Page 83 of Buried in the Woods Below

I move my Clue piece and make a suggestion that Miss Scarlet is the murderer, and Eric shows me a card proving I am wrong. Then he moves his piece and makes a suggestion, which Emma gleefully denies, tongue flipping through her gap teeth.

He takes a sip of his wine, and for a fleeting moment, that same dark look crosses his face. “Look, if you want to go home, I don’t blame you. But this is one of the rare chances I get to escape work at the bakery and spend quality time with my girls, and I won’t give it up because of a couple of hiccups. Besides, how will it look if the day after a murder we flee the island? We have no choice.”

Olivia tilts her head and mouths “I told you so” to me.

“Eric, a double homicide is more than a hiccup.”

“What’s a double homicide?” asks Emma.

“It’s nothing, Emma. Focus on the game.” Eric’s eyes snap to me, filled with fury. “Why do you even care? From everything you’ve told me, Vivek was a terrible man who probably deserved everything he got. You, of all people, should know that.”

“No one deserves to die.”

“Some people do.” He slams his glass of wine and returns his attention to the game, signaling the conversation is over. Olivia looks at me with pity. She warned me, but I didn’t listen.

Emma taps her green pawn into the library. She grins triumphantly, looking as though her patience has finally paid off. “I would like to make an accusation,” she says.

Eric hands me the envelope that shows how the Clue murder went down. “Okay, sweetheart, who is it? Who’s the killer?”

She points at me, her lip curling. “It was Professor Plum who killed Colonel Mustard with the lead pipe in the library.”

I open the envelope, look at the card, and force a smile. “You’re right. It’s me. I’m the killer.”

Eric claps and the girls celebrate. I put the card down and slump in my chair. Olivia returns her gaze to the storm. The text from Carlos stares out at me from my phone.

If you need an escape.

I don’t care what Detective Gonzalez thinks. Tomorrow I’m leaving this island.

Chapter 38

I can’t sleep.

My mind whirs. My brain loops, stuck recalculating every permutation of what’s happened here. Churning. Rotating.

Like a carousel.

Like a Ferris wheel.

Heathcliff foaming at the mouth. The axe missing from the pile. Threat notes impaled on the Parkers’ front door. The Adwanis bludgeoned in their bed. Marjorie Neuman. Dead in this home before I even arrived.

Who did this?

Haunting images fill my wine-soaked dreams. Vivek’s eyes open when they should be shut. The shrieks of the merry-go-round. Grandma’s grin, teeth like tombstones. Freida’s blood dripping down the walls of my old Chicago office. Heathcliff barking. My reflection in the window looking back at me with a stranger’s smile.

I bolt upright, my body slick with sweat.

Crunch.

Crunch.

Crunch.

Outside the window. That same sound. The one from the other night.

Footsteps, cautious and light.

I blink hard. This isn’t a dream. I’m awake. Wide awake.