Chapter 43
Frankie
Rocking back and forth in the hammock in our backyard, a soft breeze cool against my skin, I should be relaxed. But all my limbs are tense, and I’m restless, flopping around, trying to get comfortable, wanting to do something.
I cross my arms over my chest and look up at the dark sky, where the stars are so bright they seem to illuminate the whole yard. I try to think of the things I can do that might actually get me closer to figuring out what happened.
I can go to Detective Hampton and show her the note, tell her that I’m positive Erica left it for me—and that they need to keep looking at her. But I can already picture the way Hampton would blow me off, think of me as a dumb kid, just like Lucy did.
I can confront Trevor and Alex and demand they tell me more of what they know, but based on the truce we reached today, I’m not sure I want to rock the boat.
Especially with Alex, who hung around for hours doing puzzles with me in order to take our mind off things.
It almost felt like we were back to being us.
Trevor mentioned that he wouldn’t be surprised if Mr. Godwin was hiding something based on how much of a dick he was being to Erica, so that’s an idea.
I can try to do some sneaky stalking of Mr. Godwin and see if he’s up to anything creepy.
But there’s no way I’d be able to go to the Godwin house without being detected.
I swing my legs over the side of the hammock and look out to the sea.
It’s useless. There’s nothing I can do that would give me any answers.
But at least there’s this view. There is always this view.
The Sound stretches out before me, dark and still, the perfect place to learn to swim, to kayak, to paddleboard, to water-ski.
This body of water has been the backdrop to our entire lives, and I can’t imagine ever living far from a beach. Not that I would want to.
When Alex and I were five, our families installed a shared dock between our beaches so we could jump out into the water without having to wade in through the rocky shore. I stand up and walk toward it, suddenly desperate to dip my feet, to see how cold it is.
A gust of wind blows through my hair, and I shiver, the salt spray stinging my eyes, landing like mist on my skin. Up above, the stars blink back at me, glitter thrown across the night. Magic.
Sitting at the edge of the dock, I let my legs dangle over, but they don’t hit water. Instead, my feet drop into the hard plastic bottom of one of our kayaks. The four-seater inflatable one Ethan got for his sixteenth birthday.
I keep the kayak in place with my feet, when suddenly the answer is obvious.
The Godwin boat is moored not too far from here.
I could get there quickly. Under twenty minutes.
Chances are there’s nothing there the cops haven’t already seen, but maybe if I could just get there, I’d have a better idea of what to do next.
I pause, holding my breath for a moment before I let the air out. Screw it.
Soon I’m in the middle of the Sound, my biceps twitching as I paddle against the current.
I can see the Sea Witch, dark and swaying, and adrenaline pushes me forward.
There’s no need for a flashlight, not when I’m illuminated by the moon, and I follow my sight lines to the sailing yacht, the mast a North Star in the night.
As I get closer, the boat becomes bigger, a looming tower, and my stomach flips.
I don’t actually have a plan. I paddle around the back of the boat and am shocked by its size, by the fact that it’s here in the water, bobbing about, massive and dark, like no one is on board.
On one side, a ladder drops into the water, and I grab onto it, using a rope from Ethan’s kayak to tie a knot from the metal so the kayak doesn’t float away.
Staring up at the boat, I have a choice to make. I could step onto the ladder and climb on up, searching for…something. Or I could turn back. I could give up.
There’s no choice at all. My legs move as if unattached to my body, and I hook one foot over the ladder, then the other.
Within seconds, I’m aboard, surveying the deck.
The place is immaculate, with pristine white couches lining the sides, a sturdy dining table set up at the bow.
There are no taped-off areas, no signs of violence, not even a cushion out of place.
Carefully, I walk the perimeter, my eyes searching for something—anything—that might say Here is your answer.
But all I see are spotless wineglasses stowed away, a single open bottle on the bar cart.
The only sound comes from the birds circling overhead, the waves gently cresting below the boat, rocking the ship in the night.
I try to steady my breathing as the adrenaline kicks in. This is fine. This is all fine.
In the middle of the deck is a staircase, and I grip the railing, tiptoeing downstairs to the cabins, where I find three doors.
My heart pounds in my chest as I push one open with my pointer finger.
It creaks, the noise sending a shock wave down my spine, but I hold steady, stay calm, stay put.
Inside, there’s a queen bed and a floor-length mirror, the space almost as big as my room at home.
Not a terrible place to be stuck at sea.
I step farther inside and spin around, gaining confidence.
No one is here. Nothing looks out of place.
Nothing looks strange. In the mirror, I catch my reflection, dark half-moons under my eyes, my curls frizzy from the ocean air.
The girl looking back at me is wild, like she’s chasing after something, and she emboldens me.
I move to the second door and nudge that one open with my shoulder.
But as soon as I do, it’s obvious something is off.
Light from a small lamp on the bedside table cuts across the room and the enormous bed is unmade, half a dozen throw pillows spread out on the floor.
A pair of khakis is slung over the armchair in the corner.
Terror rips through me, and everything in my body is telling me to run. Get out. Get out. But I can’t move. I can barely think.
That’s when I hear it. Above the placid waves, there’s another sound. A stream of water running in the bathroom on the other side of the room. And then, suddenly, quiet. A showerhead turned off.
That’s when I bolt.
Up the stairs and onto the deck, where I crash right into the bar cart, wineglasses crashing as they knock together in the wind.
“Hello?” a man’s frantic voice calls from below. “Who’s here?”
Run. Run. Run.
I push myself to make it to the ladder and fling my limbs over the edge of the boat as fast as I can, my knees knocking into the side with a sudden thud, my right hand scraping against rope and metal, a screw catching on my palm.
The pain is instant, and I bite my lip to keep from crying out as I fumble my way into the kayak.
I hear the man above, his feet sliding across the deck.
Blood from my hand drips down my arm as I try to untie the rope.
My fingers are clumsy and slow, and I’m about to be caught.
Even if I can untie this knot, even if I free myself and paddle as fast as I can, he’ll still be able to see me. I have to do something.
“Olivia?” the man calls. “I told you to stay home.”
The voice is closer, so close it’s like he’s right over me, and I have no choice.
I dive off the kayak, into the water, and duck beneath the surface.
Immediately, I’m plunged into darkness, the cold rushing through me like I’ve been pumped full of ice.
The cut on my hand stings so much, it’s like a jellyfish has found its way into my tendons.
I only have a few moments of breath and pray this man sees the kayak and thinks that it’s a water toy belonging to the boat, that he forgot about it, that he doesn’t notice the girl underwater beneath it.
I’m running out of air. I’m lightheaded, and my brain is demanding more from me. Breathe. Breathe. Breathe.
My vision is spotty. My lungs are on fire, threatening to burst out of my chest. I have no choice. I need oxygen.
Bobbing to the surface, I gasp for air and claw at the kayak. I brace for someone to grip me by the shoulders and throw me down onto the boat, or worse—push me back underwater.
And yet, no one comes. No one is there. I force myself to look back up to the Sea Witch.
The man has his back to me, but he’s wearing pajamas, navy blue with white piping along the collar.
He’s got dark hair and a tall, slim build, and when he turns so I can see his profile, it’s obvious the man is Billy’s father, a phone pressed to his ear.
“I swore I heard someone on the boat,” he mutters. “No. No. I’m not going crazy. You never listen to me. I’ve said it once and I’ll say it again, Sally. If you’d let me sleep at home that night, he’d still be alive.”
The last word has venom in it. Mr. Godwin shakes his head and pockets his phone before descending into the cabin, and it’s only then that I can finally heave myself onto the kayak. Water pools around my seat, but with shaking hands, I loosen the knot and slowly start to paddle away.
It takes me nearly three times as long to get home, and when I do, I rest my head on my knees and breathe heavily, my teeth chattering from the cold. But it’s only when I retie the kayak back to our dock that I realize the gift Mr. Godwin just gave me: the answer to my puzzle.