Chapter Forty-Seven
Present: Day Six at Sea
Russell raises his hands in defense. “No, I didn’t. I swear.”
“You had to have.” Emma narrows her eyes. “Palmer and I were asleep. Beth was on watch when we went to bed. You were the last one to see her when you changed shifts. Plus, you just admitted to believing Beth had the most motive to hurt Courtney. There’s no one left to blame this time, Russell.”
My mind runs wild, imagining their confrontation. Was Beth alive when she hit the water? Where is she now? I picture her lifeless body bobbing face down atop the waves. Or is she lying on the ocean floor? Either way she’s alone. And dead.
“I took your gun,” I blurt, figuring there’s no point in hiding it now. “Beth must’ve found it and confronted you with it. And you killed her.”
Like me, Beth had never held a gun before in her life.
I doubt she’d even know how to take the safety off.
Given his size and military training, it would’ve been so easy for Russell to overpower her.
He couldn’t have shot her—we would’ve heard it.
I picture him bludgeoning her in the head with a winch handle before dragging her body over the side.
Inwardly, I curse Beth for being so stupid.
Emma gapes at Russell. “You had a gun? Were you planning to shoot us?”
Russell shakes his head. “No. I mean, yes, I had a gun. I always carry one with me. It’s more of a habit than anything, after serving in the military for so long, and I only brought it on board as a precaution since I knew at least one of you is a killer.”
“What happened to Beth?” I ask, as Emma seems to be debating whether to believe him.
“I don’t know. Get off me.” Russell forcibly shakes out of Emma’s white-knuckle grip on his shirt.
“I woke up to my alarm in the night and called out to her that I was coming to relieve her after I went to the bathroom. When I was in there, Beth knocked on the door and said she was going to bed.” He looks between me and Emma.
“There was no confrontation. I didn’t even see her. ”
I study Emma after she releases his shirt, recalling how chipper she was this morning after her supposed overdose last night. Could the voice Russell heard have been Emma’s? It’s not like he knows us that well to tell the difference.
“I’ve been on watch ever since,” Russell adds. “So that blood had to have been there before I went on deck last night. Both of you or one of you”—his gaze skirts to mine—“must’ve killed Beth before I took watch. Which means whoever I heard outside the bathroom was actually Beth’s killer.”
He has to be lying, I think, as Emma takes a step back and crosses her arms. I face her, but I can’t tell what she’s thinking. Unless . . . Did Beth take the diary last night and read something damning about Emma? Did Emma kill Beth to get the diary back?
Except that doesn’t make sense. I was the one who confessed to being responsible for Courtney’s death.
If Russell still holds us all responsible for his sister’s death, despite my confession, he could’ve killed Beth while Emma and I slept. Which would also mean he’s planning to kill us next.
“You’re lying,” Emma tells Russell.
“I’m not.”
He’s either a very good liar or telling the truth.
“I believe Palmer’s account last night of leaving Courtney with the cougar,” Russell adds. “She’s the killer on this boat, not me. Even Beth thought so, which is why Palmer must’ve killed her.”
“I didn’t kill Beth!” I’m surprised by the ferocity in my voice as Emma’s gaze skirts to mine.
“You killed Courtney.” Russell narrows his eyes at me. “Maybe not directly, but you’re still responsible for her death.”
I lower my head. That I can’t argue with.
“I didn’t come to kill any of you. I only want justice for my sister, and I’m going to make sure you’re held accountable for that when we get back.”
I don’t have to look at him to know he’s only talking to me.
“And for killing the others on this boat.”
Before I can refute his second allegation, a loud flapping sound erupts from the deck, causing me to look up.
“The sails are luffing,” Emma says, moving toward the deck. “The wind must’ve changed direction.” She calls down to Russell after stepping into the cockpit. “We need to tack.”
I warily regard Russell, feeling suddenly vulnerable without Emma nearby. My shoulders tense. If what he told us is true, Beth had the most motive to kill Courtney. Or, at least it would appear that way from Russell’s perspective.
“Beth couldn’t have killed Courtney,” I tell him. “When I found Beth after running away from the cougar, she was in the river. She almost drowned.”
“I need some help up here,” Emma calls over the flapping sails.
“Maybe Beth was faking it.” Russell makes for the steps.
“She wasn’t faking it. Trust me. You weren’t there.”
He turns, looking unconvinced.
My eyes narrow as I try to imagine Beth’s final moments on this boat. My gaze runs up and down Russell’s khaki shorts. If he’s carrying his pistol, I can’t tell. If he is, he could shoot me point blank for accusing him. What’s to stop him at this point?
“Emma’s right. You did kill Beth,” I say as he ascends the steps. “Didn’t you?”
“I haven’t killed anyone on this boat.” Russell glances at Gigi’s closed stateroom door.
“Prepare to tack,” Emma shouts. “I need someone at the helm.”
“I’m coming,” Russell steps into the cockpit.
I stare at Gigi’s door as Russell yells “Helm’s a lee” from the wheel.
The boat starts to turn. A moment later the flapping stops. I take a last look at my empty stateroom before going on deck.
Both sails are pushed out in the opposite direction from the last time I was on deck, slightly curved and pulled taut by the wind.
Emma turns to Russell at the helm after wrapping a line around one of the winches at the back of the cockpit. “So, you killed Beth because you think she murdered Courtney?”
Russell looks put out at being asked this another time. “No. I didn’t kill Beth. Or Nojan. Or Gigi.”
Emma’s lips are set in a hard line as she puts her hands on her hips. “Where’s your gun?”
Russell shakes his head. “I don’t have it.”
“Bullshit.” Emma turns to me. “I don’t have it, which means one of you must.”
“Beth might’ve had it on her when she went overboard,” I said. “I told Beth about it last night and left it hidden under my pillow in our stateroom when I went to bed in your cabin.”
Emma puts her hands on her hips. “Lift up your shirt and turn around.”
“What?” Does she seriously think I killed Beth?
Emma turns to Russell. “You too.”
“I already told you,” Russell says. “I don’t have it.”
“Sorry, but your word’s not good enough.” Emma points to him, then sweeps her finger around to me, ending with it pointed at herself. “There are only three of us left, and one of us is a murderer. And it’s not me.”
“Fine.” Russell steps out from behind the wheel and lifts his shirt to expose his waistband and toned abs.
“Turn around,” Emma says.
He does, and there’s no sign of his gun.
“Now you.”
I frown at Emma’s command but nevertheless comply by lifting my shirt to expose the waist of my sweatpants. I turn around slowly.
“Now you,” Russell says to Emma.
She follows suit, revealing the waist of her skintight leggings which leave nowhere to hide a weapon.
“Satisfied?” Russell asks.
“No.” Emma gestures below deck. “I want to see inside both of your bags. Come on, we’ll go down together.”
I follow her below, even though I still think Beth likely had Russell’s gun when she went overboard. Russell comes down, too, and we start with his room first. After he shows us the full contents of his bag, Emma lifts his bedding, and Nojan’s, before we continue to my cabin.
We repeat the process in my room and then Emma’s without finding the gun. Emma looks relieved, but I don’t feel any better. You don’t need a gun to kill someone on this boat.
Russell returns to the helm when we go back on deck. Emma uncurls a line from a winch and tightens the jib halyard as I scan the seemingly endless ocean that surrounds us. I wonder how far we are from land. My throat tightens as I think of Beth’s body, somewhere in that ocean.
The bloodstained foredeck catches my eye.
After tethering myself, I move to the middle of the boat to get a better look.
I stop beside the dinghy tied upside down to the deck.
With a tight grip on the metal shroud, I study the smeared blood trail that’s at least a few feet long, sure now that Beth is already dead. Possibly before she hit the water.
I steal a glance at Russell and Emma, who are both studying the surrounding waters with grave expressions.
I follow their gazes toward the endless seas, wishing there was someone on board I could trust. My throat swells when I think of Beth somewhere out there, and conflicting emotions surge in my chest. My grief feels muddled by Beth’s betrayal, secrets, and accusation.
I look away from the rippling sea to study Courtney’s brother. If Russell killed the others, there’s no way he could be planning to let Emma and me live to tell about it.
I carefully make my way back to the cockpit, keeping one hand on the boat with each unsteady step as we roll over the ocean swells.
My eyes lock with Russell’s for a split second when I step onto the cockpit bench.
It strikes me that he could’ve made up the whole thing about Courtney catfishing Beth.
Although, what reason would he have to lie about it?
Emma tilts her head toward the top of the mast. “If this wind keeps up, it’ll help push us to the mainland faster than I’d hoped.” She lowers her gaze to the water, which seems to stretch forever. “We’re probably doing eight to ten knots, which means we might reach land tomorrow.”
I stare at the blue horizon. “Let’s hope so.”
“I have to use the head,” Emma says before going below, leaving me alone with Russell.
I shoot a wary glance in his direction as Emma disappears below deck, suddenly afraid of what he might do now that we’re alone. But his eyes remain fixed on the surrounding seas, and he doesn’t move from his post.
I sink onto one of the bench seats toward the front of the cockpit, wanting to keep a fair distance from Russell.
As I hear the bathroom door close below deck, I consider that he might be telling the truth.
If he was here for revenge, then why wouldn’t he have killed Emma and me already?
If Emma’s right, we should be close enough to the mainland for him to sail back without help.
I turn to the sound of the toilet flushing below. We’ve been trusting Emma to steer us toward the mainland. But what if she’s not?
I get up and move toward the compass mounted on the cockpit dash.
The rounded glass is splintered and cracked so severely that I can’t see which way the arrow beneath is pointing.
It must’ve happened when we were knocked down by that huge wave.
I feel stupid for not noticing it earlier.
I’ve been trusting Emma blind, not even paying attention to the angle of the sun.
I spin and retreat toward the helm, gesturing toward the navigation controls. “Is there a working compass on those controls?”
Russell shakes his head. “They’re all electronic, so not without power.”
My heart drops into my stomach as I stare at the endless waters that surround us. Could we have been heading away from the mainland this whole time?
“But I have one on my watch,” he adds.
“Can I see?” I inch closer to him, leery of getting too close but also needing the assurance that we’re heading the right way.
He extends his arm, angling his wrist so I can see the face of his watch. “We’re heading slightly southeast.”
I lean closer to his watch until I can see that he’s right. I exhale as Emma returns to the cockpit. Making my way back to my seat toward the front, I feel only slightly reassured. I can’t trust either of them, but if we want to survive, we have to work together—for now.
We are, at least, heading toward the Pacific coast. If we stay on course and Emma’s speed assessment is correct, we could reach land tomorrow.
The hard part is going to be staying alive until we get there.