"I hope you're making it clear that Wesley's behind all this," she said. "Wesley Duncan Beaverton the third. So there won't be any doubt about who murdered Keith and Dad."
"It's all here," I said.
"And he's probably the one who dropped that rock on Connie yesterday."
"Yeah."
"You got that?"
"Sure do."
"Good." She shook her head. "I'd sure hate for him to get away with this. If he ends up killing all of us, maybe that diary of yours'll be the only way anybody ever finds out the truth."
"My God, I hope it doesn't come to that."
"It probably won't," Kimberly said. "Anyway, I'm going in for a swim. Can you hold down the fort for another ten or fifteen minutes?"
"Sure."
So then she jogged down to the shore and charged into the water.
She came out of it a few minutes ago. When she first came out, she did some push-ups on the beach. Then sit-ups, knee-bends, etc. She just now walked over for the ax. I guess she plans to swing it around, the way she did yesterday. I'm going to watch. So long for now.
Thelma's Story
And who should wander out of the jungle this afternoon but Thelma?
At the time she put in her appearance, nobody was actually keeping watch.
Billie and Kimberly were out in the water, trying to spear some fish for supper. Kimberly was going after them with Connie's special spear, while Billie stood by with the pot. They'd just finished nailing their second fish when Thelma came toward our campsite.
Connie was asleep under one of the shelters. We'd let her drink a few slugs of bourbon after lunch to ease her aches and pains. It must've helped considerably, because she zonked out. She'd been snoozing for a couple of hours by the time Thelma showed up.
I was stretched out on my back beneath the leafy roof of the other sun shelter, my head propped up by a mound of sand, my paperback held above my face with both hands. I'd been reading, watching Kimberly and Billie, reading a bit more . . .
Thelma's shout of "Help!" startled me so much that I flinched and the book jumped out of my hands.
I flipped over onto my belly.
The paperback had landed in the sand about four feet away.
Thelma was about fifty feet away, walking slowly toward me. More of a stagger than a walk, actually. Small, stiff steps. She was bent over a little, as if cramped. Her arms hardly moved at all. She carried herself like someone who'd recently fallen down the cellar stairs, or something.
She had some pretty good damage to her face, including a shiner and a fat lip.
One sleeve was missing entirely from her blouse, leaving her right arm bare to the shoulder. The blouse was filthy, spotted with blood, and untucked so it hung down in front of her shorts.
Even though her blouse was buttoned up, I saw right away that she'd lost her bra. You couldn't miss it. She has large breasts. Un-leashed, they swayed and bounced, making the front of her blouse leap around as if she had a couple of wild animals trapped inside.
One bare knee had an abrasion similar to the one on Connie's shoulder.
Her hands were empty.
There was no sign of Wesley. I figured he might be nearby, though, using Thelma as a diversion while he snuck in.
Also, Thelma had given us a taste of how dangerous she could be without any help from Wesley.
I reached out and grabbed the ax. Hanging on to it, I crawled out from under the shelter and stood up.
She raised an open hand.
I twisted around. Kimberly and Billie were still busy fishing. Apparently, they hadn't heard the shout.
"Hey!" I yelled. "Billie! Kimberly!"
Their heads turned. Because of the slope of the beach, I doubted that they could see Thelma. They could see me, though. I gestured for them to come out, and added, "Hurry! Thelma's here!"
I looked over at Connie. She was curled on her right side, the same as before, to keep the pressure off her wounds. The shouting must've woken her up. Her eyes were open, watching me.
"Thelma's here," I told her, even though I was repeating myself.
She didn't say anything. She barely moved. But her upper lip twitched slightly.
Kimberly and Billie were sloshing toward shore.
For at least a while, it would be just Thelma and me. And Wesley, if he was trying to pull off a sneak attack.
Thelma was still coming.
"Stop," I said. "Don't take another step."
She stopped.
"Put both your hands up. Put 'em on top of your head."
She obeyed. Her breasts lifted. So did her entire blouse, a little bit.
I thought about frisking her.
Not just so I could feel her up, either: the way her blouse hung down, big and loose, there was plenty of room for hiding weapons.
The other two gals would be here soon, though, so I gave up the idea of checking her.
"Do you have any weapons?" I asked.
"No," she muttered. She had a dull, sullen look in her eyes. "I didn't come here to cause any . . ."
"Thelma!" Kimberly blurted. I looked back and saw her break into a run. Billie hurried after her. Over at her shelter, Connie didn't want to miss out. She was getting to her hands and knees.
Kimberly raced past me, then slowed, then stopped a few strides from her sister.
Thelma started to lower her hands.
"Don't." Kimberly jabbed out with the spear, prodding her in the ribs.
"Ow!"
"Stay put." She held the spear in both hands, its point an inch or so away from Thelma's chest.
Billie arrived. Both of us moved in and stood with Kimberly.
"Can I put my hands down, now?" Thelma asked.
"No. Don't move. Billie, you wanta search her?"
With a nod, Billie stepped forward. She went behind Thelma. Using both hands, she started at the armpits and worked her way down Thelma's sides.
"I haven't got anything."
"We'll see," Kimberly said.
Billie patted the pockets of Thelma's baggy shorts. After checking around the waist, her hands moved up Thelma's front. She stayed outside the blouse, but pushed in the fabric until she met flesh. She rubbed up and down, lifted and shoved Thelma's breasts this way and that as she checked underneath and between them.
Thelma grimaced while this went on. She also winced a lot, as if she were being hurt.
"Does he have to watch this?" Thelma wanted to know.
Meaning me.
"Make him look the other way."
"Shut up," Kimberly told her.
Squatting, Billie squeezed Thelma's rump, patted the legs of her shorts, and shoved a hand up between her legs. When the hand jammed against her crotch, Thelma gasped and went to her tiptoes.
"Nothing," Billie announced.
"Okay, you can put your arms down."
She lowered her arms.
Billie came around to the front, and stood beside me. A second later, Connie joined us. This was the first rime since the attack yesterday that she'd been up and walking without any help. But she seemed to be on the verge of falling over. She leaned against her mother.
We all stared at Thelma.
Her chin was trembling. She sniffed. "I . . . I know you're all mad at me. You have a right to be, I guess. I shouldn't have . . ."
"Cut the shit," Kimberly said. "Where's Wesley?"
She struggled to speak. When her voice came out, it sounded so high it was almost a squeak. "Dead."
"What?"
"Dead!" she blurted. "He's dead!"
"Yeah, right," Connie muttered.
"He is!"
"When did he die?" Kimberly asked.
"Yesterday."
"When yesterday?"
"Morning."
"Who did that to Connie at the falls?" Billie asked.
Thelma blinked and shook her head.
"Did you do it?"
"Do what?"
"Throw that damn rock over the falls?"
"No! We . . . We weren't at any falls."
"Where were you?" I asked.
"His place. Wesley has this . . . secret place. It's past the falls. It's nowhere near the falls."
Billie glared at her. "If you didn't throw the rock, who did?"
"I don't know!"
"Did Wesley throw it?" I asked.