“Then faked stomach pain so we’d bring her straight back without investigating the scene.”
“And continued faking it to get an earlier flight out. Gloria also questioned why April was examining her mouth. She seemed agitated, suggesting she knew how Jolene died and was worried we’d found the breathing tube, which wouldn’t match her own burial. We need to keep her here. She’s due to leave tomorrow.”
He’s quiet. So quiet that my heart starts to thump.
“Eric?” I say.
He looks up at me. “Phil bumped her up to the first plane. Gloria’s already gone.”
THIRTY-SEVEN
Five minutes faster. That’s what I keep thinking as we jog to the airstrip, where Phil is preparing for the next flight.
If I’d run faster, if I’d figured it out faster, if I’d talked to Dalton faster, I could have stopped that plane.
It isn’t true, of course. I can imagine myself running onto the airstrip yelling “Stop that plane!” to no avail. The council’s pilot would have ignored me. They have their orders, and their orders would include a warning not to let us stop them from taking off.
Gloria played her cards perfectly here. Severe stomach pain that April couldn’t diagnose, which was guaranteed to spark my sister’s fear that she’s not providing perfect care in this imperfect environment. I doubt Gloria knew that. She just got lucky.
April wanted Gloria on an earlier plane. Phil did that, but Gloria kept pressing, according to Dalton. Her stomach really hurt. Wasn’t there some way to get her on the first flight? Dr. Butler seemed quite concerned, and maybe she was mistaken, but Dr. Butler didn’t seem as if she was a specialist in that sort of medicine …
Yep, all the right cards slapped down, one after another. The last thing Phil wanted was a medical emergency. Nor did he want Gloria pestering him for the next twenty-four hours. So he rearranged the flight to open a seat for Gloria.
We reach the airstrip. The first flight is gone, and the next doesn’t leave for two hours. The only people there are Phil plus a couple of residents trucking in extraneous supplies for the next flight.
Phil’s so enrapt in his clipboard that he doesn’t even notice Dalton telling the trio of workers to put their stuff down, head back to town, and take a break for thirty minutes.
Phil doesn’t see me until I’m right in front of him. Then he gives a start, as if I erupted from the earth.
“Gloria killed Jolene.” It takes all my willpower to say those words without the usual string of qualifiers. I think she might have possibly killed Jolene. Yes, I could be wrong, but any doubt I inject into my wording is a crack for him to grab and rip open.
Ah, well, unfortunately, she’s gone, so you won’t be able to interview her. Too bad. So sad.
That doesn’t reflect well on Phil, but right now, he has a job to do, and he will want to shove aside any interference with his core mission.
Gloria is gone now. Not our problem.
Before he can open his mouth, I continue, “She faked her own burial to throw off suspicion. Possibly also to frame Marissa. Her primary goal, though, was to arouse our sympathy and concern. Let her get on that first flight. Let her escape justice.”
Phil looks west, in the direction the plane went. “Which it seems she has.” He lowers his clipboard. “Do you want me to notify the council? That would be the obvious next step, but knowing they’ve ordered you not to investigate—and threatened you against doing so—I’ll understand if you’d rather we kept this between us. The important thing is that she’s gone and no longer a danger to our remaining residents.”
“No,” Dalton says as he walks up. “The important thing to us is that she flew out of here thinking she got away with murder. Also, while she’s not a threat to the remaining residents, she’s on a plane with Conrad.”
“Yes, I realize that was imperfect, but she said she was fine flying with Conrad, despite what he did to her.” He stops and his eyes widen. “Oh.”
“Yeah, oh,” Dalton says. “She was damned quick to reassure us that she was fine with it. Maybe getting the hell out of here isn’t the only reason she wanted on that flight.”
* * *
We’re at Phil’s, trying to contact someone on the receiver. The council will not be pleased to hear that I investigated, but I can smooth that over. Ironically, in trying to deflect possible suspicion, Gloria provided me with an excuse for officially investigating. Not looking into Jolene’s murder, which the council prohibited, but looking into the attempted murder of Gloria herself. It’s easy to hide Jolene’s fate, relabel it as misadventure. But there’s no way of telling a survivor—a living witness—that they imagined being buried in a hole.
And so I investigated Gloria’s case, detached from Jolene’s. I’d only planned to make a show of investigating. Instead, I discovered that Gloria not only faked being buried alive but seems to have killed Jolene. Now she’s on a plane with the man who seduced and betrayed her, and she really wanted to be on that flight.
My story is valid. If the council still wants to be vindictive and expose me, I can do nothing about that. Yes, Conrad is an asshole, but I can’t risk him dying because I did nothing. While I’m not certain Gloria even plans any revenge, it’s a fine excuse for what I really want: her to know she didn’t get away with it.
Phil punches in whatever he needs to do to call Tamara. Then we wait. And wait. And wait. Finally there’s a beep and Tamara’s voice comes on with “We are unable to take your call at this time. Please leave a message and—”
Phil jabs the button to disconnect, his face darkening.
“That’s not normal, right?” I say.
“It is not.”
He calls again and gets the same message. It’s definitely Tamara, and her tone is light with mockery. When Phil speaks, it’s through gritted teeth.
“Hello, Tamara,” he says. “This is Phil. The plane left approximately twenty minutes ago. We have an urgent situation on board. One of the passengers—”
A beep cuts him short, and the call disconnects. He stares at the receiver, fury mingled with disbelief.
“Yeah, that’s a big ol’ ‘fuck you’ right there,” Dalton says. “You were a pain in the ass to work with, Phil, but you never seemed to enjoy being a dick.”
“I did not.” The words are clipped. “I derived no satisfaction from denying your requests. In my defense, you were equally a pain in the ass, Eric, but only because my understanding of the situation was skewed. Tamara has no such excuse. She knows exactly what Rockton is dealing with.”
“And she doesn’t give a shit. Enjoys waving her middle finger at us. At you, most of all, I bet.”
Phil makes a noise in his throat and retries the call. As soon as the beep to leave a message sounds, he says, “Gloria murdered Jolene. She may be planning to kill—”