Page 27

I turn the bike in at the rental desk just as the sun is dipping out of sight to the west. My legs are a little achy, and my eyes hurt from staring at the computer screen for so long.

Outside Adventure Rentals, I stop on the path leading back towards the hotel.

In front of me is the main building, the windows of the Sunset Bar reflecting the last of the light.

Should I grab some dinner? Or head back to my room in Vista West for a shower?

Shower, I decide, and walk decisively towards the lesser-known path I used my first day here.

It’s a beautiful night. The ocean is laced in pink and yellow reflections as I head towards Vista West, its windows cosy and welcoming.

In the dome of the sky, the first stars are poking through the velvety blue.

A cool ocean breeze dries the last of the sweat on my body as I take the familiar stone walkway.

The solar garden lights are just popping on for the night.

It was a productive day. I now have mental blueprints of how I could potentially kill Craig, Serena and Daniel.

Not perfect plans, definitely not finalized, but a solid start.

As for Daniel, my online research was interesting, though like everything about this man, I’m not yet sure what to make of it.

He’s been on staff at Fit Life for five years.

I tried to find out where he worked previously, but even with a long series of searches featuring all the key words I could think of, I got nothing.

It’s like he poofed into existence only to write toxic waste.

I couldn’t even find a photo of him, just one of the watercolour caricatures that all the staff at Fit Life use in their bios.

Besides capturing his hair colour and five o’clock shadow, the caricaturist did a pretty shit job with the resemblance.

I stop in my tracks on a sandy rock, suddenly remembering. That call the anonymous guy I assumed to be a journalist made to Taste of Heaven; the one my office manager Becca contacted me about. Pulling out my phone, I quickly find her voice message and press play again.

‘ Hey boss, some guy called for you… I was like, “Excuse me, who are you”… I got his number from caller ID in case you wanted to get in touch with him. It’s two-one-two…’

On a whim, I type the numbers into the WhatsApp keypad, hit dial and switch it to speakerphone. It rings once, twice. And then: ‘Hello?’ A voice I’d know anywhere. My whole body is pounding. ‘Hello? Lily?’ He sounds out of breath.

I hit disconnect on instinct. Which is silly; my picture on WhatsApp already gave me away.

Almost immediately, my phone vibrates in my hands; he’s calling back. I hit decline. He tries again, I decline again. Then, a message from him pops through. Lily? You OK?

My thumbs hover over the screen as I process.

Daniel Black was looking into me before we even met.

That first morning in the coffee alcove– he already knew who I was.

Oh God. As that first conversation replays in my head, I remember my exact thoughts about him: too close, too fast. Why didn’t I listen to that instinct?

And then he asked me out for drinks at the Sunset Bar.

Zero assumptions , he promised. Just two people talking.

Liar. Fucking liar . He came here to look into me. That has to be it… right? He’s got it into his mind that I killed Michael Johnson, and he seduced me into confessing that I know something about rewiring electrical panels, and now…

What? An exposé? Lily, the killer lifeguard? He can’t prove anything, can he?

A tiny flicker of doubt stirs, muddying my line of thinking. Why did he go to Brisebleue and ask about the hurricane? All that stuff Sean said about local resentment– how does that fit in?

There’s no way he’s doing this story for Fit Life . Fit Life is what you read in the lobby of your doctor’s office; it’s not investigative journalism.

Ugh, ugh, ugh. I do not want to be dealing with this complication right now.

My body aches from the back-and-forth bike trip; my head feels foggy from the long hours of research staring at the screen.

It would be nice to give myself the gift of a simple good night’s sleep.

But I have to figure out what Daniel wants from me– how much he suspects or knows– if he may have even followed me here, as I’m starting to fear.

And this problem is far too urgent to leave for tomorrow.

I start to type. Hey, sorry for the dropped calls– weak wifi! Dinner tonight at the Sunset?

Daniel’s response is nearly immediate. In the middle of something. How about tomorrow? 8?

Tomorrow. Ugh. I want answers now.

I pick some dry skin off my lip, considering my next move. Yes, I have questions for Mr Black. I suppose they can wait until tomorrow. But he’s not going to roll over for me either. It’s not like I’m going to say, ‘Why are you really here?’ and he’s going to tell me. I need a more direct method.

I thumbs-up his message, swipe WhatsApp shut, and pull up my web browser. Soon, I’m logged back into the Guest Services Portal. The platform isn’t super mobile friendly, but I’m able to locate Daniel’s schedule pretty quickly anyway.

Ah. He’s in the middle of an evening gym session with Tim from Take it Off . It wasn’t on his schedule earlier… I note that it lasts until eight thirty. Hence him sounding a little winded.

I wonder why he’s suddenly so interested in working out.

But I do know that it gives me, starting now, exactly thirty-nine minutes if I want to break into his room.