Chapter 34 Rosie – Day 8
Rosie leans against the polished handrail that runs the length of the yacht and looks over the lake. Lago Parrocchetto is much bigger than she expected.
She remembers the faded postcards in the town’s dusty shop window.
The sun-bleached tones don’t do justice to the bright colours around her now.
Fifteen years ago, this place was thriving with holidaymakers, locals, and tourists rushing here to swim in the glittering water.
Now it’s pretty much empty, bar a few other smaller boats in the distance.
Further down the bay is a boarded-up beach shop and cafe.
The weathered sign and flaking wooden slats reveal how long it’s been abandoned.
The next door brick building once advertised water sports, but nature has reclaimed the land.
Thick, mossy green leaves shroud the doorway.
The broken picnic tables sit empty. All because of what may have happened to Danielle here.
She can’t help but picture Danielle’s bloodied denim jacket that Evelyn said the police found near the water’s edge. Was it this side or the opposite? A rush of nausea hits her as the boat rocks.
Theo comes up beside her, threading his arm through hers, drawing her attention from the view. He looks at home in his deck shoes, khaki green shirt, and shorts, his blonde hair peeking from under a baseball cap.
‘Evelyn told me to tell you that it’s cocktail time,’ he says, kissing her cheek.
Rosie can’t stomach anything else right now. Getting through the decadent lunch was bad enough. Julietta’s ashen face zooms to her mind. Scared at the thought of them going to the lake.
Whatever she was going to tell her before Luke interrupted them has been on Rosie’s mind since they left the house.
‘Rosie!’ Evelyn calls. ‘You must try my limoncello spritz. It’s to die for.’ She waves a full martini glass in the air.
‘You’ve got a new best friend.’ Theo nudges her.
‘Thanks, Evelyn. I’ll have one in a minute,’ Rosie replies, as politely as she can and excuses herself to go to the bathroom.
She carefully steps down to the lower deck, relieved to be out of the sun for a moment. The icy air-conditioned corridor is lined with closed doors. Before she can find out which one might be the bathroom she bumps into Fenna. Her face is like thunder.
A door opens and Rosie is jerked backwards into a room. It’s an empty lounge, bigger than her flat back at home.
‘I knew something was going on,’ Fenna hisses, checking they are all alone.
‘What do you mean?’ Rosie asks, keeping her voice as light as she can muster. Her heart thumps in her chest.
‘It’s time you stopped lying.’
‘Wha—’
Fenna jabs her phone and thrusts the screen at her. ‘Do you want to explain this, Rosie Mills?’
The photograph of her dad on Christmas morning when she was eight years old. Happier times. A rush of saliva floods her mouth. Rosie doesn’t trust herself to speak.
Fenna’s figured it out.
Anger and confusion flash in Fenna’s eyes. ‘I don’t know what game you’re playing here, but you’d better start talking.’
Rosie swallows the bitter taste in her mouth. She could carry on the lie but what’s the point? Fenna doesn’t want to hear her excuses.
This is killing her. She desperately needs an ally. But can she trust Fenna with the truth? Trust her to keep this to herself? She glances at the closed door, praying no one is within earshot, and drops her voice, hoping Fenna will do the same.
‘My dad was Dani’s teacher, yes, but he doesn’t have anything to do with her disappearance.’
‘How do you know?’
The boat rocks.
‘Because someone else knows what happened to her.’ Rosie takes a deep breath. ‘Someone onboard.’