Chapter Thirty-Four Holly
Chapter Thirty-Four
HOLLY
As the other girls vanish into the house, I lead Fitzwilliam onto the grassed area we arrived on.
‘I saw a sign,’ I tell him. ‘Hot springs. They’re only a mile away. Other side of the volcano, just like in the brochure.’
‘That doesn’t leave us enough time,’ says Fitzwilliam. ‘A mile is a half hour’s trek through jungle.’
‘I had an idea,’ I tell him, pointing to the quad bikes.
Fitzwilliam looks dubiously at the quad bike. ‘I’m not sure if that dress—’
‘Get on behind me.’ I straddle the quad bike, hitching my dress, and Fitzwilliam reluctantly climbs on. The solid shape of his tall body suggests he’s the kind of guy who has a daily regimen of pull-ups and squats.
I pull out the throttle and slip a finger under the handlebars, disengaging the speed restrictor. As I pull out on a cloud of sand, Fitzwilliam lurches back, then grips hold of my waist awkwardly.
‘Where the hell did you learn to drive these things?’ he asks, as I speed down the partially finished road, bouncing over potholes and jungle debris.
‘Summer job, kiddy camp. Looking after snot-nosed brats like you. Leaders had to use these things to round them up. Hold on,’ I bank hard, taking a corner and throwing up sand and distance between us and Fortune House.
‘You’ve got a real chip on your shoulder about wealth, you know that?’
‘That’s what all wealthy people think,’ I tell him. ‘The rest of us are too busy picking up after you to form an opinion.’
We skid onto a straighter piece of track, and pick up a spurt of speed.
‘You can slow down on the corners,’ suggests Fitzwilliam. ‘Better to get there in one piece.’
‘We need to get there fast,’ I tell him. ‘Find out what Simone left for us.’
Behind me Fitzwilliam is silent.
‘Is there something you’re not telling me?’ I ask.
He takes a breath. ‘OK. Yes,’ he admits.
‘Ortiz got access to Simone’s office,’ he continues.
‘Simone was planning on bringing another court case, against Kensington Manor School. Part of the case was around how the school had a tradition of burning the students’ possessions, almost like a rite of passage.
The new girls would have their favorite items put into a fire, shortly after arriving. Along with a chunk of their hair.’
I make a grimace. ‘That’s horrible.’
‘I think it was sort of … symbolic,’ he adds. ‘A ritual to be born again as Kensington Manor girls.’
‘So, Simone wasn’t looking to benefit from Kensington fame,’ I say, reframing this. ‘She was … exposing the school. And she discovered something out here on the island, where the school was founded.’
‘Maybe,’ he says. ‘Think we’ll make the hot springs by sunset?’ Fitzwilliam shields his eyes against the ball of red sun, spilling onto the darkening sea.
‘Yes.’
The quad bike eats up the distance, flying along the twisty island tracks. If we weren’t on a mission, it would be fun. I’m thinking about why Simone has led us out here. Her mysterious message about unmasking Adrianna’s kidnapper. If the answer is in the hot springs, I’m determined to find it.
The evening breeze is warm on our faces, and the naked heat of the day has settled to something demure and beguiling. A whispering embrace of cicada sounds, low birdsong and floral scents.
‘Can I ask you something?’ I call back to Fitzwilliam, as we bounce along. ‘Why does your boss call you GQ?’
‘I believe it’s a reference to Gentleman’s Quarterly magazine,’ he says.
‘If you want to fit in with the other cops, you should cut down on the exercise,’ I say. ‘Eat potato chips. Slouch a little. You know, live it up.’
Fitzwilliam doesn’t seem to be listening. ‘Never saw you as a speed freak,’ he says, his voice strained, gripping the seat tight. ‘At college, I had you down as a Dungeons and Dragons type.’
‘The two things aren’t mutually exclusive.’ I spin around a corner. ‘I still make D&D nights at Mystic Dice Tavern.’ I pause. ‘I didn’t realize you even noticed me at college. Not that I wanted you to,’ I add hastily. ‘No offense, but you and your buddies were kind of jerks.’
There’s a silence.
‘It goes with the territory,’ he says after a moment. ‘Frat boy and all that. I’d like to think I’ve grown up.’ He pauses. ‘Why dress like you do if you don’t want to be noticed?’
‘I think of it more like armor,’ I tell him. ‘Keeps the jerks at bay.’
We reach the far side of the volcano, and the jungle view falls away to a spectacular beach and sea.
Down on the shore, enormous blue-gray stones look to have fallen from the sky, forming crevasses and tunnels, like a giant’s teeth sinking into the sugar sand.
The sun bleeds a deep crimson lake into the lapping waves.
Hanging on the side of the volcano are a set of square-sided pools, built Aztec style, with hand-cut intersecting gray stones, and filled with smoky blue steaming water.
I stare for a moment. ‘This is incredible.’
Fitzwilliam gives a small smile. ‘First time you’ve seen hot springs?’
‘Isn’t it yours?’
‘I’ve seen one or two. These are very well landscaped though,’ he adds generously, gesturing to the giant blocks of granite interspersed with exotic-looking plants which make it look like there’s been a spa here for a thousand years.
Each milky pool is marked with a rustic wooden sign, announcing a temperature in centigrade. Cooler toward the bottom, hotter at the top. Joining them together is a series of maze-like suspension walkways, painted deep red.
‘This is just about the worst environment for gathering forensic information,’ I say.
‘Outdoors, open to the elements. Multiple bodies of water, accessed by multiple people. Maybe … we got it wrong,’ I say.
‘If Simone wanted me to find something, why would she have left it somewhere so hard for me to find?’
‘If she found something worth killing for, she might not have had a lot of time to hide it,’ Fitzwilliam points out. ‘Just had to hope you’d figure a way out here. And you did.’
I rub my forehead. ‘I was never any good at the stuff Simone wanted me to learn. Like … that thing with not chinking glasses, when we landed. I don’t get it. Why pretend to be these super polite people?’
Fitzwilliam considers this. ‘I think it’s more like signalling you’re on the same team.’
I shield my eyes from the setting sun. On the far side of the clutch of pools is a huge reception area, with a floor of jet-black polished volcanic rock, and an entrance bordered by a fan of tree branches.
‘If I was leaving clues for forensics,’ I decide, ‘I’d pick somewhere not so exposed. Less chance of degradation. Let’s check out the reception area.’