by Linda Gerber
A chill spread through me as I remembered Adam’s dad, watching from the trees. I tried to shake it off. Lots of people go to the beach. They just don’t stand around looking over dead bodies and then run off without a word. Did Mr. Smith have something to do with Bianca’s death? I thought of how Adam would feel if that turned out to be true, and I felt sick.
What kind of motive could Mr. Smith have? He’d just gotten to the island. What possible connection could he have with Bianca? For Adam’s sake, I hoped there wasn’t any. But how could I even guess? I didn’t know anything about the Smiths. Not even the basic registration info, thanks to my dad. And the way he’d been acting lately, I was pretty sure he wouldn’t appreciate my asking questions. I was going to have to figure it out on my own. Who were the Smiths? Where were they from?
Wait.
Didn’t Adam say he was from Montana? He’d said something about West Broom. Or was that Bloom? It was West something. Was that the name of their town? Could Mr. Smith have known Bianca from before? I had no idea. But it was the only thing I had to go on. Maybe if I found out where West Bloom was, I could find more information on the mysterious Smiths.
I logged on to the computer and quickly Googled: West Bloom Montana people search. Point-two-three seconds later I had over a million hits. Nothing on the first page was a perfect match, but I did find a couple of hits for a Bloomfield, Montana. The rest of the page listed hits for a West Bloomfield in Michigan. I scrolled through a couple more pages. The results were similar.
I leaned back in my chair. Adam had said Montana, right? Not Michigan? Yes, I remembered his challenging me about knowing where Butte was. Maybe he lived in the west part of Bloomfield in Montana? Is that what he meant?
I pressed my lips together and typed: Bloomfield Montana white pages. Maybe I could look them up in the phone book. I opened a site and typed in Smith. All I learned was that there were eighty-eight Smiths in Bloomfield, but that wasn’t much use. And it wouldn’t help me figure out what happened to Bianca.
I folded my arms and stared at the screen. I was chasing shadows. It was stupid to think I was going to find out anything sitting in the office. I should just go find Adam. And ask him what? Had his dad killed one of our guests? That would go over well.
Then I thought about something else Adam said at the pool. “Back home” he had gone swimming in lakes. There were lots of lakes in Michigan. Montana had lakes, too, of course, but they were more known for their mountains and their big sky. Michigan had thousands of lakes. And there had been all those hits for West Bloomfield in Michigan. . . .
I rubbed a hand over my face. It was worth a try. I typed in Adam Smith West Bloomfield Michigan. The first page was a blog for Adam Smith, a college hockey player. The second linked to an article in the Detroit Free Press newspaper.
“How you doing? You look a little stressed.”
I about jumped out of the chair. Darlene had finished her paperwork and stood at the counter, watching me intently.
“Oh. Uh, yeah. I’m good.”
“So what you working on?”
I hesitated. If she hadn’t wanted to hear my theory about how Bianca didn’t drown, I wasn’t going to lay out my online goose chase for her to scrutinize. “Uh, just homework. Nothing exciting.” I clicked on the newspaper link.
“Good for you, but how can you even think straight? My nerves are shot. It was all I could do to post the menu for tomorrow.”
I think she kept blathering, but I tuned her out. My eyes were glued to an article by reporter A. Smith from Wednesday’s local section of the Detroit Free Press. Or, more precisely, my eyes were glued to the picture accompanying the article. It showed a hulk of blackened, twisted metal that had once been a car. Inset near the lower right-hand corner was a family portrait featuring two smiling parents and a good-looking, blue-eyed son. The caption read, “Fiery crash on I-23 claims the lives of local businessman Victor Mulo, art critic Elena Mulo, and West Bloomfield High School senior Seth Mulo.”
My hands suddenly felt very cold as I adjusted the resolution of the photo. My head buzzed like I had an entire hive of bees inside my skull.
I had no doubt in my mind; the dead boy and his family were at that very moment residing in villa four.
CHAPTER 5
What’s the matter, Aphra?” Darlene edged closer.
“You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
Try three.
I stared at the screen. Adam/Seth smiled at me from the photo.
“Aphra?”
My head snapped up. “Huh?”
“What’s wrong? What is that you’re—”
Before she could come any closer, I switched off the monitor. “The computer . . . it’s starting to give me a headache.”
Darlene frowned and stepped behind the desk. She put her hand on my forehead. “Well, no wonder you don’t feel good, after all you’ve been through. You got some aspirin in the office?”
“I dunno.” We probably did, but I wasn’t thinking about aspirin. I was too busy trying to rearrange what I thought I knew about Adam . . . Seth. The new name was going to take some getting used to, but even harder to wrap my head around was the fact that he and his family were supposed to be dead.
Had the . . . Mulos faked their deaths? There didn’t seem to be any alternative. But why? Who were they hiding from? And what did any of that have to do with Bianca?
My stomach tightened. What did my dad know about all this? Looking back on it, he appeared to be hiding the Mulos—putting them in a villa that was not supposed to be inhabited, not keeping records . . .
“Aphra? Did you hear a word I said?”
I jumped up from my chair. “I . . . I need to get some air. Can you watch the desk for a few minutes?”
Darlene blinked. “The desk? But—”
“I’ll be right back.” I raced from the office before she could object.
Not that I had any idea where I was going. Or what to do with the information I’d just uncovered. But I had to do something or I was going to explode. This is what came of getting involved. You end up getting hurt. Seth, if that was even his real name, had lied to me from the beginning. He had said his name was Adam. He’d said he was from Montana. What else had he lied about? I could only surmise that his family had faked their deaths and were on the run from who knew what. Now it didn’t seem so far-fetched to think his dad could be a murderer. Or that my dad might be hiding them. It was too much.
I had no one to turn to. Not Darlene. Certainly not my dad. What was I supposed to do now? Spill everything to the authorities? Or should I talk to Seth first and give him a chance to explain? Could I even trust a word he said?
I had to get away. To think. I took a quick glance back at the Plantation House and then slipped into the trees and took off for my beach.
I dropped my shorts, peeled off my shirt, and ran for the water. Holding my breath, I swam along the bottom. I passed through a warm current followed by a downright chilly one. Seemed apropos for the moment, like the ocean couldn’t decide what it was going to do either.
When I broke the surface, I struck out swimming, my strokes awkward and jerky—which was about how my brain was working. It wasn’t until I found the rhythm in my stroke that I was able to form a clear thought in my head.
What was it Mom used to say? If you can’t find the answer to a problem, you need to distance yourself from the situation to see the puzzle more clearly. I couldn’t help but wonder what kind of problem my dad and I represented, and why she had felt the need to distance herself from us.
I dove underwater again. I wished I could stay down forever. Then I wouldn’t have to deal with moms who leave and dads who can’t be trusted. People wouldn’t die. Friends wouldn’t lie to me.
No, the only thing I could do was to go home. Look for answers. Ask questions. What choice did I have? I swam back to shore.
I knew I was in trouble before I even made it out of the water, and not from the waves this time. There
, standing on the beach, was my dad. He marched down to the water’s edge as I came in, his face tight and redder than usual.
“What do you think you’re doing?”
I figured it wouldn’t be a good move to state the obvious, so I didn’t say anything, which turned out to be not such a great move either, judging by the way his lips pulled down at the corners.
“Do you have any idea how worried I was?”
“I told Darlene I was going out.”
“To get some air, not, not . . .” He gestured toward the waves. "After everything that’s happened today, why would you think this was a good idea?”
“Because I had to get away. Especially after everything that’s happened today. This is where I come to unwind.”
“Not anymore you don’t. Not until we get this thing resolved. Now pick up your clothes, and let’s go back to the house.”
It was pretty clear that Dad didn’t know what to do with me. Since I’d never really given him a reason to punish me before, this was new territory for him. As a dad, I mean. As a boss, it was simple for him just to dock my pay or give me the grunt work if I messed up, but in the father/daughter arena, I’d never even talked back to him. Wanted to a few times, but never did. I think I was afraid to.
I could tell he thought he should do something about my running off "after all that happened,” but he didn’t know what. He ended up putting me under house arrest. Not that he came right out and said as much, but he had me work in the office until dinner, and, even then, he asked the staff to deliver the food to the Plantation House instead of our going to the lounge. We ate in silence in the conference room.
I really wasn’t hungry, anyway. I kept thinking about Bianca, who at that very moment was being flown to the city by Junior and Frank, and about the Mulos’ deception. I picked at my food while fears and questions chased around in my head like a couple of drunken geckos.
I think dad may have noticed my lack of appetite because he eased up a little after dinner and didn’t give me any more assignments. He did want me to stay in the lobby, though, no doubt so he could keep a warden’s watch on me. I dropped onto the couch with a book, although I didn’t see a word on the page.
I have no idea how long I sat there, staring out the window. The knot in my stomach grew tighter and tighter as the sky faded from purple to black and the first stars appeared.
Then I saw movement outside the window. Seth beckoned to me from the shadows. I pretended not to see him and turned back to my book. I coolly flipped the page. Inside, however, I was anything but calm. How could he show his face after the way he’d lied to me? Did he know what his dad had done? Okay, what his dad allegedly had done.
I snuck another glance out the window. Again Seth motioned for me to come out. His face looked pleading, anxious. I bit my lip. What if he had found out what his dad had . . . allegedly done, and now he needed my help? Could I ignore him?
But he had lied to me!
Plus, he and his family could be dangerous if they were involved in something serious enough to make them want to fake their own deaths. I’d be smart to stay clear of him like my dad wanted me to do. Like my dad—who was sneaking around, not telling me the truth, trying to hide the Mulos, treating me like a little kid instead of just telling me what it was all about—wanted me to do . . .
I set aside my book.
Leaning back in the chair, I peered into Dad’s office. He was on the phone. Maybe if I just went to see what Seth had to say . . . I rushed to the door and slipped quietly outside.
Seth was waiting by the walk. “Are you okay? My dad said something happened.”
I’ll bet he did. “I’m good, thanks.”
He shuffled his feet. “Do you want to . . . I don’t know, go for a walk or something?”
“I can’t.“
“Oh.”
“It’s my dad . . .” I gestured vaguely behind me.
“Oh.”
The questions inside my head screamed to be asked. Only now, facing Seth, I didn’t know how to bring them up without confronting him about his fake death. I wasn’t sure if I should spill that without finding out first what was going on. But I couldn’t do that by keeping quiet.
“Hey, how did you guys get to the resort last night?”
His brows drew together. “The . . . um . . . helicopter dropped us on the beach.”
I took a step back. The beach? Frank was the only one authorized to bring guests to the resort, and he would never land anywhere but the helipad. I thought back to the night the Mulos had arrived. I knew there hadn’t been enough time after Hisako’s arrival for Frank to have made it to the city and back before the Mulos showed up. “Who brought you?”
He shifted from one foot to the other. “I don’t remember the pilot’s name.”
More lies. An awkward silence stretched between us. Finally, we both spoke at the same time.
“Just wanted to make sure you were all right,” he said as I asked, “Are you okay?” We laughed, probably a lot more than the situation warranted.
I searched his face, looking for I don’t know what. “Really. Is everything okay? With your family, I mean. Because if you need to talk . . .”
Seth never got a chance to answer. Something small and black swooped out of the darkness, aimed directly for my head. I screamed and ducked. Seth was at my side in an instant, protectively wrapping his arms around me.
“What happened?”
I trembled and pushed away, feeling foolish. “It’s nothing. A bat. It startled me, is all.” Just a bat. The one thing in the world I was most afraid of. Until now.
Seth started to laugh, but then he nudged me and jerked his head toward the office. Through the window, I could see Dad heading toward the door.
“Oh, crap. Go. Go!”
Seth slipped back into the shadows. The sound of his footsteps faded into the shrubbery as the door opened behind me.
“Aphra?”
I turned around, pasting what I hoped was an innocent look on my face. “Yes?”
“Are you all right? What was that noise?”
“There was a bat. . . .”
“What are you doing out here in the first place?”
“I . . . needed some fresh air.”
He folded his arms. “I see. And who was that with you?”
“What?”
“I told you, Aphra. I want you to stay away from that boy.”
I pressed my lips together. I wanted things, too. I wanted Bianca to be alive. I wanted to see my mom again. I wanted my dad to be straight with me. I opened my mouth to tell him that, but I couldn’t make the words come.
I followed him inside, but I wasn’t in the mood to pretend-read anymore. “Dad, I’m really tired. I think I’m going to go up to bed now.”
He narrowed his eyes. “Bed? Now?”
What was he thinking? That I was going to sneak outside again? I said good night and trudged up to my room. I didn’t even turn on the light, but went straight to my window seat and sat staring out over the trees. I hated that my dad and I couldn’t trust each other anymore. We may not have had the closest of relationships, but it had worked on some levels. We’d always had a mutual respect. I just wasn’t sure it was there anymore.
I must have fallen asleep at the window because when I awoke, I was curled up on the seat, cold and stiff from lying in a weird position all night.
A soft wind blew in a salt water tang from the ocean. It smelled fresh and clean. If only the new day could erase all that had happened the day before.
I showered and dressed and headed down to the lobby, braced for more terse words from my dad. But Dad wasn’t there, which was strange; he always began each day promptly at seven o’clock. It was well past eight.
I didn’t have time to think too much about it, because just then, Darlene trudged into the lobby, propping up a man in a rumpled navy suit. The collar of his crisp white shirt lay open, and his silk tie hung at a crazy angle. Frank followed close behind with th
e man’s suitcase—a big, blocky thing that appeared to be heavy, the way he was straining with it.
I stared at the procession as they made their way across the room. Another check-in I knew nothing about.
“Aphra, honey, do you know where your dad is?” Darlene sounded irritated. “Frank had to call me to help with Mr. Watson here.”
“Watts,” the man said.
Darlene gave him a reassuring smile and patted him on the arm like a little child. “No worry, beef curry. We get you settled fast kine, yeah? Guaranz.” She lowered her voice and told me, “He got sick on the flight.”
Maybe. But even pale and sweating, the man had a threatening air about him that made me want to hide. It was the way he looked at me, with black, veiled eyes . . . like a shark’s. Sharp eyes that felt like they were trying to probe my thoughts. Heavy brows hung over those eyes, already disapproving of whatever he might find.
I shuddered and pasted on a courteous smile. “I’m sorry to hear that, Mr. Watson. Let’s get you to your room so you can rest.”
“Watts.” He scowled. “Damian Watts.”
I typed in the name and a registration screen came up immediately. It looked like Dad had taken the reservation just a couple of hours before. “Oh. Yes. Here you are. You’ll be in villa ten.”
“Wait.” Mr. Watts pulled away from Darlene and leaned heavily on the desk. He fixed me with those dark eyes. “Mr. Connolly . . . is expecting . . . me. I need to . . . speak to him.”
“I’m sorry, Mr. Connolly is assisting another guest at the moment, sir, but I can let him know you’re here.” I gave him a shaky smile. “Until then, we should get you to your villa so you can lie down.”
His thin lips tightened and curved into a frown. “Mr. Connolly—” He swayed, and I thought he was going to pass out right there in the office.
Darlene hurried to prop him up again. “Frank, help me get Mr. Watts out to the cart. You can take him to his room, yeah?”