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I nod, as if he can see me through the phone.
“Tell Logan to lock up the bar. We’ve still got time. The rain isn’t supposed to start till late arvo.”
We exchange goodbyes, and a few seconds later, the line goes dead.
I should be relieved. If Sengphet killed Daniel, then Daniel’s murder isn’t connected to Lucy and Jacinta. The women’s deaths were just accidents. I had nothing to do with them. My ring ended up next to Lucy’s body by mistake. It’s all just a bunch of unfortunate coincidences.
But I don’t believe a word of it.
I know Sengphet isn’t behind this. My stomach turns at the thought of this poor man, who moved here and gave up everything in the hope of giving his family a better life, now blamed for a murder he didn’t commit. An easy scapegoat to make the tourists more comfortable, to keep the guests coming in.
But that’s not the only thought whirling in my gut.
Because if I’m right, that means the killer could still be walking free on the island.
25
BROOKE
Sun filters through my window as I lay my phone on my desk. Exhaustion settles dense in my muscles, but anxiety buzzes just underneath, carbonating my veins. I tilt my neck first to the right, then to the left, relishing the satisfying popping sound.
It’s done.
For a moment last night, I considered confronting Cass. About Lucy and everything else that came before. But something stopped me. I could already hear the excuses she would fall back on, the lies she would continue to weave.
Everyone will let you down if you allow them. And some will do it over and over if they get the chance.
No, this is the only way.
I pick up my phone again and read through the lengthy Instagram caption I’ve written for the umpteenth time. No typos. It’s ready to go. But as my finger hovers over the “post” button, I change my mind, saving the draft and closing the app. One more read-through with fresh eyes, I tell myself, and then I’ll publish it.
But I know it’s not my concern over typos that’s causing me to procrastinate. I think back to yesterday morning, my kiss with Neil, and consider what I would be doing to him by posting this. All the possibilities that seemed like potential realities for a short while yesterday—building a relationship, settling down with him on this island, even becoming one of the Permanents and finding the family I never had—will go up in smoke as soon as my finger touches that button.
I navigate back to my inbox, but there’s still no response to the message I sent Alice yesterday, nor has she accepted my follow request.
I push my chair back from the desk and immediately feel a hollowness, an aching emptiness in my carved-out gut. I realize I haven’t eaten since last night—I’ve been so deep in the story I’ve pieced together, making sure it all fits perfectly, that I never even recognized my hunger. As tired as I am, I feel an urgent need for food, a manic desire to fill the emptiness. I grab my canvas tote and stuff my laptop in it, along with my wallet.
But there’s one thing I need to do first.
I grab my phone and navigate to the call log. The number I’m looking for is the first listed, and my phone notifies me that I’ve called it no less than a dozen times since last night.
It’s the number I found in Lucy’s phone, the one from which all those urgent text messages came. The first time I called it, it rang three times before someone answered. Or, more accurately, the call connected. Because whoever picked up the phone said nothing. All I heard was rapid breathing coming down the line. Before I could formulate a greeting, the line disconnected.
Since then, my calls have gone directly to voicemail—anautomated message that recites the number I called back to me. I call one more time, but it does the same. Whoever was looking out for Lucy has turned off their phone. Either that or Lucy’s killer has already got to them too.
I order a full breakfast from one of the British-owned restaurants on Kumvit Road, paying with my last wad of baht, and check my email on my phone as I wait. The commission I’m owed for a hotel post in the Czech Republic still hasn’t come in. I try to force away the worry; I have much bigger things to deal with at the moment. But the concern lingers. Without that deposit in my account, I have barely enough to cover another week of accommodations on Koh Sang, let alone a flight out of Thailand.
I get the food to go, hoping to avoid a chance run-in with any of the Permanents, and as I begin to walk, I’m daydreaming of the breakfast I plan to inhale as soon as I get to my room. I turn onto a small side street that connects back to the beach road, but as I round the corner, I stop short.
Someone is watching me.
I turn around. A few early risers are wandering down the street, but beyond them, I spot one person standing still, her gaze glued on me.
It takes me a moment to recognize her: the girl I saw the other night at the Tiki Palms after the staff meeting. The young, dark-haired girl whom I had caught staring at me, just as she is now.
Her tanned legs peek out from a rumpled T-shirt and khaki shorts, and her now familiar eyes are lined with dark circles. Even so, they’re filled with the same uneasy intensity I noticed the othernight at the Tiki Palms. There’s something about this girl, the way she looks at me like she needs something, that makes me uncomfortable. I realize with a start that it’s the same look I’d seen on Lucy’s face the day she confronted me, the day of her death.
I take a step toward her, planning to ask her what she wants. But as soon as I do, she darts away, as deftly as she did on Sunday night. I try to follow her, hurrying back toward the street where I ordered breakfast, but by the time I round the corner, she’s nowhere to be found. I notice a small break in the trees behind the restaurant that I think leads into the other winding roads of Kumvit, and I briefly consider entering it. But I know it’s no use. She’s had too much of a head start. I’ll never catch up with her.
