by Sarah Kelly
But she turned out to be right. She’d expected the bachelorette party, but didn’t know exactly who it would be. Freya had her feet up on the coffee table, reading a glossy magazine emblazoned with Explore Grenada over a picture of a glorious mountain. Mikey, the biracial woman, had pulled her curls back into a messy bun, which looked beautiful, and read a Stephen King novel. Jazz, the short blonde, leafed through a beauty magazine.
“Oh, hey,” Mikey said, trying to look cheerful. Her words were a little slurred. “You rode in the taxi with us.”
“Hi.” India sat in the space next to her on the long woven bench. “Yes, I did. I’m so, so sorry to hear about what happened. My condolences to you all.”
“Thank you,” both Jazz and Mikey said. Freya murmured into her magazine.
“The taxi driver was arrested for it,” Jazz said, her eyes clouding over, “but we’re not sure it was him. One of the staff said they’d probably let him go soon. That the police just wanted to look like they were doing something.”
“Mmm,” India said, not wanting to give much away.
“Anyways,” Jazzy said, raising her eyebrows and turning up the corners of her mouth, though it couldn’t quite be called a smile, “we’re carrying on our hen trip and trying to make it as special and memorable as we can. Because we know that’s exactly what Charlie would have wanted.”
Mikey put her hand on her heart, tears in her eyes. Her Stephen King dropped to the floor and she totally ignored it. “She was the sweetest person. Absolutely the sweetest. She was the real loving life person out of all of us. And always the one to say give Sam the special hen party she wants, the special princess-like wedding she wants.”
“And when we used to complain about Sam, even me as her sister,” Jazz said, “she was always the one to stick up for her.” She swallowed hard. “Such a special girl. Really, she was. She was so keen to make the wedding go well, especially recently. They were best friends, truly, her and Sam. So we know that’s what she would want, for Sam’s wedding and everything to go really smoothly.”
Mikey started to cry quietly and Sam clutched her in a tight hug. “Oh, oh, I said I wouldn’t do this,” Mikey said, straightening up and wiping under her eyes so her mascara wouldn’t run. “We’ve all said that after our good cry today, we’re going to try not to cry until we get back to England. While we’re here, we’re just going to remember her in all the best ways we can.”
“It’s ridiculous,” Freya said, still staring into her magazine. She looked at India. “The only way they’re keeping this up is with copious amounts of alcohol. Crazy amounts of alcohol.”
India thought Freya’s blue eyes were cold as they bored into hers. There was a distinct lack of any emotion in them, and it almost sent a shiver through India’s spine. Was the absence of feeling a strategy she used to stay in control of herself? Or was there something more sinister at play? It was impossible to tell. She also found it strange how Freya had seemed to be at odds with most of the party since their arrival. Why was she even invited if they didn’t get along?
“You never even got along with Charlie,” Jazz said, impassioned. “So it’s not for you to tell us what to do.”
Freya looked up at her, evidently surprised. India got the impression it was one of the first times Jazz had ever stood up to Freya. An anger hardened Freya’s face for a moment, but then she buried herself back in the magazine.
“I don’t mean to pry,” India said gently, “but why was it that you and Charlie never saw eye to eye?”
Freya stared resolutely at the glossy page in front of her. “That is prying.”
But Mikey was more than happy to oblige. “Oh, come on, Frey, she’s a nice girl. And I want to talk about Charlie. I think it helps.” She looked at India, her large brown eyes deep and expressive. “They’ve never got on. We’re actually all friends from school. Jazz was a couple of years below us, but became part of the gang. We’ve been friends ever since, but Charlie and Sam and Jazz were always together more, and Freya and I are closer. Frey and Charlie never got along, but it didn’t matter ‘cause there were so many of us.”
Jazz nodded along. “But everything kind of changed since the engagement, didn’t it?”
Freya snorted. “Sam has turned into something else. And I told the others we had to call her on her drama, but then Charlie went mad and told us to shut up and put up with it.”
Jazz looked a little embarrassed, and glanced around, just to make sure Sam wasn’t there. “She has gone a little bit over the top,” she said in little more than a whisper. “It’s not her fault, though,” she hurried to add. “And she’s not doing any harm.”
“No,” Freya said testily, “it’s been an absolute nightmare from the start.” She turned to India. “This woman got engaged two years ago and ever since then the only thing we’ve ever been able to talk about is the wedding. She even had a ‘one year till the wedding dinner’, plus five bridesmaids’ dress fittings, and endless changing of mind about every single little detail. Which we’ve had to know all about. We must have been through three different color themes, ten different cakes, at least eight flower changes. She’s switched the reception venue twice.”
“No, three times,” Mikey cut in. “Remember at first she wanted it in her mum and dad’s garden.”
“Oh yeah.” Freya rolled her eyes. “I didn’t care if we hurt Sam’s feelings telling her she’d gone nuts. It’s taken over her whole life, and ours. After this wedding’s done, she’s going to have no life. What’s she going to do? Collapse in a ball crying, is my bet.” She huffed loudly. “And we’ll all have to pick up the pieces. It’s just not right.”
Jazz pushed her blonde hair away from her face. “Aw, come on, Frey. Let her have her fun. She’s not had the best engagement, has she? You know, with the…” She made her eyes wide with emphasis, trying to communicate something they were all in on and India knew nothing about.
Mikey, who looked the worst for wear out of them all, though all had clearly been drinking, held her hand up to the side of her mouth. “Her fiancé had an affair,” she whispered to India.
“Mikey!” Jazz said, genuinely annoyed. Then she slumped in the chair and looked at India, resignation in her eyes. “It’s true. He did.”
“Probably because she was so obsessed with ribbon colors and picking vicars for the service that she’d forgotten to pay him any attention,” Freya said bitterly.
“No,” Jazz said, standing up. She sounded genuinely angry. “You’d better take that back.”
Freya flicked a glossy page of her magazine. “I will not.”
“But the wedding’s still on?” India asked in a calming voice, hoping to restore peace.
Jazz stared daggers at Freya as she sat back down. “Yes. She was going to put it off, but then changed her mind. She just loves Dan too much. She forgave him. And, well…”
“She’s just as much a cheating scumbag as he is,” Freya said.
“Wait a minute!” Mikey interjected, her words slurring. She looked like she’d just come out from another world. She certainly hadn’t been tracking along the conversation, or at least if she had, her thoughts had since gone leaping off on intoxicated tangents. “Freya? Don’t you hate Charlie because she—”
“Shut up, Michaela,” Freya snapped. “That was ages ago, it doesn’t matter now.”
Mikey was unperturbed. “But you were so furious. You said you’d wring her neck.” She giggled. “I remember that. Wring her neck, what a funny expression.”
“Yeah, whatever. I don’t.” Freya played it cool, still flicking glossy pages, but India watched closely as her cheeks flushed red. The magazine shook just a little with the nervous movement of her hands, and she lowered it onto her lap to stop it.
India desperately wanted to delve deeper, but knew it was a non starter. She’d have to get Mikey on her own sometime and squeeze it out of her.
Jazz looked deeply uncomfortable, glancing up at India with a strained smile. When India
smiled back, a warm, friendly smile, Jazz reciprocated. “You’re such a kind person. What’s your name again?”
“India.”
“That’s so pretty,” Mikey commented.
“Thank you.”
“You must come with us tomorrow,” Jazz said. “You and your boyfriend. We’re going on a tour of these lava pits. Kind of like volcanoes. Fitzgerald was going to take us, but I don’t know who will now. We were going to cancel, but we made up our mind to make it a celebration of Charlie’s life.”
“I don’t mean to alarm you,” India said, “but aren’t you a little scared? There might be…” She realized they probably weren’t thinking straight at all. “…There might well be a murderer on the loose.”
“Exactly,” Freya said sharply. “We should get the next flight out of here. We all should. You as well.”
“I’m not at all worried,” came a breezy voice from behind them. The letters were all slurred into one another. They turned to see Sam, glowing with oil, wearing a white fuzzy robe. “It was that evil evil man Fitzgerald, I’m sure of it.” Her eyes didn’t quite focus as she looked around at all of them. “I can’t wait to see him rot in jail. You know they have the death penalty here. I hope he swings.”
India nodded evenly.
“But for now,” Sam said, holding her head high, “I’m going to do what my best friend Charlie would have wanted. Charlotte Alexandra Rebecca Dean.” Her eyes misted over and a fond, nostalgic smile crossed her face. “Card, we used to call her. You know, for her initials.” Then she straightened up again and blinked back the tears. “She worked so hard for my wedding. Put so much time and money and effort into it. Unlike some other people.” She tossed a glance over at Freya. “And I’m going to enjoy it all for her. I won’t let her efforts go to waste. If I fall to pieces after that, fine, but for now, I’m going to be strong.” She said it like a mantra, evidently trying to persuade herself as much as anyone else. The words caught in her throat. “I will enjoy every second of it.” Then she burst into tears and ran back into the spa.
Jazz hurried along after her, saying, “Sam, babe, come here.”
“This will never work,” Freya said.
India was inclined to agree with her. Still, she couldn’t help but wonder if the killer was lurking in the bachelorette party. There was obviously some rift between Freya and Charlie, which she’d threatened, even if flippantly – who knew? – to kill her over before. Or perhaps Jazz, hiding behind her sweet exterior, wanted to get shot of Charlie for her own reasons? Jealousy, maybe, that she was getting closer to her sister than she herself was? There was no reason why it couldn’t be Mikey, either. Or Sam. And if it wasn’t Tony, and it wasn’t Fitzgerald, and it wasn’t some random serial killer, then it had to be one of them. “Well, just be careful,” India said. “You don’t want something else to happen.”
“Sam’s pretty confident it was Fitzgerald,” Mikey said. “She says she just has a gut feeling.”
Funny, India thought. It was strange how her gut feeling and that of Xavier’s was the total opposite. Either of them could be right, she supposed.
“I think it’s pretty likely to be him, too,” Freya said. “I mean, who else could it be?”
Plenty of people, India thought, watching her leaf through her magazine. Plenty of people.
“Hello?” a rough voice called out, and India saw Tony walk around the corner toward them. In his scruffy clothes and unkempt manner, he looked totally out of place. His backpack trailed off his loose grip.
“Hi, Tony,” India said.
“Hello. I’m looking for Sam. She bought something from me at the beach earlier and I give her the wrong change. I realize just now as I counting up for the day to go home. Where is she?”
“Oh, let me get her,” Mikey said, springing to her feet and hurrying in the spa.
Tony stood awkwardly while he waited, looking out at the greenery. Anywhere but at India. She watched him, wondering what secrets he held. Since she had started investigating crimes, that was one thing she’d learned for sure. That the average person held a plethora of secrets and stories most people would never even know about. So, she was sure he did indeed have secrets and stories. But did one of them include murder?
Sam came out, now fully clothed, wiping her eyes. “Oh,” she said, frowning when she saw Tony. “What are you doing here?”
Rude, but valid, India thought.
“I give you the wrong change at the beach,” he said, unperturbed. “Not enough.”
Sam’s frown deepened. “Are you sure? I think I’d have noticed that. I’m sure I would.”
“No, I’m sure,” Tony said, nodding with enthusiasm.
She looked at him with suspicion. “I’ll go and get my bag. It’s around the verandah out front. And I’ll check the change you gave me. But I’m sure it’s right. I always check.”
“You want me to come with you, babe?” Jazz asked.
“No, it’s okay,” Sam said. “They called you to go into the massage room. Don’t worry about me. I’m a big girl.” She gave her sister a side hug. “You’ll love the massage.” Then she nodded at Tony, a stern look on her face. “I’ll see you on the other side, outside the other entrance there, right?”
“Yes,” Tony said, already turning to go round the corner.
Sam, still frowning, went back into the spa and went through the corridor.
India watched, her thoughts doubling over on themselves, wondering what the truth was. And realizing more than ever what Luis meant when he sang, as he often did, “We’re living in a world of illusion, man. Living in a world of illusion.”
***
After only picking at their lunch, India and Xavier were ravenous by the time dinner came around. The late afternoon pampering had stretched into evening. They’d walked back to their purple cottage holding hands, watching the sunset paint the sky with its glowing strokes. Once they’d showered and changed, darkness had fallen outside and mosquitoes had dared to venture out. Even sitting on the verandah waiting for Xavier – he took much longer to get ready than India – mosquitoes nipped at India’s ankles.
She went back inside, feeling her eyelids heavy. “Babe, let’s order room service. The mosquitoes are out and I’m so tired I don’t feel I could walk another step.”
“I was hoping you’d say that,” Xavier said, coming out of the bedroom in an oversized T-shirt that reached down to his knees. He had no pants on and grinned. “I didn’t feel like getting dressed up.”
India laughed. “Oh, heck no. I wouldn’t take you anywhere looking like that, anyways.”
Xavier stuck his tongue out at her behind his shoulder as he went back into the bedroom. “Who said I wanted to go with you anywhere?”
“You love me really.”
“You got me,” he said, rifling in the wardrobe for some comfortable slacks. “I do. Madly. Anyways, enough of that soppy talk. Order me some food, woman. Don’t you know your place, in the kitchen?”
It was a stupid game they often played. She ran at him with a burst of energy, tacking a kick on the end. “Go fix an engine. Or plough a field. Or kill a wolf with your bare hands. If you’re so manly.” Each time they played she usually tried to think up more and more outrageous things to tell him to go do, but she fell back on the classics in her tiredness. “Ach, this is ridiculous. For real, let me go order. You want anything particular?”
“Nope,” Xavier said. “Do your worst. But whatever it is, get a lot, okay, In?”
“All right.” India sat at the table and perused the room service menu. It was tough with so many delicious options, but hunger forced her to make a quick decision. “Hi there,” she said into the phone. “We’re at Hummingbird Cottage, and I’d like to make an order for room service, please… We’d like two rum punches, please. Plus jerk sweet potato and black bean curry, with caramelized chicken on the side, and salad and fries.” That meal was for Xavier. “And sticky brown sugar ribs with pineapple rice, with fried plantain,
and breadfruit balls.” They were in for a real feast. Better make it complete with dessert. “And to finish, one pina colada trifle, and two ginger and rum chocolate brownies. Thank you.”
Xavier came into the room just as she’d finished ordering. She flashed him a wicked grin. “You’re going to love this, Zave.”
He smiled back, then flopped down on the couch. “And I think you might just love this.” He picked up the remote and flicked on the TV. “Oh,” he said, disappointed when he saw the image come up. It looked like a local news station. “Earlier they had a program showing you all these amazing places you could go in Grenada. It was on a loop, but it looks like now they’ve changed it.” He shrugged. “Oh well.” He typed in another channel number, but as he did, the newscaster said, “And in the murder case of a tourist at the Angel’s Dune Resort.”
Suddenly The Simpsons flicked on.
“Change it back, change it back!” India said.
“I don’t know what number it was,” Xavier said, looking down at the remote and panicking.
India was frantic. “Press back, or something, press back!”
“There isn’t a back!” Xavier stared at the remote, and hit a button. In a flash, the news was back on.
“Joseph made a statement upon his release today,” the newscaster said. Then Fitzgerald’s face filled the screen. He looked worn out and tired, but ultimately satisfied. He kept rubbing his wrists as he spoke. “All I can do is thank the Almighty God,” he said, “that the police have seen that I could not have possibly committed this evil crime. I give thanks to God that I will be back at work tomorrow, not in a jail cell. And I pray the perpetrator will be caught, and soon. We do not want evil people like this roaming our streets. I will do all I can to help catch the real killer, and find justice for this poor young woman so cruelly taken.”
CHAPTER 6
By the next morning, India was beginning to feel claustrophobic in the Angel’s Dune Resort. Though she loved the intimacy and charm of the place, she knew she’d appreciate it more if she got out for a while. So, after talking with Xavier, she decided to take the English women up on their offer for a trip to the lava pits.