jointed.
“Assholes,” she muttered. Then she said it more loudly, just in case the culprits were
hanging around to catch her reaction. They were probably somewhere like a pack of
adolescents, waiting for her to scream.
She swore, dragging the mannequin to the far side of the porch. “I hope it’s ruined, and I really hope whoever lent it to you charges you big bucks,” she said more loudly. “Are
you guys out there?” she called. “Funny, very funny, ha-ha.”
She stood, tense and seething, for several seconds, then decided that Victor—it had to be
Victor—and whoever had joined him in this prank had to pay. She dragged the dummy
off the porch and across the sand, then dumped it into the water. She dusted her hands
and returned to her cottage, irritated that no one seemed to have been waiting to watch
her reaction. She had hoped Victor would come running from some hiding spot, alarm on
his face when he saw she was about to destroy the mannequin.
In the cottage, a sense of satisfaction guiding her, she poured a cup of coffee and
wandered back into the bedroom, planning to catch a bit of the morning news.
As she reached the near side of the bed, she came to a halt, a feeling of deep
apprehension seeping into her.
She looked down at the rag rug that lay beside the bed and beneath her bare feet.
It was soaked. A glacial chill began to sweep through her. She closed her eyes. Don’t
panic, she told herself. One of those idiots got in here, too. That’s all it is.
No. They couldn’t have known about her dream. They couldn’t have known she had seen
the walking dead woman, heard her warning.
Beware.
She groaned, sinking down on the bed.
It was then that she began to hear the shouts and the bloodcurdling scream. She raced
outside, her fingers locked around her coffee cup.
From the cottage next to hers, Thor Thompson had emerged, as well.
He was looking down at the beach, a fierce frown knitting his brow.
“What the hell?” he breathed.
She looked over at him, then at the cluster of people down by the water, hovering around
something she couldn’t quite make out.
Her heart sank. Bethany was down by the water. So were Marshall and Bert, the owner of
the resort. Lizzie and Zach were there, too, staring down at the mysterious form.
“Call 911!” she heard Marshall bellow.
“What…?” Genevieve said.
“It’s a body,” Thor said, watching the shore, not even glancing her way. “They’ve found
a body.”
“Oh, God! No, it’s not a real body. One of those idiots was playing a joke on me with a
mannequin. I dumped it in the water.”
He glanced at her, his frown deepening.
“No. It’s a corpse.”
“It’s not, I’m telling you!”
He shook his head, as if he should have been aware before speaking that she wasn’t sane.
Then he started to sprint toward the group by the water.
She set her cup on the porch railing and started toward the water herself, ready to point
out to them that they were all victims of a cruel joke—just as she had been.
“Don’t you see—” she began, brushing impatiently by Bethany.
But then she saw for herself.
It was no mannequin lying on the shore, tiny crabs crawling over it, seaweed draping it.
It was a woman’s body.
Mottled, gray…eaten away in places. She lay faceup, her sightless eyes turned toward the
cottages.
6
F or hours there was no discussion about anything other than the body found on the
beach. They were horrified, saddened—and glad. The woman had been a stranger. She
had been brought into their lives by her death, but they hadn’t known her in life.
By ten o’clock the body had been removed. Despite the excitement previously generated
by finding the coin, they were breaking off operations for the day. The discovery of the
body was a police matter. None of them had known the woman, and as yet, no one even
knew who she was. Still, with detectives and forensic units combing the beach and the
docks,
“Assholes,” she muttered. Then she said it more loudly, just in case the culprits were
hanging around to catch her reaction. They were probably somewhere like a pack of
adolescents, waiting for her to scream.
She swore, dragging the mannequin to the far side of the porch. “I hope it’s ruined, and I really hope whoever lent it to you charges you big bucks,” she said more loudly. “Are
you guys out there?” she called. “Funny, very funny, ha-ha.”
She stood, tense and seething, for several seconds, then decided that Victor—it had to be
Victor—and whoever had joined him in this prank had to pay. She dragged the dummy
off the porch and across the sand, then dumped it into the water. She dusted her hands
and returned to her cottage, irritated that no one seemed to have been waiting to watch
her reaction. She had hoped Victor would come running from some hiding spot, alarm on
his face when he saw she was about to destroy the mannequin.
In the cottage, a sense of satisfaction guiding her, she poured a cup of coffee and
wandered back into the bedroom, planning to catch a bit of the morning news.
As she reached the near side of the bed, she came to a halt, a feeling of deep
apprehension seeping into her.
She looked down at the rag rug that lay beside the bed and beneath her bare feet.
It was soaked. A glacial chill began to sweep through her. She closed her eyes. Don’t
panic, she told herself. One of those idiots got in here, too. That’s all it is.
No. They couldn’t have known about her dream. They couldn’t have known she had seen
the walking dead woman, heard her warning.
Beware.
She groaned, sinking down on the bed.
It was then that she began to hear the shouts and the bloodcurdling scream. She raced
outside, her fingers locked around her coffee cup.
From the cottage next to hers, Thor Thompson had emerged, as well.
He was looking down at the beach, a fierce frown knitting his brow.
“What the hell?” he breathed.
She looked over at him, then at the cluster of people down by the water, hovering around
something she couldn’t quite make out.
Her heart sank. Bethany was down by the water. So were Marshall and Bert, the owner of
the resort. Lizzie and Zach were there, too, staring down at the mysterious form.
“Call 911!” she heard Marshall bellow.
“What…?” Genevieve said.
“It’s a body,” Thor said, watching the shore, not even glancing her way. “They’ve found
a body.”
“Oh, God! No, it’s not a real body. One of those idiots was playing a joke on me with a
mannequin. I dumped it in the water.”
He glanced at her, his frown deepening.
“No. It’s a corpse.”
“It’s not, I’m telling you!”
He shook his head, as if he should have been aware before speaking that she wasn’t sane.
Then he started to sprint toward the group by the water.
She set her cup on the porch railing and started toward the water herself, ready to point
out to them that they were all victims of a cruel joke—just as she had been.
“Don’t you see—” she began, brushing impatiently by Bethany.
But then she saw for herself.
It was no mannequin lying on the shore, tiny crabs crawling over it, seaweed draping it.
It was a woman’s body.
Mottled, gray…eaten away in places. She lay faceup, her sightless eyes turned toward the
cottages.
6
F or hours there was no discussion about anything other than the body found on the
beach. They were horrified, saddened—and glad. The woman had been a stranger. She
had been brought into their lives by her death, but they hadn’t known her in life.
By ten o’clock the body had been removed. Despite the excitement previously generated
by finding the coin, they were breaking off operations for the day. The discovery of the
body was a police matter. None of them had known the woman, and as yet, no one even
knew who she was. Still, with detectives and forensic units combing the beach and the
docks,
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