Ten (8 page)

Lori’s suicide note fluttered off the table where Kumiko had left it, drifting to the ground like it was light and airy, not a thing of sadness and pain. Meg had a sudden urge to see it and snatched it off the floor. The words of Lori’s suicide note were written on the back side of a page of music in all caps, but the handwriting didn’t look shaky or erratic. It was as if Lori had found calmness in her decision to take her own life. Meg flipped it over and looked at the musical notation. It was a song with piano accompaniment and lyrics.

“Weird,” she said.

“What?” T.J. peered over her shoulder at the sheet of music.

She read the lyrics out loud. “‘Sure on this shining night, I weep for wonder.’”

“Pretty.”

“‘Sure on this shining night,’” Meg repeated. Those lyrics rang a bell. “Wasn’t this the song playing on the video last night?”

T.J. cocked his head and stared at her. “You’re right. How did you catch that?”

“I … I don’t know.”
Because I watch everyone all the time? Because I’m more comfortable observing than doing?
Yeah, that’s not creepy.

“Writer.” T.J. smiled, exposing his deep-set dimples.

“No wonder she freaked out.” Meg remembered Lori’s face after the video ended. She looked scared, panicked almost. And the way she accused someone of making that video on purpose. It must have been a song she was rehearsing. Her reaction made perfect sense.

Meg stared at the sheet music. There was something odd about it, the music Lori chose for her suicide note. It didn’t sound like a sad song, a song of depression or longing or anything like that. Totally the opposite. “Weep for wonder” was more like crying from happiness and joy. Why would she choose that? Meg shook her head. It could have just been coincidence, the only paper in arm’s reach. Still, according to the endless lineup of crime-scene investigator dramas that filled up her TiVo, suicide notes were usually deliberate. So why would Lori choose that song? How could that lead to her body hanging in a stairwell …?

Meg squeezed her eyes shut, hoping the flurry of rods and cones would bleach the image of Lori’s face from her memory. No such luck.

“We need to take her down,” she said.

“I was thinking the same thing.” T.J. climbed halfway up the tower stairs and peered at the beams that supported the roof. “I’ll get the guys. I think we can lower her.”

“Good.”

T.J. smiled grimly. “I’m sorry you were the one to find her, Meg.”

Meg laughed, short and terse. “Better me than Minnie.”

“Are you always this protective of her?”

Meg bit her lip. She usually hid her enabling-codependent relationship with Minnie better than she had in the last twenty-four hours, and she was embarrassed that T.J. had witnessed as much of it as he did. “I have to be.”

T.J. descended the stairs to her. “Why? Why is that your responsibility? Do you really think she’d do the same for you?”

Meg couldn’t look him in the eye. He’d hit a little too close to home. “I—”

“Oh my God.
Oh my God!
” It was Vivian from downstairs.

Without a word, T.J. and Meg sprinted down the flight of stairs and found Vivian standing in the entryway, staring fixedly at the wall. All the color had drained out of her face. “Look.”

Meg slowly turned her head. On the crisp white wall next to the coat pegs was a huge slash mark in dripping red paint.

ELEVEN

“WHAT THE HELL IS THAT?”

“Is this some sort of joke?”

“Do you think Lori did it?”

“Shitty joke.”

Everyone spoke at once. Meg, however, heard every comment, clearly, distinctly. The world was moving in slow-motion around her. And though that world seemed to have descended into chaos, Meg felt oddly calm.

She took a step closer to the red slash mark. It had clearly been done with a brush; she could see texture in the thick red paint as it had dripped down the wall. It reminded her of the countdown in the video the night before, the numbers slashed through with animated red lines. Except now, it really did look like …

“Blood?” Nathan asked. “Do you think it’s blood?” He stood right behind Meg, peering over her shoulder at the mark on the wall as if he was using her as a shield. So macho.

“Doubtful,” she said, fighting the urge to ask him if he had, in fact, been raised by monkeys.

“How did it get there?” Kenny stood midway down the last flight of stairs, reluctant to get any closer to the mark on the wall.

Meg didn’t blame him.

T.J. stepped right up to it. “Looks like Rust-Oleum. Topside paint for boats.”

Nathan was unconvinced. “Still looks like blood to me.”

“Well, it’s not,” Vivian snapped. She turned to Gunner, who stood in the doorway of the study. “Did you call the police? What did they say? Are they sending a helicopter? How long? What are we supposed to do until then?”

Girl was getting twitchy, and Meg wondered if Minnie was going to have to share her Klonopin.

Gunner shook his head slowly. “Phones are out.”

“What?” Vivian said. Her voice cracked. The girl was wound tighter than a two-dollar watch.

“The phones,” Kumiko said slowly like she was speaking to a slightly stupid child, “are out.”

“Idiots.” Vivian pushed past Gunner into the study. “I’m sure they’re not out. They can’t be out.”

Meg rolled her eyes. Cue anxiety-driven meltdown in three … two …

“Must be the storm,” T.J. said with total calmness.

Kumiko ran a hand through her magenta-streaked hair. “Did anyone notice if they got a cell signal here?”

“I tried last night,” Meg said. “No coverage.”

“The closest tower’s in Roche Harbor,” T.J. said. “Too far.”

Vivian shuffled out of the study, deflated. “The phone’s out.”

Kumiko whirled on her. “Really? So the fact that we checked the receiver, checked the phone cord, checked the batteries, checked the receiver again … That wasn’t enough for you?”

Vivian shrugged. “I like to confirm the facts myself.”

“Awesome.” Kumiko walked right up to Vivian. “Then why don’t you confirm the fact of me kicking your ass.”

“Hey, hey,” Gunner said, pulling Kumiko back.

Vivian darted up the stairs. “Keep her away from me or I’ll press charges.”

“Oh, yeah?” Kumiko said, straining against Gunner’s arm. “Kind of hard when we have
no way to call the police
.”

The concept sunk in. Holy crap. What were they going to do? No phones, no cells, no internet … A memory stirred. Something she remembered seeing in the living room. A coiled yellow cord tucked into the footboard of a bookcase.

“Internet!” she blurted out.

“Huh?” T.J. said with a tilt of his head. “I didn’t see a computer.”

Meg didn’t wait to explain. She sprinted up the stairs to the garret where her laptop lay stashed in her backpack. She kept her head down, eyes glued to the worn, wooden steps as she rounded the landing of the second floor and wound her way up the tower.

“Minnie,” she called as she emerged into the garret. “I need my—”

Meg froze. The room looked like a bomb had gone off. Every drawer of the dresser had been pulled out and their contents—primarily Minnie’s weekend wardrobe—were strewn across the room. Underwear hung from the lampshade. A pair of shorts was caught on the mirror. Tanks and jeans, dresses and skirts carpeted the floor.

Both beds had been literally torn apart. Sheets lay at the foot of the bed, mattresses dislodged, pillows ripped from their cases and tossed aside.

Minnie’s suitcases were overturned, clothes and cosmetics scattered across the room, as if someone had shaken out the contents of her bags. Even Meg’s backpack hadn’t escaped the slaughter. Her cosmetics case and journal had been unceremoniously dumped on the armchair and her precious laptop had fallen onto the floor, propped up against the dresser.

It took Meg a moment to digest the scene, a moment longer to find Minnie. She was huddled in the corner, Ben crouched by her side. Her face was red and wet with tears.

“What’s wrong?” Meg asked. She’d seen Minnie in various stages of disarray, depression, and out-and-out despondency, but this? This was a first.

“Someone stole my pills,” Minnie said. Despite the signs of crying, her voice had a dispassionate matter-of-factness about it that unnerved Meg.

“
Stole
your pills?” Meg pulled one of her hooded sweatshirts off the back of the easy chair and pulled it on over her pajamas. “Come on, no one would steal your pills.”

Minnie’s hazel eyes flashed. “Then how do you explain the fact that they’re missing, huh? Some sort of magic trick?”

Meg glanced at Ben, who stayed quiet and rubbed Minnie’s back. Great, no help there.

“Maybe you forgot to pack them,” Meg said.

“I didn’t. I double-checked.”

“Maybe you misplaced them?” Meg knew the words were stupid as soon as she heard them come out of her mouth.

“Are you kidding?” Minnie sneered. She held her hands out, gesturing to the overturned room. “Don’t you think we looked?”

“Meg?” T.J.’s voice floated up through the staircase. “What are you doing?”

Crap. “Look, come downstairs. Maybe someone else has a prescription.”

Minnie shook her head. “No way.”

“She won’t go down ’til the …” Ben paused. “’Til Lori’s gone.”

“Oh, right.” Meg shuddered at the idea of removing Lori’s body from the stairwell. “The boys are going to take her down in … in a bit.” She wasn’t sure which was worse: leaving Lori there or taking her down.

“Are the police coming?” Minnie asked.

Double crap. Should she tell her that the phones had been knocked out by the storm? Minnie’s eyes darted back and forth between Meg and Ben, clearly searching for some word of comfort. Yeah, this probably wasn’t the time to bring up the phone situation. That might push Minnie over the edge.

Instead of answering, Meg squeezed her friend’s hand and gave her what she hoped was a confident, reassuring grin. Then she picked up her laptop and her journal, shoving the latter into the pocket of her sweatshirt. She didn’t want it lying around.

“Why are you taking your laptop?” Minnie asked. Her voice cracked. “What’s going on?”

“I need to go back downstairs,” Meg said.

“Why?” Minnie prodded.

Ben’s eyes flitted from the laptop to Meg’s face. She saw a moment of confusion, then he seemed to understand what was going on, and gave her a short nod.

“Will you stay with her?” she asked.

“Totally.”

“Good. Thanks. I’ll be back in a bit.” Then before Minnie could ask any more questions, Meg disappeared down the stairs.

“It won’t work.”

Kumiko sighed. “Why not?”

“The power’s out,” Vivian continued, always the voice of hope and joy. “Do you think that’s exclusive of the router?”

“Unless we’re hardwired,” Meg said as she plugged the network cable into the back of her MacBook. “If it’s satellite internet the dish might have its own solar power supply.”

“And if the cable comes directly from the dish, it might still be working.” T.J. squeezed her shoulder. “Brilliant.”

“Man,” Kumiko said, with a glance at Vivian. “I’m
so glad
Meg’s here.”

“Whatever,” Vivian said.

Meg could feel the press of bodies behind her as everyone clamored for a view of the screen. Her laptop rested on the shallow shelf of a bookcase, propped up against her knee. The network cable had been plugged in and Meg held her breath as she hit the power button, praying the battery had enough juice.

Come on, dammit
. It would be her luck that this was the one time her laptop was completely drained, but just as she was about to give up hope the green light came on, indicating life of some kind. Thank God.

She felt a collective sigh of relief, including someone’s breath against her cheek. Not just someone. T.J. So close that she could have turned her face and their lips would have touched....

Stop it
. Of all the inappropriate times to think about kissing T.J., this had to be the worst.

She forced her attention back to the computer screen. There was an agonizing moment as the rainbow pinwheel of doom blipped on, then the home screen loaded.

“Awesome!” T.J. said.

“Hurry up!” Vivian demanded. She was barely hanging on to the last threads of her cool. “Open the browser.”

Meg bit her lip as she clicked on the browser icon. If this didn’t work, what the hell were they going do?

“Oh my God!” Kumiko said. “Look!”

A browser window opened to Meg’s homepage tabs. It worked! Her idea worked!

“Let me do it,” Vivian said, pushing forward. “I’ll log into my email and—”

Kumiko shouldered her back. “It’s Meg’s computer.”

Right. Her computer. Meg quickly tabbed on the window for her email service. It was there, it was working. Most recent email was from early that morning—her mom, with the subject “Hope you’re having fun!” Meg bit her lip as she hit “compose email.” For some reason, seeing that email from her mom made her want to cry.

“Who should we email?” Gunner said. “The police?”

“Um,” Meg said, looking around. “I don’t have an email address for the police department.”

“Email your parents first,” T.J. suggested. “Then we can find an emergency contact online.”

Meg nodded and typed both of her parents’ names into the address box, then skipped right to the body of the email.

“At Jessica Lawrence’s house on Henry Island. Long story. Been an accident. Phone’s out. Need help.”

Her parents were going to go apeshit when they found out she’d lied to them, but at that moment, it was more important to get the police out to the island. She’d deal with her inevitable punishment later.

With a shaky hand, she hit Send.

“Come on,” T.J. said under his breath. Meg felt everyone lean closer to the laptop as if they were willing the email out into cyberspace, desperate to see the delivery confirmation screen.

“Shit.”

The word came from seven mouths all at once. The screen, which had been actively connected to the internet a split second before, now had gone blank.
No internet connection established
.