Precipice

by Tom Savage

  She laughed at his expression, reached over, and took his hand firmly in hers. At the same moment, the vessel began to move smoothly forward across the surface of the water. He felt the pressure of her soft hand and opened his eyes. His respiration returned to normal. He looked around: everyone else was laughing and chatting.

  “Are you going to be all right, Bob?” she asked.

  He inhaled the scent of flowers, saw the dark hair dancing in the breeze. He relaxed, settling back on the seat and grinning over at her. “Hey, no problem.”

  And there was no problem. He had caught up with her, and she was beautiful, and everything was going to be just fine.

  Landlubber, Adam thought with disgust.

  The young man sitting next to Diana was white as a sheet, and she was holding his hand to keep him from passing out. Just what I need, an idiot like that. Some beard! He glanced around at the others. A couple of Lisa’s friends were obviously nervous, but you’d expect that of children. Not a grown man. Well, he was Diana’s problem: Adam had something else to think about.

  He’d managed to get Kay and Diana to the club and onto the boat without either of them seeing a newspaper or hearing the gossip that even now must be spreading like fire throughout the clubhouse. Trish and Jerry seemed to have missed it as well.

  He’s been the first to arrive at the table on the sundeck where Nola was laying out the breakfast things. The Virgin Islands Daily News was in its usual spot next to his place setting. He’d looked down and seen the bold headline: “SKYLINE DRIVE MURDER—HUSBAND HELD.” He’d handed the paper to Nola, who’d taken it into the kitchen. When Kay joined him, rested and relaxed and blushing from last night’s activities, she never noticed its absence.

  He studied his passengers. No, nobody was yet aware of the incident. The children were playing some sort of game, pretending to be sailors or pirates, under Kyle’s watchful eye. Trish was helping Kay hand out drinks, and the two of them were discussing women’s fashions with the girl Kyle had brought along, a waitress from some bar. Adam grinned to himself when he regarded her: he couldn’t remember her name, and he wondered if Kyle could. Kyle was like that about women.

  Someone had given Bob Taylor a can of beer, which might bring a little color back to his pallid cheeks. Diana sat close to him—a bit too close for Adam’s liking—and the two of them laughed a great deal as she pointed around the boat, explaining the rudiments of sailing. The young man, he noticed with irritation, could barely take his eyes from Diana’s face.

  He gripped the wheel, his back to the others, and gazed out toward the horizon. Soon they’d get to St. John and drop anchor at Trunk Bay for the picnic lunch.

  Jack Breen, he thought. Goddamned Jack Breen. Nancy had to leave the party early, and Jack had to follow her. The argument had been witnessed by everyone else at Barbara’s house, according to the Daily News. He glanced behind him at Trish and Jerry: they’d been there. They must have seen it, too.

  When Jack found his wife on the living-room carpet, he’d apparently fainted. He’d come to several minutes later—about the time Adam was arriving home—and called the police. He told them that the house had been robbed and Nancy murdered, probably by the same burglar who’d knocked over the Harrimans’ house.

  Of course, nobody believed him. Everybody knew about his relationship with Barbara, even the police. They’d called her to verify the Breens’ times of departure from her house, and she’d gotten hysterical. Nancy’s tirade had been mentioned, and the cops took it from there. It was obviously a domestic crime, they reasoned, and Jack had robbed his own house afterward to lay the blame elsewhere.

  As far as they were concerned, there was no burglar.

  Jack Breen’s bumbling could ruin the plan.

  Diana. He turned around and regarded her as she talked and laughed with her alleged date.

  He remembered her on this boat ten weeks ago. It had been her suggestion—and he was still trying to figure this out—to rob local houses in the weeks beforehand. Make it look like part of a random pattern, she’d said, rather than a specific, premeditated act. Be away from the island when the real action went down. She’d figured out disguises and flights and car rentals: after a while he’d relaxed and left it all to her. He was astonished at the way her mind worked. She was a brilliant young woman.

  But she did not know about Nancy. She would not approve of that, he thought. She didn’t yet know about the others, and she wouldn’t approve of them, either. There might be a scene.

  The children cried out in delight as St. John appeared before them. Kyle manned his station and they tacked, setting a new course along the north coast of the smallest U.S. Virgin Island. Soon they would sail past Caneel Bay and into Trunk Bay.

  Everyone was looking over at the vivid green landmass looming up out of the water on the starboard side of the Kay, and Diana was pointing toward the top of the closest hill. Adam looked up. The statue of Christ towered over them, smaller than but similar to the one above the harbor of Rio de Janeiro. The so-called Son of God stood smiling, vivid white against the blue sky, arms extended outward in kindly, amaranthine benediction.

  His gaze fell from the statue above them to Diana’s face. She was leaning against the starboard rail, looking up. She closed her eyes briefly and moved her lips in some silent prayer. So, he thought, her Greek and Roman fascination is insufficient: she puts stock in this mythology as well.

  Even as he watched her do this, he knew that he was not going to tell her about Nancy Breen. She might not react well: their original blueprint had been only for robberies, not anything else. She didn’t know about Sandra—or Greg, for that matter. He understood the necessity of their disposal, but her stunt with the statue of Christ only proved that she was still bound by earthly laws. If anything were to upset her at this stage, it could endanger the plan.

  He would write the Breens off as a loss and try again. He’d let Jack take the fall; he didn’t give a damn about him anyway.

  Kay arrived next to him at the helm. She put her arm around his waist and rested her head against his shoulder.

  “Thank you for today,” she murmured. “Lisa is in heaven, and so am I.”

  He leaned over and kissed her lightly on the forehead. No, you’re not, he thought. Not yet. . . .

  He placed his arm around his wife’s shoulders and smiled at her. The burglar would have to strike again, and soon. Labor Day was only ten days away.

  “So,” Robin said, “what do you do for the Prescotts?”

  She was leaning back, her blue bikini standing out vividly against the red cushions. Her smooth, tanned skin glowed in the sunlight.

  “Au pair,” she said. “Companion. That sort of thing.”

  “Lisa seems like a really nice kid.”

  “She is.”

  “So how long will this go on?” Robin asked, feigning the most casual interest.

  “I’m not sure,” she replied, brushing a lock of dark hair away from her eyes. “I like it here. It’s so beautiful, so pleasant. Not at all like New York, in case you haven’t noticed. I guess I’ll have to go back soon, but at the moment I’m enjoying myself. How about you? Will your business keep you around for a while?”

  “Looks that way,” he said.

  “Do you have a family waiting for your return?” she asked.

  “Not really. I’m not married or anything. My parents live on Long Island. I have a co-op on West Seventieth. I just moved in, so there isn’t even any furniture yet.”

  She laughed. “I’ll eventually have to find an apartment in Manhattan myself. My long-range plan is to be an actress. I’ve been studying for some time now—”

  “Oh? Where?” he asked before he could stop himself.

  “HB—that’s Herbert Berghof Studios to you,” she said.

  “Oh, wow! That’s—um—very interesting.” He smiled and nodded, biting his tongue. Dumb. You’re supposed to be in real estate, he reminded himself. Bob Taylor has never heard of HB and could car
e less. Margaret Barclay’s report hadn’t mentioned that the girl took acting classes. He sat there, smiling vacuously at her, amazed that they had so much in common and frustrated because he couldn’t let her know that. Hell, he knew at least five students at HB. The two of them probably had several acquaintances in common.

  “Show biz must be a tough profession,” he observed, playing the disinterested outsider. “Are you sure you’re cut out for it?”

  “I’ll soon find out, won’t I?” she murmured.

  Much later, he would look back at it all and realize that this had been a lie. At that point she had no intention of trying her luck as an actress. She had other plans, but at the time he had no way of knowing that. He only knew that he was beginning to like her.

  And much later, when he looked back at it all, he would also realize that it was the near-fatal accident on board the Kay that afternoon that had proved to him that he was capable of very strong emotions where she was concerned. This beautiful young woman, this aspiring actress who studied at an acting school he’d been thinking about enrolling in, this enigma who for some reason was calling herself Diana Meissen: he was quite capable of falling in love with her.

  Yes, he would later realize, it was the accident that had changed everything.

  He’s really very nice, the young woman thought. Good-looking, of course, but open and friendly and funny as well. I never seem to take up with men like him. They’re always around, I guess: there must have been nice guys at college, in Hawaii and San Francisco, even in Glen Cove. This one is from New York. The world is obviously full of them. I just don’t pay attention.

  She smoothed her hair and grinned as he took yet another photograph of her with the little camera he’d brought along. He was snapping everyone: Kay, Trish, Kyle and Rita, Lisa and the other children. She noticed, smiling, that he carefully avoided photographing Adam, even in the one shot he took of the entire group. The two men obviously disliked each other.

  She was feeling better, calmer, now that they had arrived at their destination. The shock caused by her initial sight of that big white statue on the hill had unsettled her, made her briefly forget herself. An impulsive reaction, she now determined—the result of too much childhood exposure to nuns and chapels and the hushed, unquestioning adoration of what were, if she looked at it honestly, mere inanimate objects. But she hadn’t been thinking rationally when the mountain loomed up out of the water, dominated by that huge, spectacular presence. Some quirk, some uneasy combination of the image of Christ towering above her and the dark, guilt-tinged thoughts that now possessed her constantly, had prompted the automatic response. Pater Noster, Qui es in Caelis, sanctificatur nomen Tuum. Adveniat regnum Tuum. ..

  They had sailed into Trunk Bay and dropped anchor. Kay and Trish were laying out the lunch things as they were brought out from the cabin. There were sandwiches and cold chicken and salads and potato chips. There was also a chocolate cake stashed somewhere out of sight: she and Kay had helped Nola with it yesterday.

  My God, she thought briefly. I stood there in this woman’s kitchen, helping her make a cake for her daughter’s birthday.

  The children, excited by the sight of the perfectly white strip of beach before them, were cavorting around the deck, getting in the way of the grown-ups. Kay looked up from her chores.

  “Diana,” she called, “could you be a darling—”

  “Sure,” she answered immediately. “Okay, kids. All ashore who’s goin’ ashore! Stay close to Mr. Taylor and me in the water.” She turned to him. “You don’t mind, do you?”

  “My pleasure,” he said, grinning as he put away the camera, kicked off his shoes, and shed his jeans and striped jersey.

  Very nice, she thought, regarding the muscular torso in the black Speedo. She’d seen him like this before, but she hadn’t really noticed.

  She whirled around and dived over the side, followed by Bob Taylor and six laughing children.

  It happened on the return trip, in open water, shortly after they’d weighed anchor and set sail for St. Thomas.

  He and the girl had played with the kids on the beach and led them back to join the adults for lunch on the boat. The cake was produced and devoured, with the obligatory singing and blowing out of candles. More gifts were produced: cologne, compact disks, a Nancy Drew novel, more candy. Lisa accepted all of them with uncontained delight. It’s fun to watch her tear into the packages, he’d thought. She really is a lovely little girl.

  The wind had changed while they were in Trunk Bay. The water was choppier than before, and huge dark clouds had materialized in the sky. St. John receded in the distance behind them, the tiny white spot that was the statue of Christ growing smaller and smaller and finally disappearing completely. The Kay pitched and rolled, rising up on waves and crashing down again. The children had gone below to play Sardines in the cabin, and the other adults in the cockpit appeared unconcerned with the rather violent voyage. Adam Prescott was standing at the wheel as if he hadn’t a care in the world. Robin was beginning to feel queasy.

  What happened next drove all thoughts of seasickness from his mind. It also very nearly cost two lives.

  The young woman named Rita, sitting next to Kyle in the stern, asked Kay for one of her cigarettes. Kay picked up her pack, found it empty, and crumpled it. She then rose and went down into the cabin, announcing that she kept spare cartons there.

  The boat had been running before the wind when the wind’s direction changed yet again. Adam whipped his head around to Kyle and shouted something over the sudden roar. Kyle jumped up and went to join Adam. The two men prepared to come about.

  Through the open cabin door, Robin saw Kay reach over the children piled on Kyle’s bunk and grab a cigarette carton from the shelf above it. She shook out a fresh pack, replaced the carton, said something to the children that made them all laugh, turned around, and climbed the three steps back up to the deck.

  Kyle, the sheet clasped in his hands, shouted to everyone to keep their heads down. He and Adam looked up at the sail, which began to flap as the bow crossed the wind. . . .

  Kay arrived on deck, laughing as she brandished the pack of Virginia Slims. “Kyle! Stop mooching my smokes. That carton is practically empty.” She moved toward the stern.

  As he boat turned, the boom began to swing over the deck.

  Trish shouted a warning and pointed at the sail, but Kay didn’t seem to hear her. . . .

  Robin felt the fingernails dig into his forearm as the girl at his side looked up and realized what was about to happen.

  Adam had turned away to grab the wheel. . . .

  The wind hit the sail, filling it.

  At the last possible moment, Kay turned to see the boom coming toward her. The cigarette pack fell from her hand. She stood staring, frozen in shock. . . .

  From that point on, it seemed to Robin that everything had shifted into slow motion. He saw faces contorting and everyone shouting, but he couldn’t make out the words. He was aware only of the girl, and of the roaring in his ears as the blood rushed to his head.

  She rose—slowly, slowly—from the seat next to him and lurched forward, raising her arms before her as she moved. In a long, graceful action, she closed the gap between herself and Kay Prescott. She pushed the startled woman down onto the deck. Just as she was beginning to drop down next to Kay, the boom smashed into the side of her head with a sickening thud.

  It happened in seconds, he later reasoned, but it seemed to take forever. The impact lifted her from the deck and sent her flying sideways. She soared out over the rail and fell—ever so slowly, ever so gracefully—into the churning sea.

  He must have stood up. There must have been a moment in which he consciously decided to move. If there was, he would never remember it. He was leaping, and he was plunging downward, and he was in the water.

  The ocean, unlike the bay in which they’d been swimming, was freezing cold. The Kay was moving away from him at a rapid rate, leaving him behind, but he wa
s not aware of this. He was paddling with his hands to keep his head above the giant waves as he looked frantically around him for the girl. A wall of water crashed into his face, submerging him for a moment, and he fought his way back to the surface.

  He burst up from the water, gasping for air. When his vision cleared, he saw her head bobbing in the waves about thirty feet in front of him. He brought up his arms, already numb with cold, and began to swim toward her. He had to fight for every inch that brought him closer to her inert form, and several times he was pushed backward by the relentless current. Still he struggled on, unthinking, motivated only by his instinct, his overwhelming need to reach her.

  She disappeared at one point, only to rise up at the next moment on an enormous wave ten feet before him. He stroked and kicked with a power he had never known he possessed, a power born of panic. Five more feet, he thought. Three. . . .

  Then his hand made contact with her arm. He seized her in a mighty grip and pulled her to him. He held the unconscious woman up with one arm, paddling furiously with the other to keep them both afloat.

  When she came to, she nearly drowned them both. She was in shock, he knew, and unaware of her actions. She woke to find herself in rough water, screamed and thrashed for a moment and then reached out with both hands to grab him. What she grabbed was his throat.

  He shouted her name and reached up with his hands to remove the crushing pressure, but her grip was like iron. The moment he stopped paddling, they both began to sink. Another gigantic wave crashed over them, sending them down under the surface. She squeezed his neck more tightly as he flailed with his arms. His lungs began to burn as he fought to resurface, but she was weighing him down. In one last, desperate effort, he grabbed her hands and wrenched them from his neck. He held her hands tightly in front of him and kicked, sending them both upward.

  He thrust his face up out of the water and inhaled. He held her, coughing, and flailing, close to him as the dark spots danced before his eyes. He was just beginning to wonder what to do next when a large, round, white object splashed down into the water next to them.