The group climbed the rest of the cliff path in silence and took shelter from the heat back inside the empty ballroom where they’d slept.
Plum couldn’t shake the horrible feeling that she’d done something wrong. Apart from coming in the first place, convincing her two best friends to come, and lying to everyone about her sister coming.
“Now what do we do?” Jalen asked.
“We should build a signal fire for help,” Cici suggested. “If a boat comes by or something.”
“Yeah!” Jalen said. “There’s driftwood and scrub brush. It should be a piece of cake.”
“We can’t leave it burning all the time. There’s not that much wood on the island. Unless we want to burn the furniture?” Sofia asked.
“It would be easier to just have the signal fire built and ready to be lit,” Jalen suggested. “Maybe we can find some lighter fluid or something.”
Plum nodded.
“Warix, is there any hope with the internet block?” Dude asked.
Warix sighed and arched his back in a stretch. “I don’t think so, but I’ll take another look.” He fished into his pocket and pulled out a Zippo. “Whoever goes to the signal fire can have this.”
“I’ve got one, too,” Dude offered.
“There’s no point in making a signal fire if we don’t schedule watches ready to light it if a boat goes by,” Plum said. “So we should break into teams and take shifts.”
“No way am I sitting out there in the sun.” Cici glanced down at her forearms, as if imagining the sunburn already.
“How about we get a FEMA tent?” Shelley suggested. “While we’re down there, we can try to write a message on the beach. Just in case a helicopter flies over.”
“Good idea!” Jude cheered.
The pop of a can opening echoed in the room. “Dudes,” Dude said, looking down at the can of Diet Hillside Dew in his hand. “I don’t know if I can drink much more of this syrup. Anyone else hungry?”
The entire group agreed to the plan and split into three groups to accomplish the different jobs.
Cici, Shelley, and Jude would go down to the beach and attempt to write a giant HELP in the rocky beach before bringing up the tent. Dude, Jalen, and Warix would build a fire on the cliff overlooking the stubs of the dock. Plum and her friends would go to the kitchen and heat up more franks and beans for everyone.
Sofia would have to eat another meal-replacement bar. It was so unfair, Plum thought as she stood next to Marlowe at the stove.
But while they were in the kitchen and Marlowe was opening the cans of beanie weenies, Plum found a large metal container of lamp oil. “This will go right to the signal fire,” Plum crowed, holding it up.
Sofia cheered.
They settled in to wait for the franks and beans to heat.
“If it had to be shelf-stable food, why couldn’t it be ramen?” Marlowe sighed, leaning her head on Plum’s shoulder as she stirred the beans.
“Guess I’m forgiven, huh?” Plum said to Marlowe. “I didn’t mean to make it sound like you didn’t count earlier. Just that since you’re my friend—”
Marlowe lifted her head slightly, almost like she regretted resting it on Plum’s shoulder in the first place, and held it up.
“Relax, would ya?” Plum urged, and gave in to her desire to touch Marlowe’s hair as she gently pressed Marlowe’s head back into the crook of her neck. “I’m just trying to say I’m sorry.”
The weight of Marlowe’s head returned. “Don’t worry about it,” Marlowe sighed. “It’s fine.”
Plum still couldn’t shake the feeling that she was missing something glaringly obvious. Once she wasn’t so hungry, maybe she’d figure it out.
They brought the pot of beans and bowls and spoons into the ballroom.
“Who has first shift?” Cici asked.
“We’ll pick after we eat.” Warix was already scooping out a bowl of beanie weenies.
The others settled on the floor. Sofia and Marlowe spooned out bowls of food and passed them around until everyone was served.
“Mmm! Even better the second time!” Jude held up a spoonful of franks and beans and sniffed at it as if it were a bite of filet mignon he was anticipating.
Dude sat next to Jude on the floor of the ballroom. He shrugged. “I’m just happy to be eating, dude.”
“Me too, Dude,” Jude said.
“You ate these a lot as a kid, Jude?” Jalen asked, leaning forward to look around Dude.
“Dude, yeah!” Jude said.
“I guess they grow on you, dude,” Dude said.
“If they didn’t, we’d be screwed, Dude,” Jude replied solemnly.
Across from them, Shelley let out a sudden snort of laughter.
The three guys stopped eating and looked up questioningly.
Shelley was wiping her mouth and trying not to spit out her remaining beans. “Just,” she said, her hand muffling her words somewhat, “just . . . you think my poetry is bad.”
The guys gave her a blank look.
Shelley put her elbows out, arms wide in a bro-y gesture. “Dude!” she mimicked Dude. “Dude,” she mimicked Jude. “Jude!” She pointed at Jalen. “Dude!” She looked back at Jude. “Screwed dude.” She dissolved into laughter again, leaning over and clutching her stomach.
The dudes just glanced at each other.
“That’s just rich,” Shelley said. “You mocking me.”
Dude gave a small sniff. “You can drop the attitude—” His voice cut off suddenly. A surprised then wry expression crossed his face. “Dude,” he added, and started laughing with Shelley.
Maybe it was stress. Maybe it was the fact that they were all finally eating, filling their hollow bellies, but it wasn’t long before they were all laughing, sitting in a loose circle on the floor of the ballroom, eating their lunch.
Plum’s eyes roved around the circle, a surprise warm glow in her chest. They were all in this together. Weren’t they? It was impossible to imagine that anyone sitting on the floor and laughing, sharing this meal, could be capable of killing two people.
Plum’s eyes landed on Jude. Marlowe had said he was too clueless to be the killer . . . but what if it was an act? Jude laughed at something Dude said. A clump of half-chewed beanie weenies landed on his leg.
No way.
Plum’s eyes circled to Jalen. If he planned to kill them all, surely he wouldn’t have shown such relish talking about his murder podcast? It gave him a sort of expertise, if he studied killers. Surely he would have hidden that if he actually was the killer?
And Dude. Sure, he could be abrasive, but he had the most followers out of any of them. Sure, follower count wasn’t a lie detector, but didn’t it show that he was dedicated to his life as an influencer? And besides, he’d tried to give rescue breaths to Brittlyn when they’d already thought that she’d been poisoned. He’d put his life at risk to try to save hers.
Plum’s eyes moved to Warix. He was a jerk, but he was also clearly who he said he was. A gamer who didn’t bother to fake or hide his jerky side. He might have the most technical know-how out of all of them, so it was possible he was the one behind it all. Who knew how to set up a fake AI butler, trigger explosives, and the like.
Okay, maybe it was Warix.
Plum’s eyes slid past Warix and landed on Shelley and Cici, sitting together.
Shelley had gotten injured when Sean was killed in the conservatory. There was no way to be that close to the explosion and know it was safe. Surely the killer would have positioned themselves farther away from danger?
And the same went for the petite beauty maven. Cici had been right next to Shelley, the two of them the closest to the trap, apart from Sean.
Plum glanced at her friends and felt a lancing of pain. They shouldn’t be here. If it wasn’t for her—
“Hey.” Marlowe leaned over, her flawless face suddenly filling Plum’s vision. “What are you thinking?” Marlowe asked.
“We shouldn’t be here,” Plum whispered. “You shouldn’t be here.”
“Don’t start that again.” A gentle frown stitched between Marlowe’s eyes.
Plum heaved a sigh, then nodded. There was no point going into it again. There was no going back and fixing it, no stopping them before they all arrived on Little Esau. Although that wouldn’t stop her from holding the regret in her heart until the end of her days, Plum thought.
“It’s just,” Plum whispered, and gestured to the rest of the seated circle. “It’s like you said. I can’t imagine any of them doing it. Except maybe Warix. But even that’s a stretch.”
Marlowe looked away, glancing around the room. “Yeah,” she breathed. “But someone’s behind it. Two people are dead.”
“We have an advantage over everyone else, at least,” Plum whispered.
“How so?” Marlowe smiled.
“Well, we know none of us are the killer.” Plum glanced to Sofia, who sat, carefully tending Henrietta. The hen was loose from her compression wrap and was lackadaisically pecking at beans that Sofia held out.
Marlowe’s wry half smile cocked at Plum. “You sure about that?” she teased lightly.
Plum’s heart did a flip-flop. She swatted Marlowe’s shoulder. “Don’t joke,” she said, but couldn’t help smiling. It was definitely the stress, she decided.
Stress, that could make her heart flutter and stomach swoop when Marlowe was joking—actually joking—about being a killer.
Stress. That was all it was.