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“I’m sorry.”
“And wait until Cat finds out!”
“Something tells me that girl would eat arse willingly.”
She stands without taking her eyes off me as she steps into me and pushes my chest. “This was non-consensual cannibalism. You know that, right? I didn’t choose to eat this.”
“You dove right in.”
“Because I didn’t know Jeffrey Dahmer was cooking tonight!” Her eyes narrow. “No wonder you didn’t eat it. You and Bennett both had burger bags at the airport. Vegetarian my ass.”
“Many apologies,” I say as I guide her back to the dining hall. “But I’m pretty sure the dessert will be safe.”
“Pretty sure?” she whispers, her eyes widening as we enter the dining room once more.
We take our seats again, and I stifle a laugh as Kindra tries to hide the shreds of meat beneath the mashed potatoes. The bean soup is immaculate, though, and I make a mental note to request it again.
Halfway through the main course, Jim excuses himself from the head of the table. He’s likely concerned about our missing guest. If he plans to find Eighties in his room or on the beach, he’ll be looking for a while.
Because I lied.
Well, I partially lied. He was definitely drunk when I last saw him, but he wasn’t lounging by the seaside.
Someone will discover the body soon enough. I don’t know what I was thinking. When I walked by the Blood Grotto and saw his smug face looming above the water in the hot tub, his cruel words to Kindra had repeated in my mind until a figurative red curtain fell over my eyes.
I normally prefer for my kills to be regimented, with each chess piece placed strategically for maximum odds of victory. Securing an alibi typically occurs before I’ve even lured mytarget to his or her demise, but I killed Eighties in the heat of the moment. I have no cover.
Turning to Kindra, I clear my throat. “Listen, I need to ask a favor.”
“After allowing me to eat braised butt cheek, you have the audacity to ask me for help?” She shakes her head with a laugh. “Ain’t happening.”
Seeing no way out but through, I push on. “I killed Eighties, and I need an alibi. Can you say I was with you before dinner?”
Kindra lowers her hands to her lap, and I can’t read the expression on her face. Then she turns toward me, and her words leave no room for misinterpretation. “Absolutely not.”
My skin goes clammy, and a light sweat slicks my forehead. For the second time in my illustrious career, I’m faced with the risk of exposure. I once allowed a witness to escape after seeing me, and I worried for years that her description of my face would give me away. But my face was one of thousands, and the police never put the scant pieces together.
This time? This time, I’m well and truly fucked.
There are only so many people on the island who are capable of killing, and we’re all seated around this fucking table. Jim is a smart man. He’ll have me sussed out before the sun comes up in the morning.
The rules for the retreat are clear. No killing fellow guests. If Jim knows I killed Eighties, not only will he remove me from the island posthaste. He’ll also make sure Kindra knows my identity.
I pull my glasses from my face and wipe the lenses. “I wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t important,” I whisper. “Jim won’t allow me to stay if he knows the truth.”
“You should have thought about that before you let me eat someone’s roasted ass meat. I’m on a mission here, and lying to the head of the event won’t get me any closer to finding the Abattoir Adonis.”
She doesn’t realize how right she is.
Jim returns to the dining hall before I can say anything else. He takes a seat at the head of the table, then raises his glass and gives it a clink with his butter knife. An immediate hush overpowers the quiet conversations.
“My dear friends,” he says, “I regret to announce that someone has broken my most cherished rule and has killed a fellow guest. Eighties was just discovered in the Blood Grotto, and while I’m thrilled the sacrificial slab has received an offering, I’m displeased that it is one of our own. Does anyone care to own up to this travesty?”
All heads begin turning toward me, and I can’t blame them. By now, everyone will have heard about my beef with Eighties in the pavilion.
“Ezra, it seems the fingers are pointing in your direction,” Jim says. “Would you care to say anything?”
I look at Kindra, pleading with my eyes, but she looks away.
