"Dark," she says.
I scan through the expense reports active during that time and find exactly what I'm looking for.
"C12. One hour. Chocolate," I read.
"She had just come back from leave," Bellamy says.
"What? How do you know that?"
"I talked to her. I saw her at the pool and thought I recognized her. She was picking up towels and bringing clean ones to guys who were lounging around. Delivering drinks. That kind of thing."
"Pool duty," I nod. "The woman standing in for Graciela mentioned that she used to do that before she came back from leave and was reassigned to take care of the rooms."
"They have them on rotation?" Eric raises an eyebrow.
"That's what it seems like. They aren't just housekeepers. They do whatever the resort wants them to do. What did she say to you?" I ask.
"Obviously, I didn't say anything about seeing her at the cabins. I just talked to her about working here, and she mentioned it was so great, so many perks, on and on. She even specifically said she just started working here a few weeks ago and was already given leave."
My breath stabs at the insides of my lungs.
"Did she say what she was doing on leave?"
"She said she went to visit her grandmother…"
"Because she was sick, and it was nice to see her again," I continue, and Bellamy looks at me strangely.
"How did you know that?" she asks.
"Because it's the same thing Noelle told me. That's their cover story. Those girls aren't going on vacation. They aren't being given a break. They're being indoctrinated. Graciela said she'd never been offered leave and couldn't imagine why they would give the girls time off so soon after hiring them. That's why. The girls who are brought in to be trafficked work like it's a regular job for a week or two, then go on leave to go through training to become sex slaves. That van we saw at the dorm. It wasn't there for a delivery. It was a pickup. They were there to get the girls who were going into their training time. If I had to guess, I would say the drugs brought onto the island aren't just offered as extra amenities to the men here. They're used to control the girls, so they behave."
"And Rosa?" Eric asks.
"She didn't behave." I scan the emails again, then stand up. "I need to go back to the cabins."
"What if they catch you? I don't think they're actually going to believe you got lost if they find you poking around the cabins," Bellamy says.
“I'll have to figure it out if it happens,” I answer.
“Do we need to act casual again?” Eric asks.
I shake my head. “No. This time you should come with me.”
Walking into the bedroom, I pull my suitcase out and remove the small case from inside. I open it and piece my gun back together. This isn't just about Rosa anymore. Her murder is part of something much bigger, and I can't take any chances.
I thought it might be more anxiety-inducing walking toward the staff village during the day when so much is going on at the resort, but it actually seems quieter now. It occurs to me that the place is likely empty because everyone is working at the resort. They won't be in the village right now.
I still stay vigilant as we pass by the sign indicating that we are entering the staff only area and then walk through the gate and past the fence dividing the two areas of the island. We move quickly along the brick path to the cabins. There's no one around, and I go right for the cabin marked with a large three painted in white beside the door.
"What are you looking for?" Eric whispers as I step up onto the porch.
"Damage," I tell him.
"Damage?" Bellamy asks.
I nod and continue looking around. When I don't see anything, I drop down the steps and move to the back of the cabin. When Bellamy and I were behind the cabins, I noticed small patio areas behind the back doors. They weren't elevated like decks but had wooden barriers around the edges. Within a few seconds of searching the one behind the cabin, I find what I was searching for.
“Look,” I say, running my fingers along three deep gashes in the wood. “Remember when we took Rosa out of the pool, and I saw her hand. It was clamped, and there was something under her fingernails. The police said it was from holding on to the side of the pool.”
“Right,” Eric nods. “The cadaveric spasm from right before she died.”
“Yes,” I say. “But it wasn't from the side of the pool. This is a woman who supposedly just smashed her head on the concrete and fell into the pool. How would she grab the side in that moment before she died? If she had that kind of strength, she could have pulled herself up, or at least turned over onto her back, so she was floating. She wouldn't have drowned that way. Her head injury was too bad for any of that. And the way her hand was, it wouldn't make sense if she was holding onto the side of the pool. The grip would be mostly in her fingers. But her whole hand was clenched, like it was holding on to something bigger.”
“She grabbed onto the railing,” Eric says, following along my theory. “Her fingernails dug into the wood.”
"How did she get that gash in her head?" Bellamy asks. "There's no way she survived that long enough to get to the pool."
"She didn't," I tell her. "Her hand clenched that way the moment she died. And remember, there was no blood on the pool deck. I guarantee when the
