’t respond as I plucked an asparagus stalk from the pile.
“No comment?”
I shrugged, then crunched the head off an asparagus stalk.
“Guess the Fates will have to try again.”
“Are you always this mean?”
“Dearest, I’m from New Jersey. In other words—” His eyes moved past me.
Raspy breathing. The near-silent gnawing of fingers against wool.
I turned to see Evelyn standing in the short hallway between the dining room and kitchen, twisting the shapeless sweater over her fingers. Silver tears shimmered in her eyes, and a sheen of sweat made her pudgy face shine.
“I see that you’re still standing,” I said to her. To Wallace, I said, “Guess who ate some of the fish?”
He gaped at me, then gaped at Evelyn, then back at me again. “Really? Why?”
“Wanna tell him why?” I asked her.
The pulse points in Evelyn’s temples pounded. Her mouth moved, but she didn’t speak.
“How is that … possible?” Wallace asked. “Do you want to die? Is that it?”
She didn’t respond. Just twisted the sweater over her fingers.
“You know what?” I squeezed the bridge of my nose as an overwhelming sense of sadness came over me. I pushed away the platter of asparagus and wiped my hands on a kitchen towel. “I can’t with you right now.”
“That snake,” she said. “It was poisonous.”
I grimaced. “Yeah. And?”
“It almost bit me. If it had bit me, I could’ve died.”
“But you ate the sashimi,” Wallace asked, his hands in the air. “You could’ve died then, too. Different delivery system, same result, Nurse Pemstein.”
After that snake scare, I’d given Evelyn a stiff drink, and I’d tapped her doughy shoulders. What else did she want? To be coddled like Desi? To be mourned like Javier?
“Mercy—is that what you want?” Wallace asked. “Like the mercy you failed to show poor Mrs. Mills?”
“Mrs. Mills was in pain,” Evelyn said, now twisting the turquoise ring on her finger. “Mrs. Mills was dying.”
I turned to Wallace. “Who is Mrs. Mills?”
“The sweet little old lady with the mineral rights,” Wallace said. “The sweet little old lady who owned all the turquoise in New Mexico. The one who, for some reason, left said turquoise mine to Nurse Pemstein here. And then? That sweet little old lady died. I won’t say that Nurse Pemstein killed her—I’m classier than that.”
He paused, then said, “No, I’m not classier than that. Nurse Pemstein killed her. Or accidentally dropped a pillow on top of Mrs. Mills’s face and then, somehow, accidentally pushed down on that pillow until the old lady stopped breathing.”
“She was dying,” Evelyn said again.
Wallace rolled his eyes. “Because if you keep saying it, I’ll believe it? No, sweetheart. I don’t buy the misunderstood, compassionate angel of mercy like dear Phillip did.”
“They were all dying,” Evelyn bleated. Her sweaty face became pinker. “They were dying and I helped them.”
“I’m tired of all of this. Of all of you.” He snorted, then regarded me with cool eyes. “You asked me a question: Who am I? Who are you? I’ll answer that: you’re the woman who’s literally gotten away with murder. Just like the Bumble standing next to you.”
I pointed at Wallace with trembling finger. “I’m not doing this with you, old man. Phillip cared about me, wanted nothing but happiness for me. I mattered to him. You don’t know the truth, won’t acknowledge the truth of what I’m saying, and I don’t feel like explaining it to you anymore.” A knot sat in my belly and made it hard to breathe, hard to think. And I wanted to peel out of my ruined dress—the reek of Javier’s vomit on my bow was making me sick.
“You skipped dumping the bucket of pig’s blood on her head,” Wallace said. “Thank goodness for that.”
Drums pounded in my head as I spat, “Of course, you’d side with Brooke. How many swastikas have you painted on someone’s locker in your life?”
He held my glare with one of his own. “None, but I’ve had a few painted on my stomach and carved into my left calf by vengeful, envious bullies like you.”
I couldn’t take it, so I reached behind me and pulled down the dress’s zipper. Just like that, my torso relaxed and I could breathe again. “Have some fugu, Wallace. I’m sure Phillip saw you for who you were and would want you to have all of the fugu.”
Wallace blanched and his smile died. “How dare you. You’re not fit to mutter that man’s name. Here you are, thinking that you’ve made it, that you’re one of us, not realizing you’re a Groupon guest, love. A coupon-clutching con who happened to travel in the same air as Phillip only because he had mercy on your soul and saved your wide ass from prison. You were not his … friend.” In all the evening’s madness, the glue holding his wig to his scalp had weakened, shifting the hair so that the part sat closer to his ear, comb-over style.
“We don’t have to talk again,” I said to him. “I’ll attend the memorial because Phillip requested my presence, maybe, but you and I? We’re done.”
He faked a sad smile. “Oh, no. And we’d never even gotten started. I have so many other guests coming tomorrow once the storm finally moves on—who will keep me company until then? Whatever shall I do?”
Evelyn reached to grab something off the breakfast bar, but her arm hit a roll of paper towels, which then knocked mangoes off the counter and onto the floor. She groaned and stared pitifully at the mess.
I scowled at Evelyn and said, “Maybe you should go to your room.”
She pulled at a lock of brittle hair. “The lights in my room won’t come on.” She groaned as she kept tugging at her hair. “I don’t know where the light switch is and the rain, it’s raining hard.” She swallowed, then said, “I’m still hungry.”
I waved my hand at the food placed all around the kitchen. “Fine. Eat. Looks like Javier made a feast just before he dropped dead.”
“Who’s cleaning all of this up?” Wallace asked, plucking a papaya from the tile.
“You’re not talking to me, remember?” I said, a hand on my hip. “I’m a guest, a coupon-clutching one. And I’m also petty. So. I’m gonna go call my daughter and make arrangements to get off this freakin’ island. Good night.”
I marched past both of them, wondering if Morgan would answer the phone.
If she only knew how close I’d come to death that night. Next time, she’d choose to spend the weekend with me. She’d love me harder and louder. And I wanted her to love me harder and louder, and the only way she’d do that would be if I called her. I’d cry as I told her the story of Javier’s death, how the poisonous fish had been mere inches away from my lips until the chef saved
me and—
“Making a phone call is impossible,” Wallace shouted. “There’s no service here, dearest. Remember? Also, if you leave the island, you forfeit anything the poor fool left you.”
I stopped in my step. “Says who?”
“Says Phillip. It’s a clause in his will. So you can either stay for the memorial or you can go back to Rikers or Pelican Bay or whichever prison you’ll soon call home.” He looked over his shoulder and out the window. “Although I doubt you’ll even find a fishing boat to take you back in this weather. Your broom—does she work in the rain?”
“You are a total bitch,” I whispered.
“And you, Miriam, are totally unworthy of Phillip’s generosity. Why you’re even here still confuses the hell out of me.” He squinted at me and shook his head. “Phillip must’ve been out of his mind, which, given his brain tumor, becomes more and more obvious with every passing second I stand anywhere next to you. You—this—everything … this is all madness.”
Yes. All of this was madness. Javier was dead because he’d eaten fugu off my plate. Fugu that he had wanted me to eat. And if I had trusted my new friend, if I had been the adventurous eater that Billy lamented that I wasn’t, the body now cooling in the walk-in freezer would have been mine.
I laughed, then sighed. “I’ll see you in the morning, Wallace. You throw a damn fine party.”
Yeah. A damn fine dinner party.
18
Okay. I couldn’t make a phone call, nor could I leave Artemis. Trapped.
I wanted to get as far away as possible from the smells, the spills, all of it. Quiet, I needed quiet. And pills, I needed a Valium. And so I hurried down the dark hallway, reaching my room in a rush. My heart tripped in my chest as my mind buzzed with questions, suspicions … even a little fear. Because Javier. Poor Javier. Why had he insisted on preparing fugu? Why not tuna tartare or crab cakes? Calamari or sautéed mushrooms? It hurt me to think it, but he was to blame for his death.
And Evelyn … she had eaten that poisonous fish, and yet … and yet …
Numb—I couldn’t feel my feet or my hands. I’d just seen a man die right in front of me. I’d seen him twitching, gasping for breath, vomiting. And those images of Javier dying were now seared into my memory alongside memories of newborn Morgan in my arms and my dead father in his casket.
After closing the door behind me, I pulled myself out of that Gucci frock and threw the dress in a corner. Didn’t want to see it, wear it, smell it, and I planned to somehow forget it once it was time to pack up and leave this place. I didn’t mind the cold for the moment—maybe the low temperatures would revive those nerves Gucci had killed, and maybe the sweet stink of Javier’s death vomit would freeze and die as well.
As I changed into boxer shorts and a tank top, I wondered: Had Phillip really included me in his will? Of course he had—he knew my situation. He’d held me many times as I’d cried. Had he written the requirement that I stay on the island until the end of the service? Didn’t sound like the man I knew—he wouldn’t have forced me to mourn. Not Phillip. Was Wallace playing mind games with me? Probably. How was I going to do this, put up with him, though? How long could I last? He was such a smug, pretentious …
Still: I wished I had his confidence. His ability to give not one damn about anyone or anything. Guess that pride came from privilege and power. Because who would he be without either? Who would he be without those strange eyes that made people gasp? Who would he be without the tailored suits and the expensive hair?
A gay Eddie?
Probably not. He didn’t seem like the violent, strangle-your-wife kind of guy, like the ex-cop. Maybe Larry, Desi’s dead husband? No—he was old but not clueless. Although that could be debated about Larry, since he’d married Desi. Maybe he’d be that coal-mining hick Hoyt, the one handing out fake sapphires.
I fell back onto the bed and stared at the ceiling.
A brain tumor. Hunh. Phillip had complained of headaches and had tripped on invisible things anytime we were walking together. He’d call me on the phone, having forgotten that we’d already spoken earlier in the day. He’d seemed … out of it. I’d taken his behavior as exhaustion—he was one of the best and busiest defense attorneys in the country. And later, I’d taken his silence and short temper as impatience and disinterest, not with me, of course, but with his other clients, a few of whom were now sharing living space with me. Through it all, though, he’d kept his sense of humor.
“I’m sorry, Phillip,” I whispered.
I tipped my head to listen for his voice, just in case he’d heard me and wanted to say, “Attagirl, Miriam,” like he always said. Or “You make me laugh,” or “Maybe in our next life, we’ll meet, and who knows…” So I listened, but there was nothing. Only the barely there groans of a big house settling into soft soil. Only the rain beating down on the trees and my heartbeat thundering in my ears.
Mr. A. Nansi. The name Phillip had chosen to fool me into thinking this adventure would be a reality-show competition.
Anansi. And now I remembered hearing all those Anansi stories during school field trips to the public library. Anansi was a spider in African mythology. A trickster who’d fooled others so that he could live the easy life. He had cheated a mongoose, a turtle, and a rabbit out of their baskets of food. He had cheated Death by trapping it in a spiderweb. He’d been so greedy for greens, beans, and sweet potatoes that he’d ended up with eight thin legs trying to steal it all.
Anansi. How clever.
Wait … Javier.
We each had bedrooms. In the video presentation, Aunt Doris had only shown the kitchen for Javier. He had been the help. The help always stayed in servant’s quarters, unremarkable rooms the size of toy chests with dim lighting and talking mice wearing cute hats.
Where had he slept last night?
Why does that matter, Miriam?
Don’t know.
I picked up my cell phone—no bars, no service, one voice mail. The message left by Detective Hurley. He’d asked about the “altercation” with Prudence. He’d wanted me to come to the station to answer a few questions. Now that my attorney was dead, there’d be no one seated beside me. Not good.
On Sunday night, I was supposed to head back to Los Angeles … unless I didn’t head back to Los Angeles.
What if instead I took a plane to Colombia, as I’d thought about so many times?
But then, what about Morgan?
Maybe I could fly to L.A., grab Morgan, then fly …
You’re losing it. You’re tired. It’s been a long day. You need a drink.
My mind staggered from one thought to the next half-baked thought. I still couldn’t take deep breaths, not with my grasp of reality slipping. I climbed out of bed and stepped over to the vanity, ready to open the tub of Valium that helped on occasions such as these, occasions that found me confused or flabbergasted or spinning heists from logic thinner than spider silk. The drug sat next to the stainless steel flask that Javier had dropped yesterday at the tide pool.
Stay sober.
What was the point now?
Drunk—that’s how I wanted to be. Time flew if you were passed out. Yes, I wanted to be drunk.
I inhaled, then slowly exhaled as I stood in front of the cold window with my hands clutching my elbows. Trying to, literally, hold myself together. Breathing in … out … in … What is…?
Way out past the live oaks and the dogwoods, a green light flickered in the rainy darkness.
Is it a rescue vehicle coming to take Javier back to the mainland?
Above me, a door creaked open.
Soft footsteps crept down the hallway.
Artemis groaned.
A lump rose in my throat as defeat and exhaustion enveloped me. Phillip didn’t leave me squat. I’m going to jail. I need to deal with it now or three days from now. Maybe I should get my ass on that boat or ATV or whatever that is with that green light.
But what was it?
The green light con
tinued to shine, but it never moved any closer.
My heart couldn’t race any faster, and my freezing hands shook as I grabbed the Valium. After wrestling and fumbling with the childproof top, I finally pushed it off with a phuff.
No!
My mind screamed, high and piercing and long—but my mouth made no sound. The most silent distress call ever. Tears stung my eyes as my knees buckled and I collapsed against the vanity.
Inside the vial …
The tablets of Valium …
Gone. My pills were gone.
And now, the walls of a bedroom bigger than my biggest house boxed me in.
And out there in the hard stormy darkness, the green light blinked once, then disappeared into the inky night.
19
What?
I startled awake, and already my blood was racing through my veins.
A glance around the dark room told me that I was alone. A glance out the window told me the storm had passed, but now fog, thick and white, had taken its place. That green light hadn’t flickered back on again, not that I’d be able to see it anymore. My muscles chilled, and I stretched my arms feeling as though I was breaking through soft ice. I had fallen asleep sitting up in bed, with the down comforter wrapped around my shoulders. I’d fallen asleep clutching my phone, and now I glanced at the screen: 1:26 A.M. A new day, a new—
Something had yanked me from sleep. But what?
The room smelled like eggs, sweat, and burned gravy. The room smelled … warm, as though someone had just left this space.
Somewhere in the house, a door closed.
Soft talking outside.
I tilted my head and closed my eyes to hear.
A woman. Whispering. Desi.
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