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“Then one day I was in here plotting a Deck Cayton novel, and I happened to catch myself staring at this well, and just like that,” he said, snapping his fingers, “the idea came to me. I got a mental image of you struggling for air, your eyes streaming tears, your nose running snot. I got so aroused, I nearly came inside my shorts.
“By the way, the equipment works just fine, thank you. And Maris might have been married to you, but she was never your wife. You don’t know her. You never even came close to knowing her.
“Now, where was I? Oh, yeah, I got an ol’ boy who lives on the island to set these charges for me. Simple. Like automatic fireplace starters. I sent out notices that I was going to burn the place down. A controlled fire, you see. Like they once used to burn the sugarcane fields right here on the island. Not much flame. Lots of smoke.”
By now the smell of it was strong.
“Parker, you’ve got to get us out of here.”
Parker laughed. “I won’t have trouble getting out. I’ve got wheels. You, by contrast, are screwed.”
Noah tried another tack. “Okay, you want me to beg. I’m begging. Get me out of here.”
Parker coughed on smoke. “Sorry, Noah. Even if I wanted to, it’s too late. I’ve got to save myself. I’ll be depriving myself the pleasure of watching you die, but—”
“Parker! Don’t do this.” Noah sobbed. “Please. Don’t let me die. What can I say?”
Parker stared down at him, his features turning hard, all traces of humor vanishing. “Say you’re sorry.”
Noah stopped sobbing but remained stubbornly silent.
“Did you even know Mary Catherine’s real name?”
“What difference does it make?”
“It was Sheila. You should’ve at least known the name of the girl who miscarried your baby.”
“It wasn’t a baby. It was a female trick. A trap.”
“So you did know,” Parker murmured. “I wondered.”
“Ancient history, Parker.”
“Wrong. It’s very timely. If you want to get out of here alive, Noah, admit that you knocked Mary Catherine overboard and did nothing, fucking nothing, to try and save her.”
Noah hesitated. Parker placed his hand on the wheels of his chair and started to turn it around. “See ya.”
“Wait! All right! What happened to Mary Catherine—”
“Sheila.”
“Sheila. What happened to Sheila was my fault.”
“And me. You deliberately ran that boat over me.”
“Yes.”
“Say it.”
“I deliberately ran that boat over you.”
“Why?”
“I… I was trying to kill you and make it look like an accident. I wanted you out of the way.”
“Of your career.”
“That’s right.”
