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I feel it again. The rage from earlier this morning. My fingernails form crescent moons on the whites of my palms. I don’t want Cass to notice, so I force my hands open and move my left hand over my right wrist, fingering the bracelets that rest there. Shifting them, one at a time, up and then down, swallowing the anger.
“They’re still running tests to determine the level of alcohol inher system and whether she was on drugs,” Cass says softly. “They said they should know the results later today.”
I barely hear her. I already know what the tests will say. Exactly what Frederic wants them to: that Lucy got drunk or high or whatever. That she decided to go for a swim but couldn’t handle the current. She hit her head on a rock and drowned, sinking to the ocean floor, where Cass found her.
A simple, easy solution. One that works for everyone. Except Lucy, of course.
Cass’s eyes meet mine, and I think I see a flicker of doubt there.
“You don’t believe that, do you?” I ask, sensing an opportunity.
“I don’t know. I mean, it does make sense…”
“Do we even know whether the police have called Lucy’s parents? Whether they’ve notified her family?”
“I’m not sure,” Cass admits. “It might be difficult. Doug checked this morning, and Lucy never filled out the emergency contact portion of her dive forms. I don’t know how I missed that. I’m usually so careful.”
“So her family doesn’t know.” I pretend to think aloud. “They think she’s still alive. It’s not right. Someone needs to tell them.”
I hold my breath, waiting for her to respond, but her eyes remain glued to her hands. I recognize my chance.
“Cass, if you know Lucy’s full name and the room she was staying in, I might be able to find her parents’ contact information.” I’ve considered trying to get this myself from the front desk, but I know how strict Frederic is with the receptionists. They would never tell me Lucy’s room number. But as an employee of the resort, Cass could get this information easily.
When she answers, her dark brown eyes meet mine.
“Her name was Lucy Dupin. And I know where she was staying.”
I thought I had explored the entire resort in the weeks I’ve been here, but I’ve never made it this far. We’ve been walking for fifteen minutes already, our skin damp from the fuzzy heaviness hanging in the air. By now, we’ve long crossed over the road that bisects the resort and passed the resort’s enormous party pool on the hill’s summit.
“The Terrace rooms are free with the purchase of a dive course,” Cass explains.
I had assumed she would just give me the room number, but she insisted on coming along. And I wasn’t really in a position to turn her down.
“Since these rooms are free, they’re obviously pretty bare bones and they’re definitely a hike,” she continues. “Once guests see how far away the rooms are, nine times out of ten, they choose to fork over the fifteen hundred baht per night it costs to upgrade from the Terrace to the Coral Bungalows, back down near the dive-training pools.”
By the time we finally reach the Terrace, a building that looks almost identical to the rooms on the south side of the resort minus the balconies, my hamstrings are on fire and a thick sheen covers my forehead. If Lucy decided to stay up here after seeing how excruciating the trek was, she must have had a damn good reason for doing so.
Cass pauses outside the building, twisting her head back and forth to make sure there’s no one around. But this part of the resort seems utterly empty.
We head up a set of stairs to the third floor. Cass lets me lead the way, following silently. When we get to the door for Room 324—the number Cass had found on Lucy’s information sheet—I breathe a sigh of relief upon finding that, just like the other rooms, the Terrace rooms have actual locks rather than a pad for a key card.
“I—I don’t have a key,” Cass says, as if I hadn’t already thought about that.
“Don’t worry about it.” I pull two bobby pins from my hair, letting my messy bun fall down my back. I stick one in the bottom of the lock and open the other to make it as flat as possible before inserting it above. “One of my mom’s boyfriends taught me,” I explain, feeling Cass’s curiosity.
Craig, Carl, something like that. His face has faded into the men who were universally present in our trailer, a round stomach, nondescript features. He was one of the few good ones. He didn’t try anything.
I twist and pull, waiting for the telltale click, thinking as usual how disturbingly simple this is. And then I hear it.
Unfortunately, the door itself is more difficult to maneuver, the wood swollen from humidity. I shove my shoulder against it, feeling bone connect painfully with wood, but no movement. I try again, hard enough to bruise my skin, but still the force isn’t enough.
“Here, let me,” Cass says, prompting me to step aside.
She swings her foot up quickly, connecting with the door, which flies open.
“Okay, girl,” I say, my surprise evident. I look over at Cass, her eyes innocent, her typical shy smile decorating her mouth, and I can’t help but be impressed.
We walk in, pulling the door shut behind us.
