Merciless games, p.20
Merciless Games, page 20
Wait.
We didn’t have to spend hours reading these books. The information was staring us in the face all along.
“Hey,” I said, waving Camilla’s book in front of my friends. “Read the title.”
“Yes, I know. That’s what happened to her,” mumbled Katy, going back to her reading.
“Okay, now check this one out.”
Katy squinted at the manuscript in my hands.
“Jaws of Death?” she said, making a face. “How unoriginal.”
“Remember what Ratcliffe said at dinner the first day?” I said. “All the people in his story get killed by a shark.”
Tetyana gave a smirk.
“That solves my problem. That should stop him from fighting for a spot on the raft tomorrow.”
“What about Sophia?” I said, reaching over to pick up her book. “She writes children’s books, so she can’t have murders and things, can she?”
I looked at the title on the cover.
A Spoonful of Syrup.
An adult elephant dressed in an Old Mother Hubbard costume was leaning over with a spoon in front of a baby elephant wearing a pink baseball cap. Cute.
I couldn’t imagine how this book would fit into my hypothesis.
I flipped to the back.
“A fun and stress-free way to persuade your kids to take their medicine,” I said, reading the blurb on the back cover.
“That doesn’t make sense,” said Katy, giving us a wide-eyed look. “Maybe she’s the killer.”
“We need to think deeper,” I said. “Think in metaphors.”
Tetyana raised an eyebrow.
“Medicine,” I said. “Medicine that kills. She’s going to be poisoned.”
“Wait a minute,” said Katy. “Does this mean Sophia’s innocent?”
“It’s a hunch for now,” I said. “That goes for Ratcliffe too. Though I can’t imagine how anyone can force him to die of a shark attack. Besides, there aren’t any sharks in this part of the world.”
“You said to think in metaphors, right?” said Tetyana, a thoughtful look in her eyes. “If it’s not medicine, it’s most likely poison. If it’s not a shark, it’s probably something with sharp, jagged teeth…”
We sat around the table for a few seconds, trying to wrack our brains.
“What about Helen Jenkins?” I said, sitting up. “Where’s her novel?”
We scrambled to find it. Tetyana pulled it out from under the pile and turned the front cover toward us.
Katy and I gasped at the same time.
The Girl Who Lived.
Chapter Forty-eight
I stared at the book’s dust jacket.
It was a literary novel. Beautiful multicolored squiggly lines wrapped around the book, an esoteric design I couldn’t make head or tail of.
The golden award sticker shone under the dim banker’s lamp.
The Girl Who Lived.
“As crazy as it sounds, maybe Ratcliffe is right,” said Katy finally. “She’s the killer.”
I rubbed my eyes, trying to think.
“What if I’m wrong? This is just a wild hunch. It’s so out there. Maybe I’m making links where there are none.”
Tetyana shook her head.
“I don’t do woo-woo, and I like my evidence to line up.” She paused. “But there’s too much of a coincidence here. I feel like you hit on something.”
“This means Helen’s alive and kicking,” said Katy.
“She’s the killer, or she’s in major trouble somewhere,” I said. “Either way, we need to find her.”
“What about Javier?” said Katy. “There’s something funny about him that doesn’t ring true. Something I can’t pin down.”
“I get those vibes too,” I said. “He’s too quiet. He’s hiding something. It’s like someone’s coerced him into this and he’s protecting them.”
Tetyana turned to the book she’d picked up. It was a six-hundred-page tome, the one that had rocketed Javier to the highly enviable position of being Mexico’s poet laureate.
“It’s a depressing book and darn hard to read,” said Tetyana, making a face. “Are all poets this morose?”
“What does the title say?” I asked.
Tetyana slammed the book shut and turned it to us.
I stared at the cover.
“Sinless Suicides,” whispered Katy.
“Strange choice of words,” said Tetyana, frowning.
“Is he religious?” I wondered. “Suicide’s a sin in some religions, but that’s probably a play on words.”
“I don’t understand half of what he’s written,” said Tetyana with a sigh. “Can’t even get through the first paragraph. Too high-brow for me.”
I turned to Katy. “Remember when he fell into the water near the mainland jetty?”
Katy nodded.
“When I went to pull him out, he was floating just under the waterline like he was holding his breath. I can’t shake that image off.”
“You think he was trying to kill himself?” asked Tetyana.
“I can’t say for sure, but now he’s gone and fallen down the stairs. Was it a second try?”
“Come on,” said Tetyana, shaking her head. “If those were suicide attempts, he sucks at it big time. He could have jumped off the boat when you were in deep water. He could have leaped off from the top of the lighthouse balcony, not down one floor of a set of carpeted stairs. He wasn’t trying.”
“Maybe I imagined it,” I said, and sat up as a new idea formed in the back of my mind. “Or maybe he wanted to give us the appearance he was trying to kill himself.”
“Why?” said Katy. “That smacks of self-harm. Maybe he’s mentally unwell and needs help?”
“They all need help if you ask me,” said Tetyana, rolling her eyes.
“Javier was super cagey when I asked him if he saw anyone in the corridor before he fell,” I said. “It’s impossible for anyone to sneak behind you in that open corridor. I found that strange.”
Tetyana frowned.
“If we’re going on this assumption that someone’s trying to kill everyone using the themes in their books, one question remains.”
“What’s that?” asked Katy.
“How do you get someone to commit suicide? It’s a decision someone makes for themselves,” replied Tetyana.
“What if you know someone who’s already considering it?” I said. “You could put them in the right place, at the right time and have all the ducks lined up to make them do it.”
“That’s psychological warfare,” said Tetyana. “I thought only the KGB and the Mafia did things like that. Not everyday murderers.”
“Whoever it is, they’ve spun a sophisticated game,” I said.
“There’s one missing,” said Katy, shifting through the books on the table. She peeked under the table and then under the chairs. “Where’s Elliott’s book?”
“He writes screenplays for movies,” I said, glancing around the room. “It’s probably a spiral-bound book with printed papers, like Ratcliffe’s script.”
We scoured the shelves, looking for a printed manuscript.
I was on the ladder poking around the top shelf on one corner when I spotted it at the far end, next to the window.
“Up there,” I called out. “Someone put it all the way up,” I said, as I moved the ladder toward the end of the shelf and climbed to the top.
I pulled down the spiral-bound document and waved it at my friends down below.
“What’s the title?” asked Katy.
“Retribution in the Big Sur.”
“What the heck does that mean?” said Tetyana.
“A horrible title,” said Katy. “That will never be a movie.”
I climbed down, carrying the screenplay in my free hand. When I got to the bottom, I crouched on a lower rung of the ladder and flipped to the back of the document.
Katy and Tetyana huddled next to me as I tried to find a death scene.
“Wait,” said Katy as I scanned through the last few chapters. "He already told us how he did it."
“How?” asked Tetyana.
“Someone pushes a man off a cliff, just like the one we’re on. He falls screaming all the way down and smashes his head on the rocks below.”
“Sophia hated it when he told that story,” I said, feeling goose bumps on my arms.
“That’s because it’s the only realistic scenario,” said Tetyana. “It’s the easiest way to kill someone here. Lure them to the edge of the cliff and push them over.”
“We need to tell him,” I said, standing up. “I know this sounds crazy, but we need to warn them. Just in case we’re right.”
I got up and walked over to the coffee table to add the screenplay to the pile. I stared at the guests’ books for a minute, realizing what this theory could mean.
“You know what our conclusion is now, right?” I said, turning to my friends.
“We have a good idea how everyone’s going to die, but not why,” replied Katy. “And we still don’t know who the killer is.”
“Maybe we do,” I said. “Oliver and Mary aren’t writers. There’s no sign they’re in danger.”
Tetyana’s eyes narrowed. “I was thinking the same thing. We gotta watch them like hawks.”
“I can’t believe it,” said Katy, shaking her head. “I don’t want to believe it. They’re so nice. They’re the only normal people here.”
“Cold-blooded killers don’t actually announce themselves as such,” said Tetyana.
“We need to keep an open mind,” I said. “They could be running the show here at the owners’ bidding, or they're the owners themselves.”
“What about us?” said Katy, a horrified expression coming over her face. “We haven’t written any books with gory death scenes. Are we targets too?”
“Not if I have a say in it,” said Tetyana, her face turning hard.
They had killed twice now. It was only a matter of time they’d want to eliminate all of us. We were witnesses to their deeds and that would be dangerous for them.
I let out a sigh of exasperation. “The thing is, some of these books could be a ruse.”
“A ruse?” asked Tetyana.
“What if we’re meant to believe they’re all potential victims? One is the killer, but we won’t know it because they’ve added their books to the pile, making us think they’re also in trouble.”
“Gosh,” said Katy, shaking her head. “That means it could be anyone.”
Tetyana stirred and turned a stern face at us.
“We can’t stay cooped here all night, coming up with all sorts of scenarios,” she said. “We need to get back in the main house and keep vigil. I have a funny feeling the night has just begun.”
She pulled out two Swiss Army knives from her boot and handed one to Katy and another to me.
“Not great, but they’re good enough. You remember the training David and I gave you, right?”
Katy and I nodded.
“All right, ladies. Time to move,” she said, walking toward the door. “Let’s hope no one else has died while we sat on our bums in this bookstore.”
“Library.”
“Whatever.”
Chapter Forty-nine
Other than the security lights outside the resort building and the ornamental lights on the lawn, the house was dark.
I pulled open the main door with Tetyana and Katy behind me. I was sure we’d be the only ones up, so the strange grunt startled me.
Tetyana pushed me aside and stepped in.
“Come out,” she growled.
I looked around, feeling the walls, trying to remember where the light switch was. Katy got to it faster than I did and turned it on.
The front foyer flooded with light.
Standing in front of us was Oliver.
“Thank goodness, it’s you,” he said, putting a hand to his chest.
Oliver looked drained.
He’d taken his jacket off and was in his gray waistcoat. He’d undone the top two buttons of his shirt and rolled up his sleeves.
His face was flushed and there was a row of sweat beads on his brow.
In his right hand was an iron firepit poker.
“What are you doing with that?” I asked.
He gave an embarrassed look.
“I didn’t know it was you. I thought it was, er…”
“The killer?” said Tetyana.
Oliver shot her a frightened look and nodded.
“I thought you ladies had gone to sleep, so I took charge of the vigil.” He raised his iron poker and gave a grim smile. “It was all I could find. Just in case the killer comes for me.”
Katy and I exchanged a discreet glance.
“We’re here now,” said Tetyana, reaching over and prying the poker from his hands. “We’ll take over.”
“Where’s Mary?” asked Katy, looking around. “Is she up too?”
“I told her to get some rest,” said Oliver. “She was pretty shaken up. She’s had heart problems before, so I told her to take her medication and go to bed. I didn’t want her to….”
He wiped his brow and sighed.
“I’ve been worrying about this, but didn’t want to alarm her. We can’t have her get an attack in the middle of all this with no connection to the mainland.”
“Seen anything?” asked Tetyana sharply, not even stopping to ask about Mary.
Oliver gave her another startled look. He’d noticed her change in tone.
“No… no. Everyone seems to be sleeping upstairs. At least the lights are turned off and I’ve not heard a peep since they all returned to their rooms. Javier’s in his room next to ours and has been quiet all along. They’re all locked in. I have seen nothing, except for you three now, of course.”
He shuffled his feet like he wasn’t sure what was expected of him.
On the surface, he looked like the least likely person in the world capable of using that iron poker. I could see Tetyana’s glares had unnerved him. It was a tactic from her previous life.
She’s playing the bad cop routine. Throw the suspect off to see if he’d give away his position.
But Oliver merely looked frightened.
My brain whirred.
What would Mary and Oliver gain by killing off their guests? If they had wanted to kill the writers, why invite us?
They would have known three inquisitive big city girls wouldn’t sit quietly in the midst of a missing person and these murders. We’d ask questions and poke around, even if we hadn’t been hired as private investigators.
I looked at the man standing in front of us.
Oliver had aged a decade since we arrived. He now looked like a deer caught in headlights. Confused. Frightened. Uncertain of which direction to turn.
“You look beat,” I said, softening my voice. “Why don’t you go to your room and get some rest. We can take it over from here.”
He shook his head.
“I can’t do that, Ms. Kade. This is my home. I feel responsible for everything that has happened. For the deaths of… of…”
His voice cracked. He swallowed and gave us a dismayed look.
“I just can’t believe this has happened.”
He rubbed the sides of his forehead like he had a headache coming on.
“I’m trying to stay strong for Mary, but I’m wondering if I’m going mad. In all my life I’ve never seen anything like this.”
He choked on something and stopped.
Katy stepped toward him and put her hand on his arm.
“We can’t explain it either, Oliver,” she said in a soft voice. “But we have to stay strong.”
“Maybe Mr. Ratcliffe is… is right,” stammered Oliver. “Maybe it is Ms. Jenkins who is doing this.”
Tetyana’s eyes narrowed.
“Did you see her after she ran off that first night?” I asked.
“No, heavens, no. I wish I did. I would have tried to help her.”
He looked up, tears welling in his eyes, a pleading look on his face, as if asking us to make this horror go away.
“Something bad has happened to her, but she’s come back because she has unfinished business. Either that, or she's back to take revenge because we didn’t help her.”
“That’s quite the story,” said Tetyana, scorn in her voice.
Oliver stared at her, his blue eyes small and pointy. He swayed like he was about to faint. Katy put an arm around his shoulder and patted his arm.
“You don’t believe in ghosts, do you?” said Katy.
Oliver turned to her in surprise.
“Ms. McCafferty, this is a lighthouse.”
“So?”
“If you’d come at any other time, I’d have invited you all to sit around the kitchen fire, fed you doughnuts and coffee and told you all the stories about this place.”
Oliver leaned against the wall and wiped his brow.
“Every lighthouse has a story. Not just ghosts either, but strange sightings out at sea, misty figures rising through the fog, haunting music coming from the shore in the middle of the night. It could be anything.”
He crossed himself and looked up at the ceiling.
“If this is Ms. Jenkins, I beg you to stop doing this,” he said. “If you’re looking for some salvation, please don’t take it out on us who are still here on earth.”
Tetyana rolled her eyes.
I almost wanted to tell Oliver everything was going to be all right, that we’d watch over him and Mary.
But I knew better.
Everyone on this island had their deaths carved out. The only people exempt were Oliver, Mary, and us. Since I could strike the three of us out, that left only two possibilities for the murderer.
A lesson David shared with us from his days with the Mossad intelligence service came to mind.
Keep your friends close, and your enemies even closer.
Chapter Fifty
“Why don’t you join us?” I said to Oliver. “You’re probably not going to get much sleep tonight, are you?”
He gave a forlorn shake of his head.
“After you,” I said, putting slight pressure on his back. Innocent or not, I wasn’t about to have him behind us.
With a deep sigh, Oliver stumbled up the steps.
