Bad enough that we can see it.
Not the body. It's out of sight. But every time I turn my head in that direction, I can't help but look at the pile of rocks covering it. Not to mention the cross. Kimberly made the cross out of driftwood, this afternoon. She stood it up at the head of Keith's "grave." It's gnarled and twisted and as white as bleached bones.
That's getting ahead of things, though.
First came the decision about where to put Keith. Then we all trooped over there, Andrew marching in the lead with the body slung over his shoulder. (Thelma came with us. Her ankle injury had been pretty minor, and she was able to hobble along okay without help by the time we had our funeral procession.) Kimberly picked exactly the spot where she wanted the grave to be. Then Andrew and Billie and I helped her to clear some rocks out of the way.
Thelma stood by and cried like a maniac.
Connie didn't help, either, but acted strange; she stood rigid and watched, had this far-off look in her eyes, and rubbed her upper arms as if she was cold. Personally, I don't think she was grieving over Keith. I think she was scared witless.
After we'd cleared a depression in the rocks, Andrew and Kimberly loaded Keith inside it.
Then Billie said, "Someone should say something."
"Let's bow our heads," Andrew said. We did. In a low and steady voice, he said The Lord's Prayer. Knew it by heart, which came as a surprise to me. I wouldn't have taken him for the religious sort.
While everybody still had their heads down, I broke into "Danny Boy." God only knows what possessed me. I've got a pretty good tenor voice, but I'm not a guy who goes around singing in public. It was a sappy thing to do. The guy's name wasn't even Danny.
But I'd liked him, and I felt so sorry for Kimberly . . .
When I got into "Danny Boy," the waterworks were a sight to see. Everybody cried.
Even Kimberly teared up. After the song was done, she came over to me, wet-eyed and sniffing. She put her arms around me and hugged me.
I'm hoping she'll do that again sometime, under more favorable conditions.
Fat chance.
She was too overcome with emotion to know what she was doing.
Anyway, I'm glad I went nuts and sang "Danny Boy." She wouldn't have hugged me, except for that.
When it was time to finish the burial, she asked everyone to leave. "I'll take care of it," she said. So we all left her there.
Away from the rocks where Kimberly was working, Andrew called the rest of us together.
"I don't want anyone to go straying off alone," he said. "Keith didn't have an accident. He was murdered."
Thelma let out a high-pitched, squealy sound. She seemed embarrassed by it, and plastered a hand across her mouth.
Connie started to shake.
Billie, frowning with concern, put an arm across Connie's shoulders. "It's all right, honey," she said.
"We think it happened out in the jungle where we found him," Andrew went on. "Someone knocked him on the head, and then hung him. That's how we figure it." He glanced at me.
"It was probably just one person who did it," I added. "I mean, the sneaky way it was done."
"Somebody strong enough to hoist Keith's body fairly high up in a tree," Andrew said.
"What'll we do? Billie asked.
"I'm not sure yet. Need some time to think things through. Let's figure on a pow-wow later on. For now, we'll probably be all right as long as nobody goes off alone. I don't think the killer'll come after any of us out here on the beach in plain sight."
"What about . . . when we need to relieve ourselves?" Billie asked. "Do you want us to do it right here on the beach?"
Connie joined the party. "Not me. Huh-uh."
"We'll work something out," Andrew said. "For the time being, we can keep on using the same area as before. But not without an escort. Let me know, and I'll go with you."
"Oh, charming," Connie said.
"I changed your diapers, babe. But don't worry, I won't peek."
"This really sucks," Connie said.
Andrew suddenly looked steamed. "You've got two sisters whose lives have been blown all to hell in a matter of less than twenty-four hours. There's an asshole out there who'll probably try and kill more of us the first time he gets a chance. What we do not need at this particular juncture is any kind of adolescent shit from you. We know you're deeply inconvenienced by all this, but . . ."
"Go to hell!" she blurted. Bursting into tears, she whirled around and ran toward the water.
Thelma, by the way, was already on her knees, sobbing into her hands. This had happened at about the time Andrew made the remark about the two sisters whose lives had been "blown all to hell."
Billie scowled at Andrew and shook her head. "That was really uncalled for, do you know that?" She didn't wait for an answer, but went hustling after Connie.
I was the only member of the group still standing, in Andrew's presence. He seemed to be glaring at me from behind his sunglasses.
"I didn't say anything," I told him.
"Don't be a smartass," Andrew said. And stalked off himself.
I was left on my own, so I got my bag and came up to my tower. (Violating the new rules about straying off, I suppose, but nobody called me on it.) There was a lot of journal to catch up with. Instead of going to the place I'd found yesterday, I picked a spot in the rocks where I had a view of our beach.
When I arrived, Kimberly was still busy on the other side of the inlet, picking up rocks and gently arranging them on top of her husband. After she finished with that, she took care of making the cross. (I've been keeping an eye on her while I write. The others are down there, too, but they haven't been doing anything worth mentioning.) For a while now, Kimberly has been sitting on the beach. She is still wearing Keith's bright, Hawaiian shirt. Her legs are out in front of her, her knees drawn up, her arms around her shins. She seems to be gazing out at the water. A breeze is stirring her hair, and fluttering the shirt a little behind her back.
She looks so beautiful and alone.
I wish there was some way to make things better for her.
The important thing, now, is to make sure that the killer doesn't get any more of us.
Pow-Wow
We ate supper early. Billie did the cooking again. It was a mixture of noodles and beef from some foil packets that Andrew and Keith had gathered out on the inlet, yesterday. We also had some canned peaches, and bread from a loaf that had gotten through the explosion with its cellophane bag intact. We drank stream water, pouring it into our plastic cups from a pot that we passed around.
None of us had eaten anything all day, as far as I knew.
I, for one, was pretty hungry.
We sat in the sand around the fire, eating, passing the water pot around, and not saying much. Everyone seemed pretty upset.
Afterwards, Billie asked me to help her with the dishes, and I agreed. Glad to get away from the group, for one thing.
The "dishes' were a mix of things: a couple of metal pots rescued from the bottom of the inlet by Keith, plus plastic plates, cups, knives, forks and spoons that we'd brought ashore for our picnic.
We didn't want to mess up our beach with food scraps, so we carried everything out to the north point -- leaving the beach behind and stepping carefully from rock to rock until we reached the very end (forty or fifty feet below the place where I like to work on my journal). We went around the tip, just a bit.
There was nothing to see on the other side. Just more water, beach and jungle.
Billie sat on a rock and dangled her legs in the water. She washed her dishes by bending forward and dipping them into the water between her knees. When I knelt near her and tried to scoop up some water in a pot, she shook her head. "Just put it down. I'll take care of washing these things. I just wanted you along for the company."