Drowning Lessons

by Rachel Neuburger Reynolds

  Once she had turned around to take leave of the “hell hole” I trailed behind her, finally finding a voice. I apologized profusely, mumbling excuses that had seemed valid enough for the last 24 hours, but which now seemed obscenely ridiculous. She ignored me. She’d said her peace and then she pretended like I wasn’t there.

  She daintily got into the speedboat, being served a glass of champagne while her trunks were loaded. She gave me the finger as the boat sped off, fading into the distance, saying, “Despicable, Lexie. Really despicable.”

  She never questioned why I was on the way out of Becky’s cabin or mentioned why she had been on the way in.

  Ironically, there was a folded note from Detective LaGuardia, pushed under my door as I finally entered my own room. “Could not get through to your mobile, but call us immediately about the red lady. Max is coming for you.”

  Chapter 23: Dress Up

  After a bad nap, I woke up dreading the next event. There was no way this party was going to be pleasurable. The costumes themselves were a surprise for everyone, and it was embarrassing at best. There had been a million things to annoy me along the way, but back in the beginning of planning the wedding, I had taken a stance against this upcoming masquerade party.

  Olivia was adamant that I go dressed as a red M&M, based upon a bonding moment from our youth. We had one of our few real fights, as I envisioned myself as a shapeless wallflower standing at the end of a dock, while everyone else dressed in glamorous garb, snickering at me.

  Olivia would be dressed as Wonder Woman, of course. In a rare moment of defiance, I said that I would only attend dressed as a sexy Spanish Inquisitor, at my own expense. She had growled, said it was an excellent idea, and that she’d be sure to add the mustache and beard. That was just another thing to dread, thinking ahead to the night.

  There was no need to compete with me. If you surveyed 100 people on the street about who was better looking, she’d somehow get 101 votes. However, everyone was competition.

  My Spanish Inquisitor costume was ridiculous and immediately regrettable. Dressing for the night’s costume party, I tried to cinch it in a way that might give me a hint of a woman’s shape. The red capelette and full-length tunic were just sagging polyester, the tailoring merely a red shapeless sheet. I tried to cut it to knee-length with disastrous results. What did I expect for something that was purchased for $19.95 plus shipping?

  Curiously, Olivia had put me at ease after I finally reached her in my panic about Max. She had responded, “Good, she’s gone. We don’t have to worry about that succubus. Thank the Guari-Guari for small miracles.”

  Though she knew better, she’d yet again tried to get into the police station for some desperate contact with Walter. I kept it to myself that through the grapevine I had heard that he was presently livid with her. And I’m sure with me as well. She currently could do nothing, so she’d be at the party on time.

  A fleeting part of me strangely wondered if the last few days were all a ruse to make sure that this was the wedding that people would be talking about for the rest of their lives. Maybe Nico was alive on a power yacht sailing towards Richard Branson’s Private Necker Island in the British Virgin Islands. Maybe Walter was shuttled off to some resort under the cover of night and the detectives were Broadway actors, handsomely paid and part of the joke.

  Max had struck a crisis of confidence in me. What I was doing was wrong, plain and simple. There is a saying that there’s good in everyone, so there must have been a decent side to Nico. There must have been a decent side of Max.

  I frowned at myself in the mirror, slightly achy since waking up. I’d been sleeping on my arm the wrong way, waking up with pins and needles that had subsided but still left me with slightly tingly fingers.

  The easiest explanation – my messy jaunt following Emma through the woods had hit me with a case of necrotizing fascitis. I think they’d call that a clear case of insult with injury. A messy up-do and lipstick usually succeeded in making me feel a little pretty, but not at this time. The big red blob which was me stared back in the mirror, making me feel even worse.

  Like a big bouncy beach ball. Congrats, Lexie, on the alliteration.

  I was the last one of my group to the bar, getting on the boat to take us to the Cala del Paraiso resort on Isla Bastimentos. The tension was heavy as we took off on the half-hour boat ride, with a vessel full of randomly clothed guests, provided gratis by Lexie.

  No one was happy. Dave and Georgie were a caveman and a cavewoman, Josh was a dapper 20’s gangster, and Becky looked ridiculous in a blond wig, garbed as Alice in Wonderland. She looked almost as bad as me. Truly she looked insane, manic nervousness and dark, as if she knew something.

  It’s the look of guilt I’ve been searching for.

  She had murdered Nico and planned to play the week out but couldn’t handle the pressure. I looked at Josh to see if he was picking up the same thing that I was, but he was looking off into the distance as the sun set.

  Becky picked at her perfectly manicured nails. “Lexie,” she finally quietly said. “When are Nico and Walter coming back?”

  Dave continued to question, “Is Walter going to be at this one?”

  “I believe,” I quickly fabricated, “that he had to stay overnight in Panama City.”

  Dave threw his arms in the air.

  Cala del Paraiso Resort was the strangest of possible choices to have a costume party, as all other guests at the resort were walking around naked. Playing tennis in your birthday suit all day? Not my cup of tea.

  The surreal feeling increased as we walked down the torch-lit path under the full moon towards the party location. We passed one couple in the nude, holding hands, modeling non-existent tan lines. They politely nodded as they walked past, and I returned the gesture. Which of us looked stranger?

  I grabbed Josh’s hand and pulled him back from the others as they walked along. “Can we catch up quickly? This cut is a doozy.”

  “We didn’t get back until much later than I thought. And I don’t think I learned anything except that everyone knows something’s going on.” He nervously glanced towards the party.

  “And I’m sure you learned that everyone’s mad at me.”

  “Well, I’m not mad at you. Though I am concerned about your red piece of polyester fabric.”

  Was he flirting with me again?

  “Long story.”

  “Let’s just really watch people. There are enough people on edge. Something’s got to give. We’ll see something in someone!”

  I really did have a partner. He may have been a little awkward and goofy, but I felt a little less alone.

  Outside the massive gazebo, and in his Star Trek best, Phil was nervously smoking, having picked up Olivia’s renewed bad habit. “I’m taking ten minutes out of there until I hope Olivia calms down,” he said, obviously regretting he had said yes to being a bridesmaid. “How you might have put up with her for all these years is beyond me.”

  “She’s back?” I knew she said she’d be, but I never thought she’d pull it off. She had no idea what she was walking in on. Did I?

  Amanda had left the party and was crying on a naked beach somewhere; she had not checked that the entire shipment of costumes had arrived until she returned to her hotel that afternoon when she unpacked the boxes. There were two missing boxes and she was unable to track the ten costumes down.

  She had made the best of it and wrapped herself in a white eco-friendly towel, which was an indefinable costume of sorts. She could have made it look like she had lathered up shampoo in her hair and pretended to be a dandruff commercial. Still, nine other guests were cavorting in civilian wear. Olivia had elegantly taken Amanda outside and screamed at her, having realized that she’d lost control of everything. Things were only going to get worse.

  Inside the party, Olivia again played her perfect role of exquisite hostess, though still missing her fiancé. She was dressed as a majestic Wonder Woman, lying left and right, charmi
ng everyone. Her charisma had saved her many times in her life. Though some of us were beginning to see the light, her smile and laugh were still working on others.

  Her outfit was of far greater quality than the rest of the guests’ costumes, and I wondered if it had actually once belonged to Linda Carter herself. Her black wig looked wickedly gorgeous, her blue eyes luminous in a way that only blondes with dyed black hair can possess. She stood in typical stance, hands on hips, feet firmly planted in her four-inch red boots.

  Marianna stood proudly by her side, as if she had usurped me as maid of honor. She was dressed as a flapper - her identical costume for every Halloween since 1998. As we entered, she made a beeline to Josh, whisking him off to the bar, taking my reluctant partner away from me.

  Not like I wanted him, but where were her manners? Was he being polite to her or was the groomsman assessing all of the bridal party?

  Lloyd brushed by me, dressed as Count Dracula, arrogantly dangling his fake fangs between his thumb and forefinger. He smirked and slyly said, “I’ll stop being a cliché when I stop being treated like one.” He then leaned over and whispered in my ear, “Dirty girl,” before disappearing into the crowd.

  Oh my god, he saw me seeing them.

  People had made fast friends over the last few days, and little cliques had been formed while I’d been away, leaving me on the out. Phil was laughing over new private jokes with Edgar, Colleen, and their significant others; Olivia’s neighbors, Chad and Tom, were comparing tan lines with Georgie; and Theresa and Brian, Walter’s film producer friends, were doing shots with Olivia’s mom and step-dad.

  The coupling off of the singles had seemingly happened, and I was Left Behind again as the rest ascended to cuddle heaven. Emma was making no secret that she had abandoned Ryan and moved on to darker pastures with Lloyd; Marianna had affixed herself to Josh in their offending matching costumes. He’d see through her. He was smarter than that. Plus, he had detective work to do.

  My biggest surprise was the sight of Ryan and Becky talking intensely in the corner. Her eccentricity was intriguing to all. I had an urge to stamp my feet like a three-year-old and yell, “Why does she get both a fiancé AND Ryan? What does she have that I don’t?”

  Boo hoo.

  I stepped aside to leave another voicemail for LaGuardia. I had a twenty-percent success rate on even making it through, then a good half hour or so waiting for him to return my call. If I left three or four voicemails, the relevant information would be in there somewhere.

  The party started to go quiet, and uncomfortably so. A whisper campaign had started, as people clasped hands over their mouths, gasping with surprise, and then underlying mania set in.

  Olivia looked petrified, in the Mt. Vesuvius way; Marianna holding tight to her arm, staring ahead like a deer in headlights. I spun around to see who was meeting her stare, and there stood Max, her face displaying a level of anger beyond what I could have imagined was possible in a mere mortal.

  God, no. You were supposed to be in Panama City, mourning your loss.

  Josh ran up to me and guided me to the periphery, “She couldn’t get a plane chartered until the morning. She’s told everyone about Nico. About red frogs too. Maybe we should get out of here. She knows everything, and I mean everything and probably more.”

  I couldn’t move, watching the whole thing like it was a bad dream. The room exploded, everyone talking, trying to put the puzzle together.

  Max then stormed across the room, past Olivia, to Becky, who was hanging desperately onto Ryan.

  “You…” Max growled at the assistant. “You little gold digger. You little white trash gold digger.” She slapped Becky across the face twice, paused, and then slapped her again. “What did you think? That you’d end up with Nico? Men like him use women like you and toss them away when they’re bored. They don’t stay around. Were you surprised when he left you to reconcile with me?”

  With a strength uncharacteristic to everything I had seen of Becky, she screamed, “He was not going back to you. He hated you.”

  “Yet I’m here. So what? Did you figure that if you couldn’t have him, no one would?”

  And no one would.

  Becky lunged at Max and they entered a silly looking catfight, throwing slaps and punches that weren’t landing until Becky started to kick. After a few moments of shock, Walter’s father and Edgar pulled Max away from Becky.

  Nico and Becky? That was unexpected. I guess Nico had a thing for redheads. That potentially explosive piece of information hadn’t made it into our binders.

  Becky, with her Mary Janes and white knee-high socks, sat on the floor, looking for a friendly face. Lloyd picked Becky up and took her into his arms, whispering and leading her away from the limelight. She was talking to him a mile a minute while he held her. Emma was none too pleased with this; her glare at Becky being almost as nasty as Max’s.

  I’d been ignored up until this point, until Walter’s father, holding back the wriggling heiress, barked at me, “Where’s Olivia?” I quickly scanned the party, finding that Olivia and Marianna had somehow slipped out.

  “She knows. She knew about Nico being murdered and was silent. She knew about Walter being arrested and was silent. That woman knows everything,” Max said, pointing her long pink fingernail at me.

  Everyone looked at me for a response, while Walter’s father dragged Max from the party. “Let’s go to the police station,” he calmly said. The party watched Max and company fade into the distance, her accusations (both accurate and not) rolling out of her mouth until we could not hear her anymore. We all stood in silence, watching Lloyd lead a wobbly Becky away.

  “You lied to us?” Dave asked, completely aghast.

  And then all eyes were on me.

  Chapter 24: Swimming Lessons, Part 2

  It was well into the hush of night when I returned to the hotel with Josh; exhausted, mortified, and knocked for a loop. It seemed like weeks since Olivia had woken me up with her cigarette smoke and luxury bauble offering.

  In the few moments she bounced into my mind, I saw blood-red-wedding-color rage and pushed her out of my head. With her disappearance from the party, she’d finally become a peripheral part of the problem.

  There had been a collective freak-out at the fête, but only a few revelers had stormed off. All of Walter’s family had gone to the police station. Edgar followed them at the last minute, leaving his trophy wife to drunkenly reel around the party.

  Josh stood by my side, trying to reroute Walter’s angry guests away from me. This wasn’t too hard as only fifteen, total, remained at the party, and some of those were close to passing out face down on high top tables.

  Olivia’s guests didn’t seem too bothered, but they all had opinions. Emerging from indignant irritation and fear was a flurry of accusations. Everyone had an idea, but the collective wisdom was an insistence that Walter was innocent and there was a killer among us.

  The bar stayed open, as people weren’t ready to go home yet. Guests approached Josh and me for hushed conversations about who the murderer might be. Even Olivia’s guests, many having met Nico for the first time only two days ago, got in on the action too.

  Amanda accused Edgar. Edgar’s wife, in a slur, accused Amanda. Movie producer Theresa was steadfast in her observations, blaming Chad and Tom. And in a strange turn of events, Uncle Edgar implicated his wife.

  But it was Ryan who stated the obvious and yet impossible. “Does everyone not see that Max killed him?”

  He was right, in some respects. She’d be my obvious front-runner, but she’d only flown in on her private jet the day after the murder.

  She clearly had the most to gain. But is that enough?

  But did she? What about love?

  As if Phil had his suspicions at the same moment as I did, he said, “Did everyone not see what just happened? Serious catfight between ice princess wife and Becky. His mistress.”

  Who to believe?

  I remained at square o
ne, with ten proposed suspects. After hours of discussions, the party ended at the insistence of the management. Josh’s parting words of advice were that everyone should stay in pairs at all times to be safe. At least if someone tried to kill their buddy, we would know for sure who the culprit was and all would be over.

  Bone-weary, Josh and I shared a boat home. “If you were a betting man,” I asked him, “who’d you put your money on?”

  “Edgar? Lloyd? Walter’s brother Dave? Of course, Lloyd. I honestly have no idea. Not a trace of a clue. You were right. We’re terrible at this.”

  He didn’t jibe with my Becky theory, but we’d at least have some fresh ideas to talk to the detectives about in the morning. I still hadn’t heard back from them and had no plans of sleeping.

  The “just regular” frogs were out, chirping like crickets. They were called peepers. One of the bartenders had told me the night I arrived, smiling and calm. That felt like a long time ago. We mumbled low, walking past my cabin, past Becky’s and eventually standing in front of Josh’s walkway.

  He looked as if he was going to say something friendly and comforting, but stopped himself before he spoke. He then furrowed his brow and shifted his nose, contemplating if we were going to buddy up in support of his safety in numbers scheme. “You’ve been through a lot tonight and, well, it’s going to be an early start. So sleep well, if you can.”

  Break up residuals made me feel rejected, but I tried not to show it. “Of course. Sleep well too.”

  Josh awkwardly kissed my cheek, again looking like he had something to say, but instead turned and quickly retreated to his cabin.

  Becky’s lights were on. Against any sane decision, I knocked on Becky’s door, both sympathetic and shocked at all that I learned that night. In retrospect, like in The Usual Suspects, all the clues to their affair were there. For sorrow or success, she wanted to be left alone. There was nothing for me to hide in my cabin in the non-safety of alone.