Page 58 of The Weekend Getaway

“What?” Mia demanded. “Alex knew?—”

“Alex knew that Phil hadn’t raped me,” Sarah said. “But he blackmailed Phil’s father anyway. And I went along because …”

“Because … what?” Mia had asked, but Sarah didn’t answer, because Jason joined them. He looked the way Mia felt, confused and exhausted.

As Jason took a seat at the table, Mia wanted to slap him for deciding, at that moment, to walk out onto the terrace. To interrupt them, causing Sarah to go silent, keeping her secrets to herself. Secrets she’d been about to spill.

A strange feeling of claustrophobia, and seething rage, seized Mia. She announced that she was going to make dinner so she could get away and think. Everything was bizarre and baffling, like a weird dream. The past hours felt episodic, but disjointed, like a story told out of order. Nothing made sense. It was like trying to put together a puzzle of mismatched pieces that would never fit together to form a clear picture.

“We could try to call a water taxi,” Jason said.

Startled from her contemplation, Mia stared at him. “A water taxi?”

“So we can leave the island,” Jason said, his gaze suspicious. “We can’t stay here.”

Nodding, Mia said, “Maybe you’re right. Alex and Phil went to the mainland. And Grace?—”

Sarah said, “Grace is?—”

“—probably left the island, too,” Mia said, cutting Sarah off so she couldn’t spew any ridiculous, drunken nonsense about Grace being dead.

Shaking her head, Sarah said, “Grace didn’t leave the island. Grace?—”

“Where’s Chris?” Mia stood. “Upstairs?”

“Probably,” Jason said, putting his fork down. “I don’t know. Maybe?—”

“I’ll go and get him,” Mia said, backing away from the table. “And then we can call the water taxi and leave the island.”

CHAPTER 54

SARAH

Sarah reached across the table, fingers grasping for the vodka bottle.

Jason pushed it away, out of her reach. “You’ve had enough.”

Scowling at him, Sarah said, “That’s not for you to decide.”

“I just think?—”

“And I think I deserve fermented potatoes,” Sarah said, “considering that I saw a severed head in a speed boat.”

Wincing, Jason said, “About that?—”

“I don’t want to talk about that,” Sarah said, leaning back in the chair, closing her eyes. She took a deep breath, inhaling the irritating scent of blooming flowers and damp earth, and tried to focus on the balmy breeze instead of the images stuck in her brain, lurid memories of blood-soaked blonde hair.

Vivid memories of bloody white sheets.

The blood splattered in Phil’s bedroom.

The blood on the sheets in the room at Phil’s party fifteen years ago.

She wasn’t sure which blood her mind was conjuring but it didn’t matter. Blood was blood, haunting and accusing. It cried out from the ground. It demanded vengeance.

“Okay, let’s talk about …” Jason paused, then said, “Philnotraping you.”

Sarah glared at him. “Did you know that I knew?”

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