Page 21 of No Words

“Crap,” Bernadette said, when we were alone on the bus. “I’m so sorry about this, Jo. I had no idea. What do you want to do?”

“Whatcanwe do?” A glance at the driver’s seat revealed that the sheriff had already disembarked along with the others, and disappeared with them through a wooden gate in the stucco wall. “I’m pretty sure the sheriff’s not going to drive us back to the hotel.”

Bernadette, ever a good friend, leaned over and placed a hand on my bare arm. “Do you want to walk back?” she asked. “I don’t think it’s really that far. Or we could call an Uber or a taxi—if they’ll let one past the private gate.”

“Don’t be silly.” I gave her a dazzling—and completely fake—smile. “We’re here. Might as well go in and make Will Price regret his life choices, right?”

“I guess so.” Bernadette chewed her lower lip uncertainly. “If you really think—”

“It’ll be fine.”

I had no confidence whatsoever that it was going to be fine, but what choice did I have?

Besides, Kitty Katz would never have let a thing like this bother her. She’d comb her whiskers and strut straight ahead, tail held high.

So I followed Bernadette through the tall, Spanish-style wooden gate into...

Jurassic Park.

That’s what it looked like at first glance, anyway. Flaming tiki torches lit a flagstone path through towering lush tropical trees and plants.

Only instead of alarms going off to warn us of our impending doom at the mouth of a Tyrannosaurus rex, I could hear what sounded like a small live band—including a female singer—playing jazz vocal standards.

And instead of velociraptors, there were young women standing along the path every few feet in red-and-white cheerleading uniforms with the letterSemblazoned on the chest, holding trays of canapés.

“Hi,” said the first cheerleader I encountered. “Welcome to Little Bridge Island. Would you like some fish dip?”

“Uh, no,” I said. What in the whiskers? Then I added, “Thank you,” so I wouldn’t seem rude.

“Oh, no problem,” the perky brunette said, still smiling. “Just so you know, though, the dip is made from completely organic, locally sourced ingredients, and the crackers are gluten-free.”

“Oh,” I said. “Great.”

What. Was. Happening?

Further down the flagstone path that twisted through what appeared to be Pleistocene-era-jungle plant growth, it was so tall and dark and primeval, I began to catch glimpses of a sprawling mid-century modern single-level ranch-style house.

Made entirely of glass, steel, and stone—Will Price did not, evidently, ascribe to the Victorian-era aesthetic favored by the rest of Little Bridge Island—every room in the house was warmly lit, and I could see other people moving around inside as well as outside.

So we were not, evidently, about to fall into the mouth ofa volcano or be buried beneath a landslide (both fates met by heroes at the ends of Will Price books).

Still, I wasn’t touching any of the food or drink we were being offered. What if we were about to be drugged and offered up as a human sacrifice?

Then, toward the end of the path, I saw the sheriff who’d driven our bus having an in-depth conversation with another one of the cheerleaders, this one holding a tray of what appeared to be grilled shrimp skewers. Both the sheriff and the cheerleader were laughing, perhaps a more disturbing sight than any I’d seen on Little Bridge thus far: this was the first time all night that I’d seen the sheriff smile.

I grabbed Bernadette by the elbow. “What is going on here?” I whispered. “Why does that sheriff look so happy? And what’s with all the cheerleaders?”

Unlike me, Bernadette had said yes to every canapé she’d been offered. Now, her mouth full of mozzarella ball and tomato, she said, “Uh, I don’t know. I think they’re volunteering to raise money for their school. I saw a sign next to a tip jar on a table back there. You didn’t bring any cash with you, did you? I left all mine back at the hotel. We should give them five bucks.”

I shook my head. “No. And what are you doing, eating all that?”

“What do you mean?”

“Didn’t you hear a thing Frannie said?”

Bernadette swallowed and laughed. “Oh, come on. You know Frannie. She’s a worrywart. But this stuff is good. You should have some. And the kid said it was all organic.”

“That’s what they want us to believe! The reality is, we’ve just stepped off the bus into some kind of weird sex cult being run by Will Price on his private island.”