Chapter Sixteen
Present: Day Four at Sea
Gigi stumbles out of her cabin before I can get up. She’s staring at a small piece of notebook paper in her hand. All the color has drained from her face, and there’s a flicker of terror in her eyes, like she’s seen a ghost.
“What is it?”
“You scared me,” Beth says, clearly annoyed. “It sounded like you were being murdered in there.”
“Look.” Gigi holds out the paper with a tremoring hand as she moves into the middle of the salon.
Emma snatches the paper and holds it over the table. I get to my feet and lean over Gigi’s shoulder to see what it says.
My breath catches in my throat as I read the note, penned in round, neat handwriting I haven’t seen in twenty years.
I know who killed me, and it’s time for you to confess.
XO, Courtney
A haunting silence comes over us as we all stare at the ripped paper. The floor moves beneath me, but I’m not sure whether it’s from the rolling sea or Courtney’s words. I grab onto Gigi’s arm to keep my balance.
Beth looks up at Gigi. “What the—”
“It’s Courtney’s handwriting,” Gigi says.
I stand frozen, my eyes glued to the note. It’s impossible. She couldn’t be.
“You guys don’t think she’s . . .” Gigi’s petrified eyes travel between mine and Beth’s. “You know. Alive?”
My pulse races as Beth takes the note from Emma’s hand.
“Where did you find this?” Beth asks.
“In my bathroom. It was taped to the mirror.”
Beth frowns, letting the note fall to the table. “You’re making this up. You wrote this.”
Gigi gapes at Beth. “Why would I do that?”
Beth pushes the note toward Emma. “For ‘content.’ Why else?” Beth rubs her forearms, probably trying to quell the goose bumps beneath her sweatshirt. Despite her calm demeanor, I can tell she’s just as freaked out as the rest of us.
Emma turns, her steely gaze boring into Gigi’s. She lifts the note. “Tell us the truth. Did you write this?”
Gigi throws her hands in the air. I instinctively lean back to avoid getting whacked in the face. “No! I already told you. It was taped to the mirror in my bathroom. Why would I make that up?”
From the look of affronted shock on Gigi’s face, I’m inclined to believe her, as much as I don’t want to. She can’t be that desperate for content. Faking a note from Courtney and accusing one of us of murder would be a new low, even for Gigi.
But if Gigi didn’t write it, who did? Beth and I are the only ones who know what happened in the woods that day. Aren’t we? My gaze falls to the note, penned in blue ink, and my blood runs cold, as if every vessel in my body just froze.
Courtney signed my yearbook the exact same way: XO, Courtney.
It’s been over a decade since I’ve looked at it, but I instantly recognize the small loop at the top of the C and the curve at the top of the T.
The room spins, and I feel like I’m going to be sick.
If someone has forged it, they’ve done an excellent job at mimicking Courtney’s handwriting.
There’s no way it could really be her. Could it?
Emma sniffs the note, then lifts it toward Beth’s nose. “Do you smell that?”
Beth inhales. “Smell what?”
“Courtney’s perfume,” Emma says. “The one she was always dousing herself with.”
“Let me smell.” Gigi snatches the note from Beth and takes a whiff. “I don’t smell it.”
I lower my nose toward the note until it nearly touches the paper and inhale deeply. It’s faint, but Emma is right. I caught a subtle whiff of Courtney’s “signature scent” on the paper. Ocean Dream, I recall with a shiver. “I smell it too.”
Emma swipes the note from Gigi’s grip as the door to the deck flaps open and a gust of cold wind fills our small space. I turn as the captain comes down the steps, his hair and shirt soaked. He shuts the door behind him and crosses his arms. His grave expression mirrors the rest of ours.
“This storm is much worse than what was predicted.”
“Wait.” Beth holds up her hands. “A storm was predicted?” She turns to Gigi. “Did you know about this?”
Gigi shrugs. “Just that it might get rough. But nothing to worry about.”
“I wasn’t expecting anything this bad, but the Gulf of Alaska spins up storms fast and sometimes unpredictably. Especially this time of year.” The captain’s mouth turns to a frown. “But I did tell you it could get very rough. And you assured me that wouldn’t be a problem for anyone.”
Beth gapes at Gigi. “And you didn’t tell us?”
I remember Gigi’s tense words with the captain before we left Seattle, now certain they hadn’t been talking about the menu.
“Shouldn’t we turn back now?” I ask. “This already seems really bad.” Plus, after the note, all I want is to get off this boat and go home.
“We can’t go back!” At the table, Gigi’s mouth hangs open as if we’d slapped her.
“I’m contracted to give my sponsor two weeks of live footage—I don’t have nearly enough content yet.
I don’t get paid unless I do the whole trip.
They want to follow us all the way to San Diego with live streams every day. My followers, I’ve promised them—”
“You won’t be giving them any content if we capsize in a storm, Gigi.” Emma crosses her arms, the note still in her hand. “You can’t risk our lives for your fashion blog.”
Gigi shoots Emma a sharp look. “I’m a lifestyle influencer, not just fashion.”
Emma rolls her eyes. “Whatever, same thing.”
I don’t see how any of them, even Gigi, would want to continue the trip now.
The captain shakes his head, his face serious.
“The storm is setting us west and pushing us away from the Washington and Oregon coastlines. If we turn back now, we’ll be facing the waves head-on and stuck in this weather—and possibly worse—our entire way back, if we can even make it back.
We’re better off to stay our course and let it blow over. ”
As we rock to the side, a spray of white water splashes against the window above the kitchen cabinets. Instinctively, I grab Beth’s knee for support. She jumps.
“Sorry,” I tell her.
“I’ll keep an eye on the weather.” Nojan’s gaze drifts to the salt water dripping down the outside of the kitchen window.
“Depending on what the storm does, we may have to alter our course. If it looks safer to turn back at any time or head for the nearest point, I will. But right now, we wait it out. The boat can handle it. Trust me, I’ve seen much worse. ”
Emma looks around. “Maybe we should take it to a vote?”
“My vote is the only one that counts on this vessel,” Nojan says, his tone calm but firm. He pivots to face Gigi. “I don’t care what you’re paying me. I will not jeopardize anyone’s safety for your ‘content.’”
I turn to Gigi, confused. “I thought your sponsor was paying for this trip? The yacht-rental company?”
Gigi flicks a glance toward Nojan before meeting my gaze. “They are. That’s what he meant.”
“But I want you all to be prepared. The weather will likely get worse before it gets better,” Nojan adds.
I scan the others’ reactions. Emma closes her eyes and sinks back in her seat.
Gigi’s full lips are set in a hard line.
Clearly irritated, she clasps her manicured fingers together so tightly her knuckles turn white.
Beth looks unfussed, as usual. I don’t know that I’ve ever seen her panicked, except for that day on our rafting trip.
It strikes me that I’m the only one who has children at home.
“All right.” Nojan turns up the steps. “I need to go help Adam man the boat. I just wanted to warn you.”
“Wait!” Gigi calls. “What’s for dinner? I’m getting hungry.”
Emma slumps forward onto the table. “How can you even be thinking about food right now?”
The captain points to the fridge. “I’m going to need Adam on the deck.
Dinner is whatever you want to make. I suggest a sandwich.
You don’t want to be chopping anything with the way this ship is rocking.
” He turns after opening the door. “Oh.” He raises his voice to a shout over the howling wind.
“And stay below until I say otherwise.” His gaze flicks to mine.
“I don’t want anyone else falling overboard. Especially in this.”
After the captain returns to the deck and closes the hatch behind him, Emma thrusts the note at Gigi and stands from the table.
“Take your note. I’m going to lie down.”
“It’s not my note.” Gigi takes the paper from Emma. “I just found it.”
“You want us to believe it magically appeared in your bathroom? Minutes after I confessed to feeling responsible for Courtney’s death?
Please. Don’t tell me that’s not what sparked your idea.
Although, if you spritzed it with Courtney’s perfume, that was some pretty sick premeditation on your part. ”
Gigi’s jaw dropped. “I didn’t—”
“And if you plan on filming that”—Emma pointed at the note—“which I’m sure you are, I don’t want any part in it.” Emma assesses Beth and me before heading for her stateroom with one hand on her stomach. “Good night, ladies.”
She disappears into her room, leaving Beth and me alone with Gigi, all three of our gazes transfixed on the notepaper in her hand.
“Do you think there’s any way that, you know . . .” Sometimes, I still can’t bring myself to say her name. Even after all this time. I exhale. “Courtney wrote that note?”
I lie next to Beth who’s scrolling on her dimly lit phone in the dark of our room.
Outside, the storm continues to rage. Rain—and sea spray—pelts against the window hatch above our bed.
Beth, Gigi, and I found some cheese and crackers for dinner, but Beth and I barely touched ours.
All three of us retired to our rooms as soon as the sun went down.