Текст книги "The Starboard Knife"

Автор книги: Ernie Lindsey

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Текущая страница: 2 (всего у книги 5 страниц)

Jenn shook her head, paused, and glanced past Erica. Alex’s mouth gaped. Unblinking, he stared at everything Erica had on display. The familiar but foreign sense of envy slithered across Jenn’s skin. It made her warm. Angry. She and Erica had been best friends for nearly thirty years, had slept in the same cribs, shared the same teenage angst and ungainly bodies, the same self-doubt and tear-filled hormonal breakdowns. Yet, she wanted nothing more than to ball up her fist and break Erica’s nose.

Where was the sudden rage, the resentment, coming from? She couldn’t figure it out. Was it because she thought Alex was casting her aside earlier? Had she subconsciously developed feelings for him that her conscious mind had refused to acknowledge? She thought back to earlier, when they were in the water, and how he’d swelled underneath her hand when she’d let her touch linger.

She’d enjoyed the feeling of how hard he’d gotten—with it came a sense of power and control over him, more in a physical sense than the less-than-admirable mind games she’d forced upon him over the past year. If all it took were a prolonged touch, then what would happen to the poor boy in bed?

Was it finally time to change her mind about him? Had those feelings been developing all these months? He wasn’t so bad, was he? Disgustingly rich, cute with a great body, and he adored her. Maybe she’d been writing romance novels for too long. Maybe she’d warped her own sense of reality by living inside characters that always got a Happily Ever After.

If it wasn’t true love—storybook love—that came from within that uncontrollable place, way down inside one’s psyche, maybe she could learn to love him, or at least enjoy him for something other than a free ticket to exotic places and pampered spoiling.

Only one way to find out, she thought.

“Move over,” Jenn said.

Erica was too drunk to notice the frustrated tone. She crawled to the side and stood up, cheering, holding her bottle of Corona above her head, swaying her hips.

It had gotten chilly out on the water. Jenn ripped off her University of Virginia sweatshirt, revealing her pink bikini top. She slung it to the floor, and then wiggled out of her shorts, kicking them to the side. There was no seduction to it. It was a task, a chore, undressing with purpose instead of enticement.

Erica danced, grinding her hips, smiling, urging her on. “Take it off, baby!”

Jenn paused as she reached for the straps of her top. She watched every person around the table, each one of them—save Mark and Terri—clapping, laughing, and waiting to see if she’d actually have the nerve to strip. She’d never done anything like it before—not even at drunken, hedonistic sorority mixers. Hesitation, inhibition, and reserve gripped her.

She was reminded of the trick she’d learned in a public speaking class: the one where you’re supposed to imagine the audience in their underwear to calm your nerves.

It couldn’t have been more than a couple of seconds, but to Jenn it felt like hours as she pictured each one of their naked bodies. She’d already seen them in their swimming trunks, bikinis, and single-piece swimsuits, so it wasn’t a far leap to go the rest of the way. Wade and Chet with their rolling guts, pasty white skin, and thick, dark patches of hair—she tried to picture them without the raging erections that they were hiding under their pillows. Mark and Terri, both thin and scrawny. Mark with the three hairs on his chest and Terri with her flat, sagging breasts. Karen had let herself go, too. Hours at the bakery left little room for exercise, and Jenn pictured a flabby tummy and cellulite around Karen’s thighs.

Sharon and Laura, maybe they were a little better, both in their early forties, stay-at-home moms who found time to work out and keep their bellies flat and their skin brown. Was it for their husbands, or each other?

And then Alex, whom she’d seen without his shirt. She saved him for last. Young, he’d always been too young for her, even at only four years, but he was sexy, well-defined and muscular.

She pictured him sitting there alone. In her mind, it was just the two of them. She was on the table, dancing for him and no one else. He was already naked, holding himself, waiting on her to show him what he’d patiently waited to see.

Wade’s chant broke apart her momentary daydream. “Do it, do it, do it,” as he pounded his beer bottle on the table. The others, the willing ones, joined him.

Alex smiled at her, looking directly into her eyes with not a single glance toward the already naked flawlessness of Erica.

Jenn stripped off her bikini top, threw it at him, and then did the same with her bottoms.

She hesitated for a moment, not knowing what to do next, realizing that she was now standing on the table, exposed and on full display in front of all of her friends. She worried about her body next to Erica’s. She ran, often, and had no qualms about admiring herself in the mirror—she knew she wasn’t perfect by any means, but her trim figure was better than most. Briefly embarrassed, she covered her breasts. Compared to Erica’s, which were full and round and enviable, Jenn had always thought hers could use some lift.

Glancing down between Erica’s legs, as her friend swished her hips back and forth, Jenn saw the hairless aftereffects of a recent Brazilian wax, and it made her thankful that she’d at least trimmed her bikini line that morning. It was such a strange thing for her to intentionally look for, but she remembered Alex mentioning how much he enjoyed that particular look on a woman.

Too late now, she thought. Just go with it.

She focused her attention on Alex, pretending like it was just the two of them, dancing, moving in rhythm, running her hands across her body, licking her lips.

The others catcalled, clapped vigorously, and howled their approval.

But it was for him, only for him.

The music, the dancing, the alcohol, they all combined to create a surreal moment where Jenn sensed that she was outside of herself, watching this uninhibited woman, whom she didn’t know, while she moved, teased, and enjoyed herself while she performed.

Erica moved in closer, dancing along with her, nearly pressing her body against Jenn’s.

Should I… Jenn thought. Oh, hell, why not?

She leaned into Erica, grinding with her, pressing their bodies together, melding into one heated blend of naked skin, breasts, and caressing fingers. Jenn tried to let go of the awkward feeling—she’d never been into women, had never experimented in college, and had no desire to do so now—but from the corner of her eye, she noticed how much Alex was enjoying himself.

Then, in the quickest of eye movements, he briefly diverted his attention from her to Erica. Her jealousy again exploded deep inside her and before she could control herself, she grabbed Erica’s hair at the back of her head, yanking her forcefully down and away, pulling so hard that her friend tumbled from the table and fell to the floor.

Erica landed on her back, and popped her head against the deck. Drunk and dazed, she sat up and yelled through a slur, “Jenn! What the hell!” then slung her half full beer bottle across the flooring. Erica felt the back of her head, and when she brought her hand away, it was slick with blood. “Jesus, seriously?”

Jenn dropped to her knees, climbed down off the table, and rushed over to Erica. She wrapped her arms around her, hugging apologetically, repeating, “I’m sorry,” again and again. “I didn’t mean to.”

Erica pulled free and stood up, gritting her teeth. “You yanked me.”

“No, no, I didn’t, I promise.” Jenn stood up with her, hands out, pleading. She felt a cool breeze across her breasts, remembered she was naked and frantically searched for her clothes. Her bikini was across the table, too far, where Alex had been sitting. The others were standing with stunned looks, remaining silent, trying to figure out what had happened. All but Mark, who grabbed a handful of napkins and gave them to Erica.

Jenn searched the deck, found her sweatshirt and jean shorts, and then pulled them on while Erica struggled to stand upright, holding the napkins to her head, trying to contain the bleeding.

“You yanked me on purpose. I felt it.”

“I-I’m sorry. I don’t know why I did that.”

“Bullshit,” Erica spat. “I saw him looking at me, and I know you did, too!”

Alex stepped closer, hands up, palms out. “Whoa, whoa, hold on.”

“Shut up, Alex.” Erica swung a pointed finger at him. “Your girlfriend here got jealous that you were paying more attention to me.”

“No, I didn’t,” Jenn lied.

Alex tried to rationalize the situation. “Erica, for God’s sake, you were naked for like, thirty minutes. Of course I was looking at you.”

Chet shrugged. “Yeah, it’s not like we could miss it,” he said, and the others agreed with nodding heads. “I mean, damn, I hate to admit it, but if anybody has a right to be jealous, it’s the married ladies.” He looked at Karen, and then at Terri. “Am I right, or am I right?”

Terri crossed her arms and looked out toward the ocean. “Mark knows better.”

Karen put her hands on her hips. “I’m not. You’re free to look, and it’s not like we haven’t seen her naked before. She does it every time she’s around, and besides, we were all egging her on.”

Terri snorted. “I wasn’t.”

Alex took off his windbreaker and wrapped it around Erica’s shoulders. “Okay, look, we’re all tired, it’s late, we’re drunk…all that bullshit people say when the party’s over. Let’s just call it a night, and we’ll have some fun tomorrow, okay? You know where your rooms are, so just let me know if you need anything. I’m gonna take Erica down to the main cabin to get the first aid kit. I’ll put her to bed, and that’ll be the end of it.” He turned Erica away and led her toward the stairs, but before they descended, Alex looked over his shoulder at Jenn. “You stay right there. I want to talk to you when I get back, got it?”

Jenn tucked her hands into her armpits and rolled her eyes. “Sure, whatever.”

Alex disappeared into the yacht, guiding Erica down the steps as the group broke apart, picking up their things and trying to avoid eye contact with Jenn, but when she met each of their gazes, they were full of blame.

PART FOUR

Slowly, Alex led Erica into the main cabin. She was drunk and dazed from the fall she’d taken, and he helped her along with one of her arms around his shoulders while he held her up, underneath an armpit. He guided her into the bathroom, deposited her on the toilet seat where she flopped limply against the tank. His windbreaker had fallen away from her shoulders, revealing her soft, tanned skin and everything else.

But it wasn’t desirable. It didn’t stir anything within him, not at the moment. She was injured, confused, with a lost look in her gaze. He wondered if she’d gotten a concussion. What were the symptoms? He couldn’t remember. Vomiting, right? Wasn’t vomiting one of them? How would he be able to tell the difference between that and too much alcohol? Should they head back to shore?

She seemed okay—about as okay as one can after a nasty knock on the head. And besides, he didn’t want to ruin the trip for everyone else. He made a mental note to keep an eye on her, and maybe later, after he’d finished scolding Jenn, he’d look up concussion symptoms, just to be safe.

He washed the wound with warm water, and followed it with hydrogen peroxide. She winced and whimpered as he patted it dry, then covered it with a bandage, finally wrapping gauze around her head.

“Not too bad,” he said. “It’ll probably be fine by the time you get to Hawaii. Just make sure the photographers shoot you from the front.”

Erica blinked and mumbled, “Jenn…such an asshole.”

Alex bent over and hooked his arms underneath hers, lifting her off the toilet. “I’ll talk to her,” he said. “You can pass out on my bed, okay?”

“Stay with me.” Erica opened her mouth slightly and tried to kiss him.

He turned away, and her lips landed clumsily on his neck. “You know I can’t do that. It’s too risky.”

“But why? She’ll find out about us eventually. Let’s get it over with.”

“On the bed, Erica. Now.” Alex dragged her across the room and laid her down on her back. Not gently, either. He grabbed a corner of the sheet and draped it across her body, then bent down so close to her face that their noses almost touched. “Go to sleep. I’ll come check on you in a bit. And seriously, I don’t care how drunk or pissed you are, not a word to Jenn.”

***

Erica woke up sometime in the middle of the night. The lights were out and it took her a few seconds to recall where she was. She glanced around the room, trying to find the time on a digital display somewhere, and then remembered that Alex never kept a clock handy because with all his money and freedom, time was simply a non-factor in his day-to-day life.

She rolled over and sat up, fighting back the nausea. Her skull pounded inside and out. She groaned, tried to stand, and then plopped back down onto the mattress. Moving her hand up to the back of her head, she pressed slightly on the knot and winced when a lightning flash of pain shocked her awake.

Erica rubbed her eyes and got up slowly, holding her arms out for balance. Was the yacht rolling or was she still drunk? She was thirsty.  She knew that much and stumbled over to the mini-fridge, hoping to find some water. Thankfully, there were a number of full bottles, and she took long, deep gulps. She wiped her mouth, went into the bathroom, and found the aspirin that Alex had left on the bathroom counter.

She swallowed two pills and stared at herself in the mirror. She saw bloodshot eyes squinting into the light, heavy, puffy bags underneath, the white bandage cutting a swath around her head.

Looking back at her was a guilty woman.

Six months ago, after another unrewarding trip to Europe with Jenn, Alex had invited her to dinner one evening, wanting her advice. “You know Jenn the best,” he’d said. “I don’t know what else to do.”

Two bottles of wine later, she found herself straddling him in the passenger seat of his Ferrari, on full display in a Wal-Mart parking lot. They met in secret whenever she was in town, and whenever he wasn’t off in some far corner of the world trying to get inside Jenn’s head—and her pants. She didn’t have feelings for him, not enough to permanently steal him from Jenn, not even enough to want him simply for his money, but the sex—damn, the sex was amazing, and she’d been trying to delicately suggest to Jenn what the poor girl had been missing by fighting him off with her chastity belt and true-love fantasies.

The guilt was there, but she hadn’t been able to stop herself, and she remembered thinking, This is how people do it. This is how they cheat. Your body wants what it wants.

In her line of work, it was almost commonplace, getting propositioned by married photographers and magazine editors as she modeled in luxurious locations.

Most of the propositioning men were sleazy and pathetic, and she had never considered the possibility of going to bed with one of them, even if it meant less work or the loss of a cover photo. She’d made it on looks alone, a rarity, and besides, she was in high enough demand that there would always be someone else lining up for a chance to work with her.

Saying no to all of them—being a good girl, most of the time—helped her balance the guilt of what she and Alex had been doing behind Jenn’s back. At least I have some morals, she’d often thought. Plus, Jenn didn’t even want him. Did that make it better? Did that make it right?

At first, she thought yes, that made it okay, and after a while it molded into not necessarily, and lately, when she’d noticed that maybe Jenn was coming around to Alex—before Jenn realized it herself—it had definitely become not okay, and she’d begun urging Alex to tell the truth.

The shame grew. She’d been friends with Jenn since they were babies and wanted to protect her, because if Alex had been fine sleeping with her…once a cheat, always a cheat.

They hadn’t met in secret for over a month. He’d called, but she’d ignored him and struggled to find the right words to tell Jenn herself.

Earlier, when Jenn had gotten jealous of Alex’s wandering eyes and yanked her off the table, she had almost said something then, right there in front of the whole group. She’d been drunk enough to do it, but barely sober enough to realize that it wasn’t the best time. She wasn’t entirely sure why she’d tried to seduce him earlier. Old habits, she guessed.

Erica soaked a washcloth and used it to wipe away the mascara that had left black streaks underneath her eyes. She popped an extra aspirin into her mouth, washed it down with the bottled water, and then used the mouthwash to get rid of the nasty, leftover taste of beer.

Erica looked at her reflection one more time. “You’ve got to tell her. Do it tomorrow.” She found a terrycloth robe hanging on the back of the bathroom door, put it on, and when she walked back toward the bed, a voice in the darkest corner of the room startled her.

It said, “Do what tomorrow?”

Erica yelped and strained to see who it was. “Oh, hey. Jesus, you scared me. What’s the matter? Can’t sleep?”

PART FIVE

Jenn climbed back onto The Harlot after a short, morning swim. Just enough to get the blood flowing, just enough to let the chill of the water push the hazy fog of a hangover away. She grabbed a towel, quickly dried off, and wrapped it around herself to block the breeze. She padded into the upper deck dining area where the walls provided a shield against the wind, and found Wade, Chet, and Karen sitting around the table, drinking coffee and eating scones.

They looked up at her—the three of them smiling brightly—and waved her over. None of the disbelief or blame was there, as it had been the night before, and they’d either passed it off as a drunken mix-up, or they were doing a damn good job of hiding their true feelings about the altercation.

She poured herself a mug, grabbed a breakfast bar and a banana and then sat down with them. They didn’t ask what happened, and she didn’t offer. Instead, they chatted about how beautiful the morning was, how lucky Alex was to have all his millions handed to him, and whether or not Chet would ever get back into the ocean after having the shit scared out of him the day before.

Not long after, the others straggled up from below. Sharon and Laura came up with sleepy eyes and their hair back in ponytails. Mark and Terri trudged up the stairs looking exhausted and ready to go home. Jenn had slept on the floor of Chet and Karen’s room, and the three of them had listened to Mark and Terri arguing in the cabin next to theirs, well into the night. Terri had been yelling something about how she knew Mark had been staring at Erica, and no matter how much he professed his innocence, it didn’t matter. Eventually, Terri gave up, and they quieted down.

Alex must have slept in his captain’s chair in the cockpit, because Jenn heard him groaning down the ladder. He stumbled in, bent over, holding his back, wearing the same clothes he’d had on the night before.

They ate, drank their coffees, and nursed their hangovers. Whining, holding their temples, and keeping their sunglasses on even in the shade of the dining area.

“Too bright. Hurts too much.”

“God, my head is pounding.”

“I need more coffee.”

“Did anybody happen to bring some horse tranquilizers?”

“Where’s Erica?”

“Oh, shit,” Wade said, “I almost forgot she was here. Want me to go check on her?”

Alex shook his head. “Nah, let her sleep it off a bit.” He tipped the brim of his mug toward Jenn, grinning. “Hulk Hogan over here really put a hurting on her.”

Jenn’s face flushed, and she hid it behind her hands. “I’m so sorry about that, you guys.”

“It’s okay, honey,” Sharon said, patting her arm.

“No, it’s not. I really hurt her. I guess—I don’t know, I guess I just…I don’t even have an excuse. Honest to God, it was so crazy, like I was watching myself do it—like it was somebody else up there on the table.”

Terri crossed her arms and flicked her head toward Jenn, as if she were flinging the words at her. “Clearly, we all know what happened. You exhibited all the classic signs of a female, hormonally induced, territorial dispute. She’s lucky you didn’t—”

“Oh, my God. Would you shut the hell up?” Mark stood and stuck his finger in Terri’s face. “I’m sick of your stupid psycho-babble. They are. I am. Enough.”

“Sit down, Mark.”

“No.”

“I said, sit down.”

“Nope. I’m done with this. You went too far, and I’ve put up with it long enough. Nobody wants to hear you run your mouth, Terri. I mean, for God’s sake, why are these people even friends with us? How in the hell do we get invited for a weekend on some millionaire kid’s yacht—no offense, Alex. How, huh? Why do they want us here? It’s certainly not to listen to you yammer on and on about how smart you are and how you know what’s best for everybody else. Look at us, look at our lives. You don’t know shit, Terri.”

The other’s watched, amused, amazed, and a little bit proud of Mark for taking a stand.

Terri slapped his hand away. “I’m telling you for the last time—”

“Or what? What’re you gonna do about it, huh? You know what, forget this crap, I’m going for a swim, and I’m doing it without this stupid, lame-ass swim shirt and these ridiculous swim shoes.” Mark pulled his swim shirt off and slung it to the deck, followed by his swim shoes, which went flying out into the ocean. “Oh, and I swear to God, if you ever try to make me wear socks with sandals again, I’m filing for a divorce, you got me?”

Terri stood up, shoved Mark out of the way, and couldn’t hide her tears as she went below. He stood there, frozen in place, watching her, moved like he was going to follow, and then stepped back. Moved forward again. “Honey, wait.”

Wade reached over and grabbed Mark’s arm. “Don’t, man. Hold your ground.”

“But—”

“You did a good thing, bud. Let her cool off a bit.”

Mark let his shoulders drop. “Yeah, okay. Yeah. Good idea.”

“Felt good, didn’t it?” Wade asked, grinning.

“Honestly? That was better than sex. I mean, from what I remember.”

Jenn looked around at the group, and saw a hint of relief on everyone’s face. Whether it was because it hadn’t escalated further, or they were all glad to see Mark’s small victory, she couldn’t tell.

“Must be something in the water,” Laura said.

Chet got up from the table. “Yeah, us.”

Twenty minutes later, with Terri still below deck, they all ventured back into the ocean, Chet bravely, the rest willingly. After a short, invigorating swim, and once they were all on board, Alex suggested that they try fishing. Chet and Wade agreed, and the ladies decided it was a good time for more tanning, so they gathered up their towels, lotions, and drinks, and stood around the dining area while Laura tried to find her sandals.

Alex searched the storage closets for the rods and reels he’d picked up ages ago, but never used. He bumped his head when a terrifying scream came up from below deck, loud enough to be heard over the ocean wind.

Heads turned, focusing on the stairs. Muscles tense and ears cocked toward the sound.

Jenn said to Karen, “You heard that, too, right?”

“Yeah, was that Terri?”

Jenn ran toward the top of the stairs, just as Terri clambered up the steps on all fours, desperately, frantically trying to reach the deck. She slipped and fell, slipped again when she tried to get up, and then erupted from the stairwell.

She clawed at Jenn’s ankles, grabbing them, trying to pull herself away from whatever she’d seen. Jenn tried to move back but tripped over Terri’s hands and went down. Terri rolled over onto her backside, using her arms and feet to shove herself backward until she stopped against a low dividing wall.

Jenn scooted to the side, got up onto her hands and knees and put her hands on Terri’s face. Terri pinched her eyes shut, whimpering, shaking.

“Terri—Terri, what’s wrong?” Jenn asked as the others congregated around them. Terri managed to point a shaky finger down the stairs.

“Er-Erica.”

“What about her?”

“D– dead.”

“Dead? Sweetie, no, she’s just passed out. She’s gone deep under like that for years. I’ve seen it so many times that I don’t even bother anymore.”

Terri looked up at her with defiant venom as she wiped away a tear. “She’s dead.”

“No, she’s—”

“Dead, dead, dead, Jenn!”

Alex mumbled, “Oh, God,” and bounded down the steps, followed by Wade and Chet. Mark kneeled beside his wife and tried to comfort her—their earlier transgressions forgotten. She buried her face into his shoulder and sobbed.

“Are you sure, honey?” he asked. “Are you sure she’s not just passed out?”

Between her wailing cries, when she managed to get her breath long enough to speak, Terri sputtered a single word that changed everything.

“M-m-murdered.”

***

Alex, Wade, and Chet thundered past the empty sleeping quarters, the kitchen, the bathroom, and into the main cabin. The door was open and the moment they surged through, the three of them jerked to a halt. Alex held his arms out to his sides, blocking the two men from moving past. “Stop,” he said. “Don’t get near her.”

Erica lay on her stomach, head turned to the side, facing them. Eyes blank and unmoving. The slit across her neck had caked over with dried blood and the red, silk sheets were stained a deeper, darker color.

“Shouldn’t we check?” Chet asked. “You know, just to make sure?”

“I don’t think that’ll do any good,” Wade said. “Look at how the blood’s dried up. She’s been that way for hours.”

Alex stepped slowly forward, moving inch-by-inch, hesitantly, as if Erica would spring to life and yell, “Boo.”

“Alex, don’t get too close, man,” said Wade.

“What? Why?”

“Shit, I don’t know. Evidence.”

Alex ignored him, creeping steadily forward. “Erica. Erica?”

“Buddy, that’s not gonna do any good. She’s—”

“I have—I have to make sure.” Alex reached the edge of the huge, king-sized bed and bent over, studying Erica, eyes intently searching her face for any sign of movement. He knew he wouldn’t find any, but he had to look. He had to. He put his hand on her calf—the skin was cool against his palm. He shook her leg. “She’s cold. Erica?”

Nothing.

Alex stepped away and put his hands behind his head, breathing deep, trying not to vomit. Or cry. Or both.

He turned away and bent at the knees, resting on his haunches, made fists and ground his teeth together, groaning. Wade and Chet moved toward him, watching as he jammed his knuckles against his temples. Before they could reach him, Alex stood, hands still in angry, clenched rocks of remorse. “Which one of you did this, huh? Which one of you bastards came onto my boat and killed her?”

“Whoa, hold on now,” Chet said. “Don’t go there yet. How do we know she didn’t do it herself?”

Alex roared. “Do you see a knife anywhere? Razor blades? A piece of glass? Look at her, Chet. Somebody slit her goddamn throat. There’s nothing in her hands. Erica wouldn’t do this to herself. I know she wouldn’t.”

This was only partly true. He couldn’t be sure. He was aware of her guilt—she’d been encouraging him to share their secret with Jenn—but she hadn’t seemed remorseful enough to do something so drastic.

“What if we—” Wade took a single step forward. “There’s nothing in her hands, but maybe…”

“Maybe what?”

“You know, what about looking under her? I mean, right? She could’ve,” Wade said, using his thumb to make a slicing motion across his throat, “and then fell on it. Couldn’t she? Back me up here, Chet. That makes more sense than somebody on the boat murdering her, doesn’t it?”

Chet shrugged. “I guess so. But, we’re not supposed to touch her, are we? Shouldn’t we, like, radio the Coast Guard? Or go back to land and call the cops? Touching her, that’s tampering with evidence. I don’t think we should.”

Wade said, “It’s not necessarily evidence until we figure out whether or not she did it herself, evidence in the strictest sense of the word, that is.”

Alex stepped closer to Wade and lowered his voice. “We’re not debating semantics, Wade. She’s dead either way.” He moved toward the bed. “Both of you, get over here and help me lift her up. Chet, you go around to the other side and get her shoulders, and Wade, you help me with the legs.”

Chet shook his head. “I don’t want my fingerprints on her.”

“Do it, Chet. We’ll tell the cops that we had to move her. The three of us will have the exact same story if they ask.”

Reluctantly, Chet scooted around to the far side of the bed and put both hands under Erica’s cold, lifeless shoulders. Alex grabbed her left hip; Wade, her left thigh. Bone-thin and waifish, like most models, it didn’t take much to roll her onto her side.

Her head flopped over, tilting upward toward the ceiling, blank eyes not seeing the light above.

Wade grimaced. Chet frowned and let go.

“Nothing under there,” Wade said. “Not surprising. If there was a murder weapon, that thing’s at the bottom of the ocean by now.”

“How do you know that?” Alex asked.

“I’m not saying that’s what I did with the blade. Logic. Nothing more.”

The lack of a knife, or a razor blade, any kind of implement that could’ve been used to slit her own throat confirmed what Alex had suspected. She’d been murdered, in close quarters, by someone on the yacht.

Alex erupted. He grabbed Wade by the shoulders and slung him against the nearest wall, surprised at his own strength against the much larger man. Two framed photographs fell to the floor, along with a small, metal anchor that Alex’s mother had given him for decoration. “Where were you last night, huh? Where were you?”

Shocked, Wade said, “In my room, asleep. I didn’t do this. You think I did this?”

“You had a room by yourself. Nobody can say where you were.”

“I didn’t do it. I didn’t…I didn’t.”

“Easy,” Chet shouted. He dashed around the bed, ran up to them, and shoved Alex away. “Don’t start pointing fingers.”

Alex leaned with all his weight and shoved Chet back, and as Chet stumbled and fell to the floor, Alex pounced on top of him. “What about you, huh? Did you do it? I saw the way you were looking at her. Did you sneak out of your room while Karen was asleep? Maybe come in here and try to put your dick in her while she was passed out?”