“Where is she?” Nina screamed.
Geri spun left and right. “Oh, no, no, no …”
We saw a spread of red blood on the water.
We did not see Mrs. Laghari again.
I dropped onto the raft floor, gasping for air. I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t move. I caught a glimpse of the Lord, who held little Alice in his grip. He turned my way as if he were looking right through me.
Four
Land
LeFleur drove with his body slightly twisted. The plastic bag was tucked inside his shirt, and he was doing his best to hide it from Rom. Not that Rom seemed interested. He stared out the rolled-down window, the breeze swirling his wavy hair.
LeFleur had only been able to read the first paragraphs of the notebook. When he tried to turn the page, it tore in his hands. Fearful of doing more damage, he slid the notebook back into the bag. But he had seen enough. The experts were wrong. Passengers had survived the sinking of the Galaxy. For now, he was the only one who knew.
The raft remained on the beach—it was too large to fit in the police jeep—so LeFleur called two men from the Royal Defense Force to guard it until the next day, when he could bring a truck. The force was mostly volunteers. He hoped they knew what they were doing.
“We’ll stop ahead,” LeFleur announced, “grab something to eat, OK?”
“Yes, Inspector,” Rom answered.
“You gotta be hungry, right?”
“Yes, Inspector.”
“Look, you can stop with the formalities, OK? You’re not being investigated here.”
That caused Rom to turn.
“Am I not?”
“No. You just found the raft. You didn’t do anything to it.”
Rom looked away.
“Right?” LeFleur said.
“Yes, Inspector.”
What a strange bird, LeFleur thought. The north shore seemed to attract a lot of men like him, thin, raggedy drifters who were never in a hurry. They smoked a lot and rode bicycles or carried guitars. LeFleur often thought of them as lost souls who, for some reason, felt found on Montserrat. Maybe because half the island itself was lost, buried in volcano ash.
They pulled into an open-air restaurant that was part of a small motel. LeFleur pointed to an outside table and told Rom to take it.
“I’m going to find a bathroom,” LeFleur said. “Order whatever you want.”
Once inside, he rang the front desk bell. Out from the back came a middle-aged woman with a sweep of black hair across her forehead.
“Can I help you?”
“Listen,” LeFleur said, his voice low, “I need a room for an hour or so.”
The woman glanced around.
“Just me,” LeFleur sighed.
The woman produced a registration form.
“Fill this out,” she said flatly.
“I’ll pay cash.”
She put the form away.
“Also, do you have any paper towels?”
A few minutes later, LeFleur was inside a simple room with a double bed, a desk, a lamp, a floor fan, and some magazines atop a mini fridge. He went into the bathroom, ran water in the tub, then removed the notebook from the plastic bag. He ran the notebook gently through the water, just once, to remove dirt and dissolve the salt that was binding the pages together. Then he laid the notebook on one towel and patted it with another. He slid paper towels in between some pages and pressed down. After a few minutes, he was able to separate the cover and reread the opening sentences:
When we pulled him from the water, he didn’t have a scratch on him. That’s the first thing I noticed. The rest of us were all gashes and bruises, but he was unmarked.
Who was this stranger, LeFleur wondered? He glanced at his watch and realized how long Rom had been waiting. The last thing he needed was that guy to grow suspicious.
He placed the notebook upright on the desk, then pulled the floor fan over to help dry the pages. He hurried out, locking the door behind him.
At the restaurant, LeFleur saw Rom at a corner table, with a glass of ice water in front of him.
“Did you find what you were looking for, Inspector?”
LeFleur swallowed. “What?”
“The bathroom?”
“Oh, yeah. Found it.”
He grabbed the menu. “Let’s eat.”
Sea
It is dawn, Annabelle. I haven’t slept. I’ve been waiting for enough sunlight to write you again. I remain haunted by the death of Mrs. Laghari, and there is no one here that I can speak to about it. Not the way I can speak to you.
I’ve been thinking about a memory; it comes to me vividly now. A few days ago, I had dozed off, and when I opened my eyes, I saw Mrs. Laghari combing little Alice’s hair with her fingers. She did it gently, unhurried, and Alice seemed to revel in the human contact. The old woman straightened the little girl’s bangs. She licked her fingertips and pressed them across Alice’s eyebrows. Finally, she tapped the girl’s shoulders as if to say “All good,” and Alice leaned in and hugged her.