Chapter 11.

11.

Aidan didn’t say another word until we were outside Osprey Lodge. He led me across the driveway and into the dark copse of pine trees where I’d met Gwendolyn the night before, and only then did he finally speak: “You stole my phone?”

I returned it to him. “I’m sorry, Aidan. I needed to know the truth. But I feel like I only got part of it.”

“You’re safer not knowing the rest. I was honest with Gwendolyn— I trusted her with everything—and look what they did to her.”

“Who is they?”

“Please stop asking questions. There are lots of different ways to have an accident at Osprey Cove, and you’re already on Hugo’s radar.”

“I’m not afraid of him.”

“You should be.” Aidan glanced around anxiously, making sure no one was lurking nearby. “He used to run the cobalt mines down in Congo-Kinshasa until the people at Amnesty International caught up with him. My father got him out of the country on a Capaciti jet. He was facing all kinds of criminal charges: human trafficking, exploitation of children, workplace ‘accidents,’ I’m talking real crimes against humanity. He’s been hiding here for two years and I still don’t even know his real name. I just know he is very dangerous and very loyal to my father. And now he’s watching you closely. My advice is: forget what you heard, go back to the party, and just act normal.”

“Your mother needs help, Aidan. If you don’t get her into treatment—and I mean real treatment, in a real clinic—she’s going to drink herself to death.”

“It’s too late, Frank. She’s always been a drinker. She had to be, with all the sleeping around my father did. But the visit from Dawn Taggart sent her spiraling. Just a complete and total mental breakdown. Not the sort of thing she can unpack with a therapist. Not unless she wants to go to prison.”

“She said Maggie’s involved.”

“Here’s what I can promise you, Frank: your daughter is completely safe, and she’s getting exactly what she wants. But she is never going to tell you the truth about this wedding, because she doesn’t think you can handle it.”

“What does that mean? What could be worse than Dawn and Gwendolyn being murdered?”

And he looked like he really wanted to tell me—but instead he pushed through the trees and stepped back onto the driveway, returning to full view of all the wedding guests outside Osprey Lodge. A trio of young women recognized him and came hurrying over. “Karaoke time!” they exclaimed in unison, swarming around the groom and insisting that he join everyone back at the party.

“Come on, Frank,” he called to me. “It’s karaoke time. Let’s get back to the party.”

I didn’t follow, and his female admirers showed no interest in persuading me. Aidan followed them around the side of the lodge with the resigned expression of a man being led to a firing squad. I knew my only path forward was to confront Maggie with all my new information and demand the truth. But that conversation was never going to happen on the main lawn, not in full view of Errol and Gerry and everyone else.

Fortunately, I still had the map of Osprey Cove folded away in my pocket, and I remembered that my daughter was staying in Hummingbird—“all the way on the other side of the camp” and far from all the excitement of Osprey Lodge and the main lawn. I decided to go there and wait for her to come home, and I wouldn’t leave until she came clean about everything.

I followed a trail into the woods and immediately tripped over a root. This late at night, there was scarcely any moonlight in the forest. I took out my phone, swiped on the flashlight, and used it to help guide my way. The trail descended into a valley, and I passed a pair of cottages named Grackle and Crane. Both buildings were dark, presumably because their occupants were still at the party.

And then I walked for a long time without seeing anything. Further proof that the map of Osprey Cove was not drawn to scale, because the cottage marked HUMMINGBIRD was nowhere in sight. The silence and near total darkness had a way of narrowing my concentration. There was nothing to think about except the next step in front of me, and I felt hyperaware of my surroundings. Once again, all my old situational awareness habits kicked in. Once again, I had the uneasy feeling that I was walking into a trap, that something awful was waiting just around the bend.

Or perhaps something awful was creeping up behind me. A branch cracked and I spun around in a circle, aiming my feeble phone flashlight into the darkness. I didn’t see anyone, but I did see countless places where a person might hide.

“Aidan?” I called out. “Did you follow me?”

There was no answer. I turned around and resumed walking. Eventually I spied three glowing squares on the horizon—they were the small windows of a cottage, softly illuminated from within. I had finally made it to Hummingbird. I climbed the steps of the porch and tried the door. It was locked—but when I pressed my phone to the sensor, the bolt turned and the door swung inward.

I entered a cottage that was much smaller than mine. There was scarcely enough space for a sofa, a small dining table, and a tiny kitchenette. Almost immediately, I sensed that I wasn’t alone. The door to the back room was slightly ajar and I heard movement on the other side. I reached into the kitchen sink for an empty wine bottle; I grabbed it by the neck, holding it like a club, and then pushed the door open.

Maggie lay on a bed, stretched out on flannel sheets with her back slightly arched, her dress hitched up to her waist. She faced the ceiling with her eyes closed, biting her lower lip and breathing fast and gripping the edge of the mattress. And crouched before her was a pale fleshy monster with its face between her thighs. I didn’t realize I’d dropped the bottle until it hit the floor and shattered. Errol Gardner turned to me with wide eyes and wet lips, and I charged forward, knocking him off the bed and onto the floor. I straddled his hairy naked torso before he could wriggle away from me. Maggie screamed and Errol bucked his flabby, sweaty belly, trying to throw me off, but I had all the leverage. I had him pinned. I smashed the flat of my palm into his face, then squeezed my hands around his neck, pushing my thumbs deep into his throat.

Maggie kept screaming, but it was just noise. She reached for my shoulder and pulled, and I felt a sharp stabbing twist in my lower back. Just enough of a distraction for Errol to swing out—a sloppy thunderclap to the side of my head that deafened my left ear. I felt concussed, like I might throw up. My arms went limp. I looked up at the bedroom window and saw a reflection of the open doorway. I saw Hugo rushing into the room with a black baton raised high over his head.

And right before everything went dark, I realized my daughter had stopped screaming. She was facing the door—she had seen Hugo rushing in—and she hadn’t even tried to warn me.