“You already had your breakfast,” I tell him, but I give him a pinch of croissant. He gobbles it up and inches his butt closer to me. “Oh my God, you are such a dingo.” I give him a strawberry. “Does your daddy mind if I use his computer? Your stupid, asshole daddy?”
Tiger’s tail thumps.
I put the dishes in the dishwasher and go shower. I put on my same clothes, make the bed, and find Tiger’s leash. We walk a quick circuit of the neighborhood, and when we get back, he laps up some water from his bowl, jumps on the sofa, and immediately falls asleep in a block of sunlight.
When I open the door of Ben’s office, I’m greeted by the sight of an empty desk. All the stacks of papers are gone and so is the computer. Well, not the keyboard or the screens, just the tower. I search the room, throwing open the closet, banging open file drawers, even looking behind the door. My email dings. Another screenshot from Ms. X’s account. This one’s from her messages. From Yours. Ben, I know now.
Working at the Grand Bohemian all morning. Meet me at 12:30pm. 522.
Ms. X hasn’t answered yet. Probably because she told him not to message her over Jax. What an idiot. I check the time stamp. The message came in just now, right before my spyware captured it and sent it to me.
I feel a little lightheaded. They’re meeting again, Ben and his lady partner in crime. I look at my watch. Eleven thirty. I’ve got plenty of time to get there and see if I can catch them together. Maybe then I don’t need to find proof on the servers.
Then, my Jax dings with a message from Mom.
Shorie, it’s Mom. Please se
It’s dated two days ago but only coming through now? Surely a ritzy place like Hidden Sands has better Wi-fi than that. I click out, then refresh it. Nothing more loads. That’s it. Just, Shorie, it’s Mom. Please se
What’s that supposed to mean?
Mom’s not supposed to have a phone or computer or any electronic devices at the spa. Somehow she found a phone or computer because she needed to send me a message. But why me? Why not Ben or Sabine or Layton? If she was asking for something, a special favor, I can’t imagine she’d reach out to me.
And what did please se mean? Please sell? Please see? Sew? Seal?
You know what she meant, my brain tells me. You know.
Please send.
Please send what, though? Money? Extra underwear? Trader Joe’s Cookie Butter?
And then the answer comes to me just as clearly and plainly as the answer to a calculus problem.
Please send help.
Of course. Dele’s words come back to me. Don’t you think it’s more than a little coincidental that she had this random blackout and got sent away to a Caribbean island at the exact same time all this was going down?
I hit the message tab. Mom, what’s going on there? Are you okay? I type. But she doesn’t answer. And the minutes continue to tick away.
I don’t have time to wait for her reply. I need to go see who Ben’s meeting at the hotel. I call an Uber, make sure Tiger’s got plenty of water, then go out to the street to wait for the car.
The lobby of the Grand Bohemian Hotel in Mountain Brook Village smells like gardenias, roses, and big piles of money. Even in the middle of a weekday afternoon, it’s teeming with well-dressed businesspeople and out-of-towners. I arrive at 12:07 p.m. exactly and set up camp in a gargantuan wing chair, periodically checking my phone to see if Mom has messaged me back.
She hasn’t. And of course, Jax is losing its tiny digital mind, pushing me politely hysterical notifications, one right after the other. Unallocated Expense: the Grand Bohemian, Mountain Brook, Autograph Collection offers rooms at $211 per night! Alternative: Extended Stay America, 101 Cahaba Park Circle at $58 per night! Unallocated Expense: Habitat Feed & Social, Oysters Diavolo starter $15! Alternative: Brick & Tin, 2901 Cahaba Road, Fried Brussels Sprouts starter, $8!
“Breathe,” I advise the app.
And then I see Ben, striding across the lobby to the elevators, pushing the button, and then disappearing behind the sleek silver door. I wait a beat. It’s only 12:10, way before the appointment time. But he’s here, so I should probably get my ass in gear and follow him.
I hurry across the lobby and jump on the next elevator. When the doors slide open on the fifth floor, I creep toward the hallway and peek out. The left end of the hall is empty. Ben has turned right and is standing in front of a door, knocking.
Well, pounding really.
The door opens. There’s a brief exchange, which I can’t hear because I’m too far away. Then Ben steps inside the room, and the door shuts behind him. I duck back into the elevator bay. Should I wait here or leave? It could be hours before they come out. I mean, is that how long it takes for people to have sex in hotels? I literally have no experience with this.
It’s been less than fifteen minutes when I hear the door open again. I peek out. Ben looks pretty normal, no mussed hair or flushed face or buttons undone. Just pissed as all get-out and stalking down the hall in my direction. I scurry in the opposite direction and around a corner, counting twenty Mississippis and hoping he doesn’t recognize the back of my head.
As soon as I hear the elevator ding and the door slide shut, I hurry back down the hall. I stand in front of the door that Ben came out of for a few seconds, my knuckles pressed to my mouth. Then, so I can’t chicken out, I knock as hard as I can. On the other side, I hear the bolt slide open and the chain clank. Then the door cracks open.
Something yanks me back, and I yelp. Whoever’s got a grip on me doesn’t let go, just propels me down the hall. As I stumble, I manage to get a look over my shoulder. It’s Ben, his face a red-and-purple thundercloud. He’s making me feel like a naughty puppy, picked up by the scruff of the neck by its patiently disapproving mother, and I don’t like it one bit. But he doesn’t loosen his grasp.
“Let me go,” I gasp, still trying to look beyond him and catch a glimpse of whoever just opened that hotel room door. But he shakes me so hard, pulling me to the elevators, it’s all I can do to keep my balance.
“We need to talk,” he growls.
42
ERIN
When I wake the next morning—midmorning, judging by the position of the burning, tropical sun—every muscle screams in protest.
The night before, I’d hiked about a half mile into the jungle, where I found another enormous tree sufficiently curtained by vines. I was about to pull myself up onto the lowest branch when I saw a narrow opening in the trunk. Big enough for me to squeeze in, small enough to keep Lach out.
Inside was snake and spider free, thank God, but most importantly dry. I curled into a ball on the bark-covered floor, Lach’s phone powered down in my pocket. I’d kept the mobile data off last night so they couldn’t track me, planning to try Shorie again in the morning. The night had passed slowly, the settling of my nerves even slower. I couldn’t stop my brain.
I am a problem solver, I’d thought numbly. A grade A, blue-ribbon problem solver.
But maybe not.
Reality: A ruthless killer is after me.
Challenge: Outrun, outlast, outsmart him.
Twice already Lach had hesitated to kill me. Why, I didn’t know, other than the plan he’d mentioned. It must have something to do with his son. But what? If I didn’t have any idea what he was going to do, how could I plan my attack?
I stared up into the black thorax of the tree, and inevitably my mind circled back to Sabine.
She did this to me. To me and Perry and Shorie.
She put a contract out on me, like someone in an organized crime syndicate. Because she was stealing from our company, and I was about to sell it, which meant she couldn’t keep up the skimming that easily. Taking into account our latest valuation—and about a half dozen other variables involved in formulating an acquisition price—if we sold in the next year, Sabine’s share could be anywhere from under three million dollars to over five million. A tidy sum for most people, but not, apparently, the jackpot she w
as hoping for.
So, Sabine was angry. And wanted a bigger reward for all her hard work. But was it realistic to think she dreamed up this scam all by herself? I just couldn’t see it. She’s computer savvy, but she’d need help with the intricacy of the coding. So who else would get involved in a scheme like this? Scotty, our other developer, worshipped his wife and six-year-old twins—he’d never put their future in jeopardy. The truth was, I couldn’t imagine any of Jax’s employees doing something like this. Except the one person I’d never think to question in the first place. Ben.
Loyal, faithful Ben.
Ben could’ve been by Sabine’s side every step of the way. Writing the code, putting something in my drink, then making sure I got in a car. Driving me to my house and forcing me into that sham of an intervention . . .
Kissing me right before he sent me to my death.
Safe inside the shelter of the tree, my mind had wandered back to one long ago June night. Perry, Ben, and I had driven down to Seagrove, to celebrate our impending graduation at somebody’s parents’ beach house. Sabine hadn’t come with us. A family emergency or birthday or something back in Birmingham.
I’d had more to drink than usual, but when a couple of guys broke out the karaoke machine, that was my cue—I escaped to the balcony. Ben was there, stretched out on a lounge chair. I settled beside him.
“Come to contemplate the cosmos?” Ben had said.
“The world was two minutes away from being subjected to Perry and me ruining Elton John and Kiki Dee for everyone forever,” I replied. “It was an act of mercy.”
He laughed, and we contemplated the star-sprayed sky above the waves for a few quiet minutes.
“Is Sabine seeing somebody else?” he said suddenly. “Someone in Birmingham?”
I didn’t answer right away. In the years since we’d first roomed together, Sabine had made numerous trips back home. Her mother struggled with mental illness issues, and her father needed extra help with her many younger siblings. I’d never questioned the trips, and I didn’t think Ben did either. But in my opinion that wasn’t what was really bothering Ben.
It was the way she treated him. She wasn’t affectionate with him when others were around, never touched him or held his hand. While Perry and I were always stealing away to his ramshackle duplex on Glenn Street to get naked, Sabine always seemed perfectly content for the four of us to hang out together, day and night. In my opinion, she treated him more like a buddy than a boyfriend.
“There was this guy in high school,” he was saying. “Totally in love with her. He goes to UAB now. Plays soccer.”
“No way,” I said.
“She had a thing for Perry once, too, you know.”
“Ben. No she didn’t.” I laughed, then glanced his way. “You’re not joking, are you?”
“It was in high school. Ninth or tenth grade, before she and I got together. She told me she always thought marrying into the Gaines family would be like being in Birmingham royalty.”
I rolled my eyes. “It’s so not, though.”
“My point is, she could still have feelings for him.”
“Ben, they were kids. We all had crushes when we were kids. They don’t mean anything. She’s not cheating on you. And definitely not with Perry.”
“What is it then? Is it me?” He shook his head. “I don’t know how to explain it, but . . . it’s like something’s missing with us.”
I chewed at my lip.
“You see it, don’t you?” He sounded sad.
“I don’t know. I just think she’s one of those people who’s . . .” I was floundering. I didn’t know how to put my thoughts into words. How to say that I loved Sabine, but I thought she could be, at times, kind of distant. Cold.
“Who’s what?” Ben pressed.
I inhaled. “I think Sabine might be the kind of person you can never really . . . fully know.”
He didn’t reply.
“Look,” I said carefully. “There are other people out there. Women who will open up and let you in. Women who want a relationship where both people let their guards down—”
“I don’t want another woman.” He propped himself up on one elbow. “I want Sabine. And it’s not fair to judge her by everybody else’s standards. She’s had it rougher than you know.” He swung his feet around and started jiggling his knee. “I know this sounds crazy. But I wouldn’t blame her even if she was seeing somebody else. I just want to know, so we can deal with it.”
I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. “Seriously? You really feel that way?”
The knee stilled, and he stared at me, like it was a challenge. “Yeah, I do.”
“But what if it is Perry? What if she’s in love with Perry and not you? What would you do then?” I couldn’t believe I was saying this, but I felt like we’d gone beyond a place of politeness.
He stood up. “Before you say anything else, you should know. I love Sabine, and I’m always going to be on her side, no matter what. So don’t push me. Don’t make me take sides against her. You’ll be sorry, I can promise you that.”
I flinched. “Okay.”
After he left, I had a good cry. But when we all woke up the next morning, bleary and hungover, he sheepishly handed me a mug of coffee and hugged me. Later, I told Perry about the exchange, but he shrugged off the whole episode.
“You can’t get in the middle of somebody else’s relationship,” he’d said. “You have to let them work it out the way they need to.”
But last night, looking back, the memory had chilled me. I should’ve listened to what Ben was trying to tell me that night. That when it came to Sabine, all bets were off. She was Ben’s bottom line, his alpha and omega. Even if she wanted to screw me financially. Even if she wanted me dead.
What a pair of fucking traitors.
Sick of memories, I climb out of the tree, then move to the bank of the river, shaking the stiffness out of my legs and stretching my arms over my head. The ribbon of clear water has worn far down into the rock bed, cutting its way deep into the earth before shooting out over the cliff’s edge to the pool below. The forest up here is much thicker. Quieter too. I need to decide what my next move should be.
I pick my way upstream to where the branch joins a larger river. It’s wide and calm, a couple of yards across, and looks much deeper, like it might be up to my waist. There’s no path along the bank, but this seems like the best way to go. At least I think that, until I see the bodies.
There are two of them, naked, bobbing in the current. A blue nylon rope, anchored to a palm tree on the bank, is lashed around their necks. Their bloated greenish-black trunks, their arms and legs, are borne to the surface, again and again, like fish on a stringer. A kaleidoscope of butterflies flits over them, fluttering up and landing again. Feeding. I catch sight of a hand, the flesh eaten down to the bone. Several of the bones are missing.
I hear all the air exit my lungs in an audible groan, and turn away. I try not to collapse.
It’s Agnes and Deirdre, I know it, even without taking a closer look. This is where Lach stores the bodies. Until he, or whoever’s got the shitty job of disposing of them permanently, can take them to the volcano.
I unzip the pocket on my still-damp shorts and pull out Lach’s phone. The waterproof case looks like it’s done its job, because the device lights right up. I tap in the password l-o-c-k and study the thing. He hardly has any apps. There’s the music he was playing back at the campsite. And an internet browser. An album of photos—most of them pictures of a beautiful, tattooed brunette woman with a chubby blond toddler.
I snap a few photos of the bodies, just in case I need proof later. Then I dial Shorie’s number. Busy signal. Which means something’s probably screwed up with the service provider. Or Shorie’s phone can’t receive international calls. Or the cell towers here are wonky. Shit.
I hit the browser. I can’t sign on to my Jax account from someone else’s phone—the multifactor authentication messages I’d ne
ed won’t send to a non-remembered device. But I can create a new Jax account in Lach’s name, a fake one, and contact Shorie that way. And it’s just as well I don’t get on my account anyway. In addition to tracking the phone, if they know what they’re doing, Antonia or Lach could track me via the app’s GPS metrics.
But they’re probably tracking me right now, since I’m sure Lach’s noticed that his phone has gone missing. So I’m screwed either way. I tell myself to slow down. To think. For now, it seems, this is the best plan to contact Shorie that I can come up with. I download Jax, and it immediately starts to autofill, dumping Lach’s personal data from all his other social media and whatever else he’s stored on his phone’s account.
Excuse me. I mean to say, Lachlan Erdman’s personal data.
I yelp out loud. Lachlan Erdman! Antonia’s brother, it has to be. And it looks like he used to have a Jax account, which was why all the profile stuff filled in so nicely, including a profile picture of him hugging a little boy on a beach. All his profile info, except for his bank information. Those fields—the ones for his account and routing numbers—remain blank. Which means he probably deleted them before he shut down his original account. Well, there’s nothing I can do about that—no way for me to know what they are.
When Jax requests a username and password, I comply.
Username: Asshole
Password: Deadmeat
As Lachlan Erdman, I request a connection with Shorie, then send her a message to call the US police or FBI, not Saint Lucia’s force. But I can’t help feeling pessimistic. What if Shorie’s having so much fun at school that she’s not paying attention to Jax? What if she never read the truncated message I sent her earlier, and all of this is for nothing?
“Shorie,” I whisper fiercely at the phone. “You better have your Jax up and running. And you better ignore all the lectures Dad and I ever gave you about not responding to messages from strange guys.”
She’d better answer Lach Erdman.
43
SHORIE
Ben and I ride down Montevallo Road in silence. The guy’s face looks like it’s chiseled out of granite, and I have to admit, I’m scared now. Back at the Bohemian, when he first tried to put me in his truck, I’d refused. My brain was clicking away, working its own private conditional statement.
Until the Day I Die Page 23