Then I move him a second time, getting him to the edge of the boat, sitting him against its hull. I climb in. I reach over, grab him under the arms again, and pull his body onto the seat. I lay him down and get out.
I take the loose board to the beach by the foot of the dock. I kick off my shoes and roll up my pajama pants. I wade in and I wash the board, forcing myself to touch the sticky, hairy nails, rubbing them clean.
Bess comes back with the bag of supplies. I spray the board with cleaner and rinse it again in the ocean. Then I give the cleaner to Bess.
She takes the paper towels and my flashlight. She scrubs the dock, going over each board, looking for signs of blood or hair.
Meanwhile, I collect several large, heavy rocks from the beach, lugging them to the motorboat and setting them carefully inside. Then I load in the rest of Bess’s supplies. I check the bag she brought. “You forgot the whiskey,” I say, alarmed.
She looks up from scrubbing the dock. “I didn’t—I didn’t know what to take,” she says. “The bar cart was confusing. Like, is bourbon whiskey? Is rye?”
“So you brought nothing?”
She nods. That is so Bess. If she’s not sure she’s doing something perfectly, she won’t do it at all.
“I need the whiskey” is all I say. “Where’s Penny?”
“I don’t know.”
“I’m going up to Clairmont.”
“But—”
I don’t give Bess the chance to complain about being left alone with Pfeff’s body. I walk up to the house as quickly as I can. I enter through the mudroom, being careful not to make a sound. There are cases of hard liquor in the cellar. I should have told Bess to go there, instead of to the bar cart.
I have to flip a light on in the basement—Bess has my flashlight.
And when I do, Rosemary is sitting in an old wicker rocking chair.
58.
SHE IS WEARING leggings and one of my Tshirts. It is much too big for her. Her feet are bare. “I just woke up,” she says. “I wasn’t like, sitting here in the dark for a long time.”
“You scared me, buttercup,” I say.
“Your pajama pants are wet. What are you doing?”
“I’m—” I can’t tell her what I’m doing.
“Why were you swimming in pajamas?” she asks.
“Rosemary.”
“What?”
“Why are you here?”
“I don’t know!” Her face crumples. “I sometimes wake up and come see you, is all. I’ve never come to the basement before.” She looks around. It’s a big room with a low ceiling. Everything is neatly labeled. In the harsh overhead light, it seems bleak. The corners are still dark and the paint on the walls is cracked. “I’m scared.”
I kneel in front of the rocking chair and hold her hands. “It’s just a creepy basement, ’kay? All basements are creepy. If we go upstairs, it’ll seem just like any other night, with Tipper and Harris sleeping at the top of the house and flowers on the kitchen table and good food in the fridge and the moon shining in the windows.”
“But why are you up?” she asks. “Why are you down here? Why are you wet?”
Oh god. I want to console her. I want to help her to feel at peace. But I cannot cuddle in the middle of the night when I am covering up a murder.
“I woke up,” I tell her. “I went down to the water for a bit to think. Then I thought I might—well, I’m not proud of this, but I thought I might drink some wine to help me go back to sleep.”
“Don’t drink wine all by yourself in the middle of the night,” says Rosemary, appalled. “It’s how you get alcoholic. Even I know that.”
“You’re right,” I say. “You’re totally right. Why don’t we go upstairs together, super quiet, and I’ll take a bath and you can—I don’t know. Do you want to read or make another friendship bracelet?”
Rosemary nods.
“Come on, buttercup. Should I pick you up? I’m not sure I still can, but I’ll try.”
She reaches up and I lift her. Her legs wrap around my waist. We shut the basement light and walk slowly, slowly up the stairs to my room on the second floor.
I turn the fan back on, to mask any sounds from the dock area. The curtains are drawn.
I set Rosemary down on my bed and kneel before her. My heart is drumming and my hands are shaking, but I want to make her feel safe and loved, despite what I’m going to do next. “Do you remember when you and Tomkin made the biggest sandcastle? Far up the beach so it wouldn’t get washed away? We ringed it with rocks and decorated it with shells.”