by Aysia Amery
But how would he have gotten into Jenn’s room? It was locked from the inside. There would’ve been signs of a break-in if the door had been tampered with. The murderer had to be getting inside from somewhere else. But how? Through a window? It was far too high, being on the second floor. And with the storm, nobody would have their windows open.
Where was Maile? Didn’t she have another clue for me? There had to be another clue somewhere.
After talking with Jenn’s ghost, she too didn’t see the murderer. What the hell was going on?! Was everyone rendered unconscious?
Oh my god. That’s gotta be it.
“Jemma, I think the killer has been knocking us out with a drug every night.”
“How could they do that?”
“In the water. I bet they’ve been spiking it in the evenings just before bedtime.”
“Oh my god.” Jemma’s face reflected how I felt.
“They’re probably using something milder for the rest of us, but a potent one for the victim.”
“What makes you think that?”
“What I learned from Pako on his investigations is that the knock-out drugs make you feel terrible the next day, and some even cause amnesia.”
“Holy cow.”
“But we haven’t had those symptoms, so I think we’ve been given a mild dose to make sure we sleep soundly enough when the murderer traipses around at night.”
“But why the potent one for the victim? If they were out for revenge, wouldn’t they want their prey to suffer and see who’s doing them in?”
“Very good point, Jemma, but I think the murderer has already put the shock to them and only needs to play out the Agatha Christie thing. They might not want to risk something going wrong like the victim escaping or fighting back.”
“Hmm, yeah, that makes sense.”
Of course it did. I’m Sherlock, remember? I didn’t say that aloud to Jemma, but internally I smiled. If Pako were here, he’d want to challenge that title for himself though.
“Maybe we should search the rooms to find out who has the drugs. We’d then find the killer.” I believe Jemma was getting excited.
“We’ll do it when they go downstairs. After breakfast.”
We did a fist bump.
Jemma made a good Watson.
* * *
Jemma and I took turns rifling through the rooms while the other stood guard.
“Ginger,” Jemma whispered as she peeked out from the doorway. “I found something.”
After scouting the stairs in case anybody was on their way up, I scurried to where Jemma stood. She showed me the bottle.
It was ketamine.
“Why would Heidi need to bring ketamine with her on this trip?”
“Maybe she thought she’d be needing to put somebody out.”
That she did. Was Heidi the murderer?
“To be fair, she did bring other medical items. Maybe she carries them around with her in case of an emergency.”
That sounded plausible. But we couldn’t rule her out just because she held a degree in medicine.
“Hurry, put it back, before somebody catches us.” That would not be good.
Jemma did as I said.
Heidi’s was the last guest room we scoped, and although David had prescription sleeping pills, his stash was in no way a big score like the ketamine.
“What are we going to do?” Jemma asked.
“I don’t know yet, but I’ll think of something.”
When we joined the others, Kat had been discussing going for help again.
“It’s too dangerous.” David shook his head with disapproval.
“We can’t just wait here and get picked off one by one.” Kat argued a good point.
But David was right. It was suicide to go out there with the floods and treacherous winds. Chris got swept away, and Evan had to turn back. What chance did she have?
“Wait. What do you mean by that?”
Oh, right, our stranger hadn’t read the memo. We filled him in on the details.
“Maybe I should go back to that shack I was staying in. Seems safer than what’s going on here.”
I couldn’t tell if he was joking or serious. Probably a bit of both.
“Maybe we can set a booby trap for the murderer.” Jemma glanced at everyone for signs of support.
I’m afraid I couldn’t oblige her. “If the murderer is standing here with us, then that won’t really work, Jemma. They’d be in on what we planned to do.”
My friend frowned. It was a good plan. She just didn’t think it through.
“According to the poem, you said there are ten Menehunes. Six people are already dead—”
“Actually, five are dead. Sam is missing, but we don’t know if she’s dead,” I corrected Mark.
“Okay, so let’s say she’s one of the victims in any case. That means there are four more murders the killer wants to commit.”
Jemma groaned. Assessing our situation wasn’t exactly music to anyone’s ears.
“There are seven of us here now.” At least he could count. “That means three will be left alive.”
Was that like looking at the glass half-full? Somehow it didn’t make any of us feel any better. Fine for the last three standing, but who the hell knew who’d they be? It was the four about to get knocked off that scared the kaka out of all of us. Well, except the murderer, of course. They were probably reveling in our tortured souls at this moment.
I surveyed the faces of those around me. Except Jemma’s, of course. I could 100% rule her out as the killer. Nobody gave away any hints at being the culprit. Whoever did these dastardly deeds could sure keep a poker face.
“Well if one of you is the murderer, then we’d have to stick together. Nobody can be left alone. Not even with just another person. We stay as a group at all times,” Heidi said.
I was surprised hearing that come from her. After finding ketamine in her possession, if she were the murderer she’d want to separate people as much as possible. Hmm, maybe she’s not the killer.
“That’s going to be impossible. Is everyone going to be hanging outside the bathroom while somebody’s taking a crap?”
Although crudely put, David had a point. These walls were thin. I wouldn’t want them listening in on my braps and plops.
“Look, we don’t know when this storm is gonna settle down. We could be stuck here for days. I don’t know about any of you, but I’d rather take my chances out there with nature than with somebody here who’s hacking off limbs.”
Kat could’ve put that a little subtler. I bet Jemma’s even more freaked out now.
“I doubt you’ll be one of the victims. You weren’t mentioned in the story you told. Neither was your co-worker,” Heidi said.
“Well, there could be something I don’t know about. That was the story I was told. The facts are...there are four Menehunes left, and that could include any of us. Maybe not so much Mark, since he just happened upon us.” Kat placed her hands on her hips.
Hmm. Maybe Mark was the killer. Who knew how long he’d been lurking around. But then again, how’d he get access to things without being spotted? Arrgh! I wish Pako was here. I could use his help figuring this one out. We don’t have much more time either.
“If you go out there, somebody should go with you,” Heidi said. “You can’t go it alone.”
“You can’t get out with the Cherokee. You’ll need to hike it,” Evan told Kat.
“I know.”
“So who’s gonna go with Kat?” Jemma asked.
“Nobody.” Kat set her sights on each of us one at a time. “Look, the only one here I trust is Evan. But he needs to stay here to help you guys should I fail to return. Anybody else will just slow me down. I don’t wanna be worrying about taking care of somebody else out there. You could get both of us killed. I’d be better off here, waiting for my time with the murderer, then. Less work and energy.” She smiled.
That was true. Nobody but Evan and, well, Mark—but
he was too new to the group to trust him—was fit for hiking this terrain, much less up a steep mountainside.
No one argued this time.
“Any other objections?” Kat asked.
“Good. I’d best be on my way then.” She turned to Evan. “I’ll need you to help me for a second.”
“Be careful!” I yelled as they headed out.
Okay, Kat’s going for help. God, I hope she makes it.
That knotted feeling and pungent bile rose from the pit of my stomach again.
Why didn’t I believe that?
Chapter 11
“I need a book to pass the time. I’m going nuts here,” I told Jemma.
She followed me to the library.
As I fingered the titles on the bookshelf, deciding which one to pick, Jemma said, “No other Menehune pieces are missing yet.”
“That’s good.”
“I wonder what would happen if we stayed in here so the killer couldn’t take a piece away. Do you think they might have to postpone their kills?”
I furrowed my brows. “I doubt that would stop them from going through with the murders. But who knows?”
That would be an interesting experiment, although bathroom breaks were inevitable. And placating our growling tummies as well. In those cases, there would be times the murderer would have access to the library.
“How are they getting in, you think? There must be a hidden door or something because we would’ve seen them come through here at least once all this time.”
“I had thought about that too, Jemma.”
She’d make a good sleuth also.
“What do you think about the bookcase?” she asked.
“You think there might be a hidden passageway behind one of these bookshelves?” Could it be that cliché?
She shrugged.
I walked around to the back side since there was a shelf behind this first one. If the last bookshelf wasn’t leaned against the wall, then that theory wouldn’t hold weight.
“These bookshelves are freestanding, so there doesn’t seem to be any secret passage through it. Although...”
“What is it?” she asked, joining me at the back of the room.
“There’s a full-length mirror here, which is strange. Why would there be a mirror in a library room?”
“Maybe it was a bedroom that they converted into a library room later. Perhaps they just left the mirror.”
Hmm. That could be. But...
“Oh my god!” Jemma exclaimed as a click sounded out from a latch my fingers found underneath the left side of the mirror. There was a slight gap between it and the wall.
We looked at each other with gleams in our eyes as though we’d struck gold.
I pulled on the lip and the mirror swung open like a door. Our heads peeked into the space we’d discovered. It was like a crawlspace but at the full height of the ceiling. It resembled more of a narrow hallway.
“You stay here and I’ll see where this leads,” I told Watson.
“Be careful!” she said.
There wasn’t much in the way of décor in this hallway-like space. Of course, it wasn’t meant for high traffic. Seemed someone built it to get in and out of rooms in case of emergency or something. Who knows?
Not ten steps from where I left Jemma, I found a door against the opposite wall. No doorknob though, just a deadbolt lock that would need a key. It must lead outside.
I walked further until the hallway ended with another door. Again, no knob, only a deadbolt keyhole.
Since I’d hit a roadblock with nowhere to go, I headed back to the library.
“What did you find?” Watson asked as she stood waiting at the mirror’s entrance.
“Nothing much. Just locked doors. I couldn’t get past them.”
“Damn.”
“Well, at least we know one thing—”
“Yeah, somebody has another way in and out of this place.” Watson was getting good at this.
“Bingo.”
“You think there’s passageways like this around the entire house?”
“I would guess so,” I said. Then it occurred to me. “I bet that’s how the killer got into the guestrooms.”
Jemma’s eyes widened. “Yes. I remember Chris’ room had the same type full-length mirror.”
When we scoured their rooms, I too recalled the other guestrooms having one. There must be a staircase from the bottom to the second floor inside the walls.
“We now know the killer has a key that accesses these secret passageways to areas of this house,” I said.
Was it Kat or Evan? And what about Mark? He showed up out of nowhere. Why didn’t he come looking for better shelter earlier?
Or could one of the guests be the sister or brother? Hmm. No. Their ages didn’t fit. Most of the guests were closer to the age of the parents.
Hold on! What if the mother wasn’t dead? What if she didn’t commit suicide all those years ago?
Could one of the guests be her?
The only female guest left was Heidi.
Or was there a red herring?
Let’s not forget, Sam hasn’t been ruled out because she’s still just missing. Her body hasn’t been found yet. Could she be the Agatha Christie twist?
My head reeled with questions. Maile hadn’t shown up since that one time, and the other ghosts didn’t know anything either. It seemed Jemma and I were on our own on this.
Maybe now was a good time to read Agatha Christie’s book. I only saw the movie version, and that was a long time ago, so reading the novel may help with finding out more about what this killer was up to. I was sure the movie version followed the book closely enough, but just in case.
I grabbed the And Then There Were None title. When I opened the cover, what the...?
This wasn’t a book at all. It was a façade—one of those boxes made to look like a book for stashing secrets in.
“What’s that?” Jemma asked.
“Looks like letters.”
“Who writes letters anymore?”
Yeah, really.
“Here, pass me some, so I can read them too.” Jemma stuck her hand out.
My fingers dug into the hole and handed her some.
The handwriting on the envelope was cursive, but looked written by a child. It was addressed to Kaline Drogon.
“Ginger, these letters are from the brother to the sister.”
Sheesh. She was a fast reader. I was still opening my first one.
“Does he say anything interesting?” I pulled out the folded paper from the envelope while looking at her.
“He sounds pretty bitter.”
I stopped to listen. These letters might hold important clues.
“The brother’s name is Maleko. That’s how he signed it anyway.”
It was then that I noticed the weather outside had cleared.
“Hear that?” I asked Jemma.
Her eyes veered left. Then right. She scrunched her face.
“Hear what? I don’t hear anything,” she finally said.
“Yeah, there’s no gusts of wind or rain.” I stood to my feet. Previously, we were seated on the floor.
“Maybe now we can get out of here.” Jemma’s eyes brightened for the first time in a long while on this gig.
“I think we should take these letters and get out of here right now.” I wasn’t taking any chances that help might not arrive.
“I’m with you!”
“We should check on the others and see who else wants to come with us.” I took the letters out of the box and held them in my hand.
“You’re not going to take the box?”
“Jemma, if there’s something incriminating in these”—I held the envelopes up to her—“and the murderer sees that we’ve got that book, they’ll know we’ve seen the letters. Do you want to take a chance that they’ll let us go after we have all this proof?”
“Guess I don’t make a good supersleuth, huh?” Her lips pouted.
“Oh, n
o, you’ve been a great sleuth so far, but that one needed work.” I breathed a laugh through my nose.
“Let’s get our purses and be on our way,” I said.
“What about our overnighters?”
“Jemma, we ain’t gonna be lugging those around. Once we reach safety, we can get those back. For now, we just gotta get out of here.”
Our purses should probably be left behind too, but I just couldn’t do it. All my credit cards, driver’s license, IDs and other stuff I needed were in there.
I’m sure if flames surrounded us and I didn’t have time to think about what to save, I’d leave it. But since that wasn’t the case, and we had time to prepare, it was going with me.
I threw the letters in my purse, and once we were ready to leave, we scampered around the house searching for the others. Hmm. Strange. Where’d everyone go?
After we canvassed the inside of the house, we headed out to the front porch.
A man’s salt-n-peppered head faced his back to us. We knew it was David. Why was he sitting out here by himself? Was he napping? His head drooped forward.
Where was Heidi? Or Evan? Or for that matter, Mark? Nobody was to be left alone.
“David,” I said as we approached him. “We’re leaving...”
But as we moved around to face him, oh my god, it was apparent—my eyes zeroed in on the teacup on the table in front of him. It was turned on its side. The rhyme swam in my brain.
‘Three Menehunes swigging down the brew
One felt rued and then there were two.’
But this wasn’t supposed to be the next one. Three, the tree one, was. Did that mean there were two deaths, but we just hadn’t found the other yet?
Jemma cried out, “Oh god, Ginger, let’s get the hell outta here!”
We didn’t bother waiting to find anybody else. Our legs tore down the porch steps and hightailed it as though being chased by a Bengal tiger.
I never realized just how fast Jemma could run until now. Ahead of me by the length of a tennis court, she wasn’t waitin’ for no one. I could’ve hopped on her back, and she wouldn’t have even broken her stride.
And I called her Tortoise the last time. No, she was Hare in this run.
I heard a scream. Jemma skidded to a halt.
“What?!” I yelled. But as I narrowed my distance I saw the tree. Heidi hung from it. Jemma didn’t need to explain.
