So Then There Were None

by Annie Adams

  Despite knowing the ax-murderer waited for me at the top of the stairs, I picked up the pace, just wanting to get it over with. I did slow down toward the end, anticipating the blow, but it never came. The ax-murderer was toying with me.

  Maybe it was because of the ax-murderer—who needed a name, so he became Larry—because of Larry, I took an extra look around and saw a door I hadn't really noticed before. It was open just a few inches.

  I peeked through the small opening, just in case Larry was hiding in there. The dim light coming from the hallway didn’t provide much to see by, but it looked like shelves stocked with bottles and other containers. Probably a supply closet.

  I waited for K.C. a while longer, and wondered if perhaps in her drugged state Kourtnee could have wandered down the hall and into that closet. It was worth further looking into.

  I slowly opened the door, ducked my head inside, and reached along the inner wall trying to find a light switch. Then I heard something.

  “Donuts inside…”

  A cold chill shot from the bottom of my feet, clear through my body, and shivered out of my skin. I turned to run and slammed into K.C. My elbow connected with her jaw.

  "K.C.! I'm so, so, sorry."

  She clutched at her jaw, moving it around like I had knocked it off its hinges. "What's the rush, Boss?"

  "I thought I heard someone say something," I said.

  "It was probably me. I was looking for you. I thought you’d be closer to the room."

  "K.C.…" Pam's voice sounded from around the corner.

  "No, not again. She's hot on Alex's trail. Hurry, go inside." She all but ran me over pushing me into the closet. It was dark, of course. And I couldn't say anything to her before the door shut behind us.

  We stayed there in the darkness for what seemed like an eternity. It was probably closer to thirty seconds.

  "I think she's gone," K.C. said in a whisper.

  I was proud of K.C. in her attempt to whisper at appropriate times this weekend. In all the time I had known her, I’d never seen her exercise such self-control.

  "Let's find a light switch," I said.

  The light came on. "Pretty much looks like we're in a closet."

  "I don't see Kourtnee in here, do you?" I said.

  She gave me a funny look. "What, do you think she’s hiding behind that broom?"

  “That didn’t come out like I had planned. I’m too tired to make sense.”

  It was a small room, maybe about six by eight feet. Metal utility shelves abutted in one corner.

  "Well, unless Kourtnee is as skinny as I wish I was, she ain't hiding in here. Heck, both of us barely fit. We might have to grease ourselves up with some of this polishing oil to move around."

  "I wondered if she might be in here because I thought I heard a voice. Obviously it wasn’t Kourtnee or anyone else—"

  "It could have been someone," K.C. said. The way she said the word someone meant that she thought it was some thing, like a ghost.

  "I don't think so," I said.

  "What, you don't believe in ghosts anymore?"

  "No. Actually, I think I've just been making up these voices the whole time. It's been my subconscious telling me what to do."

  "You should never deny what your inner voice tells you. That inner gal is your pal, no matter what. But I'm not saying there aren’t ghosts either. Are you sure it wasn't a ghost?"

  "It's hard to say. I'm not sure about anything the last two days," I said. "But ghosts, no. I think I’d convinced myself I was hearing things because I was scared or angry—I don't know."

  "The big changes in life are always scary, and they do funny things to us. I think setting a wedding date has been a bigger deal for you than you will admit to yourself. But don't discount the ghosts, I think they’re our friends. Who knows? They might save our lives someday. What did the voice say?"

  I cleared my throat. “Um, it said…donuts…in…side.”

  “No wonder we found ourselves in here,” she laughed. “Just where are those donuts? I don’t see any.”

  “It doesn’t make sense. That’s especially why I think it’s just my mind making things up. I’m getting hungry and my subconscious wanted a donut.”

  “My subconscious could use a donut, or twenty, right now. But since we’ve determined there aren’t any, let’s get out of here.” K.C. turned and stood in front of the door for a very long time. Then, she cursed, and I could hear the sound of the door handle being pushed over and over again.

  "What's wrong?" I said, even though I knew the answer. I just couldn't admit it to myself.

  "Jack-wagon! The door is locked."

  "Wait…the key! You have a master key."

  K.C. slowly turned to look at me, her mouth crooked, her teeth biting down on the corner of her lip. "About that…”

  "What? What about it?"

  "I was trying to be efficient. I went and shoved it under Eva's door before I came here. Besides, it looks like this door doesn't even use a key card. I think it uses a regular key. You know, like made of metal."

  "So, we’re stuck in here," I said, with a not-so-kindly slant to my voice. I knew that it was fatigue talking, but I couldn't seem to stop myself. "That didn’t sound very nice, I'm so sorry, K.C.”

  "No, I'm sorry, kid. I thought I left the door just barely ajar, but I must have leaned against it and shut it."

  "You didn't push on it? To close it, I mean?"

  "No, I closed it just to the jamb. But maybe when I turned, my tushie pushied it closed." She giggled at her joke and jabbed me with her elbow to make sure that I heard it.

  "Yeah, that was a good one." It really wasn't her best work, but I had been mean to her, so I figured I owed her the laugh at least. "Do you think Pam shut us in here?" I said.

  "Why would she do that?"

  "I don't know. Maybe she knows where Alex is, and wants him to think that I don't want to find him."

  "I think you're getting loopy. It's past your bedtime. I probably just leaned against the door and didn't realize it. Heaven knows my backside has been known to do a lot of things that I didn't know about. I remember one time, I unknowingly hip-checked a man on a bus in Seattle, right as the doors were about to close. We hit Kansas City before we realized he was gone. And he was our tour director."

  Her made-up story made me smile. “Remind me to find out how to pick a lock when we get out of here,” I said.

  “You could probably have Alex show you.”

  “I’m sure he’d love to have me asking him how to break and enter. But he won’t be talking to me anyway, so I don’t need to worry about it.”

  “Now, now. You exaggerate. You two are gonna be just fine.” She perused the shelves and picked up different bottles and spray cans, reading their labels out loud. "Would you look at that, there's a whole stack of extra pillows and linens. Not to mention toilet paper. Now, if we could only find some food, we could stay here for weeks. Are we sure there aren’t any donuts?”

  After a few rounds of pounding on the door, we gave up trying to get someone’s attention. Pam had been nearby, and maybe she realized we ducked into a closet to get away from her. If that were the case, then she obviously wasn’t going to let us out. If we gave her the benefit of the doubt, we had to assume she had moved on to her own room and gone to bed. At this early hour, most people would be sound asleep and not able to hear us all the way down the hall.

  During the door pounding, it occurred to me that the ghostly voice might have said “don’t go inside,” rather than “donuts inside.” Unfortunately, that little gem of knowledge didn’t drop until after we were already locked in the closet.

  I also realized it must have been my subconscious trying to save me from doing something stupid. I guess K.C. had been right about my “inner gal.”

  “Since we’ve got nowhere to go, let’s take a look at that poem again. We can go over the murder mystery, like it's supposed to be. But before that, let’s make ourselves comfy.” She pointed
to the shelf full of linens and we busied ourselves covering the floor with pillows, blankets and towels. It felt so good to finally sit down, once we were finished.

  "Here's what I want to know," K.C. said. "What does this poem say about the next victim after Candee?"

  I held the poster board in front of me and read through it out loud.

  * * *

  Ten Little Bridesmaids all stood in a line;

  One drank herself silly, and then there were nine.

  “We know that one was Jill,” K.C. said.

  Nine Little Bridesmaids went searching for mates;

  One took a wrong turn and then there were eight.

  “That’s Sydnee,” K.C. said. “She took a wrong turn with the golf cart.”

  Eight Little Bridesmaids searched for signals from heaven;

  One looked too long and now there are seven.

  “That one was Candee. We know that she went outside to get a better cell phone signal. Either she knew beforehand when her time was up—”

  “Or she was a lot smarter than we gave her credit for,” I said.

  “How do you mean?”

  “She was given notice—however that’s done—that she was the next victim, and she figured a way, on the fly, to match the poem.”

  “But, if I’m remembering correctly, Candee wasn’t there when we read the poem aloud,” K.C. said.

  “I know! Maybe they give each victim an instruction packet. A little ‘Thanks for Being Our Next Victim’ gift that includes the poem and maybe a gift certificate or something.”

  “Maybe.” K.C. said.

  “I was joking, really—”

  “Oh, I know you were,” she said, “but it’s either something like that, or…”

  “Or what?” I asked.

  “I haven’t quite put my finger on it. Each victim so far has had some kind of gossip circulating about them. Things that aren’t so nice about them. It seems that their charms match that thing about them. Maybe. Let’s read some more.”

  Seven Little Bridesmaids puffed on cigarette sticks;

  One’s camp caught fire and now there are six.

  “Now, that has to be Kourtnee, doesn’t it? Except the charm that we found was hiking boots, not a pack of cigs.”

  “You’re right,” I said, “but Alex told me Kourtnee started a forest fire. And she’s the only one left who smokes. Plus, she might have been wearing hiking boots in the forest when she set it on fire.”

  We looked at each other and laughed.

  “I don’t know why that’s funny,” K.C. said.

  “Me either. It’s not funny at all.” This made us laugh even harder. We sat and giggled like school girls for a good long time. For no reason. We had passed the point of no return when it came to logical reasoning. I got myself composed again and read some more.

  Six Little Bridesmaids kicked a beehive;

  One got stung and now there are five.

  “That’s Regan, almost positively. And her charm didn’t match the poem either. I don’t remember which charm she got, but it wasn’t a beehive. I think I would have remembered that,” I said.

  “Regan sure does seem like someone who likes to stir up trouble. She likes kicking at beehives. Or is it liked? Anyway, it doesn’t matter. But don't you agree?" K.C. asked.

  "Most definitely.”

  K.C. knit her brows and grimaced.

  “What’s wrong?” I asked.

  “There’s another problem regarding Kourtnee. If we’re going by the poem, she should have been gone before Regan. But she wasn’t—exactly.”

  “True,” I said. “I just can’t make sense of her story and the place where we found her. If she really was pushed off the roof, there is no way she could have landed in the only exact spot where she wouldn’t have been seriously injured, unless she and the person who pushed her were trained stunt artists. I don’t know anything about Kourtnee, so maybe she is a stunt woman, but…ugh, I can’t think anymore, it hurts my brain.”

  K.C. sighed. “There is an alternative theory, you know.”

  “Another one? I’m afraid I don’t want to hear it.”

  “I’m afraid, too. What I'm saying is maybe there's a real murderer amongst us. They pushed Kourtnee off of the roof before Regan disappeared, if I followed Megan’s timeline correctly. And that scares the bejeebers right out of me."

  If K.C.’s theory were true, it scared me as well. But she couldn't be right, there was just no way. Otherwise, why would people be disappearing? If it were a real murderer, we would most likely be finding dead bodies, as awful as that would be. "K.C., I don't know what to say. I can't believe there's a real murderer. This is supposed to be a game, started by the bride and groom who love murder mystery games."

  “I’m sure you’re probably right, but I just can’t shake what happened to Kourtnee. No one in their right mind would make pushing someone off of a roof part of a mystery game. Unless Kourtnee was lying to us, I just think it leaves the possibility on the table of a murderer here on the island.”

  A shiver trilled up and down my arms, and it had nothing to do with the temperature in the closet. “Even if someone really did try and kill Kourtnee, maybe it didn’t have anything to do with the game. Maybe someone really hates her that much. Maybe she did something to someone, and they’re trying to even the score while they’re here. Maybe, that someone came onto the island, knowing she would be here, and has been hiding the whole time waiting for their chance to get her alone.”

  “On the roof?”

  “On the roof.”

  "Well, Boss, you know the good news about that?"

  I shook my head.

  "It means that this closet is the safest place that we could be right now."

  “I guess you’re right about that.”

  “Maybe the ghosts pushed Kourtnee off the roof,” K.C. said, straight-faced.

  “Like they chucked the rock at Alex?”

  “Of course.”

  I just nodded and continued reading the poem.

  Five Little Bridesmaids went shopping at the store;

  One bought some lipstick and now there are four.

  “I have no idea who this will be. Everyone here wears lipstick, I imagine. At least we all did at the wedding and reception,” K.C. said.

  “And no one can leave to go to a store—not that this poem can be taken literally.”

  “What do you think of my theory that Megan is the murderer—the mystery game murderer—not the actual murderer that lurks among us?”

  “You have such a way with words,” I said. My leg was falling asleep, so I stood up to stretch it out. “Well, like you said, it’s always the sweet, innocent ones that you don’t see coming.”

  “Did I say that? Pretty good, if I did. But I think you said it.”

  “I don’t remember,” I said as I sat down.

  “Maybe we both said it,” she said at the same time that I said precisely the same thing.

  “Jinx! Buy me a Coke,” K.C. said. We broke out into uncontrollable giggles once again. Tears ran down our faces. The lack of sleep had made us delirious.

  And what I would have given to buy a Coke for K.C., and then one for myself, at that precise moment. I imagined the fresh click of the pop-top and the sigh of the can as I opened it and carefully poured the liquid ambrosia into a glass, filled with pebble ice. Not cubed, or partially crushed, but the perfect, frozen, little pebbles that would bring the drink to its optimum temperature as it wound its way down and caressed those delightful pieces of ice. I could almost feel the velvety, bubbly burn that would coat my throat as the dark brown elixir traveled to my stomach.

  “Boss!” K.C. snapped her fingers. I heard the sound of the snaps before I could actually see her fingers in front of me, even though my eyes had been open the whole time.

  “I was thinking about…something.”

  “Seemed pretty engrossing. Having a steamy daydream, maybe?”

  I felt my face flushing. And not for the reason
she probably thought. More for the fact that I’d gone there just from the thought of a beverage.

  “Anyway, what do you think about what I told you?”

  “Sorry. Which thing that you told me?”

  “About Megan and the Tarot cards. She was asking questions about the meaning of them earlier, but someone told me a while ago that she used to be a card reader. That’s what she had done for a living for some time. People would find her online, and she would read their cards for them. Apparently, she got paid a ton, and she had repeat customers.”

  “Hmm, interesting.”

  “Oh, now, c’mon, missy. Stay with me. If she was such a pro at reading them, why was she asking what the cards meant?”

  I paused to think. “I thought I overheard Regan talking about her sister one time. I don’t remember where we were when I heard it. But she was complaining that Megan had this great job, something about gullible old rich ladies with money to throw around, and that she lost the job. But I thought Megan was a hairdresser and makeup artist. Regan might have been talking about salon clientele. Usually, they’re pretty loyal to the same stylist even as they continue to raise their prices.”

  “You got that right, sister. Yet another reason to think Megan isn’t the innocent we thought she was. Which doesn’t necessarily mean she gets chosen to be the murderer of the game, but this poem makes it seem like whoever was in charge of setting everything up took care to match potentially unflattering traits or a history of each bridesmaid to the poem and the game. I guess we’ll see, won’t we?”

  I yawned. “I suppose so.”

  “Hand over that poster. I want to take another look.”

  I passed it over to her and leaned back against the metal shelf. It wasn’t very comfortable. I found myself slinking down into a reclining position while K.C. read the poem from the beginning. The pillows were so soft. I would rest my eyes while I listened to her recite.

  Chapter Thirty

  A sharp pain in my hip pulled me out of the dream—actually more like nightmare—I had been stuck in.

  How long have I been asleep? K.C. must have turned off the light, the closet was dark, and it was impossible to tell what time of day or night it was.