Seeders: A Novel (14 page)

Monica ducked her head underwater and came up, spitting like a fountain. “Come on already. It’s wonderful.”

Luke took a deep breath and ran fast into the water, diving sideways with a giant splash. He swam toward Monica, thrashing his arms and then diving down low, twisting his body toward the surface. His feet hit the rocky bottom and he sprang from the water, threw back his hair and coughed.

“Oh man, that’s cold!” He wiped the salty ocean from his face and looked around.

Monica was gone.

“
Au revoir, mon amour!
” she called, heading quickly ashore.

Luke watched her naked body ascend from the water. His teeth were chattering and his arms were covered in goose bumps but he smiled at her bare behind. Then he realized she was running straight for their clothes. She picked up both piles in a single swoop and waved, speeding toward the woods.

“Hey! Get back here.”

“
Au revoir!
”

Then she disappeared.

Luke was shivering. He didn’t think for a minute she would leave and not come back. But seconds passed, and he couldn’t take the icy water anymore so he rushed to the shore. Dripping and naked, he scanned the beach, but all he saw were a bra and panties at his feet.

“Don’t even think about it,” he whispered.

The wind blew his nude body dry in seconds. He put on his socks and sneakers, but now he looked even more ridiculous. Too angry to care, he stomped off into the woods.

“Monica!” he shouted, and then muttered, “Stupid ass.” The path to the woods was narrow and fraught with angry branches that stuck out like claws. They scratched his body and he kept a protective hand over the sensitive areas. “Monica! This isn’t funny.”

Luke was growing fitfully angry. His teeth clenched from cold and fury. This time Monica had gone too far. He wanted nothing more to do with her. All that mattered now was telling her off like he should have long ago. He thought about losing his temper, maybe even slapping her.

Then he saw his jeans. They were far off the path, several yards into the woods and he had to duck and weave through branches and vines to reach them. They were damp and dirty, but wearable, and he was relieved to put them on.

He looked back at the trail and saw that it narrowed in a tangle of trees. Monica must have stumbled off course and gotten lost. He stopped to listen, trying to make out the sound of running feet or snapping twigs. The woods were silent. For nearly a minute he stood there.

Then someone screamed, a bone-chilling shriek that he knew had to be Monica.

Luke raced toward the sound, flying over fallen trees and rocks. There was another cry of terror and he tore off faster, sliding in wet leaves and coming up without missing a beat. His heart pounded in his ears as the woods grew closer together and blended into a maze of bushes, vines, and tall rocks that joined forces to become almost impenetrable.

Luke was desperate to find her. He ducked under branches that scratched his arms and shoulders. There was a small clearing ahead and he could see Monica backing away with her arms to her chest.

She turned to him with a look of horror, stumbling to the ground as he grabbed her shoulder. She was shaking and half dressed. Her hair was wet and matted, tears and makeup smeared across her face.

“What?” Luke cried, his eyes shifting between the trees, searching for the unspoken monster that had done who knows what to her. He saw nothing.

He shook her and shouted, “Why did you run off the path?”

She could barely get the words out. “I got … lost and …
that thing
.”

She pointed and Luke turned.

Then he saw it.

A body lay in a pit of leaves, staring at him. The man had no eyes, just sunken black pools of mush in the sockets. A thick red mustache hung between white bone that protruded from his cheeks and his pointy chin. His mouth was a gaping hole.

Luke rose to his feet, leaving Monica reaching for him. He walked closer to the pit where the decomposed corpse had sunk in the mud. As Luke approached, a warm stench hit him hard and he drew back with an arm over his mouth. He took a few more steps and squatted close to the body, while breathing into his hand.

The man wore the remains of a gray jumpsuit, stiff and faded from the elements. He was beginning to collapse at the center. Flies buzzed over the abdomen that had turned into a puddle of dark soup, and they hovered over the rotting face, landing on perches of bone.

“Luke,” Monica’s voice was small and shaky. “Please, let’s go back.”

There was a hole in his forehead, about an inch in diameter. Luke thought for a moment. “It looks as though he’s been shot in the head. I think he was murdered.”

“Oh God.”

He got on his knees and leaned over the body. “There’s something in his hand, or what’s left of it.” He reached down to the nearly skeletonized fingers, clasped around an object the size of a baseball.

“Don’t touch it,” Monica pleaded.

Luke took hold of some fuzzy strands and tugged at the thing until it was free of the bones. It spun around and the winking eye of a baby stared up at him. “It’s a doll head.”

“Throw it away,” Monica said painfully.

The porcelain face was full of fissures, like veins that had surfaced to its skin. A deep crack ran a crooked line from the left temple to the chin, dividing the face in half.

Luke shivered and tossed the head under a tree stump. He returned his attention to the body, feeling more comfortable in its presence. He drew certain conclusions about the death, based on the amount of decomposition, the collapsed abdomen, and the number of maggots feasting.

“He hasn’t been dead long…”

“Can we just go?”

“Maybe a few weeks, hard to tell.”

“Does it matter?” she asked.

Luke pulled himself away from the corpse, kicking up dirt and leaves. He grabbed Monica’s arm and they walked briskly back toward the path. “Yeah, it matters. The killer could still be on the island.”

CHAPTER 13

AN HOUR LATER
, Jules stood over the body while everyone else stayed an ample distance from the smell. He flicked off a penlight and wiped his brow, shooed the flies that were still buzzing about.

“The boy’s right,” he said. “This man was murdered. Either a bullet or sharp object to the head.”

“Bloody hell,” Ginny said and took a long drink from her thermos.

Jules shined the penlight on the man’s face again and locked eyes with Ginny. “Do you recognize him?”

At first she squinted, and then both her eyebrows went up. “Hodges? Is that Paul Hodges?”

“I’m afraid so.” He turned to Isabelle. “Drifter from Halifax who worked on occasion for your father.”

Isabelle stepped closer, seemingly to have a look, but it was actually to block Sean, who was craning his neck for a better view of the body.

Monica whimpered and buried her face in Luke’s neck.

“Take her back to the house,” Isabelle told him. “She shouldn’t be out here.”

“None of us should be out here,” Ginny said. “Better we look for the diamond inside until we know it’s safe to venture out.”

“What about the killer?” Monica demanded, her eyes shifting to the trees. “He might be out there.”

“Nonsense,” Jules said. “Why would a murderer stay here? He’s probably a thousand miles away by now.”

“Well, I can’t stay!” She was becoming hysterical and Luke backed up a step. “I won’t stay on an island with a dead body.”

“It’s all right,” Isabelle said, giving Monica a small, reassuring hug. “You need to calm down.”

“I w-want to go home.”

“Let’s go back to the house. There’s a radio, remember? We can call the police or the Coast Guard and they’ll come right away.”

“At this hour? It’s nearly dark,” Ginny scoffed. “You’ll be lucky if they come by morning.”

“This is a murder. Of course they’ll come.”

“What if they don’t?” Monica said. “That body—”

“Jules, maybe you could put it somewhere.”

“Oh, certainly,” he quipped. “How about the freezer?”

“I just mean … she’s so upset.”

“Well, I can’t move physical evidence.” He sniffed and looked around. “Perhaps I can cover it with a plastic sheet or something, throw some leaves on it. It’s not an ideal burial, but at least that will keep the poor chap from the elements, preserve what little evidence is left.”

“That would be good of you, Jules.”

Sean walked past his mother and squatted by the body.

“Get away from there, Sean,” Isabelle said sternly.

The boy grunted, pointing to the feet.

One foot appeared to be missing. The right leg emerged from the pants as a stump of bone and tattered flesh.

Monica let out a cry.

“His foot is gone,” Ginny observed. “Oh, dear.”

“Could it have decomposed that quickly?” Isabelle asked.

“No,” Jules said, inspecting the bone joint. “It appears the foot was cut off.”

Ginny clicked her tongue. “Poor Hodges.”

“Back to the house, all of you,” Isabelle said.

It was a silent walk home, Monica clutching Luke’s hand so tightly he could feel the sharp muscles and small bones in her fingers. He could hardly believe this was the same girl he’d known for weeks. Obviously she wasn’t as tough as she let on. For once, he had the upper hand.

*   *   *

They assembled in the kitchen around the radio. Jules flipped the
on
switch and a loud crackle of static filled the room. He lowered the volume and tried channel sixteen, but there was nothing. He scrolled the dial.

“Hullo? Hullo, anyone there?”

Isabelle tried, but she had no better luck than Jules.

“Oh pooh,” Ginny said.

“There must be some kind of interference,” Jules said. “Bad weather at sea perhaps.”

Isabelle gazed at the children one at a time. Sean was sitting on the floor, lightly tapping his head against the wall. Luke was having a go at the radio. Monica was twisting a tissue with nervous fingers. Isabelle said to the group, “I know this trip isn’t what you expected. I’m sure we’ll get the radio to work soon and then if you want to leave early, that’s okay.”

“What if we can’t pick up a signal?” Luke asked, tapping the microphone.

“Then we’ll go back with your father. His boat should be arriving a week from Wednesday.”

“That’s too long,” Monica whined.

“It’s only ten days. Besides, we’ll have a signal shortly. It worked fine for Mr. Bonacelli.”

Monica sniffed. “We’re still stuck here tonight, with that
body
.”

“All right,” Jules said, wearily. “We’ll cover him up, then.”

*   *   *

Jules found a tarp in the shed and dragged it over the corpse. Hodges stared at him with black eye sockets through the clear plastic sheet.

Jules shoveled heaps of dirt and leaves on the grave until the body was no longer visible. Then he speared the shovel into the ground so it stood up straight, and he sat down on a large fallen tree to rest. He wiped dust from his face, satisfied with a job well done. So well, in fact, that it was difficult to tell a corpse was buried there.

The police would need a marker to find it.

Jules looked around for something bright and conspicuous, but nothing stood out from the earth tones of the forest. Everything in his pockets was too small. He was about to strip down to his white undershirt to make a flag when he noticed something gleaming beneath the log under his feet.

He reached down and picked up a doll head.

Its skin was pink, but made of antique porcelain with quite a lot of cracks, and its parted red lips revealed broken, pointed teeth. The doll winked at him. Jules smiled. Standing over the body, he attached the blond stringy hair to a tree limb. He stepped back and looked at the face, confident it would be visible.

“You’ll do,” he told it.

The sun was setting and rays of bright orange light broke through the trees, casting a copper glow on the doll head and the wet leaves on the grave. The air was getting colder and the woods were quickly darkening. Jules wanted to get back to the house right away. He picked up the shovel and started toward the path.

All was quiet as he walked back to the path, nothing but leaves crunching beneath his feet. Then a sound broke his stride, blowing past him like a thin breeze.

Jules—

He spun around, kicking up dirt, but seeing no one.

There was a burst of childish laughter, as if coming from a speeding car, and he spun again. He stood motionless, listening while the hair on the back of his neck bristled.

Stay—

Pain shot through his temples, and he threw a hand to his head.

“What is this?” he gasped in alarm.

A wave of nausea and dizziness buckled him over. Reaching back, he grasped on to a log and sat down. He felt exhausted and shut his eyes, trying to figure out what was happening to him. Perhaps low blood sugar, he thought, and reached into his pocket for a biscuit he’d taken that morning. He found it and took a bite, let it dissolve in his mouth, and then he ate the whole thing. The headache began to subside and so did the nausea.

That’s it, all I needed,
he thought.

As soon as he stood, the vertigo returned and he had the sensation of not being able to breathe. He tried to draw in oxygen but only wheezed as the woods swirled around him. Jules staggered, twisting and falling hard on his rump. He slid onto his elbow and then flat on his back, squinting at the sky tumbling over the trees. His skin tingled and he felt his body floating away from him. The woods were fading, turning black, and when he closed his eyes he had the oddest sensation of something touching his brain, stick-thin fingers delicately picking through his thoughts.

His eyes sprang open like a doll’s, and he was sitting on the ground of a sprawling rose garden, under an enormous blue sky. He was digging a hole in the dirt, his child-size hands scooping the cool earth. Then he looked up and saw his mother laughing, and he was laughing too because he was a little boy and that’s what they do. He was gardening with his mother, because she loved to garden, and she was young and beautiful in a bright-colored dress and a red lipstick smile. They were planting seeds and getting dirty. He could feel the cool shade of her big straw hat as she leaned over him and their hands dug together.