Bess turns to me. “What should we do?”
56.
I COULD SAY, “Let’s ask our parents’ advice.”
But our parents are not easy people to confide in.
I could say, “Let’s wake the boys.”
But we’d be throwing our lives into the hands of Pfeff’s friends.
We could call the police.
But I do not want to expose Penny to the terrible things people say about a girl who has been nearly date-raped.
She shouldn’t have been alone with him.
She wanted it. He was cute. She wouldn’t have gone there with him if she didn’t want it.
She accused him after the fact, to save her sister. She’s a slut and a liar.
And Bess. I must protect her from whatever happens to fourteen-year-olds who kill someone with rusty nails and an old board. An investigation. A trial. Some kind of juvenile home. Or even if she gets acquitted, even if Pfeff’s death is understood as morally justified by a jury, the exposure will be awful.
Oh, sure, Harris would pay for her defense. He would uphold her good name to the end. But when people know you are capable of killing someone—well, you’re no longer a credit to the family. Let’s put it that way.
The decision doesn’t feel like a decision at all. It feels like the only path.
I am choosing my sisters. I am choosing their safety. I am the protector and I can see the best way to protect them. I failed to keep Rosemary safe and I will not fail Bess and Penny, even if it means we must do terrible things on top of the terrible things that have already been done.
“Bess,” I say. “Go to Clairmont, really quiet, and get—I’m going to give you a list of things to get there. Okay?”
She nods.
I think for a moment and then run through it. “A bottle of whiskey. A bathing suit for each of us, plus a cover-up—shorts and T-shirt, whatever. Sweatshirts, too. Spray cleaner and a roll of paper towels. And take some food from the pantry—like Pop-Tarts or whatever is easy to carry. Got it? Say it back to me.”
She does.
“Be absolutely silent. Get a tote bag for the stuff. Use one of the beach bags in the mudroom. You clear?”
“I’m so sorry,” she snivels.
“Keep it together,” I say. “Don’t panic. Go.”
Bess turns and heads down the dock to the house.
“Now, Penny, go to Goose, but don’t go in until you’re sure all the lights are off. Everyone has to be asleep. Peek in and be sure no one’s passed out in the living room. Then make coffee. Doesn’t matter if it’s bad coffee. Just make it, first thing you get there. You know how to make coffee?”
“Yeah.”
“Wait. Before you go inside, get the sand off your feet and put your shoes on. Squeeze out your wet shirt. I don’t want you dripping water in that house or tracking sand.”
Penny nods.
“Okay, get four beach towels. Four. And then go up to Pfeff’s room. Can you do that?”
She nods again.
“On tiptoe, you hear me? Peek in there and make sure the bed looks slept in. If Luda was in there cleaning this afternoon, his room will be neat. Mess up the bed. Get it seriously messy, like pull the sheets out at the bottom. ’Kay? Then mess things up a little more, throw some clothes on the floor. Get one clean shirt for him. Doesn’t matter which one. Get that, and the four towels. Fill four thermoses with coffee, and come back.”
“What do I do if George and Major are still up?”
“Wait outside till they go to bed. Don’t let them see you.”
“Why don’t I go to Pevensie? Nobody’s there.”
“We want Pfeff’s bedroom how we want it. And we need his shirt. Also, we need the towels and the thermos cups to be from Goose. Tipper and Luda know everything that’s in all the houses.”
“What are we doing?” asks Penny. “I don’t know what we’re doing.”
“We are taking care of things when they need taking care of,” I answer. “Like Harris tells us to.”
57.
MY SISTERS ARE gone and I am alone on the dock with Pfeff’s body.
I cannot stop to feel sad or shocked. I just act. I pull off my sweater and wrap Pfeff’s head in it. His wound is not large or particularly bloody, but I don’t want to risk getting anything more on the dock than what we have to clean up already. It’s awkward, putting the sweater on his head and tying the arms loosely, but I am relieved when it’s done. I don’t have to look at his face.
I put my arms under Pfeff’s and pull him toward Guzzler. His jeans snag on the ragged boards of the dock. I have to set him down and pull up his pants. I refasten his zipper and button. I buckle his belt.