Page 82 of Buried in the Woods Below

“Okay,” I say and step out of the toolshed. He scans the interior and then snaps off the light and slams the doors shut behind him. He locks the lock and spins the dial, like he does on every question that comes up in his life. Why won’t he face what’s happening? Eric’s the kind of guy who thinks everyone’s honest because he’s too rich and too oblivious to know he’s been robbed.

Minutes later, the five of us gather in the living room around a roaring fire. A light scent of woodsmoke fills the room, and the logs snap and crack at steady intervals. Rain patters against the roof, and thunder rumbles overhead. Eric and I play Clue with Emma and Penelope, trying to create some sense of normalcy, while Olivia sits curled up on the overstuffed armchair, blowing oversize bubbles, watching the raindrops trickle down the floor-to-ceiling windows, seemingly lost in thought.

I watch Emma and Penelope play the game, their tiny hands moving the colored pawns around the board, and I marvel. Their dog is dead, their neighbors have been murdered, and by looking at their faces—wide-eyed, intently focused on the game—you would think it was just another day. They even chew on grapes, triumphantly munching without a trace of irony on the snack that killed their dog.

I glance at Eric. Does he see what I see in these girls? But he sits down beside me, hands me a glass of red wine, sips his, and watches them dotingly, a soft-yellow linen shirt draped on his tanned frame. He throws an arm onto the couch cushion behind me. He notices me staring at him and smiles a glowing white grin—the same as Olivia’s—but then catches himself and drops the smile. Laelynn’s only been gone a couple of days, but already I feel myself growing closer to him, the deaths on the island encircling us, shoving us together.

As if sensing it, my phone buzzes. A text from Carlos. Sent at noon. A nice seven-hour delay.

Hey, I heard a couple was murdered on Big Island last night. Is that true? I’m just checking to see if you’re okay. I hope it wasn’t someone you were close to. Btw, I decided to stay for a few days. Headed to Big Island with some friends the day after tomorrow. If you need an escape, you’re more than welcome to join. Be safe.

I slam my phone down on my leg and clutch my thighs. Carlos knows about the murder already? And he’s coming to Big Island? I like how he says “friends.” Based on the looks of Kenzie, it will probably be a boat full of supermodels. Just what I need.

Penelope points at me, jarring me from my thoughts. Her eyes narrow as she thrusts her finger forward. “You. You’re the killer.”

The room goes silent. The burning wood clicks like the pendulum of a grandfather clock.

“What?” I ask, my mind jumping to the Adwanis, Detective Gonzalez, and where his questions will lead.

“You killed Colonel Mustard in the conservatory.”

My gaze shoots to Olivia, who rolls her eyes and chortles at her sister’s enthusiasm. I sigh and return my attention to the game, scanning my playing cards to see if I have anything to disprove her accusation. I flash her a card, and Penelope’s lips twist in disappointment. Emma grins at her sister’s failure. I notice she’s always hanging back, waiting to pounce. Et tu, Brute?

A bolt of lightning rips through the sky, casting light on the darkened room. A gunshot of thunder follows, rattling the house and vibrating the glass on the kitchen shelves. I flinch, nearly spilling my wineglass, but then quickly recover.

“Jesus. I felt that one in my chest,” says Olivia.

Eric raises an eyebrow, then hops up from the couch to stoke the fire. He throws in a piece of birch and stabs it with a poker. I watch the bright-orange ash simmer. Without turning around, he says to me, “Everything all right, Charlotte?”

I cross my legs beneath me on the couch and straighten in my seat. “Yeah, why do you ask?”

“You seem a little off, that’s all.”

Olivia fires a look at her father. “Of course she’s a little off, Dad. Our dog is dead, someone murdered our neighbors, and the police are interrogating her. Not the best vacation.”

I raise a hand to calm her. Emma and Penelope perk up like dogs on a hunt, sensing conflict is in the air.

“Yeah, I can’t stop thinking about what happened to the Adwanis,” I say.

Eric returns the poker to the stand and brushes the dust off his hands. He grabs his wine and sits sideways on the couch. He looks down at his glass and folds his lips inward, his dimples pointing downward like frowns. “I understand. It’s terrible what happened to them.”

“It’s beyond terrible, Eric. It’s—” I steal a glance at the girls, but they’ve returned their focus to their Clue sheets. “Whoever did this could still be on the island.”

He frowns. “You think whoever did…that…is sticking around the island to get caught? I doubt it. We’re surrounded by water and woods. There’s no safer place than here.”

Olivia laughs. “C’mon, Dad. I know you love this place, but this is getting absurd.”

I pile on. “And it’s not just the Adwanis. It’s Heathcliff. The notes on the door. Russ Neuman. Whatever was outside my window.”

He slides away from me. “What are you saying?”

I look into his forest-green eyes, and my stomach twists at the thought of leaving him. “I’m saying I think we should leave the island.”

Emma jumps up from the floor and cozies up next to me.

“Yes, sweetie?” I ask, wondering if she might miss me if I’m gone.

“It’s your turn.”