by Morgana Best
I felt my stomach twist into a knot all over again. I almost preferred people accusing each other of murder to having to try to cook an omelet. I sighed, preparing myself for the worst. To look on the bright side, I had caused slightly less damage with each attempt, so maybe this time I’d only start a small fire.
We all gathered in the teaching kitchen, where Abby explained the process to us as usual. She laid out the ingredients in front of us as she spoke. “Today, we’re just making a simple cheese, ham, and tomato omelet. It should be quite foolproof,” she muttered, giving me a pointed look. I knew I’d prove her wrong, willingly or not.
For the first time since I’d arrived, I was thankful for the storm raging outside. If I did manage to start a fire, at least it wouldn’t be able to spread far, though I didn’t much enjoy the thought of huddling in the tunnels while we looked sadly back at the burned remains of the resort.
I swallowed hard and looked down at my ingredients. Eggs, a tomato, some cheese, slices of ham, milk, butter and a small assortment of herbs. Everybody else was either finely dicing their tomatoes with impeccable skill or already whisking a mixture together.
“You can sit this one out if you’d like, Amelia,” Abby said with a hopeful smile. It took all the willpower I had to turn her down, knowing that I had to improve, even if it meant causing one disaster after another. Abby slinked away sadly, probably going to stand by the nearest fire exit, or so I thought.
I followed the written instructions as closely as I could. I turned on the hotplate, whisked the eggs with salt and pepper, and reluctantly poured it into the preheated pan. To my relief nothing exploded or caught fire, and seemed to be going very well.
The tomato didn’t take long to dice, and then I scattered some herbs, tomato and cheese throughout the mixture as it cooked.
“Amelia!” Abby screamed, running toward me. I turned back to see that my omelet had turned a dark brown, almost black, as Abby grabbed the frying pan and took it off the hotplate.
“What happened?” I asked sadly.
“You had the hotplate up way too high!” she said, exasperated.
“Too high?” I shrugged. “I didn’t think the hotplate could be lowered,” I said, wondering how it worked. It seemed to me that everybody else’s hotplate was sitting on top of the stove just like mine was.
Chapter 15
“I don’t see why we all have to go up that stupid hill again,” Vanessa said for the fifth time. “I’m sure that stupid pool boy won’t come back. Why don’t half of you go out and leave the other half of us here?”
The normally unflappable Michael sighed and rubbed his eyes. “We don’t know if Bazza actually is the murderer,” he said, “as we have already discussed. It could be one of us. If it is one of us, then it’s not safe to leave that person with just one other person. That is precisely why we go to all the trouble of escorting everyone to their rooms of a night and collecting everyone from their rooms of a morning.” He said it very slowly as if speaking to a particularity irritating and slow-to-understand child.
“Well, I don’t like it!” she said. “My feet hurt. I can’t go out there again!”
“Surely your high quality shoes haven’t hurt your feet?” I said snarkily. I was completely over her whining and complaining. We were all in the same boat, so to speak. Everyone was tense, but everyone else was doing their best to make it bearable.
She shot me a look of pure malice. “It’s just stupid. It’s just a stupid idea for all of us to go up the hill. What is this? The third time up the hill? If we hadn’t gone up the hill, then Sarah would still be alive.”
“We had to speak with the police,” Owen said wearily. “And now we need to find out from the police if Bazza has a criminal record.”
Vanessa held up her hands. “And if you find out that he’s a murderer, what will you do then? You will rest easy because you’ll know it’s him? Is that what you were about to say?” She put her hands on hips and jutted out her jaw.
“Look, Vanessa,” Michael said in a conciliatory tone, but I could tell he was reaching the end of his patience, “there have been no murders since we’ve all gone everywhere together and stuck together. And while I could suggest locking you in your room, I don’t think that will be safe. Sure, we allowed Lisa to remain behind in her room, but that was before Bazza escaped.”
“I didn’t let him out!” Lisa said, not at all convincingly.
I rubbed my temples. This was all so stressful. It seemed obvious to me that Lisa had helped Bazza escape, but I had no idea why. I certainly didn’t want to go up the hill again listening to Vanessa complaining incessantly, and worse still, my heels were red raw. I was dreading the thought of shoes. Thank goodness I had plenty of Band-Aids. Still, Michael was right—we all did have to stick together. It was the only way to stay safe. And what Michael did not say, but I had already realized, is that if the police said Bazza did not have a criminal record, and had no connection to any of the guests, that meant it was far more likely, even certain, that one of us was the murderer. We did need to hear what the police had uncovered.
This time, going up the hill had the added threat that Bazza was out there somewhere on the island. He could be waiting in ambush, but he was unlikely to take on a group of people.
Owen stopped to talk to us before we went into the tunnel. “Listen up everyone, I’m sure I don’t need to tell you to be alert. Very alert. If anyone sees Bazza, call out to let the rest of us know immediately. I’m sure there’s no way he’ll let himself be seen, so for that reason he’ll pose no threat to us, so long as we all stick together. It’s very important that we do stick close and keep our eyes open. I doubt he’ll be hiding in the tunnel, because he’ll expect us to go up the hill again to get cell phone service. He wants to keep out of our way even more than we want to keep out of his.”
I sure hoped that was true.
“We’re going to do things a little differently this time,” Owen continued. “I’m going to go at the front, and Michael will bring up the rear. You’re all to make very certain that you stay between the two of us. Is that understood?”
Everyone readily agreed. I thought that was a smart move. If Bazza was the killer, and Lisa was in it with him, then Lisa couldn’t drop behind and do anything that would escape the notice of the others. It seemed like a good plan.
For the third, and what I hoped was the last, time I entered the tunnel. I felt safer this time than previously, as the whole group was there. Yet once again, I felt exposed somehow in the dank confines of the tunnel.
As we walked through the tunnel, I ran the problem through my mind. Was Bazza the murderer and acting in combination with Lisa? And what motive could they have had for killing Benedict and Laura, or Sarah for that matter? Or was Bazza acting alone? Did Lisa have a crush on him and so was blissfully unaware that he had committed murder? That seemed the more likely option. And then there was Vanessa, who had fallen behind at the very time Sarah was murdered. Was that simply a coincidence? Or had the chef stayed on the island?
And Owen and Michael seemed awfully friendly. Were they the perpetrators? For the third time, I approached the end of the tunnel and saw the chopping block. This time, Owen stopped and maneuvered the ax out of the block of wood.
My heart sank to my stomach. Could Owen be the murderer? Was he about to attack us, swinging the ax? I experienced a moment of pure terror.
Owen looked back over his shoulder. “I should’ve got this the last time. It’s unwise leaving it out in the open, and I’m surprised Bazza hasn’t taken it by now. If we do run into Bazza, it’ll be good to have this ax.” With that, Owen took off and ran for the next tunnel.
The storm had definitely abated. The rain was only half strength now and the wind was nowhere near as violent. That meant the police would be here soon. I nearly cried with relief, but I still had to keep myself safe until they arrived.
Halfway up the stairs, my heels started to hurt again. I reached down and could feel th
e Band-Aids had worked their way off. I had brought extra Band-Aids in my pocket, but I would have to wait until I was at the top of the hill to stick them on.
When we emerged from the tunnel and climbed up the short outcrop of rocks to the clearing, I saw at once that I had service on my phone. I immediately received a bunch of texts, some from Thyme, some from Ruprecht, and all the rest from Alder.
Owen was already speaking into his phone, hopefully to the police. What if this was all a front and he had never actually contacted the police? My heart beat out of my chest. I forced my attention to the others. Some were speaking, while others were thumbing through their phones.
Ruprecht and Thyme had both texted me to say they were doing spells for my protection, and while Alder had said that too, he had also sent me screenshots of various news articles. I quickly saved them one by one onto my phone so I look at them later. By the time I had saved the last photo, Owen was gathering everyone, telling us all to go down the rocky outcrop to the tunnel. I was disappointed that I hadn’t had time to call Alder, but at least I had saved all the photos he had sent me, and could read them at my leisure. Once again Owen organized us to follow him, with Michael bringing up the rear.
“It’s obvious to all of us that the storm is nowhere near as bad as it was,” Owen said, “and that means the police will soon be on their way. This means that Bazza will be more desperate, so keep an eye out for him.”
“What did the police say about him?” Lisa asked.
“I’ll tell you all about it when we’re safely back inside,” Owen said. He shot Michael a significant look which I interpreted to mean he was asking him to keep a close eye on Lisa. I hoped so, anyway.
We all made it down the steps safely enough, though I had not had a chance to replace the Band-Aids on my heels, and my feet were awfully painful. Nevertheless, I sprinted across the area between the tunnels just as fast as ever. If Bazza was going to ambush us, that was surely where he would do it.
Just then, I noticed a sheltered rocky outcrop not too far from the break in the tunnels.
Chapter 16
I hadn’t even been able to see it before with the driving rain, but now that the storm was clearing, it was visible. I wondered if Bazza was sheltering there, and for a moment, hesitated to mention it. After all, Owen and Abby had to know it was there, and they had not commented on it, for whatever reason. I wondered whether it was best to stay out of it, but then decided against it.
I called out to Owen as soon as I reached the other tunnel.
He stopped at once. “Is everything okay?”
“There’s a sort of shelter out there between the tunnels. I wondered if Bazza might be hiding in it.”
“The shelter?” Abby said. “Oh yes, it’s…” Her voice trailed away. I couldn’t see her expression in the dark.
“Shouldn’t we go and check it out?” I asked them.
Against Lisa’s protests, we all hurried to the shelter and then crowded under the rocky outcrop. “It looks like Bazza has indeed been in here,” Michael said. There were empty bottles of gin lying on the ground. The outcrop provided a good shelter from the elements, and the ground was soft and sandy.
“Bazza or someone else,” I said. “Are you sure no one else is hiding on the island?”
Abby and Owen hurried to assure me that no one else was, but I had my doubts. “No point staying around here,” Owen said. “Bazza isn’t here now, and it’s best if we avoid him, at any rate. Let’s get back.”
We hurried through the tunnel once more, again in single file.
When we made it back to the office, I let out a long sigh of relief that I would never have to set foot inside those tunnels again. While they were mercifully wide and high tunnels, they were still filled with stale air, and goodness knows what manner of creepy crawly.
Owen led us all to the dining room and indicated we should sit. He remained standing. “The police have said that Bazza does indeed have a criminal record.” Lisa gasped, but Owen kept talking. “He’s not wanted for murder, or anything like that, more like charges to do with drug possession.”
“Did the police think he could have been the murderer?” I asked him.
Owen shrugged. “They didn’t tell me, but they just said he had no arrests for violence.”
“I told you so!” Lisa said.
I thought she wasn’t being very wise. If anyone had any doubts that she had released Bazza from his prison, then I don’t think they would have any now.
“That means the murderer is someone in this room,” Lisa added.
Owen held up his hands. “Now, let’s not jump to any conclusions. The police will be here soon, so let’s leave it to them. Meanwhile, we should all stick closely together. We’ll follow the same protocol as usual, with Abby and I escorting everyone to their rooms.”
When I reached the safety of my room and locked the door, I thought about staying there until the police arrived. I peeped out the sliding doors, and for the first time since the storm hit, I could see the ocean, albeit through a haze of rain.
I decided to have a hot shower, but instead of languishing under it, I would hurry to see what Alder had sent me. I’d had a quick skim through the photos and found nothing of interest, but I hadn’t had a chance to study them thoroughly.
Once under the hot water, I was tempted to linger, but those photos were beckoning to me. I dried myself rapidly and threw on some clothes, and then hurried into the bedroom. I held the curtains back for another peep through the window, and saw with delight that the storm had almost gone. The torrential rain had lifted, and I could see the ocean clearly. Large quantities of driftwood had washed up on the beach and the sea still looked wild, but now the police would be on their way. I felt like cheering.
I threw myself back on the bed and scrolled through the photos on my phone. They were mostly newspaper clippings. I had originally texted Alder the name of each person who was here, and the names of people who were murdered, to see if he could find any connection. His brief message stated that he had drawn a blank. He couldn’t see any connection between the hosts, the guests, and the murder victims, but said that he was sending me screenshots of all the relevant newspaper articles he had found.
The first article was from a newspaper at the Sunshine Coast. It was written by travel journalist who had spent time at Paradise Island Cooking School, doing the Beginners’ Classes. I was surprised at first, and then amused, as the journalist said that it was nothing more than a Swingers’ Club. That certainly explained a lot. I had seen Abby and Michael kissing passionately, and it was surely clear to everyone that there was something between them. I also rather suspected there was something going on between Owen and Mandy. And then there was Lisa, who had a crush on, if not a relationship with, Bazza the pool boy. Even with the seriousness of the situation, I could not resist a chuckle. What would my friends think when I told them they had sent me to such a place?
There were several screenshots of old newspaper articles about the island, but I couldn’t see anything that would be of any help. The next one was one about Bazza, a brief article saying he had been convicted of a drug possession charge, but was let off on a good behavior bond. That was the only newspaper article about Bazza.
I thought it would be nice to sit and look through the screenshots that Alder had sent me, while facing the view I had been unable to see for days. The only view previously had been a wall of water. With that in mind, I crossed the room, and my hand reached for the curtain.
I pulled back the curtain, and screamed in shock.
Chapter 17
Bazza’s face was pressed against the window, and Owen was right behind him. It took me a while to realize that Owen was trying to get Bazza in an arm lock. I was terrified, and could only watch helplessly as Bazza aimed a blow at Owen’s head. Owen missed, but in his maneuver to avoid Bazza’s punch, lost his balance and stumbled backward.
I watched Bazza sprint down the beach with Owen hard on his heels.
Michael was already half way to the door. “All of you wait here,” he said over his shoulder.
“What was Owen doing outside?” Vanessa asked Abby.
“Owen went to turn the generator off, given that the storm’s all but gone now.” Abby’s face was white, and she was shaking.
“I’m sure Owen will be all right,” I said. “He had Bazza’s arm behind his back, but Bazza got away.”
I could see Lisa was agitated. I had forgotten for a moment that she had something going on with Bazza. Lisa sprinted to the window. She struggled to open the shutters, but Abby hurried to over to help her. “We can have the shutters open now,” Abby said, as she set about opening them.
A collective gasp went up as we looked out the window. Michael and Owen had Bazza between them. He was throwing punches wildly, but the two men appeared to be getting the better of him.
They finally overcame him, and dragged him toward the door. Lisa protested loudly as they pushed Bazza inside the room.
“What are you going to do with him?” Vanessa asked. “I assume there’s no lock on that door now, what with him using a wrench to get it open. Do you have another room you could use?”
“I haven’t done anything wrong,” Bazza said.
Lisa hurried to his side. “That’s right! He hasn’t!”
Michael blocked her, and pushed Bazza into a chair. He and Owen stood either side of him.
“He did it for sure,” Owen said. “I was out at the generator shed and I saw smoke. I went to investigate and saw Bazza standing over a small fire. In it was a shirt, or rather, its remains. The two knives were there, too, in the fire. He must have been trying to burn the evidence.”
“I saw the smoke and went to investigate, too,” Bazza said. His eyes darted wildly around the room. He was hunched over and shaking. Stubble covered his face. He looked dirty and as if he was barely hanging onto the last vestiges of his sanity. He smelled strongly of gin—I could smell it from where I was standing several feet away. I had seen the empty gin bottles under the rocky outcrop. His eyes rolled and I thought he was going to faint, yet he suddenly jerked to attention. “It wasn’t my shirt,” he said. “It was a woman’s shirt. I wondered who was burning it.”
