Chapter 26
MARTA
Marta’s heart skipped a beat. Bernie was pointing straight at her.
“You were sharing a room with her. I’d say you had the perfect opportunity.
” Bernie paced in a circle around the sunroom.
“Look, this is harsh, but I’m going to say what we’ve all been thinking: Derrick’s probably dead.
Who might have had a reason to follow him around and snap photos of him?
Maybe the person who killed him? Maybe his wife?
What if Celeste found out something she wasn’t supposed to know about Derrick’s ‘disappearance’?
” Bernie made aggressive air quotes. “How’s that for motive? ”
Marta wanted to tear the smug expression from Bernie’s face. So much of what she’d said was wrong, but the sliver that was right sliced through her. Bernie and Imogen were looking at her as if they were seeing her for the first time, a mist of suspicion spritzed across their expressions.
“That’s completely false,” said Marta. “You cannot seriously believe I would do something like that to my husband. Or to Celeste. I think . . . I think we need to search the island. We need to know if someone else is out there, because we are not safe right now. And then we need to search every room in this cottage.”
Mercifully, the rain had stopped. Marta stepped outside in her wet shoes, flanked on either side by Imogen and Bernie.
It didn’t take them long to search the island.
The trees weren’t dense enough for anyone to hide in, and the island was small enough that they could see straight through to the other side.
When they got to the boathouse, Bernie ducked inside and called out that it was clear.
The sick feeling in Marta’s stomach was getting stronger.
It wasn’t that she wanted to find a crazed maniac hiding out, but the alternative was arguably worse.
Back inside the cottage, they checked the kitchen cupboards, the storage closet, and under the couches. “If we don’t find anyone, that doesn’t mean he was never here,” Marta rationalized out loud. “He could have boated away after killing Celeste.”
Bernie gave her a condescending look. “Sure.”
They decided to sweep the bedrooms, starting on the main floor. Imogen was the first to arrive at her own room, but Bernie stopped her from entering with a hand on the shoulder. “It’s better if we search each other’s rooms.”
Imogen made a noise in her throat like she was about to protest, but relented and hung back, tapping her fingernails against the door’s painted wooden trim.
Marta unzipped Imogen’s large leather bag and began rifling through it, pulling out a stack of folded T-shirts—how long did she think we were staying?
—and shaking each one open. They were all clean and smelled of laundry detergent.
Bernie checked the dresser beside the bed, finding nothing more than a lavender sachet.
“This is ridiculous,” Imogen announced loudly from the doorway.
“We don’t know what we’re doing. Even if we do find something, then what?
We don’t know shit about dealing with evidence.
” She took a step into the room. “We’ll probably mess up the forensics.
Like, what if we get our fingerprints on something? This is a bad idea.”
Bernie did not stop rummaging through Imogen’s oversized purse. “That may be true, but it also sounds like something someone would say if she had something to hide. Is there something you want to tell us?”
“No! I’m not fucking hiding anything.” Imogen crossed her arms. “But I think this is stupid. We’re messing around trying to make ourselves feel less scared.”
Marta went over and patted Imogen’s back. “Let’s just get through this.” Why is she resisting? “We’re almost done your room.”
Bernie pulled a face somewhere between a smile and a grimace. “C’mon, Marta, I’ll check the closet and you check the bed.”