It was a gunshot. Blood was all over Poppy’s bodice, and she continued a ghastly wail.
“Shut up, Poppy,” Liam ordered. “Tell me where you’re hit.”
The edges of Gwen’s vision dimmed in shock as another loud crack echoed over the dunes. Poppy clutched her upper arm, where blood pulsed from between her fingers. Liam grabbed a handkerchief and mashed it onto her wound, making Poppy scream.
Had a hunter accidentally shot at them? Sometimes men hunted wild turkeys on the island, but it would be hard to mistake them for turkeys.
Liam peeked above the cattails for a split second. “Stop that blasted shooting,” he hollered. “There are people walking here!”
A third shot rang out, triggering another round of screams from Poppy, but Liam clamped a hand over her mouth.
“Shut up,” he hissed. “They meant to shoot us, and screaming is giving our location away. Be quiet, and let’s move.”
Gwen cowered beneath the screen of cattails, and Liam helped Poppy roll onto her knees to crawl toward a cluster of oak trees, where they could take shelter. It was hard to stay low enough to remain hidden by the cattails. Sand kicked into her face from Liam’s boots as they crawled.
“Are you okay?” she whispered to Liam.
“I’m fine. You?”
“Fine.”
Except for the terror streaking through her. Whoever was shooting at them had probably aimed for Liam but accidentally hit Poppy when she stepped in front of him for the blackberries.
Poppy continued whimpering, but Liam was surprisingly kind.
“Hang in there, Pops. We’re going to have to ride it out here.” Another blast from the gun ricocheted through the scrub.
Suddenly, Gwen heard Joshua calling out in an annoyed voice. “Is one of you idiots firing a gun?” he asked as he strode through the cattails toward them.
“No,” Liam bellowed. “Someone is shooting at me, but they hit Poppy instead. Get down, you fool!”
Joshua’s eyes grew horrified at the sight of blood all over Poppy. He dove for cover, but not before another blast from the gun hit the trunk of a nearby oak tree, spraying chunks of wood and bark that hit him in the face. He scrambled through the underbrush, blood dribbling from the nicks on his face as he reached them.
“Who’s shooting at us?” he asked in appalled wonder. “And why?”
“Probably whoever stabbed Liam last month,” Gwen whispered.
Poppy tried to speak, but Liam’s hand clamped over her mouth made it impossible to understand.
“Let her talk,” Gwen urged, and Liam hesitantly lifted his hand.
“My water broke,” Poppy said.
“Oh, for pity’s sake,” Liam muttered. “We need to keep moving, then. As soon as we get to the trees, we’ll be safer. We’re sitting ducks out here.”
As a group, the four of them inched their way through the tall grass, desperately trying to avoid brushing against the cattails and revealing their location. They barely made any progress, but a full minute had passed and there had been no more shots.
“Maybe we should make a run for it,” Liam said, nodding toward the thick screen of trees ahead.
“I can’t run,” Poppy said. “I can’t even walk. I’ve been shot!”
“I can’t carry you,” Liam said. “I’ve got a healing stab wound in my belly, and I’m not ripping it open for you, Pops.”
“Stop calling me Pops. I’ve been shot!”
“I’ll carry her,” Joshua said, scooting forward. Gwen moved aside, amazed at his courage, but Joshua didn’t hesitate as he reached Poppy and wiggled his arms beneath her.
In the distance came the sounds of shouting and clanging. Was that Bertie’s voice? He was yelling orders, and Gwen risked a glance, spotting a pair of the old aunts banging pots together. Aunt Martha scolded the foolish hunters to stop shooting. Even ancient Uncle Herbert waved a red-checkered tablecloth for attention.
Joshua gaped at the old people heading their way through the cattails and choked out a relieved laugh. “Here comes the cavalry.” He still looked terrified, his complexion a ghastly white against the streaks of blood dribbling down his face. He tentatively raised a hand above the cattails, and there were no more shots.
Bertie came tromping through the scrub, his face red with exertion. “Who on God’s green earth is hunting turkeys while there’s a beach party going on?”
Gwen reached for Liam’s hand, and for once he didn’t tease her because he seemed as unnerved as she was. Soon a group of the aunts with their banging pans and checkered tablecloths had arrived, and the octogenarian cavalry surrounded them.
They were safe.
35
Gwen experienced a strangely unreal feeling after the shooting. The entire family was forced to congregate in the gathering room. No one had confessed to shooting a weapon, and Frederick didn’t want anyone wandering off to hide a recently fired gun until he knew who’d done it. The main room was large, with plenty of upholstered furniture on one end and a massively long dining table on the other, but it felt crowded with three dozen people crammed inside. The elderly aunts and their husbands took the upholstered seats, while the second and third generations filled the dining chairs or sat on the fireplace hearth. The children crawled on the floor or sat on nervous mothers’ laps.
Uncle Oscar had watched in horror as Joshua carried Poppy to the only bedroom on the first floor. Everyone fell silent at the sight of Poppy’s blood-spattered gown, and Aunt Martha went to assist with preparing for the birth. There was no doctor on the island, nor was there any form of law enforcement. Oscar wanted both.
“I’m sending the Black Rose back to the city to fetch a doctor immediately,” he insisted, his voice tense with agitation. The crew had been living aboard the yacht and could reach the mainland within an hour.
“It’s starting to get dark,” Bertie said. “It’s not safe to send a yacht off at night like this.”
“And it’s not safe for my wife to deliver a child without a doctor!” Oscar roared.
Frederick held up a hand. “No arguing,” he said in a voice of command. “The Black Rose leaves in ten minutes, and I want Liam aboard.”
“What?” Liam asked, sitting on the hearth, exhaustion on his face. “I can stay. You might need help.”
Frederick whirled, his face iron-hard. “I already lost you once. I won’t tolerate it happening a second time. I want you off this island until we figure out who is trying to kill you.”
Gwen scanned the room. Nobody admitted to shooting a gun, and the only people from the estate who weren’t here right now were Patrick and Aunt Martha’s husband, Milton. Patrick still hadn’t returned from wherever he’d stormed off to after Poppy’s insults, and Milton had been fishing for saltwater bass all day.
“Could it have been Milton?” someone asked. “Does he hunt?”
Aunt Martha was tending Poppy and couldn’t be asked, but Aunt Helen refused to believe it. “Don’t be ridiculous,” she said, her pin curls bobbing. “The only person who was nearby for both attacks on Liam is that lawyer fellow.”
“Patrick didn’t do it,” Liam snapped.