Help me, thought Spider. Get help.
The spider stared at him, its eyes gleaming in the sunlight. Then it dropped from his hand to the earth, and it proceeded to make its lopsided way into the grass, its gait wobbly and uneven.
Spider watched it until it was out of sight. Then he lowered his head into the dirt, and he closed his eyes.
The wind changed then, and he smelled the ammoniac scent of male cat on the air. It had marked its territory…
High in the air, Spider could hear birds caw in triumph.
FAT CHARLIE’S STOMACH GROWLED. IF HE HAD HAD ANY SUPERFLUOUS money he would have gone somewhere for dinner, just to get away from his hotel, but he was, as near as dammit, now quite broke, and evening meals were included in the cost of the room, so as soon as it turned seven, he went down to the restaurant.
The ma?tre d‘ had a glorious smile, and she told him that they would open the restaurant in just a few more minutes. They had to give the band time to finish setting up. Then she looked at him. Fat Charlie was beginning to know that look.
“Are you…?” she began.
“Yes,” he said, resigned. “I’ve even got it with me.” He took the lime out of his pocket and showed it to her.
“Very nice,” she said. “That’s definitely a lime you’ve got there. I was going to say, are you going to want the à la carte menu or would you rather do the buffet?”
“Buffet,” said Fat Charlie. The buffet was free. He stood in the hall outside the restaurant holding his lime.
“Just wait a moment,” said the ma?tre d‘.
A small woman came down the corridor from behind Fat Charlie. She smiled at the ma?tre d‘ and said, “Is the restaurant open yet? I’m completely starved.”
There was a final thrum-thung-thdum from the bass guitar and a plunk from the electric piano. The band put down their instruments and waved at the ma?tre d‘. “It’s open,” she said. “Come in.”
The small woman stared at Fat Charlie with an expression of wary surprise. “Hello Fat Charlie,” she said. “What’s the lime for?”
“It’s a long story.”
“Well,” said Daisy. “We’ve got the whole of dinnertime ahead of us. Why don’t you tell me all about it?”
ROSIE WONDERED WHETHER MADNESS COULD BE CONTAGIOUS. In the blind darkness beneath the house on the cliff, she had felt something brush past her. Something soft and lithe. Something huge. Something that growled, softly, as it circled them.
“Did you hear that too?” she said.
“Of course I heard it, you stupid girl,” said her mother. Then she said, “Is there any orange juice left?”
Rosie fumbled in the darkness for the juice carton, passed it to her mother. She heard the sound of drinking, then her mother said, “The animal will not be the one that kills us. He will.”
“Grahame Coats. Yes.”
“He’s a bad man. There is something riding him, like a horse, but he would be a bad horse, and he is a bad man.”
Rosie reached out and held her mother’s bony hand in her own. She didn’t say anything. There wasn’t anything much to say.
“You know,” said her mother, after a while, “I’m very proud of you. You were a good daughter.”
“Oh,” said Rosie. The idea of not being a disappointment to her mother was a new one, and something about which she was not sure she how she felt.
“Maybe you should have married Fat Charlie,” said her mother. “Then we wouldn’t be here.”
“No,” said Rosie. “I should never have married Fat Charlie. I don’t love Fat Charlie. So you weren’t entirely wrong.”
They heard a door slam upstairs.
“He’s gone out,” said Rosie. “Quick. While he’s out. Dig a tunnel.” First she began to giggle, and then she began to cry.
FAT CHARLIE WAS TRYING TO UNDERSTAND WHAT DAISY WAS doing on the island. Daisy was trying, equally as hard, to understand what Fat Charlie was doing on the island. Neither of them was having much success. A singer in a long, red, slinky dress, who was too good for a little hotel restaurant’s Friday Night Fun, was up on the little dais at the end of the room singing “I’ve Got You Under My Skin.”
Daisy said, “You’re looking for the lady who lived next door when you were a little boy, because she may be able to help you find your brother.”
“I was given a feather. If she’s still got it, I may be able to exchange it for my brother. It’s worth a try.”
She blinked slowly, thoughtfully, entirely unimpressed, and picked at her salad.
Fat Charlie said, “Well, you’re here because you think that Grahame Coats came here after he killed Maeve Livingstone. But you’re not here as a cop. You just powered in under your own steam on the off-chance that he’s here. And if he is here, there’s absolutely nothing you can do about it.”