Richard downed half the bottle. “Haven’t any of you realised?”
“Realised what?” Ruth demanded, refusing the glass of wine Poppy offered to her.
Leaning back, Richard crinkled his brow. “It doesn’t make any sense there’s twenty eight people in the program. Twenty eight isn’t divisible by six. But everything here is divisible by six. Look around you. Hexagons everywhere. Six challenges. Six winners. And the monastery itself. Six inner rooms surrounded by twenty-four rooms which are surrounded by yet another twenty-four rooms. Six, six, six. Everything six.” He sounded drunk already, even though he wasn’t. “And we didn’t need seven people to complete that challenge. We only needed, well, you know where I’m going with this . . .”
“Six,” finished Poppy. “We only needed six people.”
“So . . . ?” Ruth raised her eyebrows high at him for effect.
“So, what if,” said Richard, “there’s really only twenty-four of us? And the other four are here to check up on us and see how we’re doing in the challenges? If I’m right, there’s one person in this room right now who’s not one of us.”
Poppy giggled. “Wow. Paranoid much?”
But her voice rang hollow. Everyone had gone still, quiet.
It was a crazy thought. Wasn’t it? Why would the mentors need to watch us this closely? They already had cameras in the challenge rooms.
“Okay then,” said Ruth, “if Richard’s right and there is someone here who’s a mole, you’d better come clean, else you’re going to have to deal with me. Is it you, cupcake?” Ruth eyed Poppy. “I don’t trust grown women who giggle. The sound grates on my nerves so much it gives me stomach ulcers.”
“Well, I don’t trust women who throw their weight around, like you,” Poppy retorted.
“Oh, listen to that,” said Richard. “Women are their own worst enemies. Always scratching at each other.”
It seemed to me that Richard was doing more scratching than anyone, but I didn’t say it out loud. I poured myself a glass of wine. I didn’t want to think about the possibility that one of us wasn’t us but just someone who was there watching and keeping score.
Out in the corridor, the bells chimed again.
It was time for the next team to enter the challenge room.
15. Constance
JAMES CALLED ME FOR AN UPDATE on Kara, asking if I was okay and if there was anything he could do. With a sigh in his voice, he told me that Ruby and Vonda had been to our house looking for me, wanting to know if I still intended acting as secretary of the volunteer Lafayette County parks and historical committee. I’d forgotten to inform them that I’d be out of the country for an indefinite period. James said that he’d let them know that Kara was missing, but they’d been a bit pushy.
It wasn’t like anything the committee did was urgent. It had a say in the upgrading of the shared open spaces around the county, ensuring that heritage items were being cared for and that the parks and walkways were modernised and kept beautiful.
I listened to James, incredulous that Ruby and Vonda still wanted to know if I intended taking the minutes of their meetings after James told them what was happening with Kara. Ruby and Vonda were supposed to be my friends. The committee obviously meant more to them.
Well, bless their big lard-bucket asses.
Finishing the call with James, I stretched out on the hotel bed, too angry for the moment to even think about Kara.
What was I even doing on that committee?
This isn’t who I am.
Did it really take travelling to a strange country on my own to realise that?
It had been a long time since I’d felt like myself. A long time since I’d felt . . . dangerous. Doing dangerous things. Making dangerous things happen.
I’d become comfortable.
I’d spent more than the last decade not doing a damned thing except committees and luncheons and dinners. Kara had been my one light.
The first year of college had been my year of glorious chaos. Driving too fast, slamming down Yellowhammers before a game, and skinny dipping in the murky waters of the Mississippi, Alabama. Alabama was where I’d chosen to go to college. I was the first person in my family to go to college. I’d wanted to get as far away as possible from the poverty-stricken place in which I’d grown up. I’d thought I was so grown up. So smart and cool and in charge of my future. But I was anything but those things.
Alabama was where I met Otto. In his second year of a medical degree, he’d been there at a club filled with college students, louder and prouder than anyone. He prioritised partying over studying, which I thought was incredibly edgy. He was teetering on a high wire, and I was too stupid to know it. Three weeks after our first date, he was kicked from his course.