Page 39

Dusk finds me in the back seat of a Jeep with Kenton at the wheel and a girl named Kim from concierge services next to him. I’m smashed between Brianna the massage tech and a lifeguard named Sergio, who’s already pre-gaming pretty hard with a vodka-filled water bottle.

When I biked through the rainforest to get to Brisebleue a few days ago, I remember the birdsong, the saturated smell of life and the deep silence.

Tonight, all of that is drowned out by the smell of exhaust and the roar of six engines, because it’s not just us, it’s a whole caravan of Jeeps.

To everyone’s surprise, Vic authorized the use of Riovan-branded vehicles to help transport the staff across the island for Randy’s retirement party.

‘We could use some team-building after our two big scares,’ he said during the ‘team huddle’ he called before dinner, meaning of course Herb and Skylar.

Skylar, he reported, was severely dehydrated, but was stable and expected to be discharged the next day.

‘People forget how hot the sun is here! You have to drink extra water.’

Which meant Vic hadn’t taken my rant about Serena’s involvement seriously at all– either that, or he was covering for his staff, his hotel, just like he did with Michael Johnson’s death. Nothing worse in Vic’s mind than liability and negative publicity. I can’t say I’m surprised.

‘What a relief!’ crowed Serena.

It was easy for me to sidle up to her when the huddle was over and whisper, ‘We should celebrate tonight, right? Blow off some steam?’

‘Oh my god, fine, I’ll come,’ she said, and then poked me playfully. ‘But you’re buying me a drink!’

A small price to pay. A drink for a life.

I couldn’t help but say one more thing to Serena. ‘Those powders you gave Skylar in the bathroom. The CleanSlim—’

‘It’s perfectly safe!’ she snapped back, but the red flood in her cheeks gave her away. She knew she was guilty.

‘Does anyone know Randy?’ Sergio is saying between gulps of ‘water’. ‘Like, is he anyone’s friend or just some rando?’

I ignore the question, but Brianna speculates politely.

Being part of a Jeep entourage is not ideal.

I wanted my own set of wheels to get to and from Island Vibes.

It would be smart to have autonomy on the night I’m killing someone.

But when plans were being made and Vic was assigning drivers and doing a headcount, opting out of the plan would have drawn more attention.

And maybe it’s better this way– moving with the group, blending in.

Not to mention, would I really have biked back to the Riovan alone, through the rainforest, in the pitch dark of night?

‘I’ve never seen such a gorgeous shade of green!’ Brianna exclaims, holding up her phone and snapping picture after picture as we tear down the dirt road behind the lead vehicle. ‘Are you guys seeing this?’

‘Heads up– monkey!’ shouts Kenton from the front seat, and Brianna yelps with delight, swivelling her camera.

As we pass under a tree, I spot it, hunched over on a branch– sandy-coloured fur and an ink-black face, looking at us with a sage expression.

‘It’s a vervet monkey,’ says Sergio. ‘I read about them. They’re actually not native to the island…’

He continues his little animal kingdom lesson, with Brianna oohing and aahing, but I tune them out.

Close my eyes. Feel the wind breaking over my face.

I quietly slip my hand into my crossbody purse and feel the little sandwich bag.

I crushed a dozen of my benzodiazepine pills into a powder.

At the party, I’m going to mix them into Serena’s drink.

According to the internet, the effect on Serena could range from light drowsiness to a ‘coma-like state’.

And then, I’ll drown her.

She’ll be drunk and woozy. I’ll suggest we get some air.

And I’ll lead her to the beach. The way the ocean hits the northern side is different– the waves are wilder, the currents stronger.

Completely understandable how a drunk girl might lose her footing and get pulled under.

I’ll call for help when it’s done; I might even perform CPR once I’m sure she’s dead, to prove I tried to save her.

The story will be simple: Serena wanted to go for a swim.

I told her it was a bad idea, because she seemed really drunk. I even tried to stop her, but…

In case they do a toxicology report, I have a few more uncrushed benzos in my pill bottle that I’ll slip into her purse, to make it seem like she took them regularly. There’s no name on the label; it could just as well be hers as mine.

I don’t like the thought of holding her down in the dark water.

I prefer a quick death. The thrust of a needle.

A shove down the stairs. The toss of a hair dryer.

I know she’ll struggle, and I’ll have to remain steady, and it will be more drawn out than anything I’ve done so far.

But this is the best plan I’ve been able to come up with since this morning’s ruined attempt.

The first sign of town is the thumping rhythm in the air.

Whatever music they’re playing, someone has turned it up to the max.

And then, we crest a hill and there it is, Brisebleue, sparkling and magical with the dark beach just beyond.

Main Street is lined with strings of lights, and the soft brushstrokes of dusk have erased all the daytime grime.

We park and climb out of the Jeep. I’m wearing a short one-shoulder dress with a ruffle at the bottom.

Not my style, but when River saw what I was planning on wearing– shorts and a tank top, the most practical outfit for what I planned on doing– she tossed me one of her dresses and wouldn’t let up until I’d put on lipstick, too.

‘You never know if Mr Black will be there,’ she teased.

‘Oh, I don’t think this party is his thing,’ I returned, but still– all three of his suspects in one place?

Of course he’d be here, if he knew about it.

Chances are low he’ll find out about the party though; I only put up flyers in the staff break room, and there’s no way Sean invited him.

Not to mention, I may have just broken his heart, so with any luck, he’s being a cliché for once in his life and drinking his sorrows away via a series of sugary cocktails. At the Sunset. Alone.

For Randy’s party, Island Vibes has set up picnic tables in the street.

A DJ presides from a crude wooden stage outside the restaurant, and at least a hundred people are milling around, eating nachos, drinking cocktails and dancing.

It’s the perfect amount of chaos. No one will notice when Serena and I slip away.

I quickly lose my Jeep entourage as I press towards the restaurant, where I know Randy will be holding court. Whatever happens tonight, I do want to say goodbye to him.

I find him behind the bar, wearing a silly straw hat, mixing the drinks while Sean deals with the food. I’ve already decided I won’t let on that I know about Randy’s cancer. Sean gives me a subtle salute, and I give him a chin-up gesture.

‘Hey, Randy,’ I say warmly, leaning my elbows on the counter. ‘Great party.’

He comes all the way out from behind the bar to embrace me. He smells nice, like beer and spiced ground meat from the nachos. I’m aware that technically we don’t know each other very well, but once you bond with someone over a similar loss, you don’t forget that.

‘What are you going to do with yourself in your retirement?’ I say when we pull out of the hug.

‘Oh, you know. Not chemo.’ He gives me a look. ‘You know about the cancer? Everyone knows.’

‘I wasn’t going to mention it, but…’

‘It’s OK. I’m not sad. I’ve been lucky enough to have two great lives. My life with Brenda, and then my life on the island. Some people don’t even get one good life!’

‘That’s an amazing attitude.’

‘It’s not an attitude. It’s the truth. Luck struck twice. Now it’s my turn to bow out, and who am I to complain?’

I squeeze his arm. ‘I hope it’s a fun night tonight, celebrating what you built here.’

‘It’s Sean’s now,’ he says loudly, getting Sean’s attention and an answering smile. Then Randy mock-whispers, ‘Poor bastard.’ We all laugh, then he says, ‘You enjoy yourself tonight, Lily. You won’t be young for ever– take it from me. Flirt with someone. Get buzzed. You know, live a little.’

‘OK,’ I say, laughing lightly to satisfy his image of me. A young, single woman in a ruffled dress without a concern in the world. Just here to party, like everyone else. For a second, I wish I was her.

Then I spot Serena.

Leaning against a wall with a cocktail in hand, dressed in a skin-tight tank top and high-waisted shorts, talking to a guy with surfer vibes. And her cocktail is almost empty.

‘I’ll be back in a sec,’ I say, excusing myself from Randy. I go up to Serena and reach for her glass.

‘Hey, boss. Can I get you a refill?’

Serena smiles at me. ‘Hell, yes! Another strawberry daiquiri. Let me give you my credit card—’

‘No! This one’s on me, remember?’ I say with a smile. She knocks down the last little bit, and I take her empty glass.

Randy makes the drink, and we chit-chat a little more about the food biz and how supply chain works on the island.

Then, I excuse myself and head to the restroom.

There’s just one all-gender room behind a thin bamboo door with a barely functioning lock, but it’ll do.

I mix the powder into Serena’s thick drink quickly, then rinse out the sandwich bag and bury it in the trash under some crumpled paper towels.

As I approach Serena, I can hear the surfer talking in a loud, annoyingly confident voice.

‘Yeah, so my time in Bali was nuts, I met this chick who believed that– get this– her tattoos were spirits, and they, like, spoke to her—’

‘Here you go,’ I interrupt, handing the drink to Serena.

‘Thank you, God, you’re a lifesaver,’ she says, and easy as pie, she guzzles down nearly half of it in one go.