Last Call in Boracay
Last Call in Boracay
Carrie Lee, Traci, and I are pressed against the white handrails on Mount Luho's viewing deck, taking in the spectacular wraparound vista stretching from Boracay's northeastern tip and wending all the way south to Crocodile Island.
Traci ushers us away from a tourist couple feverishly selfie-ing, then nods to me. "So you're sayin' Jon told you that he had a nightmare that he was being attacked in his bed last night."
"Stabbed. In the middle of a storm.Yep."
"OK. Stabbed. So Jon dreams he's asleep, then wakes up in his dream to fight off … Tony."
"Hurl."
"Tony. Then Jon wakes up and he's strangling Anna, but then he realizes that that's just part of the same nightmare and then he really wakes up for sure and finds Anna dead next to him. Is that about right, eh, Dougie?"
"Yep. That's it."
"Yeah, nah."
"Yeah, nah, what?"
"Yeah, nah, not buying it. Jon's not stupid enough to confess to murder. Besides, see no evil, hear no evil, speak no evil, eh."
"Shhh." I dart my eyes at the touristas. "So, you're calling me a liar?"
"Maybe Jon's feelin' guilty for treatin' Anna like piss all these years." Carrie Lee holds up her camera and waves us together. "Let's get one of you two together in front of Crocodile Island."
"What?"
"Oh, Dou-gie." Traci points like I'm visually impaired. "There. You see it? A Crocodile. Crocodile Island."
I stoop a bit. "Just looks like a bunch of shrubs and rocks to me."
Traci sways towards Carrie Lee, then raises her sunglasses and drolly smiles. "And Jon had just found out that Tony's been shtooping Anna."
"Our Tony? Aw, gutted!"
The gaunt, giraffe-looking tourist rubbernecks our way.
I place my pointer finger over my mouth. "Shhhh."
"Probably another tread on the rumor mill. Like Cyril, eh?"
"Care Bear!"
Ah, yes, Cyril. "Shhh. Who's Cyril?"
"Trace's ex when she was teaching English in Borneo. He drowned when they went boating together … after she caught him cheating, eh."
"Fine!" Traci purses her lips and heads me off before I can shoosh. "Shut up, Dougie! Three years ago all of Waipu thought our fair lady Carrie Barrie here pushed Harold, her husband off Pancake Rocks. For the insurance!"
Jesus. Is there anybody on this island that hasn't killed anyone? The tourist couple makes their way down the stairway. Good call.
"You know how hurtful that was!"
"No more hurtful than the rumors of me carkin' Cyril."
"Ladies."
"Oh bloody hell. And quit thieven' me clothes. You'll look like a mutton dressed as a lamb."
"Monkey see is monkey do, bitch."
"Ladies."
"A mutton? How 'bout you spinnin' yarns? You know Cyril couldn't swim."
"And you knew Harold suffered from vertigo, eh."
"Ladies."
Carrie Lee raises her camera. "Shut up, Dougie! We're on vacay, so let's all fuckin' act like it … A little closer."
"But--"
Traci composes a forced smile."Shut up, Dougie."
Carrie Lee fidgets around, searching for that perfect angle.
"By the way, Nathan has a gun."
Traci's eyes dart on me. "What?"
Carrie Lee winces. "Wait. Did you just say that Nathan, psychopath Nathan, has a fucking gun?"
"Yup. Enjoy your vacation, ladies."
Traci smiles through her gnashing teeth. "Oh, fucking gumboots."
CLICK.