Model Suspect Page 7

  Sydney was shaking her head, tears welling in her eyes. “Either way, it’s all because of me,” she moaned. “What if that nut sets another fire while Vic and I are sleeping?” Her hands flew to her face as another thought occurred to her. “Oh, and what if that had been Vic climbing the rocks over the pool today? He could have been killed!”

  It almost had been Vic, I realized. That was who Butch had been goading into trying the stunt….

  Before I could explore that idea, though, I had to get Sydney calmed down. “Listen, it’s up to you to decide what to do next,” I told her. “I talked to the resort manager just before dinner, and she said that slab of rock over the pool was definitely loose, and that it shouldn’t have been. But she seems to think it was an accident—something that happened while they were power washing the pool area or something.”

  “What about the fire?” Sydney asked. “They can’t think that was an accident, can they? Especially with that horrible note you found!”

  “Well, they are kind of disturbed that the smoke alarm never went off, but I didn’t exactly tell anyone about the note yet,” I admitted. “Mostly because I forgot in all the drama afterward. And then, well, considering the circumstances, I thought I’d better check in with you first about what to do next.”

  Sydney looked surprised. She was silent for a moment, staring at her own reflection in the mirror. I was half expecting her to say that she was going to leave the island, or at least that she wanted to call in the local authorities right away.

  “I don’t think you should tell anyone yet,” she said at last. “I mean, I already went the police route the first time around, back in New York. Both the NYPD and that private investigator I hired tried and failed to track down MrSilhouette’s identity before.” She turned to face me. “So at this point, Nancy, I’m thinking you’re my only hope.”

  What was I supposed to say to that? “Okay,” I replied. “You know I’ll do my best, Sydney. But this guy’s tricky, so it might not be a bad idea to bring in reinforcements, or—”

  “No,” she broke in grimly. “Like I said, you’re my only hope—or should I say my last hope. If you can’t track down this crazy MrSilhouette guy in this place, this little resort on an island with hardly anyone around, then I’ll just have to accept that it’s hopeless. That I really will be looking over my shoulder, trying to catch a glimpse of that extra shadow behind me, for the rest of my life.” She turned to stare at herself in the mirror again, her expression somber. “I’ve been thinking a lot about that possibility today, actually, and I’ve reached a decision. If we don’t solve this thing before we all leave the island, I’m planning to leave Vic as soon as we get back to New York.”

  “What?” I squawked.

  She nodded. “MrSilhouette obviously doesn’t want to see me with anyone else. It seems like he’s willing to do anything to make sure of it. I love Vic way too much to put him in that kind of danger.”

  “Sydney, think about what you’re saying!” I exclaimed, horrified. “Vic loves you, too. And he’s used to doing dangerous stuff—just talk to him first, okay?”

  “I can’t. You’re right, he’ll think he can handle it.” Her lower lip quivered. “But how am I supposed to handle it when MrSilhouette finally succeeds one day and the love of my life ends up dead—because of me?”

  I wasn’t sure what to say to that. It was pretty obvious that Sydney’s mind was made up. That meant I really was the only hope for her and Vic’s future happiness. Talk about pressure!

  Sure, I knew I could go to the authorities myself with what I’d seen in that honeymoon cabin. But without Sydney backing me up, would they believe me? Would they take action? I had to wonder, based on the resort employee’s reaction when I’d told her about the pontoon shooting.

  Besides that, if a bunch of cops swarmed into the resort, what was to stop MrSilhouette from going back into hiding? That might fix things for the short term, but Sydney would know he wasn’t gone for good. That would almost guarantee that she’d follow through on her plans to leave Vic.

  She turned away from the mirror to face me. “So?” she said. “How about it, Nancy? Will you help me?”

  I took a deep breath, meeting her eye. “I’ll do my best.”

  “I can’t believe Syd’s really planning to leave Vic for his own safety.” Bess looked up from tucking some clothes into a drawer in our bungalow bedroom. “If it wasn’t so serious, I’d say that was totally romantic!”

  “Are you nuts?” George said, wandering into the room. “Syd and Vic are perfect for each other. We have to make sure it doesn’t come to that.”

  I was perched on the edge of my bed watching Bess unpack. It was late, but I was feeling far too antsy to sleep—or even unpack my own suitcase beyond pulling out a nightgown and my toothbrush.

  “So let’s go over the case,” I suggested. “Starting with Bo’s fall. I can’t help remembering that the whole climbing-the-waterfall thing was Butch’s idea.”

  Bess’s eyes widened. “You’re right! And he actually wanted Vic to be the one to climb up there.”

  “Butch,” George said. “Bald Butch. It all fits perfectly!”

  I nodded thoughtfully. “Almost too perfectly. If Butch is MrSilhouette, it would mean he’s getting sloppy. He urged Vic to climb up there multiple times, right in front of a whole bunch of people—Bo, Jamal, Akinyi, us, Madge, Donald, the other cameramen … If the worst happened, that would’ve looked awfully suspicious.”

  “So what?” George argued. “If his plan had worked, and Vic had cracked his head open and died, everybody would’ve been too upset to think about that kind of thing. The resort probably would have accepted responsibility, and that would be that.”

  “Plus MrSilhouette would’ve had what he wanted—Sydney all to himself again,” Bess pointed out. “He probably wouldn’t even care if he got caught at that point.”

  My heart thumped. Could they be right? “So if what we’re saying is true, that would mean that Butch—aka MrSilhouette—might have been right there under our noses the whole time,” I said. “But could he have pulled off all the other unsolved mischief?”

  “Well, he was certainly around for the jet fuel thing,” George said. “And he might have sent those threatening texts and e-mails as easily as anyone.”

  Bess started ticking things off on her fingers. “He probably could have been the one who ripped up Syd’s wedding dress, and he definitely could’ve rigged that light that almost fell on Vic, and framed Pandora….”

  “Come on.” I stood up and checked my watch. “It’s after hours for the crew by now. Let’s see if we can find where Butch is staying and maybe spy on him a little. If he is our bad guy, he might be plotting his next stunt right this very second.”

  It didn’t take long for us to find Butch. That’s because he was on the beach along with the rest of the crew. They were all having some kind of private party out there on the sand, whooping it up and having a great time. Even Madge was there—her nasal voice pierced through the party noise like a knife through butter. A rusty knife.

  My friends and I huddled out of sight behind a handy stack of beach chairs for a while watching the festivities. Butch was clearly visible, his bald head gleaming in the moonlight as he stood in the shallows juggling a bunch of bottles while Lainie and a couple of other girls from the crew watched. He wasn’t a very good juggler, but no one seemed to mind. They giggled and applauded every time he dropped one of the bottles.

  After a while Madge wandered over to watch too. But she apparently had a short attention span. After a moment she shrugged and splashed out to join a bunch of people who were swimming around and splashing one another farther out in the water. Butch noticed and tossed aside his bottles.

  “Splash fight!” he called out, his gruff voice carrying on the night air.

  Several people screamed gleefully as he dove in, splashing everyone vigorously by pumping his feet in the water. Lainie and one of the other girls with her wandered
back up the beach and sat down on the sand to talk to Donald while everyone else rushed to join in the splash fight.

  “Okay, this is pretty pointless,” I murmured to Bess and George after a few more minutes. “This party looks like it could go on for quite a while, and it’s getting late. We need to get some sleep if we want to figure things out tomorrow.”

  Bess nodded, stifling a yawn. “Let’s head back.”

  We tiptoed up the beach, heading for the main walkway leading back out to the bungalows. Akinyi’s bungalow was the first one we had to pass to get to ours; as we approached it I saw that there was still a light on inside. Then I saw the front door open. A tall, thin figure slipped out and hurried off down the walkway without noticing us watching—but I was pretty sure that tall, thin figure wasn’t Akinyi.

  Bess realized it too and let out a soft gasp. “Hey!” she whispered. “Who’s that sneaking out of Akinyi’s hut?”

  “I’ll tell you exactly who it is,” George hissed grimly. “It’s Vic!”

  IT’S A JUNGLE OUT THERE

  “What would Vic be doing in Akinyi’s bungalow?” Bess whispered. “It’s almost midnight!” “Come on, let’s follow him.” Without waiting for an answer, I hurried up the steps and along the walk-way. Glancing over my shoulder, I saw my friends following.

  We tracked Vic as he hurried along the maze of walkways over the water. The three of us have tracked a few bad guys in our time, so we’re pretty good at it. Even so, it almost seemed like Vic might be on to us. A couple of times he paused and peered around into the darkness, forcing us to hide behind anything handy. But then he always kept going, eventually reaching the bungalow he shared with Sydney. After one last glance around, he opened the door and slipped inside.

  My friends and I stayed put for a few minutes, but nothing else happened. The lights were all off in the bungalow, and the only things we could hear were fish splashing in the lagoon beneath us and the distant sounds of the crew party farther down the beach.

  Finally we gave up and returned to our own bungalow. “Well?” George said, flopping onto the wicker couch in the main room. “What do you think that was all about?”

  Bess had tears in her eyes as she shook her head. “All I can say is, if Vic is cheating on Syd—especially with her best friend—MrSilhouette will have to get in line. Because I’ll kill Vic myself.”

  “Right with you, cousin,” George agreed.

  “Hang on,” I said. “Let’s not freak out until we know for sure what’s happening here. For all we know, he might have forgotten something at Akinyi’s when he and Syd were hiding out there earlier, and was just going back to get it.”

  “At midnight?” George sounded skeptical.

  I couldn’t blame her. “I don’t know,” I admitted. “Anyway, it’s too late to figure it out tonight. Let’s get some sleep and deal with it in the morning.”

  * * *

  “So, Vic.” I fell into step beside Sydney’s new husband as he left the breakfast buffet line the next morning. “I guess you and Syd were out and about late last night, huh?” I pasted on what I hoped was an innocent smile. “See, I couldn’t sleep and so I went for a walk along the walkways for a while around midnight. I would have sworn I heard the door to your bungalow close when I was passing by. Did you two go for a nice romantic moonlit walk along the beach or something?”

  “Nope, wasn’t us,” Vic replied cheerfully. “Sounds like a cool idea, though—we’ll have to try it tonight. But last night Syd and I both went to bed early and slept like logs. Must’ve had the wrong cabin, Nancy.”

  “Oh. You’re probably right.” I maintained my smile until he turned away to help himself to a glass of juice. Then I allowed it to fade. I’d been trying to give Vic the benefit of the doubt. But he wasn’t making it easy. We’d seen him with our own eyes last night. Why was he lying about it?

  “Ugh. I think another one just got me.” George slapped at her arm. “What am I, some kind of mosquito magnet or something? They don’t seem to be biting you.” She glared at Bess.

  “I guess you must taste better,” Bess said, sounding distracted. She lifted her foot out of a patch of mud and stared woefully at her sneaker. “Listen, Nancy. What are we hoping to find out here? Because if I’m going to ruin my shoes, I want to know it’s for some greater purpose.”

  “I already told you, remember?” I gingerly pushed aside a low-growing palm with sharp-looking fronds. “We’re trying to find the spot where whoever it was shot at our boat yesterday. Maybe that will give us some hints about who it was.”

  We’d been fighting our way through the jungle north of the resort for about half an hour, though it felt more like three or four days. As soon as we’d left the manicured area around the resort, the landscape had changed drastically. It was buggy and muddy and itchy and just generally unpleasant. My friends and I were already exhausted, not to mention sweaty and dirty from head to toe and, in George’s case, covered with mosquito bites.

  “What kind of hints are we looking for, exactly?” George asked.

  “You know—old-fashioned clues,” I said. “Like footprints or whatever.”

  Bess bit her lip as she glanced down again at her feet. “Well, just know that I’ve probably already sacrificed a really cute pair of sneakers to the cause. I’m not sure I can save them.” She sighed. “At least they weren’t superexpensive like those sandals Akinyi wrecked yesterday.”

  I nodded, recalling the muddy sandals we’d seen in the model’s bungalow. “Speaking of footprints, those shoes of hers should make it easy to tell if any prints we find are hers. I doubt many people come out here in high-heeled sandals.” I winced as my ankle turned on a root, though I caught myself on the trunk of a nearby tree in time to prevent injury. Unfortunately, that tree trunk happened to be covered in ants, which began swarming and biting my hand with great enthusiasm.

  “Do you really think Akinyi could’ve been the one who shot out our pontoons yesterday?” George asked, smacking herself on the shoulder and watching as I rubbed the ants off in a handy mud puddle.

  “I hope not,” I admitted. “But it does seem pretty suspicious. Why would she go wandering into the jungle like that? The way she reacted to that fly in the dining room last night, I’m thinking she’s not exactly a nature lover.”

  Bess hopped over a fallen tree branch. “Yeah. Plus she did make us wait before she let us in yesterday even though she knew Syd was frantic,” she recalled. “Why would she do that? It’s not like she even changed out of her robe while we were waiting. Maybe she was hiding the evidence of what she’d been up to, and just forgot about those shoes until Vic tripped over them.”

  “That’s what I was thinking,” I said. “There were all those thumping noises from inside, like she was opening and closing drawers or closet doors.” I shook my head. “But listen, we need to keep an open mind here. Akinyi may look kind of suspicious right now, but she’s not our only suspect.”

  “Right,” George said. “There’s still Butch, for instance.”

  I nodded. “He could have done the shooting, too, at least as far as we know. He wasn’t on the beach when we swam in, remember?”

  “Are you sure?” George asked.

  “Yeah, I remember that too,” Bess said. “There were a couple of cameramen there, but Butch wasn’t one of them—I remember thinking I was glad about that, since he probably would have had some obnoxious comment to make.”

  “Right. He wasn’t there, and neither was Madge,” I said. “Or Donald or Lainie, for that matter.”

  “Lainie?” George glanced over at me. “Don’t tell me she’s on the list.”

  I shrugged, stepping carefully over a swampy-looking spot on the narrow animal track we were following at the moment. “Not really,” I said. “But it does seem a teensy bit suspicious that she’s just suddenly there flirting with Bo all the time, doesn’t it? Plus she disappeared at a critical moment right before the waterfall incident yesterday.”

  Bess crinkled
her nose. “Are you saying you think she could’ve climbed up, loosened that stone, and then come back in time to watch Bo fall?” she asked skeptically. “But how would she know one of those guys would even climb up there?”

  “Maybe she put the idea in Butch’s head,” I said. “Or maybe it was just a coincidence that she left at that particular time. Look, I’m not saying she’s a strong suspect. I’m just saying we shouldn’t rule anybody out, okay?”

  “I hear you,” George said with a sigh. “And I agree. I don’t think any of us wants to believe Vic could be involved. Or even Akinyi.”

  Bess nodded. “True.”

  We were silent for a few minutes, focused on fighting both our own thoughts and the choking, merciless jungle. Finally, though, the trees and undergrowth began to thin up ahead.

  “I think we’re almost to the water,” Bess panted, pushing forward through some palm fronds.

  I felt my foot squish down in an extra-deep mud puddle, but I didn’t care. “Come on, let’s see where we are.”

  A moment later we stepped out into a beautiful little cove. A pristine white sand beach curved in around the shallows, with tiny waves patting the sand with each pulse of the tide. Due to the uneven coastline, the spot lay out of sight of the resort, making it feel as isolated as a deserted island.

  “Wow, this is gorgeous!” Bess breathed, turning on her heel to scan the scene. “It looks like something out of a movie.”

  “Check this out, you guys,” George said from somewhere behind us.

  Turning, I saw that she was standing beside a stack of large wooden crates. They were sitting at the edge of the jungle, partly obscured by a low-growing palm, which was why I hadn’t noticed them at first.