Randy White: Gone

“A shotgun, of course,” she said as if everyone did. “That’s what he used on the man this morning. The one who came asking questions. But he said you already knew that he’d killed-”

In a rush, I asked, “Where’s the jon boat? The man he shot had to come by boat, too. Where did he hide them?”

I was frightening the girl, but it couldn’t be helped. Then it was me who was scared when Olivia explained there was a fisherman who had a camp just across the cut on the next island, about half a mile away. In exchange for borrowing the fisherman’s truck, when needed, Ricky left his boat there sometimes because it was faster than a net boat.

“Eugene Schneider,” I said.

Olivia nodded, then looked at her feet in a shamed way that told me the jon boat wasn’t the only thing Eugene used sometimes. “I don’t know his last name. He stays here and watches me when my… when the owner’s away. This morning, before I heard the gunshots, the man you mentioned, he didn’t have his own boat. He paid Eugene to bring him out to find…”

“Ricky,” I prompted. “No reason to be afraid to say his name.”

“Yes. He brought Ricky back from the mainland a little while ago. Then left, saying he’d come back later because we’re leaving for Key Largo tonight. And both of them wanted to have some fun with… with…”

“With me,” I said. The two planned to rape me before dumping another body in the mangroves, that was plain.

Now it was Olivia who couldn’t make eye contact. “That’s where the shotgun would be. In the boat with Eugene.” She paused, still embarrassed. “Hannah, I am… I’m so sorry this is happening to you. It’s my fault. All because of…”

The girl’s body shuddered, so I held her for a moment before saying, “We can stand here and cry, or we can prove we’re not fools. Personally, I’m tired of apologizing for things I can’t change.” The pocket Bible had caught my eye, so I pointed to it, adding, “Don’t let being scared make the decision for you. The Ninety-first Psalm is a good one for that.”

“You read the Bible?” she asked, the question important to her.

Not very often, but I attended church, which, under the circumstances, made it okay for me to reply, “Yes I do.” Then I left her to deal with it while I hurried to the cruiser’s starboard wall, slid open a window, and put an ear to the screen to listen. I heard insects… waves slapping the hull… but no whine of a distant outboard motor coming our way.

Or was there?

I WAS SEARCHING THE CABIN, LOOKING FOR SOME KIND OF weapon, when Olivia appeared from the forward sleeping berth and told me, “They’re coming! I saw a spotlight. Ricky and the other guy need a light to find markers at low tide. We’ve only been here three days, so it could be both of them.”

The wind had kicked up, so I had yet to hear a motor, but I didn’t doubt the woman’s words. The church-minded heiress had not only changed clothes-jeans, running shoes, a plaid shirt-but her attitude had changed as well. She was still scared, so was I, but she’d gotten control of herself, and I was gaining confidence in Olivia’s unexpected steadiness. Maybe it was the voice of a Key West Coast Guard radioman who had just told us, “We’re scrambling a helicopter out of Saint Pete, plus local police, but my lieutenant advises that you leave the vessel immediately! Do you copy?”

Yes. Since I had reattached the antenna coupling, the boat’s VHF radio received and transmitted just fine. A helicopter and police boats that might arrive in an hour, though, didn’t solve our problem, as Olivia was aware. So I suspected the Bible verse I’d recommended had also played a role in her decision to leave Ricky Meeks behind.

Olivia was stowing the Bible in her pocket now as she exited the berth and asked, “Any luck?”

I shook my head, Nope .I had taken a quick look at the engine hoping to discover how Meeks had disabled the ignition system. Get the cruiser running and we could ram the little aluminum boat as it approached, shotgun blazing away or not. No luck, though, which is why I’d searched for weapons while waiting for Olivia to change. And why my eyes had come to rest on the propane stove.

“Hannah, what are you staring at? They’re coming .”

I didn’t respond. Through the open window, I still couldn’t hear the sound of an outboard motor, so I remained focused on the stove and the propane cylinder beneath it. I was looking from the stove to a pair of miniature oil lamps, then back to the stove when Olivia broke into my thoughts, saying, “I know exactly how to do it. I’ve gone over it in my head too many times to count.”

“Do what?” I asked, more puzzled by her tone than what she said. Confession mixed with conspiracy, but with a razor’s edge. Like that.

“At first, commit suicide,” Olivia replied, not blinking as she looked into my eyes. “Kill Ricky and myself. Because I never had a way to escape-until tonight. Or a reason… not after what he’s done.” Her strength wavered. “And after the things I let him do, maybe I should’ve gone through with it.”

“That’s a question you should take to church,” I said, too impatient to debate. “Right now, I’m wondering if he’d smell the gas. And what if he’s not smoking a cigar? Wait-I should’ve checked. Does this stove use a pilot light?” I hurried to peer beneath the burners, but then tilted my head to listen. Had I heard a motor? I went to the starboard window to check. Yes, a boat was coming, but still a long way off. I slammed the window closed, then hurried to the stove.

“Get going, I’ll follow,” I said, motioning to the door. “Be careful you don’t twist an ankle or something when you drop off the railing. I’ll close up the cabin.”

I had no way to light a candle remotely or an oil lamp, but there was a chance that Ricky would be smoking when he came aboard-or Eugene if he had come to join in the fun. Open the stove’s valves before we left, close the door behind us, and the cabin would fill with combustible propane within minutes. That’s why Lawrence Seasons had replaced the galley in his yacht-gas was dangerous in a cabin boat. But whether I could actually do it-lay a trap that might kill two men-depended on the argument still going on in my mind. Was such a thing legal? Was it right ?

Whatever I decided, I didn’t want Olivia Seasons to have a hand in it. She had more than enough guilt to deal with as it was. We had talked while she changed clothes, me explaining why I’d come here, then listening to her hints about Meeks’s drug use and cruelty.

Olivia heard what I’d said, but her attention had turned inward, the subject of why she hadn’t killed herself and Ricky still important enough to discuss. “The only thing that stopped me from doing it was I couldn’t find anything in here”-she tapped the book in her pocket-“that forgives suicide. Punishing him, though, both those men, I’ve got some of those passages highlighted to prove-”

“Olivia,” I said, raising my voice. “Get out of here now . We’ve only got a few minutes!” I wasn’t exaggerating by much. Maybe five minutes, possibly less, judging from the distant buzz of a boat that was getting louder by the second.

“No,” the woman replied as if speaking to herself, but then said it again with more confidence. “No! You’re leaving first. I’m going to do it.” She nodded at the propane tank, which I was checking to confirm the valve was open. “Figuring it out will take you too long. You’re right: what if Ricky’s not smoking when he comes in? I’ve gone over this in my mind a thousand times, Hannah. I know how to work it. Go find your gun!”