Richard Laymon - Island

“I’ve noticed that, too,” I said. “But that’s TV. TV ripping off Agatha Christie. Or maybe… is there a Holmes story where a ‘dead’ guy is a perpetrator?”

Billie frowned at me. “I wouldn’t know, Rupert. Do you think it is or isn’t Wesley?”

“Might be.”

She slapped the side of my arm, but in a sort of playful way. “Don’t be difficult.”

“Sorry.”

“What I’m getting at… should we tell the others about our suspicions?”

“We’d better.”

“Good. That’s what I think, too.”

“But maybe we’d better bring it up in front of everyone,” I said. “Including Thelma. Otherwise, what’ll happen if he is the killer, and she runs into him?”

“You’re right,” Billie said. “We’d better let everyone in on it.”

With that settled, we gathered the dishes and returned to the beach. I was all set to work on my journal. Before I could get started, though, Andrew called everyone together for a group discussion.

We all sat around the fire.

Everyone seemed solemn except for Connie, who gave me dirty looks from the other side of the fire. Odds are, she’s put out with me for disappearing around the point with her mother. She probably thinks we were making out.

“There are things that need to be said about our situation here,” Andrew began. “And we need to make some decisions about how to proceed. This time yesterday, our only real concern was how long we might have to wait before being picked up by a rescue party. Now, Keith has been murdered. That changes…”

Thelma raised her hand like a schoolgirl.

Andrew gave her a nod.

“I’ve been thinking,” she said. “About Keith’s murder and… about Wesley.” Her chin trembled. She pressed her lips together. After a couple of seconds, she went on. “Doesn’t anybody find it funny that Keith got killed so soon… It was just yesterday the boat exploded and… you know. Wesley. What I’m trying to say… you all think the boat was an accident. But maybe it wasn’t, though. I’ve been thinking about all this, you know? Maybe somebody blew up the boat on purpose. What I mean is, maybe Wesley was murdered, too. Not just Keith. Maybe they blew up the boat to kill Wesley and strand us here. Maybe the idea is, they want to pick us off one by one. Or maybe they only just want to kill off all the men.”

“If that’s the plan,” Kimberly said, “they’re halfway home.”

I didn’t much like the sound of that, me being part of the remaining half.

“What ‘they’ are we discussing here?” Andrew asked. He seemed a little annoyed. “I’m not aware of any ‘they.’”

“Whoever’s behind all this,” Thelma told him.

“You think we’re the victims of a conspiracy?”

She stuck out her lip. “You’re just so sure Wesley got careless…”

“If he didn’t blow up the boat by accident,” Andrew said, “then why did it explode?”

“I don’t know,” Thelma said. “Anything’s possible. Maybe it got hit by one of those rocket things. Or somebody might’ve swum up to it underwater and attached a bomb to it. You know?”

“Who would do such things?” Andrew asked.

“Drug dealers? Maybe we’ve stumbled onto a nest of drug dealers, and they need to eliminate us. Or maybe there’s a secret military base on the island.”

“Maybe it’s Dr No,” I suggested.

Nobody seemed amused. Not even Billie, who sort of cringed when I said it.

“We’ll have no more of that,” Andrew told me.

“Yes, sir.”

“All I’m trying to get at,” Thelma went on, “is that in my opinion I think Wesley didn’t get killed because he did something stupid on the boat and blew everything up. I think he got murdered, the same as Keith.”

Staring toward the fire, her voice very calm, Kimberly said, “Has it occurred to anyone that maybe Wesley isn’t dead, at all?”

Billie’s eyes latched on mine.

“Suppose he arranged for the boat to explode—after he got off it?”

“What do you mean?” Thelma asked.

Kimberly grimaced at her. “I’m sorry. It has to be said, though. I think there’s a chance that Wesley’s alive, and that he might be the one who murdered Keith.”

Then she spelled it out. The whole scenario, just as if she’d been listening to Billie and I out on the point. She used nearly all the same reasoning, but presented her argument in a more logical, concise way than we’d done. About the only thing she left out was my theory that Wesley visited the island in advance and hid a cache of supplies for his own use.

Through the whole thing, Thelma sat there looking stunned, betrayed, aghast.

When Kimberly finished, Thelma said to her, “You’re out of your fucking mind.”

“If she is,” Billie said, “so am I.”

“Me, too,” I said.

Thelma turned her gaze to Connie, looking for an ally.

“Don’t ask me,” Connie said, then went right on and added, “All I know is that I’ve always thought Wesley was a pig…”

“Constance!” Andrew snapped.

She flinched, but went right on. “So it wouldn’t exactly come as any big shock if he pulled something like this. I mean, I don’t wanta hurt your feelings, but I thought you were nuts to get involved with him in the first place, much less marry him.”

Andrew glared at her.

“Well,” Connie said in a whiny voice, “she asked.”

Thelma looked as if she’d been slapped silly. She turned to Andrew. In a sad, pathetic voice, she said, “Dad?”

“You know good and well how I felt about Wesley. But I’m on your side in this.”

“There aren’t sides,” Billie put in.

“Whatever. Thing is, it makes a cute theory—Wesley set us all up and faked his own death. But I’d say it’s too cute. He didn’t have the smarts or ambition or guts to pull off a stunt like that.” Andrew stuffed some tobacco into the bowl of his pipe.

“Maybe we never knew him,” Kimberly said.

“You didn’t,” Thelma blurted. “None of you knew him. He wouldn’t… do something like this. You don’t know how sensitive he could be.”

Andrew took a burning stick from the fire. As he sucked the flame down into his pipe, Billie said, “I think most of what we saw from Wesley—including you, honey—was false. I don’t know that we ever saw an honest emotion from the guy.”

“Slick Wesley,” I said.

“You shut up,” Thelma snapped at me.

After a few puffs on his pipe, Andrew said, “There’s the matter of the rope. It didn’t come from our boat; I would’ve seen it. Which leads me to the conclusion that the rope was on this island before we got here. More than likely in the possession of the fellow who used it on Keith.”

“And that lets Wesley off the hook?” Kimberly asked.

“In my opinion.”

“Suppose he had the rope in his luggage?”

“He didn’t.”

“How do you know?”

Andrew blew out a pale plume of smoke, then said, “I inspected his luggage.”

Thelma’s eyes bulged. “You what?”

“Settle down, honey. It was as much for your protection as ours. Just wanted to see that he hadn’t packed anything worrisome. Drugs, a firearm…”

“Dad!”

“Who else’s stuff did you search?” Connie asked. She looked ready to blow her lid.

“Nobody’s. Just Wesley’s.”

“Yeah, I’m sure.”

“It isn’t any wonder that he felt like everybody was always against him,” Thelma said. “I just thought he was being overly sensitive, but…”

“We’re not against him,” Andrew said.

“Like fun.”

“I’m not, anyway,” he told her. “I’m saying the rope didn’t come from the boat. If it didn’t come from the boat, where could Wesley have gotten his hands on it? He’s innocent. Keith was murdered by a stranger. A stranger who had access to that rope.”