Crap!
I scrambled out from under my companion with the speed and agility of a fiddler crab and rolled to the side. My eyes still on the boat, I clutched my knees to my chest and willed them not to come any closer. They must have recognized us. Must have seen.
Without a word, Poe slung the bag back over his shoulders and waded into the lagoon.
“Hey!” I started to follow him. “Where are you going?”
He didn’t dignify that with an answer. I splashed in behind him, all the way up to my waist. Clearly, he was setting a new pace.
“What, am I on my own now?” I asked.
Now he turned and his cold expression said it all. “Don’t you want to be?”
I waded out farther, and he stopped. He didn’t return, but he stopped, just a few feet out of reach. And as I floundered toward him, he moved back at the same rate.
“Poe, don’t…” I said, dog-paddling.
“Two dollars. And I’m right here.”
We made it halfway across the lagoon like that. It wasn’t pleasant. I was breathing hard and I’m sure my terror showed on my face. Eventually, Poe took pity on me and pulled me the rest of the way to the shallows, but as soon as I’d found my footing, he took off again.
“Please stop,” I begged him. And he did. His expression was cold, his eyes unreadable slate.
“What is this?” he asked, wading toward me, the water churning around his thighs. “Are you grateful?”
“Yes,” I admitted, then added, “but I wanted to kiss you.”
He shook his head and returned to the shore. I splashed up onto the beach after him, but it was as if the sun had gone behind a cloud. I copied him as he brushed sand off his feet then shoved them back into his sneakers. He skipped putting his T-shirt back on, but I covered up with my tank top and did what I could to squeeze the water out of my shorts and ponytail.
“That was a shit move,” I said at last, not looking up.
“Yours? I agree.”
“No, yours! You marooned me out there!”
He snorted. “No I didn’t. I was right next to you the whole time. You can swim. And even if I weren’t right there, you could have walked around.” And he pointed at the left side of the crescent, where the sandbar was closest to the island. “It’s about knee-deep the whole way.”
I clenched my hands into fists. “We could have gone that way the whole time? I didn’t have to swim?”
“Yep. I tricked you…into all of it.” He shrugged, all smug, and I shivered, suddenly wishing I had on more than a damp tank top. The boat had sailed on, and now I knew I wasn’t imagining things. The sun really had gone behind a cloud.
Poe stared into the forest for a bit. “Let’s go back,” he said.
“No.”
“Just forget it, okay?”
“No!” I walked over and grabbed his hand, held tight when he tried to shake me off. “You didn’t trick me. And I’m not grateful. And I’m sorry, but I didn’t know what to do when I saw that boat. Did you?”
He hesitated. “No.”
“So give me a break.” But even as I said it, I knew that would be unlikely. Poe didn’t give people breaks. He never had. Not even for himself. You were with him, or against him. Worthy of his notice, or beneath it.
So I wasn’t surprised when he said, “Let’s just go back.”
And that was the end of the date. We walked back through the forest in heated silence, one fueled by friction and frustration as much as by our quick pace. There was no more talk of osprey nesting or destroying society heirlooms because we hated their origins. There was absolutely no discussion about what had transpired on the sandbar, though the taste of Poe lingered in my mouth and I knew that if I lifted my hands to my face, saltwater or no, I’d be able to smell him on my skin.
I left him at the entrance to the girls’ cabin, and while I watched from inside, Poe strode off toward the boys’ cabin, and didn’t once look back.
Twenty minutes later, I’d washed off all traces of our interlude, and, dressed in my bikini and a fresh pair of shorts and top, I walked down to the docks to meet the boat.
Demetria was the first one off, and her face was like a thunderhead. “Hey, Amy,” she said, brushing past me. Jenny hopped down after her and shot her a concerned look.
“What’s with her?” I asked. Had there been another boating mishap?
Jenny scowled and looked over her shoulder at the boat. “Long story. Back at the cabin.”
My trepidation waned in light of whatever was bothering my fellow knight, and I’d almost forgotten it completely when Clarissa and George jumped down.
“You missed it all!” Clarissa said. “Some folks broke onto Cavador from the other island! I saw them on the beach. We’re going to tell Salt.” She clapped her hands. “You didn’t see anyone, did you?”
I glanced beyond her to George, who remained uncharacteristically quiet, merely raising his eyebrows in my direction.
I swallowed. Exactly how good was his vision when he had those glasses on? Could he have recognized us? “No,” I said, fighting to keep my voice light. “Hey, what’s with Demetria?”
Clarissa lowered her voice and led me up the docks. “That patriarch’s wife is a little whore, that’s what.”
“I don’t know why she’s letting it bother her,” George added, bringing up the rear. “She’s just a stupid barbarian. Dee says the word and we’ll all go kick her ass.”
“She won’t do that,” Clarissa replied. “She knows Kadie and Frank will leave and take the boat with them.”
“Who gives a shit?” George said.
“I’m sorry, what’s the problem here?” I asked.
“Racism,” George said.
“Homophobia,” Clarissa corrected.
“A little from column A, a little from column B,” George guessed. “Bottom line is, Kadie wasn’t exactly polite to Demetria.”
“She freaked out when she discovered Dee had been using her snorkel.”
Oh dear God. “That’s ridiculous.” What, did she think being a black lesbian was contagious?
“I think it’s the last time we’ll be using the yacht, that’s for sure,” Clarissa said. “What a bitch.”
Back at the compound, someone had already notified Salt about the supposed “intruders” out on the crescent beach, and he was mobilizing for a full sweep of the island. I looked around, hoping to take my cue from Poe, but he was nowhere to be seen. George was looking at me with barely concealed interest, and when I raised my chin he just shrugged and smiled.
Ben came over to us. “I’ve volunteered to take the north part of the island. Want to come with me?”
“Nah,” George said, obviously enormously amused. “I think I’ll stay here, make sure the compound’s safe. Whatever we saw, I don’t think it’s a big deal.” He turned to me. “What do you think, Amy?”
“I’m not sure,” I answered smoothly. “I wasn’t there to see.”
“Of course you weren’t.” He nodded.
“Well, I know what I saw,” Clarissa claimed. “Two people walking right up the beach and into the forest. They’re probably still here.”
“I’d guess so,” George said, and I resisted the urge to sock him. “From what I saw.”
“Maybe you didn’t see it right,” I said to him. “Did you have your glasses on?”
“I’ve got 20/20,” Clarissa said. “I saw it just fine.”
“What the lady said.” George’s smile didn’t get any less tempting with time. But now the temptation I felt was decidedly more violent than carnal.
“I’ll come with you,” Clarissa said to Ben, and I found it expedient to join them lest I be left alone with George Harrison Prescott again.
To my surprise, the sweep turned up the remnants of a campfire (several days old, according to former Boy Scout Ben), six Budweiser cans, and a waterproof tape recorder that we promptly relieved of its cassette, though it hadn’t seemed to record anything more than the sound
of the waves.
“We’ve been bugged!” Clarissa exclaimed, vindicated.
I considered admitting that it had been Poe and me she’d seen out on the crescent beach, just to take her down a notch. In light of the evidence, however, I refrained.
The search party assigned to the aforementioned crescent reported traces of footprints but couldn’t even ascertain the direction in which the parties had been moving and, naturally, they found no sign of the boat that the hypothetical trespassers had used to get onto the island. From this “evidence,” everyone concluded that whoever they’d been, they’d left Cavador Key by now.
After that, we all had a late lunch, at which the majority of the conversation focused on our findings, and on how best to avoid Kadie Myer for the remainder of the trip. Luckily, she and her husband hadn’t taken lunch in the main room, perhaps suspecting that she’d fallen out of favor with the knights. The entire meal was patriarch-free, as a matter of fact, and I was spared a run-in with Poe, as well as the no-doubt curious/accusatory presence of Malcolm.
I only hoped that wherever they were, they weren’t together, and discussing me.
Apparently, the evening plans included a fully formal tomb meeting for all society members present, and there was much speculation among the knights about whether or not Gehry would show his face as the lunch morphed into a lazy afternoon. Clarissa took up a post on the sunny lawn beyond the porch and laid out with an impressive stack of gossip magazines. George and the other boys started a poker tournament, except for Harun, who was having an intense debate with Jenny in the corner. I came close enough to hear them only once, and the subject matter seemed to be theological enough to make me keep my distance from that point on. Demetria was on the porch steps, painting her toenails with rainbow colors. I thought it was some sort of statement, until I got closer and noticed the designs all featured smiling suns and flowers as well.
“You’re pretty good,” I observed.
Demetria wiggled her left foot. “Want me to do yours?”
“Little Rose & Grave symbols?” I suggested.
“Subtle, Amy. Real subtle.”
I sat down and stuck out my foot. “Then you pick.”
By now, George had been knocked out of the tournament*6 , and joined Clarissa on her towel, amusing himself with dramatic readings of the articles in her tabloids.
“‘It’s been a nightmare for her. She’s practically a prisoner in her own home!’ claims a source close to the starlet. ‘He even tells her what she’s allowed to eat!’ This is boring.” George flipped through a few pages. “Are there any articles on Odile?”
“Try Life & Style.” Clarissa tossed him another magazine. “According to them, she stole Lindsay Lohan’s boyfriend.”
“That’s our girl.”
Behind me, the porch door swung open, and Kadie stepped out. She glanced down at the steps, saw me sitting with my foot in Demetria’s lap, and let out the tiniest of sniffs.
Demetria’s brush stilled on my nail. I looked up at Kadie. “Am I in your way?” I asked coldly.
“No,” she said, but couldn’t seem to make a wide enough arc around us. I watched her pick her way down the steps and onto the lawn. She looked back at us and rolled her eyes, but it was her mouth I saw moving.
Dykes…
And then she was splayed out on the lawn, spread-eagled and gasping for breath.
“Wow, are you all right?” George asked. He was closest, but didn’t offer her a hand. “The path’s a bit uneven here.”
Clarissa buried her face in her magazine, but I saw her shoulders shaking. Had George tripped the barbarian?
Kadie rose and brushed away the crushed shells imbedded in her palms and shins.
“I’d be more careful around here if I were you,” George added.
“Who do you think you are?” she sputtered.
George rested his chin on his hand and smiled sweetly at her. “Who do you think we are?”
Clarissa sat up and swept her hair over her shoulder so that the Rose & Grave tattoo on her shoulder blade was clearly visible.
The barbarian fell back a step or two, then cast a glance around the porch. Harun and Jenny were staring at her, and Kevin and Ben had put a hold on their hands. Outnumbered, she turned and stomped off.
“Bitch,” Demetria mumbled, and returned to painting my toes.
Malcolm and Poe came up the path a few minutes later, and I found myself suddenly fascinated with Demetria’s work.
“How’s it going?” Malcolm asked, leaning against the nearest post.
“How would you suggest getting rid of a pesky barbarian?” George asked him, flipping another page.
“The usual. Sacrifice, altar, sacred knife, full moon. What do you think, Jamie?”
“Sounds good.” I flinched at the sound of Poe’s voice and Demetria tightened her grip on my ankle. “Who’s the target?” Poe went on. I sneaked a look at him from the corner of my eye. His attention was on Clarissa, who was doing yoga. In a bikini. The tease.
“Frank Myer’s wife,” George said in a bored tone.
“Jeez, can I help?” Malcolm said. “I can’t stand that bitch.”
“Yeah, and she doesn’t even know about you,” I murmured under my breath.
“Not for long, kid,” Malcolm said, and ruffled my hair. I looked up at him, and he gave me an easy smile. Maybe Poe hadn’t said anything at all about our morning?
“Did you hear about our excitement?” Clarissa asked, from downward-facing dog. She swept into a sphinx pose. “Strangers broke onto the island this morning.”
“Really?” Malcolm asked.
Demetria nodded and put the cap back on the nail polish bottle. “Yeah. Clarissa saw them from the boat.”
There! There. The merest flicker in Poe’s eyes. George looked up from his magazine, but he clearly couldn’t read Poe as well as I could. I wondered what Malcolm saw on his friend’s face. I forced myself to turn away from him, but every few seconds I couldn’t help but glance up to see if he was looking in my direction. No, nope, and always negatory.
“What do you think they were doing?” my big sib asked.
“Who knows?” Demetria said. “They’re gone now.”
Ben joined us on the porch, poker forgotten. “We also found a tape recorder and the remains of a campfire. I think they’ve been here before.”
Malcolm looked at Poe, who was drawing in the dirt with a stick. “What do you make of it?”
Poe shrugged, head down. “There’s no fence around this island. I’m sure they can pretty much come and go as they please.”
“Yeah,” Jenny said. “But you know what these guys are like. They can be real creeps.” She would know.
It may have been Poe and me on the beach this morning, but the tape recorder must belong to the people on the other island. I shivered. “I don’t like the idea of people sneaking around here,” I said. It reminded me too much of my recent experience with Dragon’s Head. “You said stuff had already been stolen.”
“What do you want me to do?” Poe asked, finally looking up. I felt myself shrinking under his steady gray gaze. “How do you propose we keep them out?”
“I don’t know,” I said.
“Well, neither do I.” He went back to his stick.
“Whatever,” George said. “I’m sure they’re harmless.”
“Okay,” Demetria said, “you’re done.” She stood. “I’m going back to the cabin.”
“Can I come, or will they mess up?” I wiggled my toes. New pedicure or not, I needed to extricate myself from Poe’s presence.
Clarissa tossed me her flip-flops. “Here, borrow mine. You’ll be fine.”
Shod, I followed Demetria up the path. As we passed Poe, he shot me a brief, inscrutable look, and I hastened as much as one can while wearing wet paint and someone else’s flip-flops on a sandy surface.
“I can’t believe I let that bitch get to me,” Demetria said as we walked back to the cabin. “Like I care what
she says about me. And then George, of all people. Rescued by our great white hope. How pathetic is that?”
“I thought it was funny,” I said.
“But you have a soft spot for Prescott,” Demetria countered. “I can take care of myself.” She opened the cabin door. “Holy shit…”
I collided with her on the threshold. “What the…?”
I’ve seen many a trashed room in my day. There was the time Lydia planted fake secret society initiation paraphernalia in our suite. There was the time Gehry’s henchmen decided to rearrange Jenny’s base of operation this fall. There was the Great Cricket Invasion in January. All paled by comparison to the disaster that lay before me.
All of our clothes were tossed about the room, and most had been covered in splashes of paint. The mattresses had been ripped off the beds and thrown up against the wall. All of Jenny’s electronics had been smashed. Most noticeable of all were the words sprayed on the walls and mattresses in neon orange.
Slut
Bitch
Dyke
You know, the usual. At first, I wasn’t even sure that all of the curlicues of paint covering the walls were even words. Half of it looked like plain damage, but if you squinted, or turned your head just so, you could make out a variety of threats. Death to the Diggers. You people make me sick. Try wearing that skirt now was scrawled across the remains of Clarissa’s designer duds. Hacker whore now decorated the cover of Jenny’s laptop.
But the one that caught my eye was on the mattress that used to grace my bed.
Keep up your BREAST stroke, or next time you WILL drown.
13.
Meetings
* * *
Nothing in this world, not even the depths of the Pacific Trench, is as scary as Demetria Robinson on the warpath. Or at least that’s what I figured until Jenny Santos got a good look at the ruins of her laptop. And Clarissa noticed that her Louis Vuitton shoulder bag had been spray-painted orange. I’m sure the conspiracy theorists camped out on the other island thought we were murdering a passel of virgins or something, the screams were so loud.
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