Jenn scooted to the side, got up onto her hands and knees and put her hands on Terri’s face. Terri pinched her eyes shut, whimpering, shaking.

“Terri—Terri, what’s wrong?” Jenn asked as the others congregated around them. Terri managed to point a shaky finger down the stairs.

“Er-Erica.”

“What about her?”

“D- dead.”

“Dead? Sweetie, no, she’s just passed out. She’s gone deep under like that for years. I’ve seen it so many times that I don’t even bother anymore.”

Terri looked up at her with defiant venom as she wiped away a tear. “She’s dead.”

“No, she’s—”

“Dead, dead, dead, Jenn!”

Alex mumbled, “Oh, God,” and bounded down the steps, followed by Wade and Chet. Mark kneeled beside his wife and tried to comfort her—their earlier transgressions forgotten. She buried her face into his shoulder and sobbed.

“Are you sure, honey?” he asked. “Are you sure she’s not just passed out?”

Between her wailing cries, when she managed to get her breath long enough to speak, Terri sputtered a single word that changed everything.

“M-m-murdered.”

***

Alex, Wade, and Chet thundered past the empty sleeping quarters, the kitchen, the bathroom, and into the main cabin. The door was open and the moment they surged through, the three of them jerked to a halt. Alex held his arms out to his sides, blocking the two men from moving past. “Stop,” he said. “Don’t get near her.”

Erica lay on her stomach, head turned to the side, facing them. Eyes blank and unmoving. The slit across her neck had caked over with dried blood and the red, silk sheets were stained a deeper, darker color.

“Shouldn’t we check?” Chet asked. “You know, just to make sure?”

“I don’t think that’ll do any good,” Wade said. “Look at how the blood’s dried up. She’s been that way for hours.”

Alex stepped slowly forward, moving inch-by-inch, hesitantly, as if Erica would spring to life and yell, “Boo.”

“Alex, don’t get too close, man,” said Wade.

“What? Why?”

“Shit, I don’t know. Evidence.”

Alex ignored him, creeping steadily forward. “Erica. Erica?”

“Buddy, that’s not gonna do any good. She’s—”

“I have—I have to make sure.” Alex reached the edge of the huge, king-sized bed and bent over, studying Erica, eyes intently searching her face for any sign of movement. He knew he wouldn’t find any, but he had to look. He had to. He put his hand on her calf—the skin was cool against his palm. He shook her leg. “She’s cold. Erica?”

Nothing.

Alex stepped away and put his hands behind his head, breathing deep, trying not to vomit. Or cry. Or both.

He turned away and bent at the knees, resting on his haunches, made fists and ground his teeth together, groaning. Wade and Chet moved toward him, watching as he jammed his knuckles against his temples. Before they could reach him, Alex stood, hands still in angry, clenched rocks of remorse. “Which one of you did this, huh? Which one of you bastards came onto my boat and killed her?”

“Whoa, hold on now,” Chet said. “Don’t go there yet. How do we know she didn’t do it herself?”

Alex roared. “Do you see a knife anywhere? Razor blades? A piece of glass? Look at her, Chet. Somebody slit her goddamn throat. There’s nothing in her hands. Erica wouldn’t do this to herself. I know she wouldn’t.”

This was only partly true. He couldn’t be sure. He was aware of her guilt—she’d been encouraging him to share their secret with Jenn—but she hadn’t seemed remorseful enough to do something so drastic.

“What if we—” Wade took a single step forward. “There’s nothing in her hands, but maybe…”

“Maybe what?”

“You know, what about looking under her? I mean, right? She could’ve,” Wade said, using his thumb to make a slicing motion across his throat, “and then fell on it. Couldn’t she? Back me up here, Chet. That makes more sense than somebody on the boat murdering her, doesn’t it?”

Chet shrugged. “I guess so. But, we’re not supposed to touch her, are we? Shouldn’t we, like, radio the Coast Guard? Or go back to land and call the cops? Touching her, that’s tampering with evidence. I don’t think we should.”

Wade said, “It’s not necessarily evidence until we figure out whether or not she did it herself, evidence in the strictest sense of the word, that is.”

Alex stepped closer to Wade and lowered his voice. “We’re not debating semantics, Wade. She’s dead either way.” He moved toward the bed. “Both of you, get over here and help me lift her up. Chet, you go around to the other side and get her shoulders, and Wade, you help me with the legs.”

Chet shook his head. “I don’t want my fingerprints on her.”

“Do it, Chet. We’ll tell the cops that we had to move her. The three of us will have the exact same story if they ask.”

Reluctantly, Chet scooted around to the far side of the bed and put both hands under Erica’s cold, lifeless shoulders. Alex grabbed her left hip; Wade, her left thigh. Bone-thin and waifish, like most models, it didn’t take much to roll her onto her side.

Her head flopped over, tilting upward toward the ceiling, blank eyes not seeing the light above.

Wade grimaced. Chet frowned and let go.

“Nothing under there,” Wade said. “Not surprising. If there was a murder weapon, that thing’s at the bottom of the ocean by now.”

“How do you know that?” Alex asked.

“I’m not saying that’s what I did with the blade. Logic. Nothing more.”

The lack of a knife, or a razor blade, any kind of implement that could’ve been used to slit her own throat confirmed what Alex had suspected. She’d been murdered, in close quarters, by someone on the yacht.

Alex erupted. He grabbed Wade by the shoulders and slung him against the nearest wall, surprised at his own strength against the much larger man. Two framed photographs fell to the floor, along with a small, metal anchor that Alex’s mother had given him for decoration. “Where were you last night, huh? Where were you?”

Shocked, Wade said, “In my room, asleep. I didn’t do this. You think I did this?”

“You had a room by yourself. Nobody can say where you were.”

“I didn’t do it. I didn’t…I didn’t.”

“Easy,” Chet shouted. He dashed around the bed, ran up to them, and shoved Alex away. “Don’t start pointing fingers.”

Alex leaned with all his weight and shoved Chet back, and as Chet stumbled and fell to the floor, Alex pounced on top of him. “What about you, huh? Did you do it? I saw the way you were looking at her. Did you sneak out of your room while Karen was asleep? Maybe come in here and try to put your dick in her while she was passed out?”

“No, goddamn it. Get off me.” They struggled, wrestled, and rolled until Wade wrapped his arm around Alex’s neck. He used his momentum to fall to the side, squeezing tight, controlling him.

“Enough, man. Calm down.”

Alex growled and struggled.

“Calm down. Just stop for a second. Just stop. Chet, go check on the others. We have got to keep this shit under control.”

PART SIX

Chet climbed to his feet, rubbing the side of his face where Alex’s elbow had left a red welt, paused, and then relented. Once he was gone, Wade loosened his grip, enough to give Alex some air, but he didn’t let go.

“Are you gonna calm down?”

Alex hissed through his teeth and tried to wrench free.

Wade squeezed again. “Think about this, man. Just think for a second. We’re over twenty miles from shore and nobody’s going anywhere. Who would be stupid enough to do this? Nobody’s getting away. There’s nowhere to run, Alex. Nowhere.”

Alex jerked to the side, but Wade held on.

“Stop. I’m telling you there’s an easy answer. Has to be, okay?”

Alex patted Wade’s arm, signaling his surrender. Wade granted him the release and spun quickly away and up to his feet as Alex writhed on the floor, gasping for air, spittle flying out of his mouth. He rubbed his throat and said, “We can’t trust anybody. I can’t trust you.”