It was a bad idea to start with.
Plum could see that now that it was too late.
Above her, Marlowe grunted with effort.
The ground was still so far away.
Plum closed her eyes. “On three,” she whispered up to her friends, who were lying flat and holding her arms. “One,” Plum started. “Two . . .”
Plum’s hands slid out of their grip. She felt herself drop.
She told herself it wasn’t as far as it had looked. Her eyes were six feet higher from the ground than her feet, for starters.
She landed hard, but her knees were bent, so she absorbed it, rolling sideways and forward.
“Yesss!” Above her, Sofia was whisper-cheering and clapping quietly.
Plum stood in a crouch, glancing around her.
No one was around.
No movement.
Plum glanced up and sent a broad smile of triumph and a thumbs-up to her friends.
GO! Marlowe mouthed, hugging herself in her nervousness.
Plum nodded and moved next to the wall of the house. She glanced into the ballroom, shielding her face against the brightness outside in order to see in. There was no movement.
Plum darted across the window and waited at the next window. She peeked inside again.
Nothing.
She rushed down the exterior wall of the villa this way, pausing, peering, running, until she was at the corner.
She peered around the corner along the shorter edge of wall that made up the end of this wing.
No one.
It was going exactly according to plan.
Plum took a deep breath and rounded the corner. She darted into the open space. There wasn’t even a scrubby bush or a piece of patio furniture to hide behind—it was just a long path winding around to the more interesting sides of the house.
Plum rushed toward the opposite side, hoping to make it to the main door into the atrium, hopefully still standing open to the morning ocean breeze.
A man stepped around the edge of the house.
Plum rocked back on her heels, skidding so abruptly she pinwheeled her legs.
Dude stood in front of her, carrying two jugs of gasoline. He gave her a bright, murderous smile.
Plum’s brain felt slowed—no, it felt like the world was suddenly moving in slow motion as her disbelief caught up with her adrenaline.
Dude was alive?
The feeling of confusion was chased by sudden certainty.
Dude was the killer.
“Oh, hello there,” he chirped. “You got out of your room!” He put the gas cans down. “I was getting ready to finish up. You know. Pyre Festival! Melt your face off!” He laughed at his bad joke.
One hand went to his back. He drew out a wicked-looking hunting knife.
“I guess I’ll have to take care of you here,” he said regretfully.