That’s when I notice something strange on the mooring. Someone has tied a black piece of fabric around it like a bandage. As I kneel, I see that it’s a black dress.
I unpick it carefully and lay it flat on the wood. What a strange thing for someone to do. Was it here before I left? I can’t remember seeing it. Maybe someone found the dress on the beach and tied it here so it wouldn’t blow back into the ocean.
I decide to leave it where it is, so whoever left it here can find it again. It’s my good deed of the day. But as I walk off, a small detail gives me pause. Fine blue lines against the black material.
I kneel again and check the tag.
Dior.
It’s the exact dress Grace used to wear.
CHAPTER FIFTY-SIX
I scoop up the dress and take it back to my room. My hands are shaking, though I tell myself it’s from the cold water, not because I’m scared. Why would I be afraid? There’s nothing to be scaredof.It’s a coincidence, nothing else. Dior probably made thousands of these dresses.
But I’m on edge—and how could I not be? There’s no mention of a murder trial yet. She hasn’t been charged. Why hasn’t she been charged? How long does it take for the police, those moronic dropouts, those incompetent rubes, to see the obvious?
I toss the dress onto the table and feel angry with myself. After everything I’ve done, after all my goddamnbravery, why should a simple coincidence ruin my mood?
Be rational. Think about cause and effect. Grace is dead. The other one might as well be dead.
It’s over. I won.
I have a quick shower, but as I get dressed, I still feel uneasy, so I take a gummy to calm myself down. I sit in the armchair by the window and open the poems of Catullus. When that doesn’t work, I grab my collected works of Shakespeare and dip into one of the comedies.
Love and hate—they always swirl together, confuse, and combust. I’m happy for that to be my life, even if it ruins my nervous system, even if I suffer. Passion and feeling! What else can we live for? Solemn duty, hard work, early nights? An indifferent wife and a job that eats your soul, slowly and then suddenly, leaving you nothing but an empty husk?
“We have not sighed deep, laughed free,
Starved, feasted, despaired—been happy.”
Never! I’d sooner die!
I’d sooner kill.
By the time I finish the play, it’s time for a cocktail. I take Nabokov’sPale Fireto the bar and sit by the window. The wind has picked up, whistling through the boats in the marina. I feel a surge of anxiety forThe Ancient Mariner.
After mysalmon en crouteand cocktail number three, the whistle has become a scream. The masts of the boats are rocking wildly. I try to concentrate on my book, but the words are beginning to run together.
“I think this is for you.”
An envelope drops on the table next to my empty plate.
I look up to find a blonde woman in a tight red dress standing over me. She looks familiar.
“Stella.” That was the name she gave me. Night six. “What are you doing here? What is this?”
“No idea. It was on my windshield this morning.”
I wasn’t planning on reusing any of the women from my first week, but now that she’s here, it feels preordained. Who am I to question fate?
“Have a seat. Please. Can I get you a drink?” I look at the waitress, who comes over immediately.
“Look, I’m a little freaked out,” Stella says, looking over her shoulder. “How did you get my address?”
“Your address?” I order for both of us. “I don’t have your address. I don’t believe I know your real name.”
“Then how does this get on the hood of my fucking car?”
