As she walks away, two images take turns in her head: the figure walking past the rock and the strange, scored-out hollows in place of her eyes.
27
The glass of water slip-slides across the wooden counter like an ice-hockey puck, caught on its own condensation. Grabbing it, the barman steadies the glass before placing it in her hand.
“Thanks.” Hana forces a smile, but it wobbles, her lip trembling as she catches a glimpse of herself in the mirror above the bar.
The harsh daytime light is brutal. Her hair is a mess, her skin sallow.
Heat floods her cheeks as she imagines how she must have looked to the detective, rattling on about someone leaving the villa, about the island . . .
Awkward under the scrutiny of her own reflection, she gulps her drink, returns the empty glass to the bar. She can’t put it off anymore; time to head back to the villa.
Walking toward the yoga pavilion, she sees a rustic rope has replaced the police tape, along with a discreet sign pronouncing: no access at this time.
Her eyes lurch past it to the part of the balustrade where she’d leaned over, glimpsed Bea’s body. The silvery fingerprint powder and Sharpied arrows on the glass are still visible. It’s hard to look away.
Half turning, Hana realizes that she’s not the only one.
Jo’s standing a few feet away. She’s changed, only the silhouette of long legs visible beneath a loose maxi dress.
Her neck is bent, as if she’s looking down at something.
A surge of anger. Not her phone, surely? She’s not snuck away to record something. Some stupid selfie for her followers?
“What are you doing?”
Jo turns, the movement uncharacteristically sluggish. Her eyes are laced with red. There’s no phone in her hand after all.
Hana feels a pang of guilt. She’s done it again; made an automatic judgment.
“Just looking, trying to make sense of it.” Jo gestures at the pavilion. “But it’s not really working . . .” She trails off. “Where did you go?”
“To speak to the detective, about what Maya told me.” Hana pauses. “I was going to fill you in anyway; she thought she saw someone leave the villa last night, after we got back.”
“Someone left? When?” Jo frowns.
“About a quarter past twelve, which, as we now know, was when Bea was already on the island. Seems a pretty strange coincidence.”
Shaking her head, Jo’s features relax. She’s dismissed her. Thinks she’s clutching at straws. “Han, sometimes there aren’t answers for things, someone to blame. She fell, a horrible thing to happen, but that’s it. No conspiracy theories. One of life’s shitty curveballs.”
Hana takes a deep breath. No use pushing the point; she’ll end up saying something she’ll regret. She changes the subject. “Where’s everyone else?”
“Back at the villa. I think Seth was going for a swim maybe.”
“A swim?”
“Yes.” A hint of defensiveness in Jo’s tone. “Not exactly the nicest of vibes in there. Caleb’s in a state and Maya . . . well, she’s hardly Seth’s biggest fan, as you’ve probably noticed.”
“Hard to miss.” Hana pauses. “By the way, I never realized that they knew each other, before you, I mean. You never said.”
“Didn’t seem a big thing.” Jo shrugs. “They climbed together back in the day. She’s never said as much, but I think Maya’s convinced Seth tried it on with her at some point.”
“And did he?”
“He was honest when I asked him. He doesn’t remember. Probably some night out. Obviously more significant for Maya than it was for him.”
Jo can be cruel, Hana thinks, watching her smile morph into a smirk. She thinks about Maya’s sketch of Jo; the lines drawn so hard they’d made grooves in the paper.
“Even so, Seth’s answer is to leave you to it while he goes off for a swim . . .” A dig, but she can’t help herself. She wants to puncture Jo’s air of superiority.
“No,” Jo says quietly, the smile slipping from her face. “He’s not escaping. It’s his way of dealing with things. Not everyone can emote, Han, like you. Seth does, but only when he lets down his guard.” She hesitates. “Same as me. Probably why we make a good match.”
An awkward silence opens up between them. They haven’t shared confidences like this in a long time, and it feels strange, the intimacy between them unfamiliar.
“Right, I’m heading back.”