Blood on the Beach

by Sarah N. Harvey

  I had no idea what the hell was going on.

  Mandy slid into the chair beside me with a dramatic sigh and slipped off an apron embroidered with the INTRO logo, revealing white short-shorts, a hot-pink tank top and a lot of cleavage. I averted my eyes, disgusted with myself for noticing this under the present circumstances.

  “Sorry about the oatmeal,” Mandy said. “Looks like barf, right? Cooking’s so not my thing—I’m the queen of takeout—and Nick isn’t much better. I thought all gay guys were totally into gourmet cooking and home decor and fashion and shit. Obviously I was wrong. Although I guess there’s not much you can do with crap ingredients. Even I know that instant oatmeal is gross. And this coffee?” She held up her mug. “The worst. They sure aren’t spending our parents’ money on quality food and beverages. First place I hit when we get back to town will be a Starbucks.”

  I looked down at the bowl in front of me. “Better than starving,” I said. “Long time till lunch.” I figured she was chattering away mindlessly because she was stressed and anxious—anything to fill the silence—but it was still annoying.

  She stretched her arms over her head and yawned. I could see a tattoo on her right boob.

  She caught me looking and giggled. “It’s Chinese for ‘beautiful spirit.’ I got it when I was thirteen. I talked some random old guy into coming to the tattoo place with me and pretending to be my dad. I can be very persuasive.” She winked at me. “My real dad flipped out, but what could he do? Pay for me to get the tatt lasered off?”

  What was there to say, really? You’re an idiot. Your tattoo probably means “dumb chicken.” I kept shoveling oatmeal into my mouth, hoping she would get bored and go away.

  Chad finally slouched into the mess hall, scratching his balls and yawning. Maybe Mandy would recognize her soul mate and leave me the hell alone.

  No such luck.

  She took a sip of her coffee, grimaced and said, “What do you think happened to Tara? It totally creeps me out. I don’t think I slept at all last night. I mean, are we safe? Especially the girls. What if there’s, like, a killer hiding on the island? Unless she really did kill herself, and then we’re fine, right?”

  I was saved from answering her by Rahim, who had turned up in the mess hall looking like shit. What little hair he had was uncombed, and he appeared to have slept in his clothes.

  Alice and Imogen leaped up and peppered him with questions. “Did you find her? Is she okay? Have you called for help? Are we going home?”

  This last question was from Alice, who truly looked as if she hadn’t slept. Her face was pasty, and her lips looked chapped and swollen, as if she had been chewing on them all night.

  “Going home?” Rahim sounded surprised. “Claire and Warren haven’t said anything to me about that. Right now our focus is on Tara.” He held up a hand as if to ward off more questions. “The radio seems to be a lost cause, so we don’t actually have any way of calling for help.”

  “Shouldn’t Warren take the other kayak and paddle somewhere?” Alice said. “There are lots of other islands around. And boats. I mean, I’ve seen sailboats going by, and I bet they have radios on them. And flares.” She scowled. “Some people actually prepare for emergencies, you know.”

  Rahim hesitated. “Um. Well, that is a good idea, Alice. I did make a similar suggestion to Claire and Warren, but they…well. They’re checking the island again, in case we missed something.”

  They were putting off the inevitable, I thought, but the delay in getting help was only going to blow up in their faces.

  “Missed something?” Imogen’s voice was a squeak. “Like a body?”

  “We’re still hopeful that she made it to safety in the kayak.” Rahim’s voice shook a bit.

  Alice made another one of her odd animal noises. This one probably meant How can you people be so stupid?

  Rahim ignored her. “All we can do now is support each other and look after ourselves—”

  “Look after ourselves?” Mandy’s eyes widened. “You mean, like, protect ourselves from a killer?”

  “I understand that you’re worried and afraid, Mandy,” Rahim said, “and I’m here to help you process your emotions, but we don’t have any reason to believe Tara is dead. As soon as there’s any news, Claire and Warren will let us know. In the meantime, let’s get out in the sunshine. Bring a coffee or some juice, if you want, and meet me on the beach.”

  He poured some coffee into his travel mug (Imagine. Believe. Achieve. Ravenspirit Retreat, 2007) and walked out of the room, his shoulders slumped. I caught Jason’s eye, and he shrugged.

  “You heard the man,” I said. “Let’s go process some emotions, people.”

  “But put your dishes in the sink to soak first, you effing donkeys!” Nick yelled from the kitchen in a pretty good Gordon Ramsay imitation. “Oatmeal’s a bitch if it dries out.”

  “Yes, chef!” Jason said. Everyone laughed. Nervous laughter but better than nothing. It was unsettling to hear Nick freak out, even if it was a joke. Though I was starting to think that maybe no one was what they seemed. Maybe Nick was one of those quiet psychos who lull you into feeling safe and then slip poison in your oatmeal.

  He stayed in character, screaming, “Do you want a bloody medal?” when I slid my dish into the sink.

  When I glared at him, he flushed and said, “Too much?” in his normal voice.

  “Nah. I’m just a bit jumpy, that’s all,” I said. I was worse than jumpy—I was getting totally paranoid. And Alice kept looking at me with her eyes narrowed and her mouth a hard, straight line, totally pissed off and suspicious, which didn’t help. What was her problem? I hadn’t done anything to her.

  “I hear ya,” Nick replied. “Whole thing is nuts. And now we have to talk about how we feel? I’d rather scrub oatmeal crust off these dishes, man.”

  I stayed and helped Nick clean up, and then we headed down to the beach together. You could already see how people were aligning themselves. Imogen and Alice were sitting with their backs against a log, pitching stones into the water and speaking in near whispers. Chad and Mandy were huddled together on a large rock. Mandy was giggling and stroking Chad’s biceps (which weren’t anywhere near as impressive as Warren’s). Jason waved Nick and me over to the log he was sitting on. I wondered where Tara would have fit in. From what little she had told us, I guessed she had a hard time fitting in anywhere. Maybe that was why her boyfriend’s suicide had hit her so hard. Maybe he was all she had.

  Rahim was sitting on a large rock, facing out to sea, his travel mug balanced beside him. Chad picked up a stone and nailed the travel mug, which wobbled and then rolled off the rock and into the water. When Rahim startled and turned around, I wondered if he’d been crying. I couldn’t be sure—his glasses were all smudged.

  “Dude, everybody’s here,” Chad said. “Let the processing begin.”

  “Shut up, Chad,” Alice said. “You’re such an asshole.” She got up and fished Rahim’s travel mug out of the water with a piece of driftwood.

  Rahim clambered down from the rock, took the mug from her and wiped it on his sweater. “Thank you, Alice.” He took a sip from his mug and made a face—maybe his coffee was a little salty. “Perhaps the easiest thing would be for us to use a talking stick.” He picked up the piece of driftwood Alice had used to fish out his mug. “Do you all know how a talking stick works?”

  “Person who holds it talks. No interruptions,” Jason said. “My mom’s grandma was First Nations. We used one in our family if there was some big issue to discuss, like whether we should let our sister join the family business. It didn’t always work out that well though. Josh, my oldest brother, got a concussion when our da clubbed him on the head with the talking stick.” Jason laughed, like this was actually a funny anecdote and not his life. Or maybe he was making sure none of us dared feel sorry for him. He folded his arms across his chest. “Our da’s Irish, and a drunk. Stereotype, but there you have it. He thought the talking stick was bullshit.”


  Rahim ground the talking stick into the pebbles. “And what do you think?” he asked Jason. “Is it bullshit?”

  Jason shrugged. “Not really. It meant that for once my sister didn’t get drowned out by her brothers and our da.”

  “And did she get to join the family business?” Imogen asked.

  “She did,” Jason said. “That girl could get in and out of a house faster than any of us. But she quit after a couple of years. She’s studying to be a lawyer.” He laughed. “The last time the family used the talking stick was when she announced she was going straight. That was quite the night. The talking stick ended up as kindling. Da wasn’t keen on what Shannon had to say about her new career. He thinks lawyers are—what’s the word?—shysters. No daughter of mine blah, blah, blah. He’s proud of his sons, though, even if we are convicted felons.”

  There was a long silence, and Jason’s final words hung in the air. Convicted felons. I felt like I should say something, but I couldn’t think what.

  Finally Rahim turned to the rest of us. “So who would like to start?” he asked. When no one volunteered, he thumped the stick on a rock. “Okay, I’ll go first. I am worried about Tara and afraid that she has harmed herself. I am also ashamed that I didn’t do anything to help her. That I didn’t comprehend the depth of her despair.”

  I was glad when he stopped talking. The last thing we needed was to have to worry about Rahim’s state of mind.

  Rahim handed the stick to Alice, still looking upset. She studied it and then tossed it to Imogen, who stood up, took a deep breath and said, “I don’t know what to say. I mean, I hardly knew her. She seemed super unhappy but not, you know, suicidal or anything. We talked on the Zodiac a bit, before I started puking. And she said she and her gran went through a lot together when Tara’s grandpa died. She took care of her gran, you know? I can’t believe she’d intentionally cause her more pain.” She passed the stick to Mandy and sat down. Alice put her arms around Imogen, who buried her face in Alice’s shoulder. Those two sure seemed to be bonding over this.

  Mandy dropped the stick as if it were a poisonous snake. “This is totally freaking me out, you guys. I just want to get off this island in one piece.” She turned to Chad. “You take it.”

  Chad grabbed the stick from her. “Let’s get real. We only met Tara a couple of days ago. It’s not like she meant anything to any of us. I thought she was a drag. But I hope she’s alive.”

  I wondered if he was telling the truth. He had left our cabin that first night. Who knew what he had been doing. Maybe he and Tara had met, and things had gone sideways. Unhappy girl hooks up with total jerk. Hard to imagine any girl being interested in Chad, but I guessed it was possible.

  Chad threw the stick to me javelin style. I caught it in one hand and twirled it like a drum major in a parade. I considered whacking him with it but decided not to make things worse.

  “Wow, you got some mad skills there, bro,” Chad said. “Learn that from the cheerleaders on your football team?”

  “Shut up, Chad,” I said. “You had your chance to speak. Now it’s mine.”

  FOURTEEN

  Caleb

  The stick was smooth, as if it had been sanded by the wind and the waves, and there was a knot on it that looked like a face. If I’d been alone, I would have drawn it. I would have drawn lots of things—the way Alice’s shoes were almost buried in pebbles, the strange little driftwood shelter someone had made by one of the logs, the tangle of purple beach peas that swarmed over the bushes above the beach. But drawing would have to wait.

  “I don’t have any theories about what’s happened to Tara,” I said. “I hope she took a kayak and got picked up by a passing fishing boat. And I can understand why she’d do that. Try to get away, I mean. But we need to contact the coast guard or the police, even if it means figuring out how to use the radio ourselves. I don’t believe Claire and Warren are going to contact anyone. They don’t want the authorities to know what’s going on. Bad for their business. I bet they’re hoping Tara will turn up safe and sound and we’ll carry on as if nothing has happened, but that’s pretty messed up, and it’s dangerous. Someone’s life is at stake here. They don’t know what they’re doing and—sorry, Rahim, but you don’t seem to either.” I wondered if Rahim would challenge me, but all he did was nod.

  I passed the stick to Jason, who pointed at me and said, “What he said” and then walked the stick over to Alice.

  She took it this time but stayed seated, one arm still around Imogen.

  “Caleb’s right,” she said, not looking at me. “We need to call for help.” She put the stick down. “Anybody want to volunteer to talk to Claire with me?”

  “I’ll do it,” Chad said. “But maybe Caleb should come too, in case Claire needs some convincing.”

  “Convincing?” I stood up, and my voice came out louder and angrier than I meant it to. “What’s that supposed to mean? Because I beat up my stepdad I’m your go-to guy for intimidating people? Weren’t you listening yesterday? I only hit guys who are hurting someone I care about. Take Jason if you need backup. And stay away from me from now on. My anger-management program doesn’t seem to be working.”

  “Now, boys,” Rahim said, getting to his feet and waving his coffee mug at us. “There’s no need for that kind of talk. It won’t help matters. Caleb, you and Alice are on lunch duty.”

  That was going to be fun, I thought. All morning Alice had been avoiding me—and now she and Imogen were looking at me like I’d just murdered a litter of kittens.

  “I’ll help in the kitchen,” Imogen said.

  Rahim nodded. “Nick and Mandy, would you like to stay here and do a sitting meditation with me? I find that really helpful when I’m stressed.” He patted the rock next to him.

  To my surprise, Nick nodded. He and Mandy climbed up onto the rock, where they assumed the lotus position beside Rahim. Nick looked away as I passed him—sheepishly, I thought. Mandy already had her eyes closed.

  Alice and Imogen and I made lunch in silence—lentil soup from a vat in the fridge and grilled cheese sandwiches. Oatmeal-raisin cookies for dessert. Just as Imogen was about to hit the gong, Chad stormed into the room, yelling, “I could have fixed it, man.” Jason followed behind, a look of irritation on his face.

  “What’s going on?” I asked.

  “We couldn’t find Claire or Warren, and the goddamn radio’s broken,” Chad said. “If Captain Klepto here hadn’t got in my way, I coulda fixed it and we’d be outta here.” He flung himself down in a chair and started stuffing his face with cookies.

  “That true?” I asked Jason.

  He shook his head. “No way Chad or anyone else could fix that radio.”

  “Why not?” Alice asked.

  “Because there’s a part missing—an important part. Without it, the radio’s toast.”

  “And you know this how?” Chad asked, his mouth full of cookie. “Did you fix electronics as well as steal them?”

  “Pretty much,” Jason said. “I’ve always liked taking things apart, figuring out how they work. Toasters, blenders, stereos—you name it, I can fix it.”

  “So we’re stuck here,” Imogen said, her voice quivering. “Until Saturday, when the boat comes back. That’s four days.”

  “But hey,” Chad said, “if a small appliance breaks, we’re in great shape.”

  “Shut your cakehole,” Jason said, but he sounded more tired than angry. Me, I was the opposite. No radio. No boat. A missing girl and a lot of unanswered questions.

  And nobody was doing anything about it.

  “Maybe Tara’s disappearance was no accident,” Alice said. “Maybe the radio was sabotaged. Maybe—”

  She was interrupted by Warren, who strode into the mess hall, rubbing his massive paws together. “What’s for lunch, kids?” he asked. “I’m hungry as a bear after a long winter.” As if nothing was wrong. As if Tara wasn’t missing and the radio wasn’t toast and his wife wasn’t the crappiest therapist o
n the planet.

  As if we weren’t all getting really scared.

  Everybody stared at Warren as if we had been turned to stone. When Claire and Rahim appeared in the doorway, the spell was broken. Everyone but Alice and me pressed around the three adults, peppering them with questions.

  Warren held up one meaty hand. “Settle down, people. All in good time.”

  “Good time?” Imogen said. “What does that mean? Have you found Tara?”

  “No,” Claire said. “But there’s no need to panic.” She looked directly at Mandy, who was starting to whimper.

  “We’re not panicking,” Imogen said. “We’re asking questions. Like, is there some kind of plan? Have you called for help?”

  Claire folded her arms across her chest. “There’s no reason to believe any of you are in danger. As I said before, we are following procedure.”

  I ladled soup into bowls while Alice cut up the sandwiches and piled them on plates. Nobody was saying anything new. Nobody had any answers. And Mandy’s whimpering had escalated to full-on wailing.

  “Lunch is ready,” I yelled. “Get it while it’s hot.”

  Claire was the first to break free of the group. “Warren is going to head out in the kayak this afternoon. He’s bound to run into another boat sooner or later. He can use their radio to call for help. Right now we need some fuel to keep our strength up. That path across the island isn’t going to build itself.”

  FIFTEEN

  Alice

  I had zero appetite. The soup smelled vile, and I couldn’t imagine eating. Even the thought made me want to puke.

  All I could think about was the note from Caleb I’d found in Tara’s bed. I’d told Imogen about it—and about the footprint and the blood on the beach too—and we’d talked it over endlessly. We couldn’t decide what to do. I thought we should confront him directly, but Imogen thought that was too dangerous—what if he freaked out? Then we wondered if maybe we should tell one of the adults—but at this point, neither of us really trusted them to handle things. Perhaps the safest thing was to lie low and keep our mouths shut until we could get out of here. We had gone around in circles and still hadn’t made a decision. I could barely bring myself to look at Caleb. I couldn’t believe I’d had to make lunch with him. At least Imogen had stayed with me the whole time.