Chapter Nineteen
Present: Day Five at Sea
No one says anything as a wave crashes against the starboard hull and the wind howls through the mainsail rigging like a scream—even though we’re all thinking the same thing. Nojan didn’t fall overboard by accident. And he didn’t abandon us on purpose using the life raft. He was murdered.
“Cut it?” Gigi shrieks. “Like killed him?”
Beth and I huddle near the back of the cockpit cover with the others, staring at the frayed tether in silence as another lightning bolt brightens the sky.
My mind flashes to Emma holding her pocketknife at the dinette before we went to bed.
We all brought them. In the wake of Gigi finding the note from “Courtney,” we never tossed them overboard.
“Who would do that?” Adam asks, tearing his wide eyes from the tether to the four of us.
“You would,” Emma says.
I turn to Emma, whose narrowed gaze is directed straight at Adam.
“You were the only one up here. We were all asleep when Nojan went overboard. And if Gigi didn’t hire you for your looks, then how’d you even get this job? Who are you? You’re not a sailor, and don’t bullshit me. I sailed enough growing up to see your mistakes.”
Adam sighs, lowering his gaze to the floor. My heart sinks.
“Okay. I have a little sailing experience, but not a lot. The first officer who was scheduled for this trip got sick the day before our departure, and Nojan knew I could use the cash. I convinced him to take me as a last-minute replacement.” Adam straightens, looking at Emma.
“But I didn’t kill him! Why on earth would I do that?
I needed him here as much as you do.” His gaze falls to the cut rope still in my hand.
“Someone cut that line. But it wasn’t me. ”
The other women look skeptical, but when I appraise him, I sense a spark of honesty. “His story makes sense,” I say. “If he’s not a trained sailor, why would he endanger his own life by killing the captain in the middle of a storm?”
My gaze travels to Emma. Of all of us, she’s the one with the most sailing experience.
I think of the video that recently went viral of her screaming at a contractor.
And Emma’s argument on the phone that Beth and I overheard through our stateroom wall.
Her temper seems to be getting worse with age.
But is she capable of murder? And what would be her motive in killing the captain?
“What about Starlink?” Gigi asks. “Shouldn’t we still have internet?”
I turn to Gigi and note that Beth seems to be scrutinizing her the same way I was appraising Emma. “Not without power,” I say.
Beth groans, bringing her hands to her face.
“I think I’m gonna be sick,” Gigi mumbles before turning down the stairs.
The boat drops down the back side of a wave, and I hear Gigi’s head smack the ceiling.
I grip the tether in my hand so I don’t slide to the rear of the cockpit.
After we level out, I look up at Emma. “So, we have no navigation, nothing?”
The pointed accusation from a moment ago is wiped from her face. Now, she just looks scared. “The compass still works. And we’ll be able to see the weather vane in the daylight.”
“So, we can make it back to the mainland, right?” Beth asks.
“First, we need to sail out of this storm,” Adam says, looking around. “It’s coming from the north, pushing us southwest.”
I shudder at the surrounding bulging waves that become visible beneath the beam of his flashlight, amazed we haven’t already capsized.
“Which means we keep going southwest to get away from it before we turn back for the mainland,” he adds.
My jaw drops. “Keep going? With only a compass? That’s like skydiving without a parachute. We have to turn back. Now. What if we get hit by a cargo ship? Or get knocked over from these waves? Plus, we only have another week and a half’s worth of food and water. We have to get back to the mainland.”
“I hate to admit it, but I actually agree with Adam,” Emma says. “We have to get out of this storm. If we turn back now, we’ll be turning into it. We need to keep heading southwest until the weather improves. Then we—”
The boat gets knocked down to the right, lifting the port side off the water.
I scream as Beth falls on top of me and we both slide to the other side of the cockpit, slamming into the bench seat.
Adam falls, too, sending the beam of his flashlight straight up in the sky.
Emma hits the bench above Beth and me with a grunt.
“Keep your heads down,” Emma yells. “The boom is swinging.”
In the glow of Adam’s flashlight, I look up to see the massive sail push out to the starboard side, the force of the wind whipping it 180 degrees.
“Hang on,” Adam calls as the boat dips farther to the right.
“We’re going to tip!” Beth shrieks, her torso sprawled across my leg on the cockpit floor.
Emma pushes herself off the bench, planting her feet on the deck beside my head.
“I’ll take the helm,” she says. “We’re running straight downwind. We should be on a close reach. Adam, bring down the mainsail, then tighten the storm jib more.”
The flashlight beam moves horizontal as Adam gets to his feet. When Emma takes the helm, I feel the boat turn left, leveling us slightly. Adam moves to the front of the cockpit and starts to lower the mainsail as I stand up and help pull Beth to her feet.
Thank God Emma knows what she’s doing. Or, at least, I hope she does. But does she know enough to get us out of this?