Blood on the Beach

by Sarah N. Harvey

  Claire was pale and sweating, her eyes pink-rimmed. “I just saw Warren—”

  “He didn’t find her,” I cut in. “I knew he wouldn’t.”

  She narrowed her eyes suspiciously. “What do you mean, you knew?”

  “What is wrong with you people?” I wanted to grab Claire and shake her, hard. “There’s no way Tara would take off in a boat. She hates the water. And she’s scared of drowning. Even if she wanted to…even if she was…she wouldn’t do it like that. Pills maybe. But risk drowning? Not a chance.”

  Claire shook her head. She was trying to hide it, but she looked scared, and I realized again that she really wasn’t that much older than the rest of us. “I’m on my way to call for help,” she said. “I want you all to go back to your cabins and try to rest.” She jogged off toward the mess hall.

  “Yeah, a nap sounds sweet,” Chad said and headed in the direction of the guys’ cabin.

  Caleb looked pissed. “I’m going to look in the woods again,” he said. Jason and Nick offered to go with him, and they took off. I figured they were avoiding Chad as much as looking for Tara. Not that I blamed them. I’d rather have poked myself in the eye with a sharp stick than shared a cabin with that asshole.

  Mandy took off, heading back to our cabin. “Guess I better follow her,” Imogen said, hanging back and sounding reluctant. “She’s a wreck.”

  “Yeah,” I said. “You go with her—we don’t want to lose anyone else. I’m going to poke around a bit.”

  Imogen gave me an awkward shoulder punch. For some reason my cheeks felt warm, and I couldn’t quite meet her eyes. “Um, so. I’ll see you later,” I said, and I took off sprinting down the path to the beach. It was quiet and empty and would have probably felt peaceful under different circumstances. As it was, my gut was churning and my head buzzing with questions. I sat on a huge, damp driftwood log, slipped off my hoodie and stuck it under my butt so I wouldn’t get soaked. The red kayak was there, where Warren had pulled it up on the rocks above the high-tide line. You could see the indentations in the stones where the yellow kayak had been. The scene shifted in my mind, like camera lenses clicking into place, sharpening the focus.

  What did I know? I’d heard a noise in the night. Maybe one o’clock, two o’clock? Something like that. Tara was missing. A kayak was gone…

  There had to be clues here. My mother was a detective. And I was a CSI addict.

  I walked over to the space where the second kayak had been and tried to imagine the scene. Tara, dressing silently and tiptoeing out of our cabin, walking down the path to the beach, looking out at the blackness of the sea. Pulling the kayak over the stones and across the sand, down to the edge of the water, standing there with the icy waves lapping at her feet. Rolling up her jeans to push the boat out…

  But I didn’t believe it. There had to be some other explanation.

  There weren’t any drag lines on the sand to show where the kayak had been pulled to the edge of the water—I guessed the tide must already have come and gone, wiping the rocky beach clean. I looked back up to where the rocks ran into a dirt bank, then at the scrubby grass and trees above.

  Nothing. Just rocks and mud and—

  A footprint. Right at the edge of the beach, where the rocks thinned out and bared the muddy ground beneath, was one almost perfect footprint.

  I almost laughed. A footprint was a classic clue in the movies, but what did it actually mean? That someone had stepped on the dirt bank above the beach? Big deal. It could have been any one of us, launching our stupid paper boats the day before.

  Only…it had been raining last night, hadn’t it? It had started drizzling just as we finished up the ritual, and it had poured while we ate dinner, a heavy patter-patter on the roof of the mess hall. It hadn’t stopped until after we were in bed. So someone had been on the beach later than that. Maybe this footprint wasn’t nothing after all.

  I crossed the rocks, stepping carefully over the jumble of driftwood that crisscrossed the beach, and stopped a couple of feet away from the footprint. It was obviously made by someone with bigger feet than mine, which basically narrowed it down to everyone else on the island. I balanced on one foot, slipped my other foot out of its muddy runner and held the shoe above the footprint. Bigger by several inches, so probably not one of the girls. And it looked like a boot with a heavy tread.

  I’d noticed that Warren wore Kodiaks. He’d been down here this morning, getting the kayak. But it could just as easily be from any of the other guys. I was pretty sure I’d seen Caleb in hiking boots, and maybe Jason too. I’d have to find some way of visiting the guys’ cabin to check out their footwear and shoe sizes. And Rahim too—he was a socks-and-sandals guy, but he probably had brand-new Gore-Tex hiking boots to go with his brand-new Canadian Outdoorsman wardrobe.

  Maybe Tara had been meeting one of the guys for some reason. It didn’t seem likely, but it made more sense than her sneaking down here in the middle of the night to go kayaking in the dark.

  I backed away from the footprint. I wished I had my phone so I could take a photo. I should protect the print somehow, I thought, in case it was evidence. Evidence of what, I had no idea, but I grabbed a few sticks and built a sort of tepee over the footprint, as if I was making a bonfire or something. Hmm. That would protect the footprint from being stepped on, but not from rain or high tides…

  I was being an idiot.

  I turned and began walking back to the path, past the big driftwood log I’d been sitting on. My hoodie was still lying on the log, and I bent to pick it up.

  And right by where I’d been sitting on the log, just behind where my legs had been minutes earlier, was a dark, reddish stain.

  I swallowed. Stared. Dropped to my knees and looked at the stain more closely.

  Could it actually be blood?

  Or was I being completely crazy? I mean, I decide to treat the beach like a crime scene, and next thing you know I’m seeing footprints and bloodstains everywhere? Yeah. Get a grip, Alice.

  The dark patch was a couple of inches wide and ran down the side of the log in a thick dark streak. It sure looked like blood. But it could’ve been…I didn’t know. Something else. I just couldn’t think what.

  I stood up, wrapped my arms around myself and shivered.

  Then the gong sounded—loudly and urgently—five times. Emergency meeting. I grabbed my hoodie and ran to join the others.

  TWELVE

  Alice

  Rahim and Claire were waiting for us, the chairs still arranged in a circle. People took their seats. I glanced around the room, first at the faces—everyone looked anxious, eager for news—and then at the feet.

  Caleb’s feet were massive, not surprisingly—he must’ve been at least six foot four—and he was wearing hiking boots. So were Jason and Chad. Rahim was wearing his Keen sandals with gray socks, and Nick was wearing Converse high-tops.

  Not that this proved anything.

  “I’m afraid we’ve got some bad news,” Claire said. Her hair was pulled back into a ponytail, and she was nervously twisting a loose strand between her fingers.

  “Oh my god.” Beside me, Imogen gasped, and her hand flew to her mouth. “Tara. Did she kill herself? Did you find her body?”

  Rahim put a hand on Imogen’s arm. “No, no. Nothing like that. It’s the radio.”

  Claire nodded. “The radio’s not working. I tried to call the coast guard, but it seems to be completely dead.”

  “Dead. Nice word choice,” Imogen whispered to me.

  Jason spoke up. “I’m pretty good with electronics. I can take a look.”

  Claire frowned slightly. “Well, let’s wait until Warren gets back. He may be able to get it working. No offense, Jason. I just don’t want to risk having you take it apart and make things worse.”

  Jason folded his arms across his chest, clearly annoyed. “I’m not going to make things worse. I know what I’m doing.”

  “I’m sure you do, Jason,” Claire said. “And if Warre
n can’t get it working, we’ll take you up on that offer. But let’s wait for him.”

  “Good idea,” Rahim chimed in. “And in the meantime, let’s pick up where we left off and take some time to focus on how we are all feeling.”

  Not surprisingly, the group session was a dismal failure. Rahim rambled on about shock and trauma and assured us about a hundred times that whatever we were feeling was normal. Nobody wanted to discuss their feelings though.

  Claire looked pale and tense. “I’ll start,” she offered. “I’m feeling…well, I’m devastated that a camper has gone missing on my watch.”

  A camper. Not Tara, just a camper. I figured she was probably envisioning a future that included her INTRO business getting some seriously bad press, and maybe a lawsuit or two. She squeezed out a few tears, but honestly, I couldn’t shake the conviction that she was more worried about her business than about Tara herself.

  I was almost certain that Caleb was the only one with feet that big, but I wished I’d measured the footprint. My mom would’ve thought of that for sure. And I kept picturing that stain-that-was-possibly-blood on the log.

  I wanted to talk to someone about what I’d seen, but it was scary, and I wasn’t sure who I could trust. Imogen, maybe? I liked her, but I wasn’t sure how truthful she was—some of her stories were hard to believe. Still, I couldn’t imagine that she had anything to do with Tara’s disappearance.

  Soon Warren reappeared, grim-faced. He shook his head wordlessly, and Mandy let out a sob. Claire jumped to her feet and clutched Warren’s arm like it was a life preserver. The two of them rushed off together, presumably to fix the radio.

  I hoped to hell they could get it working. I guessed if they couldn’t, Warren would have to paddle the kayak back to the mainland to get help. I assumed that was possible. After all, people kayaked all around the Gulf Islands, right? And Warren was fit enough if anyone was. It’d mean another delay though. There should have been a search-and-rescue operation happening before we’d even had breakfast. Instead, it was practically dinnertime and still no action. Jason was right—Claire and Warren might be hoping to avoid bad publicity, but they were pretty much begging for a lawsuit. Why didn’t they have a backup plan? A second emergency radio or flares or something. Weren’t there any standards they had to meet? This was crazy.

  I felt another flash of anger toward my mother. What the hell had she been thinking, sending me here?

  Rahim cleared his throat. “Well. It’s understandable that everyone is a little overwhelmed—”

  “Can you please stop saying everything is understandable?” Imogen snarled.

  “Oh my god,” Mandy said. “Oh my god. What if Tara’s dead? What if her body is, like, lying somewhere in the woods?”

  “Mandy, take a deep breath and stop catastrophizing,” Rahim said.

  Mandy looked shocked, but she took a great gulp of air.

  “Good,” Rahim said. “And another.” He glanced around the circle. “Look, let’s get dinner started. Never mind what the schedule says. Chad and Caleb, can you clear up the mess from lunch and maybe do some dishes? Imogen and Alice, how about you two chop up some veggies for a salad. Jason, you’re in charge of pasta. Mandy and Nick…” He looked around. “Uh, dessert? Cookies? Whatever you can come up with, okay?”

  Mandy took another noisy gulp of air and nodded. “I make the best peanut-butter cookies,” she said. “Seriously. They’re to die for.”

  Imogen caught my eye. “I hope not,” she whispered, and I almost snorted.

  We found a clear patch of counter close to the sink. Imogen washed red peppers and mushrooms and passed them to me to chop. I looked around. The kitchen was pretty large, but with this many people crowded into it, I didn’t want to bring up the blood on the beach.

  “That was smart, didn’t you think?” Imogen handed me a tomato.

  “What was?”

  “Rahim. Giving everyone something to do.”

  I looked up at her in surprise. “I guess.”

  “Mandy was starting to do that thing she does, you know, hyperventilating, flapping her hands. About to go into full-on panic mode…” Imogen pointed at her with a cucumber. “Look at her now.”

  I looked. Mandy was hanging on to Nick’s arm, giggling and whispering something. “Huh.”

  “And he put her with Nick too.” She nodded for emphasis. “That Rahim? He comes across as a bit goofy, but he’s not stupid. He’s hiding a sharp mind behind all that psychobabble.”

  “What?” She’d lost me. “Why would Rahim hide anything? And why’s it good that Mandy’s with Nick? You mean because her flirting won’t go anywhere?”

  She shook her head. “Nick’s good with people. Likes taking care of them. He wants to be a nurse, you know?”

  “No. I didn’t.” It was like we’d been on different islands. “How do you know all this?”

  She laughed. “I just pay attention.”

  “I pay attention,” I said, slicing a mushroom. Thwack, thwack, thwack.

  “You’re always off in your head, thinking about something.” Imogen put her hand on my wrist. “Hey. Don’t be mad. It’s not a bad thing.”

  Even after the salad was ready, I could still feel the warmth on my wrist where she had touched me.

  * * *

  There was no way I could get to sleep that night. Warren hadn’t been able to get the radio working, and he hadn’t let Jason try, which made no sense. I couldn’t believe we were stuck here, having to go on with this farce of a program, and still there was no one doing a proper search for Tara. I lay in my narrow bed under the scratchy INTRO blanket, and a tear leaked out of my eye. Thank God for pitch-darkness.

  Imogen and Mandy chatted for a while. It was mostly Mandy talking and Imogen listening, and of course it was about the guys. They both thought Caleb was cute, and Mandy thought Jason was all right too. “He’s actually really shy,” she said. “You wouldn’t think it, because he comes across as cocky, right? But one on one, when you talk to him? He’s not like that at all.” I could hear her rolling over in the dark. “He’s sweet.”

  And so on. Blah, blah, blah. I wasn’t in the mood for gossip and small talk. Still, listening to them made me feel even more alone. I was desperate to tell someone about the footprint and the blood, but I hadn’t been able to get Imogen alone. I considered telling them both. I couldn’t imagine Mandy having anything to do with Tara’s disappearance, but if I mentioned blood, she’d probably lose it completely. Better not to risk it.

  They finally fell quiet, but I was wide awake with my thoughts buzzing around. I kept going over my first night here—how I’d sat on the end of Tara’s bed and we’d talked. Not about anything important—just about her liking cooking and about Caleb’s artwork. It didn’t seem like the sort of conversation someone would have if they were planning to kill themselves.

  “Are you still awake?” I whispered. “Imogen? Mandy?”

  No one answered.

  I got out of bed, padded barefoot across the wooden floor and sat on Tara’s bed again. It was still unmade, the way she’d left it.

  There was this ache in my chest. I wanted so incredibly much to talk to my mom. Yeah, I was pissed off that she’d made me come here, but I got it. I really did. If I ever had a kid who was royally screwing up in potentially fatal ways, I’d probably do something drastic too.

  I sent telepathic messages across the ocean and through the city streets to our condo, concentrating as hard as I could. I didn’t really believe in that kind of thing, but I wished with all my heart I did. If my mom would only walk in right now, I’d throw myself into her arms and give her the biggest all-is-forgiven hug ever.

  I lay down on the bed with my head on Tara’s pillow. I thought I could smell the faintest hint of her shampoo on the bedding, but maybe I was imagining it. As I curled up on my side, something crinkled under the sheet. I slid my hand beneath the covers and felt around.

  A scrap of paper.

  I tiptoed back to
my own bed, grabbed my flashlight from under my pillow and burrowed under my blanket before switching it on.

  In my hand was a small sheet of lined paper that looked like it’d been torn from a notebook. On it, in tidy, slanting all caps:

  MEET ME ON THE BEACH TONIGHT AFTER THE OTHERS ARE ASLEEP

  —CALEB

  My heart sank. I wasn’t sure why, but I really didn’t want it to be Caleb.

  He’s pretty cute, Tara had said. And she’d gone on about how nice and sincere he was…

  I pictured those supersized hiking boots. And he always had a notebook with him. He tried to hide it, like he was embarrassed about writing in a journal or something, but I’d seen it sticking out of his hoodie pocket. It looked about the same size as this note.

  Had Tara met Caleb on the beach the night before? And what happened? Did they have a fight? Was that why she’d taken off? I pictured the blood on the log again. Had Caleb done something to her? Hurt her somehow?

  I couldn’t see it, but you can’t really tell about people. Mom’s always saying how charming sociopaths can be.

  Or—what if Tara was cutting again? That would explain the blood. Maybe Caleb had tried to stop her. But if that was the case, why wouldn’t he tell the truth about it?

  Even if he hadn’t killed her, he was obviously hiding something.

  TUESDAY

  THIRTEEN

  Caleb

  Twenty-four hours after Tara had gone missing, I was back in the mess hall, poking at the breakfast Mandy and Nick had prepared for us—oatmeal with raisins. I hate raisins and I’m not keen on oatmeal, but I was hungry, so I picked out the raisins, loaded the oatmeal with brown sugar and flooded it with milk. Alice and I were on lunch duty—maybe I’d be able to find something tasty in the fridge. Like a cheeseburger and some fries. Somehow I doubted it.

  Imogen and Alice were sitting together, chatting in low voices—I had a feeling they were talking about me, because every so often they sent dark looks in my direction before returning to their whisper fest. Jason was slumped over at one of the tables, his head resting on his arms, an empty bowl beside him. Chad was nowhere to be seen, which was weird because he’d left the cabin before me. No sign of any of the counselors either. Maybe they were off somewhere staring at the broken radio and deciding how exactly to handle the inevitable lawsuits…