Read Online Everyone's Dead But Us by Mark Richard Zubro - Free Book Online

belonged to Rufus Seymour and Matt McCue. They were still down at Apritzi House. We sloshed past it and made our way up to the next villa. The semipalaces at this end of the island began halfway up the slope and continued past the crest for over a mile. The path itself dipped and meandered. It crossed the headland where much of it was part of the old parapet/defense structure. At other points, parts of the villas themselves became part of the old defense walls or parts of the parapets. It was a delightful maze to wander around except for the nerve-pounding storm overhead and bodies that were starting to pile up alarmingly. Side paths dipped and meandered inland often leaving and then rejoining the main branch which, in this westward direction, meandered far inland to avoid the impassable shore west of the castle. One of the side paths led out to the castle, which actually sat on a small peninsula. The castle was half a mile away at this point.
    Where the path met the headland it branched in several directions. The villa sitting at this crossroads was one of the largest. It had been expanded farthest inland both above- and belowground. The bottom floor back into the hill had a spa/sauna area centered around a heated, Olympic-size swimming pool. We had to knock and ring for a very long time. The two guests listed as staying here had not been accounted for. I’d begun to think we’d have to use the key. I was worried about what we’d find. As I reached out my hand with the key in it, we heard footsteps.
    The first name on the list for who was in the villa was Blake Marsala. I didn’t recognize it, but I recognized the person who answered the door. He was in a bathrobe that fell to midthigh. He wore black, silk boxers under it and shower clogs on his feet. I knew his first name for sure was Blake, but Marsala was not his last name. I panned the flashlight over his face. He was Blake Klimpton, the quarterback for last year’s winning Super Bowl team. They were already out of the playoffs this year.
    He said, “What do you want?” He might have been barking at recalcitrant linemen.
    I said, “There’s been murder, death, and destruction. You seem to have missed it all.”
    “Is this a fucking joke? Get that fucking light out of my face.”
    I swung it aside. Slightly behind him and to the left was a slender young man who looked to be about a breath over the age of eighteen.
    I said, “It is not a joke.”
    “Who died?”
    “Henry Tudor, the owner of the island, along with a number of members of the staff.” I swung the light behind me. It didn’t reach to the Port Atrium. I waited for a flash of lightning. I said, “See. The Port Atrium is gone.”
    “Jesus Christ!”
    “Have you guys been out at all tonight?” I asked.
    “No. We’ve been…busy.”
    Good to know the winning Super Bowl quarterback was getting his quota of sex. “How about your friend?” I asked.
    “He’s been with me.”
    “Can I ask him?” I inquired.
    “You can ask.”
    I did. I got a confused look.
    “He doesn’t speak much English,” Klimpton said.
    Scott said, “You’re listed as Blake Marsala. What’s with the closet crap? This is an exclusive gay resort dedicated to discretion.”
    “I’m not…I…Do you need us for something?”
    “We’re trying to get everybody on the island to get together in Apritzi House. That way with a killer on the loose we can all protect each other.”
    Klimpton said, “Or it could make it easier for the killer to murder everyone with one fell swoop.”
    “Your choice,” I said. Obviously, safety in numbers was not the cliché of the day here.
    “We’ll stay here.” He closed the door.
    While on the porch before we dived back into the rain, Scott said, “He’s sort of got a point. If everybody’s in one spot, one bomb and we’re all gone.”
    “Yeah, but if we get everybody who’s accounted for in one spot, we’ll be able to watch each other.”
    “Unless there’s somebody