It was unlike Emma to have forgiven me so easily for my part in causing her broken ankle, and for lying about it all this time. The girl I knew would’ve never let something like that go so quickly.
Like the rest of us, Emma had a motive for wanting Courtney dead, especially with her out-of-control temper. Had Emma heard more of Courtney’s and my fight outside our tent than she let on? If Emmadidhear that Courtney planted the dish soap, she might’ve wanted to kill her.
But I took care of that.A familiar drudge of heaviness weighs down my chest as I recall the thing that’s haunted me for twenty years.
What about Beth? Had Emma woken in the night and come up here to accuse Beth of drugging her? I’d seen Emma’s temper in action enough that it wasn’t hard to imagine her attacking Beth in a fit of rage.
Emma was the first one to smell Courtney’s perfume on the note. I think back to nearly touching my nose to the paper before I smelled the faint but distinct scent. Had Emma really smelled Courtney’s perfume, or had she been the one to spray it on the note, forging Courtney’s handwriting to make us think Courtney was here?
“Can I ask you something?” Emma says, interrupting my thoughts.
I turn toward her. “Sure.”
“The dish soap. Why did you and Courtney do it?”
I exhale as my gaze drops to the floor. “It was Courtney’s idea, but I take full responsibility for going along with it. We thought you’d just slip, and it would be funny. We didn’t mean to—”
“I lost my scholarship.”
“I know, and I’m so sorry.” I meet her wounded gaze, hating myself for lying all this time. “I should’ve told the truth a long time ago.”
“Yeah, you should’ve.” Emma’s eyes appraise mine. “It makes me wonder what you’re still lying about.”
I shake my head. “I’m not lying anymore.”
Emma stares out at the surrounding waters, leaving me unsure whether she believed my last statement. “I never thought I’d say it, but looking back, I can see how everything worked out the way it was supposed to. If I hadn’t been so miserable at community college, I never would’ve moved to California and majored in interior design. And I love what I do now, wouldn’t trade it for anything. If I’d gone to UW on that scholarship, I would’ve majored in accounting. I would’ve ended up hating it, but I probably wouldn’t have realized it until after I graduated and got some shit job, locked in a cubicle, crunching numbers all day.”
I study Emma’s pensive profile, taking in what she said. She’s built a full life for herself and is on the brink of more success with her housewares line. Why would she jeopardize all that to try and kill us all?
The killer on board has to be Russell,I think. He lied about who he was, then wrote that fake note from Courtney. He’s here for revenge. It’s the only thing that makes sense.
I stare at the seemingly endless choppy seas beyond the bow and pray that Emma’s right about us reaching land tomorrow. I look down below to where Russell is sleeping. Then why hasn’t he killed us already? So we can help him sail back? If Russell killed the others, he can’t be planning on letting Emma and me live.
Whatever the reason, hopefully those pills will keep him too subdued to hurt us before we reach land. I wonder if we could lock him in his room if we stacked all of our bags in front of his door. Probably not, I reason, then remember Gigi’s body in the adjacent stateroom. Maybe with her added weight, we could keep him from—
“Palmer.” Emma stands. “Do you see that?”
I look in the direction of Emma’s extended arm. My jaw drops with relief at the faint lights in the distance. There’s just enough waningdaylight paired with tonight’s full moon to make out the silhouette of a large ship.
“It must be a cruise ship.” Emma speaks fast, excited at the possibility of being rescued.
I move beside her. “Which way is it heading?”
“It looks like it’s heading north, coming toward us. We need to send off a flare.”
I look around the cockpit. “Where are they?”
Emma turns. “I’m not sure. Ask Russell. I’ll start checking these rear stowage compartments.”
Without unhooking my tether, I hurry below and grab the pair of binoculars hanging from a hook beside the navigation desk. I sling them around my neck as I bang on Russell’s door.
“Russell, wake up!” I pound again. “There’s a ship in the distance. Wake up. We need to send off a flare, and we don’t know where they are.”
He swings open his door, wearing only boxers. As he squints to make out my figure in the poor lighting, his expression seems vacant and confused. My heart drops into my stomach at the stupidity of what I’ve done. I back away until I ram into the kitchen counter. Russell steps toward me, and I tighten my grip around the binoculars, prepared to use them as a weapon if I have to.
If Russell killed the others, there’s no way he’ll let Emma and me live to testify about the trip.
“There’s a flare gun in the stowage compartment behind the starboard-side steering wheel. It’s orange and should have four rounds.” He turns. “I’ll throw on some shorts and be right up.”
