‘Right, well, in the end it was only us three in the class so Lucy Lou had a brain wave and asked him what else he could teach us, since adding branches to our family tree wasn’t exactly stimulating. He, too, had a touch of the ageist about him, so we parried for a while until Lucy Lou practically dared him to show us how to access the dark web. Men are so easy to manipulate; she basically insisted he didn’t have the brains to know such a thing and next minute we’ve added a new skill set to our repertoire.’
‘The dark web?’
‘The untold depths of depravity where you can find hitmen.’
‘Hitpeople,’ Lucy corrects.
Lucia grunts. ‘Assassins.’ She gives Lucy a pointed look.
Lucy’s expression is a little too gleeful when she says, ‘And uranium.’
I frown.
‘For nuclear weapons.’
‘Right.’
‘There’s even a corner dedicated to time travel tourism.’
‘Now I’ve heard it all.’
‘All we’re saying is, Harper, we have these skills and we’re prepared to use them.’
‘For an assassin? Take her out, pew pew pew.’ I make finger guns and shoot.
They exchange a worried glance with each other. ‘Is it any wonder she got herself into a spot of bother like this? She doesn’t listen, does she? Why is she so obsessed with murder?’
‘Sorry, I’m joking! I appreciate the offer but I’m OK for now.’
‘You’re so naïve, Harper, of the ways of the world and honestly, it’s the best way to be. Protect that innocence. Let us go down the deep dark rabbit hole that is the dark web and find out everything there is to know about this Tia character.’
‘Who told you about it?’
‘Oh, about ten people. It’s all anyone’s been talking about for days.’
‘Why are everyone else’s secrets around here so hush-hush, yet mine are bandied about with no concern?’
Lucy sighs. ‘Because you’re new, therefore interesting.’
‘So if I asked would you tell me what actually happened to Doris’s husband?’
Lucy Lou gives a frustrated shake of her head. ‘He got eaten by a black-tipped reef shark when the boat capsized.’
‘Nice try.’
They frown.
‘And Gus, why did he retire?’
Lucy huffs. ‘He stole a bunch of money and took a speedboat to Mahé.’
Clearly all the expats have colluded to come up with that silly story, like they want me to grow weary of asking about it. ‘So you’re not going to tell me? What’s with all the secrecy around here?’
‘We’re not gossips, Harper! We’re going to read on the day beds, outside.’
‘Enjoy.’ My mind is spinning. They must be addled by cocktails or else suffering a bout of heat stroke. I can’t make sense of why they all insist on hiding things, yet my past is openly chatted about. Sure, it was nice to offer… whatever the hell they were offering, uranium, assassins, or genealogy, but I think I’ll stick to my own plan. Avoidance. And lurking on Reddit forums.
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