Page 39

Chapter Thirty-Nine

They gathered all the wedding guests they could muster—at least, the soberest ones they could find—and combed the house from top to bottom with no luck finding Marla. The worst of the storm seemed to be passing, the rain little more than a misting as they directed their search to the grounds surrounding the Manor. Kate still hadn’t seen Jake, and she tried not to worry about where he might be and whether or not he might be safe. He was the freaking Wandering Australian; he’d weathered far worse than a tropical storm in a decrepit manor house, right? Of course, that meant he was just avoiding her, which didn’t feel much better.

Kate was so caught up with trying to decide whether or not she was mad or worried or mad and worried that she missed the first crash down at the boathouse. But she didn’t miss the sharp curse that followed, turning her attention to the washed-out remnants of the trail leading to the dock. Debris littered the hill, driftwood shoved into the mud and the occasional dead fish that Kate avoided looking at too closely. She never imagined the water had made it that high; how close they had been to disaster.

The door to the boathouse was slightly open as Kate approached, something heavy bumping around followed by a more emphatic curse. Kate stepped inside the dim and moldy building, scrunching up her nose as she looked for the source of the sound. A particularly inventive curse came from her left, and she turned half-blindly toward it.

“Marla?” she said into the dimness.

The vague shape of a woman straightened with a start, eyes gleaming like a raccoon. “Satan’s ass cheeks, Valentine, don’t sneak up on a person like that!”

“What are you doing here?” Kate asked. She could just make out the racks of boats, and a long object Marla was currently wrestling with that looked an awful lot like a canoe.

“I am…” Marla looked around, as if just realizing where she was. “Getting a boat.”

“Why?” Kate asked, bewildered.

“Because the yacht is damaged, and there’s no other way off this godforsaken island, apparently. So I’m gonna row to shore!”

“It’s eighty miles to the mainland,” Kate reasoned. “You can’t canoe across eighty miles.”

“Well, I’m sure as fuck gonna try!” Marla said with a hysterical bark of a laugh. “I saw that bitch Winters breaking into my room just now, and I sure as hell am not sticking around for whatever witch hunt you and Loretta have planned.”

“Marla,” Kate said, uneasy with the tension vibrating off her friend. “What did you do?”

“Is this where I make my big villain reveal speech like the destitute cousin in your first book, huh? I mean, never mind that all of Loretta’s evidence was circumstantial and she wasn’t an actual cop and couldn’t do anything to him, he just gave up the ghost as soon as she put the screws to him! Like he was impressed that she’d figured out his plan when he was the actual mastermind who came up with it! Is that what I should do, Valentine? Spill my guts to you because I’m so impressed that you figured it out?”

“Okay, well,” Kate muttered, “kind of feels like that’s not what you want to do—”

“No, that’s not what I want to do!” Marla snapped, shoving her hands into her hair. “I just need to think.”

“Marla,” Kate said, hesitant. “Juliette is going to find the documents from the historical society that prove you were the inspector Rebecca invited for the weekend.”

“That doesn’t prove anything,” Marla said, waving dismissively. “It’s circumstantial.”

“Louis recovered the photo you deleted,” Kate pressed, needing to get the truth out even if she had to be the one to say it. “The one that shows you putting the poison in Kennedy’s champagne bottle. You called Rebecca ‘Atilla the Hunter.’ You stubbed your toe on the barrel in the hidden passageway. You were the one who led me down to the wine cave.”

Marla paused, back hunched as she struggled to lift the canoe again, every line tense and waiting. And then she let it drop with a clang, making Kate jump.

“Why don’t you ask what you really want to ask,” Marla said, her voice wound tight. “I mean, unless you’re down here for some recreational rowing yourself.”

“Marla, did you…” The words came slow and reluctant, as if she didn’t want to let them out. “Did you poison Kennedy?”

Marla gave a little laugh, shaking her head. “Did I poison Kennedy? No. No! No. You poisoned Kennedy. You did. Of course you did! Isn’t it obvious? You’re the crazy ex-girlfriend. You’re the one with the overdue book and the broken engagement. You’re the one who made a scene over that simpering Loretta speech that Spencer read at the rehearsal dinner. You’re the one who was found with Kennedy’s body. You were supposed to be the one who stole her necklace and hid it in your suitcase just like the idiotic sister in your dumb book. You were blinded by a jealous rage. You couldn’t let her have him, of course not. And you knew how you were going to get your revenge, because you’d written the damn book on it. Poison in the champagne glass, just like Lucretia.”

“You were poisoning the champagne in that photo,” Kate said. “That’s why you deleted it. You couldn’t let anyone see.”

“Well aren’t you the clever little fucking detective,” Marla said with a sneer. “Did you have to hallucinate Loretta to figure that out, or did you come up with it all on your own? I tried to do it in the storage room when I first got here. I didn’t know they kept the good stuff under lock and key. Like they thought us regular folks would go hog wild or something if they left it out. Pompous assholes. God, I hated Rebecca. She was the worst one of all. So demanding, like her shit was made of gold.”

Kate shook her head at the cold bitterness in her friend’s tone. Marla had always been above it, or removed from it, but Kate had never heard her like this. So small and mean. “Marla… why ?”

Marla kicked the canoe out of her path with a vicious thud, reaching for a nearby oar in a rack and flipping it toward Kate. “Why? You want to know why ? You know, when I met you, you were a fucking business major whose greatest ambition in life was maybe owning a bookshop someday. You’d never written a thing in your life! I let you into Nights of the Round Table because I felt sorry for you. You were clearly out of your depth at UW, with no friends, and I thought maybe some of my shine would rub off on you. I was the one who started the writing salon everyone wanted to get into. I was the one who got her first book deal before graduation. I was the one who got written up in The New York Times . I was the one The Seattle Times called “Seattle’s Rising Literary Star.” Me!”

Kate had backed up as far as she could go, bumping into the doorframe as Marla swiped the flat of the oar menacingly.

“And then Spencer hires you for some random, stupid ghostwriting project, and he’s only doing it because he wants to bone you so bad. And I figure, fine. It’s sellout work, it’s someone else’s story, it’s like writing cereal box copy. It’s not the real deal. It’s not art . And you write a couple more, fine. Good for you. Even those stupid books you wrote with Jake were just masturbation material for housewives and frat bros. You weren’t writing anything worth being proud of. But then you finally manage to crap out that detective story you’d always mooned over, and Spencer only bought it because he was so in love with you and hoping you’d finally notice him. It was never supposed to go anywhere! But suddenly, you’re on the bestseller list, you’ve got a movie deal in the works, you’re getting invited to all the alumni events, you’re winning the fucking awards. You got every good thing, and you deserved none of it !”

“But… you were winning awards, too,” Kate said. “And Spencer was buying your books, too.”

“Except he wasn’t ,” Marla hissed, close enough that Kate could smell the wine on her breath. “Spencer called me into the Simon Says offices eight months ago to tell me that not only were they not going to buy my next book but they were pulling everything else out of print. They were going to remainder my books. Do you know what happens to a remaindered book? They fucking shred it . Pulp it. Send it back to the earth, like it never was. Like you never even wrote anything at all.”

“Marla, I’m so sorry.” Kate took a deep breath. “I didn’t know. If I’d known—”

“You would have what?” Marla challenged. “Promised to do something and then completely bailed, leaving me holding the bag like you did for the alumni award ceremony?”

“So the lingering vibes are bad,” Kate said, remembering their conversation in the wine room.

“Of course they’re bad!” Marla shouted.

“But I don’t understand, you moved out here to the creative commune. You’re living the dream!”

“It’s not a dream,” Marla griped. “It’s a fucking nightmare . Half the time there’s no running water, nobody knows how to cook a decent burger because they’re all pretend vegans, and every morning Derrick plays his awful ukulele music at sunrise. I only moved out here because I couldn’t afford the rent on my apartment anymore. Nobody lives on communes because they like it, they’re just on too many drugs to care! I only started going to the historical society because the museum served free hot dogs with admission on Wednesdays. I found out about Rebecca’s big plan for the island, and how nobody at the society wanted to touch her with a ten-foot pole. So, I volunteered, logging the blueprints, learning the layout of the house. And when it came time for the in-person inspection, Rebecca insisted it happen this weekend so she could tell her family to fuck off to their faces. Everybody at the society was only too happy to let me be the one to do it. I could finally get my revenge.”

Kate hugged her chest defensively. “Why poison Kennedy?”

“Because that bitch is the reason they scrapped all my work! I saw the blind item in the Pub Daily email. Kennedy threw her family money around and thought she could call the shots at Simon Says. Like that walking ad for Legally Blonde would know a thing about real art. She was the one who made the decision to remainder my books, to shred my life’s work, because it was cheaper than paying to store them. She destroyed my fucking career. I couldn’t let her get away with it. And who better to kill her than the jealous ex? I just had to send you the invitation Rebecca sent me, make you think she was personally inviting you.”

“That was you ?” Kate said in shock. But it finally explained why Rebecca hadn’t seemed to recognize her at the rehearsal dinner; because she hadn’t been the one to invite Kate.

“Well, I knew you sure as hell wouldn’t show up without a cause that actually served you ,” Marla said. “It wouldn’t be enough to show up for anybody else. I learned that lesson at the awards dinner. But if a reclusive rich lady invited you under mysterious circumstances? I knew you’d eat that shit up.”

It was a classic case of right motive, wrong suspect. Kate had suspected Serena for the same reasons, but she’d missed the suspect right under her nose. She should have known it at the rehearsal dinner, but she’d been so distracted by everything else she’d made the wrong assumptions.

“So, you were going to kill Kennedy and frame me,” Kate said. “But you accidentally poisoned Rebecca Hempstead instead, when she stole Kennedy’s champagne.”

“That wasn’t my fault!” Marla said, hysterical. “It was her own fault, really. Basically suicide. They can’t blame me for that!”

Now that Kate really thought about it, it was clear she’d imagined most of the parallels. Rebecca hadn’t drowned after all, nobody was trying to frame Jake, and there wasn’t a party boat in sight. She’d been a victim of her own theory, making the most basic of investigator mistakes—jumping to conclusions without all of the evidence.

“That’s why you were genuinely surprised when Kennedy woke up,” Kate said, working through the evidence now that she had most of the pieces. “You thought you’d given her enough to kill her, but she never finished the bottle. So you tried to smother her instead.”

Marla gave her a wary sidelong look. “How do you know about that?”

“You came in through the secret entrance, but her cousin interrupted you,” Kate said, the pieces finally all fitting together. “So you tried again, during the ceremony. You started that fire in the storage room, not faulty wiring.”

“You were getting too close to the truth!” Marla snapped. “I tried to find the champagne bottle and the glass and get rid of them. I combed that whole haunted house from top to bottom.”

Kate knew where they were, and why Marla hadn’t been able to find them, but that hardly mattered now. “So, the fire, it wasn’t for Kennedy. It was for… me.”

“Two birds, one match,” Marla said darkly. Her gaze had gone practically feral as she surveyed Kate, a sudden gleam in her eye that Kate didn’t care for in the least bit. “If at first you don’t succeed.”

“ No ,” Kate said in horror. “This can’t be what you want!”

“Why not? I already killed once this weekend, what’s another body on the pyre? Maybe I’ll finally get Kennedy before Juliette catches me, huh?”

Kate took a step forward, hands out in supplication. “Marla—”

“Get back!” Marla shouted, swiping the oar at her. “I’m getting off this island, and you are getting back there.”

“What do you want me to do back there?”

“Burn,” Marla said, her voice guttural.

“ Please ,” Kate said, but another swipe of the oar drove her farther into the dank recesses of the boathouse.

“Don’t try to stop me, Valentine!” Marla said, backing toward the door. “I’ll make it quick. Maybe the smoke will get you before the fire does.”

Kate winced at the hard tone in her friend’s voice. “You should know—”

“I don’t need advice from you on anything, ever,” Marla said, edging toward the exit.

“Marla!” Kate said as Marla stepped out. Marla slammed the door shut and dropped something heavy across it. When Kate tried the door, it didn’t move. “Marla, wait!”

It took several attempts to break the door open with her shoulder before she realized bones were more breakable than wood. She found an old axe in a tool chest and gathered all her pent-up anxiety from the weekend, going to town on the door. Once she’d made an opening large enough to crawl through, she squirmed out and headed up the muddy hill. Marla stood at the top, oar clutched in her hands. Kate made sure to stop at least an oar’s length behind her.

“What are they doing?” Marla breathed in a panicked whisper.

The crowd around the Manor had more than doubled, the wedding party lookie-loos gossiping among themselves as they caught sight of Marla and Kate. Marla went even more pale and white than usual.

“Looking for you,” Kate huffed, suddenly exhausted. It was one thing to write a murder mystery wedding with made-up strangers. It was another thing entirely to find out your friend was a murderer who tried to frame you out of envy. “It’s over.”

“I’m not going to jail,” Marla said, taking off at a dead run toward the end of the island where the land sloped up into a thick line of rugged trees.

“Marla, wait!” Kate sighed loudly, shaking her head. “Why do they always run?”

She trudged toward the house in the opposite direction, the crowd spilling out off the front porch as she approached.

“Is that the one who killed Aunt Rebecca?” Cassidy called out as Kate approached.

Kate nodded. “Unfortunately, I think so.”

Cassidy shook her head. “Well, she belongs to Fluffy now.”

Kate raised her brows in question. “Fluffy? Is that, like, a bunny or something? Cute little squirrel, maybe?”

Cassidy watched the line of trees in the distance where Marla’s black-clad figure disappeared through the underbrush. “Fluffy is a cougar.”

“Cougar!” Kate choked out. “There’s a loose cougar on this island?”

“Technically, I did warn everyone to stay on the designated paths when you arrived,” Abraham said, raising a finger from the side of the crowd.

“That’s why there are the paths,” Cassidy said. “Out in the open with a clear line to the house. Everything else is Fluffy’s domain.”

“Why in the hell is there a cougar on the island?” Kate asked.

“Aunt Rebecca was a big game hunter when she was younger,” Cassidy explained. “Used to take a safari trip every year. PETA protested year-round. Eventually she got tired of the long flights with poor legroom so she had the game shipped to her. Fluffy was the last animal she brought to Hempstead Island, but he was a clever one. She tracked him for months, but Fluffy was always one step ahead. He got into the house once and tore up an entire salon of her animals. He’s the one that got away. Now he’s going to eat your friend.”

Kate gasped as another missing puzzle piece locked into place. “Fluffy is the Deer Shredder!”

Cassidy gave her a wild look. “What?”

“How is that the weirdest thing I’ve said this weekend?” Kate whispered to herself. But she shook off the realization in favor of more pressing issues. “We can’t leave her out there. Abraham, can we organize a search party of anyone with, I don’t know, wilderness experience? Surely Rebecca knew some big-cat wranglers in her time?”

“Oh no,” Abraham said, shaking his head and cutting his hands through the air viciously. “This is far worse than the weekend I spent on a certain tech billionaire’s private island in a certain tropical archipelago when the groom wanted to walk down the aisle to a dubstep song and the bride was so high she couldn’t pronounce her own name during the vows. I am done trying to salvage this weekend. I draw the line at pursuing a murderer through a mountain lion’s hunting territory.”

“But she won’t make it through the next hour, much less through the night,” Kate said. “She might be a murderer, and she’s definitely a bad friend, but she doesn’t even know there’s a cougar out there. We at least need to warn her, give her a chance to return to the house and face her fate here.”

Abraham crossed his arms, looking her down resolutely. “Then you do it. She’s your friend, after all, and technically not an invited guest for the weekend anymore. So, she’s out of my purview.”

“Cassidy?” Kate said, turning to the young woman in desperation. “You know this island, don’t you?”

“She murdered my aunt and poisoned my sister,” Cassidy said flatly.

“Fair point, fair point,” Kate said. She looked around the gathered guests, who suddenly found the wooden paneling on the massive front doors fascinating. Nobody would make eye contact, much less jump at the chance to go track Marla down. It was up to Kate to save her.

“I wish I knew where Jake was,” Kate muttered. “He’d know what to do.”

“I know where Jake is,” Spencer said, raising a hand. “I ran into him when we were searching the house.”

“You did?” Kate said, wheeling on him in surprise. “Where?”

“Eh, he asked me not to tell you,” Spencer said, giving her an apologetic shrug.

“And you listened to him? Why?”

“Because we’re mates now,” he said, like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

Kate sighed. “Do you think you can go ask your mate to help, then? Apparently, I’m going after Marla, and he’s the only person I know who might actually be able to save us if the cougar finds us.”

“I’ll ask, but I won’t push,” Spencer said with a sniff. “I think you really hurt his feelings. He seemed pretty broken up.”

“Great.” Kate sighed, turning back toward the tree line. “If I get mauled by a cougar, I’ll consider it my due justice.”