ANNA: I . . . I don’t know. It was from the kitchen, I mean, I used it before.
DEKKER: When?
ANNA: The night before, maybe? We made guacamole. I helped Max, chopping stuff.
DEKKER: And Mr. Dempsey?
ANNA: Yes. Him too.
DEKKER: Why are you lying to me?
ANNA: I’m not, I promise.
DEKKER: And the day of the murder, you didn’t leave each other’s side.
ANNA: No, not all afternoon.
DEKKER: And you didn’t go back to the house?
ANNA: I told you, no.
DEKKER: How long have you been involved with Mr. Dempsey?
ANNA: Since last summer. Nearly seven months.
DEKKER: And you love him.
ANNA: Yes.
DEKKER: And Miss Warren?
ANNA: What do you mean?
DEKKER: You love her also?
ANNA: I . . . Yes. She’s my best friend.
DEKKER: And the three of you, you spent much time together.
ANNA: Sure. I mean, we all did. The whole group.
DEKKER: But you and Mr. Dempsey and Miss Warren in particular.
ANNA: I don’t know.
DEKKER: Your friends have said the three of you would often go off on your own.
ANNA: I guess. I mean, we would hang out together, that’s just how it was. I don’t understand, what’s this all about?
DEKKER: I’m just getting an idea of your friendship, that’s all.
ANNA: But what does this have to do with her death? You’re not asking the right questions! What about that guy hanging around, and Niklas?
DEKKER: I’ll be the one to judge what’s important. Now, back to your friendship with Miss Warren. Did you fight?
ANNA: No.
DEKKER: Not ever? Surely there were arguments, misunderstandings.
ANNA: No, we never fought. She’s like a sister to me. Was.
DEKKER: So you weren’t jealous of her?
ANNA: What? No.
DEKKER: Miss Chang said the two of you fought often.
ANNA: Not real fights. We bickered.
DEKKER: So you did argue.
ANNA: You’re twisting my words. It wasn’t like . . . It was stupid stuff. She borrowed my shirt, I forgot to return her iPod. It wasn’t real. We didn’t get angry.
DEKKER: And Mr. Dempsey. How would you characterize his relationship with Miss Warren?
ANNA: They didn’t have one. I mean, they were friends. We all were.
DEKKER: There was no tension there?
ANNA: What do you mean?
DEKKER: Well, you and she were close, the best of friends. Then you started dating him. Surely that would lead to friction.
ANNA: No, there wasn’t any. We all got along great.
DEKKER: So she didn’t resent Mr. Dempsey for taking you away from her?
ANNA: No. I don’t know where . . . I don’t know where you’re getting all of this, but it’s not true. Elise wasn’t jealous; she dated guys too. Tons of guys. She was hooking up with that boy Niklas, right before . . . I told you about it. Have you talked to him yet? Where was he that night?
DEKKER: I’m the one asking questions, Miss Chevalier.
ANNA: But I don’t understand, this is all bullshit!
ELLINGHAM: Calm down, please—
ANNA: How can you say that? She’s dead, and we’re just sitting here, going over the same f**king things again and again and again. What about the guy who did this? Why aren’t you going after him?
(pause)
DEKKER: Are you quite finished?
(pause)
DEKKER: Miss Chevalier? Mr. Ellingham, could you please remind your client that it’s in her interest to cooperate fully with questioning?
ELLINGHAM: Anna . . .
ANNA: I’m fine. Whatever. What else do you want to know?
DEKKER: The first day, when you arrived on the island . . .
ANNA: I told you that already.
DEKKER: So tell me again.
VACATION
“Check out the view!” Max whistles as he drops his bag on the polished tile floor, taking in the beach and deep azure ocean beyond. I catch my breath, following his gaze. The scene through the beach house windows is so perfect, it’s like something from a postcard, like there should be Welcome to Aruba scribbled in the sky above the gently nodding palm tree.
“Never mind the views: hot tub!” Chelsea whoops. She pulls the balcony door open and steps onto the deck, kicking her flip-flops aside. The breeze slips into the room, cool and welcome after the long flight and perilous ride from the airport; the eight of us crammed into a rickety old van with our luggage strapped to the roof.
I exhale, my carsickness easing now that I’m safe on solid ground. And not just any ground, but gleaming tile, spread with brightly woven mats. The house is modern, set like interlinked boxes above the sand, with cool white walls and colorful abstract art. The main living space is open: huge windows along the length of the room looking out on the deck and ocean view, with a kitchen area in dark marble and plush couches set up around a vast flat-screen TV.
“This place is amazing.” I tell AK, drinking it in as the others fan out to explore. “How long have you had it?”
“A couple of years.” AK shrugs, nonchalant, but I can see the excited glint in his smile. “Dad got it as some tax-write-off thing; he hardly ever comes out here.”
“Well, you’re a genius.” I hug him. Elise joins me, kissing his cheek on the other side. She’s already stripped down to a bikini top and her cutoffs, shoes kicked aside the moment we stepped in the door.
“Legendary,” she agrees. “Now, where do you keep the booze?”
There’s a chorus of cheers from Lamar and Max as they sprawl on the couches, but Tate pauses. “Isn’t it kind of early?” he asks halfheartedly. Elise rolls her eyes in response.
“What are you, our chaperone? Maybe we should just call you Daddy.” She pokes his chest with her index finger. Tate swats her away.
“I’m just saying, we can take it easy. You don’t need to be hungover all week.”
“Moi?” Elise bats her eyelashes in exaggerated innocence, “I can hold my liquor just fine, Daddy. You’re the one who gets sloppy. Or don’t you remember Jordan’s party last month?” She gives him a pointed smile.
“Hey,” I interrupt. “Less talking, more drinking.”
Melanie leaps up. “I’ll help,” she says brightly. “What does everyone want? Beer or cocktails?”
“Before you get too excited, check the kitchen,” AK warns. He’s got his cell phone up, recording a slow sweep around the room. “The maid will buy stuff for us if we give her a list, but I’m not sure what there is.”
Elise makes beeline for the kitchen. Melanie follows, opening the huge fridge and checking cabinets and drawers.