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“It just doesn’t make sense,” I say, watching heads turn in my direction. “I meant it. I really think Daniel had something to do with Lucy’s death. I think…he killed her.”
Five sets of eyes stare at me blankly. I want to explain, to tell everyone the evidence that’s led me to this logical conclusion, but it all suddenly seems fuzzy. Nothing makes sense anymore. Every event of the past forty-eight hours is like a different puzzle piece, and none of them fit together.
“Cass is right,” Brooke says after what feels like an endless wait. “Daniel was following Lucy during the Full Moon Party. He even took a video of her and was stupid enough to post it on Instagram.”
The news seems to come as a shock to everyone else. No one says anything, and Brooke continues. “And I saw him, about an hour ago, heading into Kumvit in the same alley where…where I found him later. He disappeared pretty quickly, as if he knew he was being followed…”
She trails off, leaving us with even more questions.
“Look, there’s no question Daniel was murdered,” Brooke continues. “You didn’t see it. He had a huge gash in his neck and blood dripping everywhere.” Her throat catches on the last word, but sherecovers. “I saw Daniel alive around seven forty-five over near Kumvit. The last ferry out of Koh Sang is at eight p.m., and it takes about fifteen minutes to get to the ferry from the resort.”
The implication slowly dawns on us, but she says it anyway.
“So the person who killed him is most likely still on the island.”
Hearing Brooke say it out loud feels like a spider crawling up my spine, and an uncomfortable silence falls on the group as we all look at one another.
The island is small, and the resort is the only hotel. Because of the Full Moon Party on Koh Phangan, we have less than seventy guests currently staying here. That, plus the island locals, doesn’t leave us many options to choose from.
“So I guess the first thing we should do is figure out where we all were when Daniel died,” Brooke says, capitalizing on the group’s attention. “You know, rule us out as suspects so we can start figuring out who actually did this.”
“Oh great. So nowwe’reresponsible?” The flush in Doug’s neck is no longer creeping. It’s fully arrived, a deep maroon burying itself in the apples of his cheeks. “That’s ripe coming from you, Brooke. We’ve lived here for years. You come to our home and you start pointing fingers at—”
“Doug, she’s right,” Neil interjects. “Frederic told us to fix this. Finding out who killed Daniel should be our first priority. Let’s just get this part over with, and then we can start moving on to real suspects.”
“Well,” Greta says, acquiescing, “it’s an easy question, really. I was at the staff meeting helping Frederic. Logan was handling the Tiki Palms, Frederic had sent Neil and Doug to sort out paperwork in the dive shop, and Cass was in charge of manning reception during the meeting. Frederic had everyone on duty.”
“And what about Friday night?” Brooke asks, not ready to give in. “Where did everyone go during and after the Full Moon Party? When Lucy was murdered?”
“Died,” Greta corrects. “We don’t know she was murdered.”
Brooke rolls her eyes, but apparently she’s not interested in resuming this argument. “I’ll start. I wasn’t feeling great at the party. I needed some space, so I took a walk. Away from the group, down the beach. I stayed for a while, and then I went home.”
No one responds for a moment, everyone waiting for someone else to take the lead. Brooke sighs impatiently.
“Fine, I’ll go,” Doug says. “I don’t really know what you want me to say. It was a party. I was partying. Had a few drinks, talked to heaps of guests. I was pretty loose, I guess. It’s not a fucking crime, is it?”
“Yeah, me too,” Neil joins.
“Same,” Greta says.
I notice Logan has been quiet beside me. I rack my brain, trying to remember the end of that night, how I got home. Everything that happened after we left Frangipani is still fuzzy, the Xanax and alcohol erasing most of it. I can’t recall anything other than those few strips of memory—the thumping bass, the sand between my toes, that unknown woman saying “No, no, no.” The regret hits me once more. How could I have been so stupid?
But I suddenly remember something from my conversation with Logan last night. I was so caught up in my suspicions that I didn’t catch it when he explained how he lost his ring, but the words leap out at me now:When I got home, I found the chain wrapped up in my shirt, but no ring.WhenIgot home. Not whenwedid.
Did Logan come home without me? If so, what was I doing? Was I there when Lucy died?
An uneasiness settles on me as I think through what this means.
“Cass,” Brooke nudges, and I remember I’m supposed to be answering her question.
“We came home together,” Logan says, saving me. “Around eleven thirty, I think.”
If I didn’t know better, I would be confident Logan was telling the truth. But I notice the skin around his eyebrow crinkle slightly, and he squeezes my hand.
“And what time did the rest of you go home?” Brooke asks.
“Around eleven or something like that,” Greta says. “I had to teach a yoga class in the morning.”
