Killer Cruise Page 7

  Her logic was sound, but the casual way she was telling me he probably wouldn't murder me in front of a crowd was disconcerting.

  "Okay. I'll be here. Can you point him out to me?"

  She clapped me on the shoulder. "Yep. I'll be here too. Don't worry."

  Pleased but nervous, I left Cece alone and went back to my cabin to write a couple of mini-articles about shipboard life. I was going to do one about the most scenic spot for a cocktail, and another about 'hidden spots' you might not know about on the ship.

  But I knew that my mind would be straying the entire time. I'd have to edit the articles carefully to make sure I didn't add in a stray 'murder' here or 'lamp to the skull' or 'poison the food' there. Sometimes that happens—you're thinking about one thing and end up including it in your lighthearted fluff piece, much to the chagrin of all concerned.

  ‘#cocktails247 #cocktailhour #cocktailday #happyhour #IcouldMurderACocktail’ I began.

  Chapter 13

  "Nervous?" said Cece as she jabbed me in the side with an elbow.

  "A little," I admitted.

  She led the way inside the main staff mess hall.

  I hadn't realized it before, but apparently a lot of the off-duty staff members would hang out in the mess hall after they'd finished dinner, whiling away the evening hours with cards and chatter. During my brief time aboard the ship, I'd just eaten and left, not realizing it was one of the top hangout spots.

  I considered taking a couple of pictures, but decided against it. Visually, the room was as dull as dishwater, and off-duty crew and staff aren't too glamorous either. In the words of Sylvia, anything I posted from here would lack pizzazz.

  But that’s exactly what made it feel homey.

  "That's him, over there," said Cece, pointing at a man sitting alone at a plastic table with a celebrity magazine in front of him.

  I stared until Cece gave me a gentle push in the back. And off I went. Even though he was sitting, I could tell Greg Washington was short, and his frame was also very slight. But he was flamboyantly dressed in bright green corduroy trousers and an orange shirt and I guessed his personality would be about a hundred times his physical size.

  "Hey," I said, sitting down. "Can I join you for a moment?"

  He cocked his head at me. "Sure thing, girlfriend. Have a seat. Sorry about the decor."

  Internally, I breathed a sigh of relief. I'm always nervous about going up to complete strangers to start a conversation. Especially when I have the full intention of asking them whether they killed someone—not that that happens often. Or ever. Until now.

  "My name's Adrienne," I said, extending a hand. "I'm new here. I'm a social media manager."

  "Hon, you're the social media manager," he said and to my great surprise he lifted my hand to his lips and gave it a gentle air-kiss.

  "I'm trying to get to know all kinds of crew members and what they do on the ship. Our passengers love to learn about them."

  This was probably true, though I hadn't actually confirmed the passenger side of the equation yet.

  "Isn't that just fabulous? Well, I'm the one and only Greg Washington, and I'm an artist."

  That shocked me for a second. Then I realized what kind of person I was speaking to: someone who loved to exaggerate and embellish. "What kind of artist?"

  "A..." he drummed his fingers on the table to build up the suspense, "... culinary artist," he said, sitting back and clapping his hands in amusement.

  "So you're a chef?"

  "That's the title they give me, yes, but it's so much more than that, you know? I'm a food visionary. I've won awards for my presentation skills. Real awards. Golden ones.”

  “Gold?”

  “Gold-painted.”

  "I'd love to see some of your creations sometime. I could post them on our social media feeds. Food photography is super trendy right now, so I bet you'd get loads of likes and nice comments."

  He nodded his head enthusiastically. "You should do that. My work is fabulous."

  "And so modest, too." I was feeling confident enough now to poke a little fun at him.

  He raised his eyebrows in shock. "But honey, I am being modest. If you knew what I really thought about myself…”

  "Stop." I held up my palm and tried not to giggle. "Does everyone appreciate your work though? Don't you get some difficult customers?"

  "Well, there was one..." he began, and then faltered as if deciding whether to continue or not.

  “Was?” I said, latching on. "Do you mean..." I lowered my voice to a whisper. "The passenger who died?"

  Greg leaned in toward me, his voice low. "You know about that? Yeah. No one will miss that drama queen, I can tell you."

  "I heard he could be difficult. He upset a friend of mine."

  Greg nodded in understanding. "He upset just about everyone who ever worked on a ship with him. Apart from that old mare Sylvia, anyway."

  "Oh?" I said, leaning in as if eager for the gossip.

  "No, no, I shouldn't say," he said, suddenly sitting back. But as soon as he did, he leaned forward again. "I won't say, I can't say. I won't. I can't. Oh my goodness, I'm going to." He was shaking his hands like he was having some kind of attack—a rather dramatic one. "She and Murphy had an affair! Can you believe it? You mustn't tell anyone! You mustn't say I told you! But everyone knows already."

  Covering my mouth to stop my giggling from turning into full-blown laughter, I agreed that I wouldn't tell anyone anything, even though they all knew already. And that I definitely didn't hear it from Greg.

  "He should have stayed off the ship after his last cruise," said Greg.

  "Oh? What happened last time?"

  He leaned in again. "Let's just say one of his last meals didn't agree with him!"

  "Did you put something in his food?" I asked a little too sharply and a little too quickly.

  He sat back and stared at me, as if rapidly reassessing me. His smile fell and his demeanor cooled so rapidly I felt like we'd been flung into a freezer.

  "Don't you have somewhere to be?"

  "No, I..." When I saw the look in his eyes, I realized what he was getting at. "Well, I should be doing... my... in my cabin... nice to meet you." I stood up and shuffled away.

  Cece was sitting alone, staring at her phone, so I went to join her for a minute.

  "Still think he clobbered old Murphy with the lamp?"

  "Maybe not. He doesn't seem like the type for brutal violence."

  "That, and Murphy would have snapped him like a twig."

  "Yeah. Unless he got him by surprise..."

  "Right. But there's no way Greg was going to be catching Murphy by surprise in the middle of his own cabin."

  She was right. "But he did mention something about putting something in Murphy's food before. At least, I think he did."

  "Yeah, maybe. He can be quite petty. If only Murphy had died of poisoning, this would all be a whole lot simpler. We could just frame Greg.”

  With a laugh and a shake of my head, I stood up. "Yeah, it would. I'm going to call it a night. I've got to post some stuff to keep Sylvia from breathing down my neck and I want to catch the sunrise tomorrow."

  "Man, I love sunrises," said Cece.

  "Yeah. Watching the sun come up over the horizon gives you a great start to the day."

  "Start? Oh no, honey. The sunrise is what happens at the end of an epic night out."

  Laughing, I left the mess hall and went to do some more work in my room. I had an idea about a “Best Place to…” article. On the way back, I pitched a few potential hashtags to myself.

  #BestPlaceToDate #BestPlaceforCoffee #BestPlaceToKiss #BestPlaceToKi—

  I scratched the last one before I’d even finished thinking it.

  Definitely not Sylvia-approved.

  Chapter 14

  The next morning, having caught my sunrise and imprisoned it inside my cruise line-issued smartphone, I headed to the grand ballroom.

  On the final night of the cru
ise, it's a tradition that a grand masque ball is held. It's the biggest event of the cruise's social calendar, and one which takes a great deal of effort to prepare, which is why I was there.

  Not to help, you understand, but to document it.

  "Hello? New girl?"

  Assuming that it was me being addressed, I turned to see a dark-haired man in his mid-twenties staring at me expectantly.

  "Hi! I'm Adrienne James, and—"

  "You're here to do the lighting, yeah? Can you check that spotlight? It doesn't seem to be working." He was jabbing a finger way up toward the roof. Unlike most of the ship, the grand ballroom had large, vaulted ceilings that soared more than thirty feet above my head. You couldn't have made me climb up there with a gun to my head.

  "Sorry, no. You’ve got the wrong person. I'm not here for lighting." I wanted to explain my actual role, but he didn't give me a chance.

  "Well, can you fold napkins into swans?"

  "Swans? No, I can do bishops hats though."

  "Miters. They're called miters. And we don't do miters, we do swans. If you want to fold napkins into miters, I suggest you get a job with Miter Cruises, not Swan cruises."

  "Wait, there's a Miter Cruises? I—"

  "It was a joke. Keep up, new girl. Doesn't matter anyway. There’re instructions printed on the box. I assume you can read. Now—"

  "Stop, stop, stop."

  He took off the square-framed glasses from atop his nose and gave me an expectant look.

  "I don't work here. I'm just passing through. I'm the social media manager."

  "Social media manager? Do we have one of those?"

  "You do now. Think of me like a journalist. I dropped by to see how the preparations are going, and if there's anything interesting I was going to take some pictures and stuff. You know, get the passengers excited." I stuck out a hand. "Adrienne James, by the way."

  "Nate Cowell. Events manager."

  "I suppose you work with Sylvia, right?" I asked him with a smile.

  He snorted and shook his head. "Work with her? Does she ever work?"

  "Umm, yes?"

  He waved his hand with a dismissive motion. "I'd sure like to see it. She keeps missing everything."

  "Does she? I heard she missed the karaoke.”

  He gave me a look. "Karaoke? We do not do karaoke."

  "Uh—I mean, Ocean Idol."

  He nodded with deep satisfaction. "Ahhh, yes. Ocean Idol. My baby. Yep. She was supposed to be the MC, but do you know where she was?"

  I knew exactly where she was but I didn't think it was what he was really asking, so I just waited for him to continue.

  "I'll tell you where she was: MIA. Not here. Gone. Do you know what happened?"

  I shook my head.

  "Me. I happened. I had to step in and save the day. I had to pull double-duty as MC and manager for the entire event. Still, there's one good thing—when you're on the stage and you shout CLOSE THE DARNED BACK DOOR into your lapel mic so it’s blasted across the whole auditorium, it sure gets done in a hurry."

  I gave him a sympathetic smile. "I'm sure you were an excellent host."

  "Of course I was," he said with a nod. "But that's not the point. She should have been there. Speaking of which, she's supposed to be here. And do you know where she is?"

  "Umm no?"

  "Exactly! Not here. Again."

  "Wow. Sounds like she missed a lot.” I tried to look sympathetic. “What about that first night, when we were still docked? She didn't miss anything then, did she?"

  "Are you kidding me?" He was getting worked up now. "She did that stupid staff meeting, which she could have delegated, but then she disappeared! She was supposed to be with me, giving the early-boarding VIP guests the secret tour—that's when we show them the bridge, the engine room, and all of that, before cocktails with the captain. She was meant to lead it. But do you know where she was?"

  I hazarded a guess. “Not there?"

  "Exactly! They should pay me double since I’m doing her job on top of mine."

  I nodded in agreement. "Yep. It sounds like they really should. Hey, maybe if you ask Sylvia, she'll transfer her pay over."

  "HA!" he barked incredulously. "Chance would be a fine thing!"

  "I guess you're very busy without her. I should probably let you get back to it."

  "Yes, I suppose you should. Are you sure you don't want to fold the napkins?"

  Grinning and shaking my head, I was about to bid him farewell when someone interrupted me.

  "I'm afraid I'm going to have to steal her away from you, Nate."

  It was First Officer Ethan Lee, looking very dapper in his white uniform.

  "Yes, sir," said Nate with a smart nod.

  "Would you mind coming with me, Adrienne?"

  Half curious and half nervous, I followed him out of the grand ballroom and up to his office.

  What did he want with me?

  Chapter 15

  We sat down opposite each other on the two leather sofas again, each of them creaking as we settled.

  "I expect you know what this is about."

  "No, I don't." I mean, I could have guessed, but that's all it would have been.

  "Adrienne. Do you remember what I said last time you were in here?"

  I stared at him, annoyed.

  Annoyed at his stupidly sincere brown eyes and his ridiculously strong jawline. I was also annoyed at the way his uniform had been pressed so neatly, so well-tailored that it clung to his muscular frame like a second skin.

  "Yeah, you said you were locking up my friend."

  "And?"

  I shrugged.

  He took a deep breath in and then let a long sigh out, his chest visibly expanding in the process. I kind of hoped one of the buttons of his shirt would pop off, but it didn't.

  "I asked you, very nicely, to leave the investigating to us."

  "Did you?" I said, furrowing my brow as if I was trying to remember.

  "You know I did. But I've heard that you've been going around asking a lot of questions. And rumors are starting to spread. Some of the passengers are talking about the death now, even though we're trying to keep it as quiet as possible. You're a new, junior employee, Adrienne. It's not your job to go poking around in things you neither understand nor are equipped to deal with."

  I shook my head. "Well, I wouldn't have to if you did your job properly. The only reason I've been investigating is because you've wrongfully imprisoned my friend who had nothing to do with it."

  I was glaring at him while I spoke and I could feel my cheeks flushing red. I wasn’t used to getting angry, but he was doing a fine job of getting me worked up.

  He steepled his fingers under his chin. "Adrienne. It looks bad. Your friend is our prime suspect and you're going around, poking your nose in. It's exactly the behavior we would expect from someone trying to cover for their friend."

  Outraged, I stood up. "I'm not trying to cover for her. I'm trying to find out what happened. You have to believe me—she had nothing to do with it!"

  He slowly rose to his feet too, not in anger, but to keep the two of us on a level playing field. "Adrienne. Your friend has been away at sea for five years—people change. Maybe the girl you knew when you were young isn't the same one she is now."

  I shook my head adamantly while internally cursing Sam for her stupid lie again. "No. I can categorically tell you she hasn't changed. We haven't been out of contact for more than a day in our entire lives. Trust me, I know her, and she is not a killer."

  He slowly walked across the room to his desk, and then sat down in the chair behind it.

  "So," he said.

  So? What the heck did that mean? I stared at him as my reply. If I wasn't mistaken, there was almost a twinkle in his stupid brown eyes.

  "So," he said again, continuing this time since he hadn't gotten any response with his previous attempt, "what have you found out?"

  I put my hands on his desk and leaned across it. "What?!"
/>
  "What have you found out in your inquiries? Did you find anything that points toward anyone who isn't Sam?"

  "Maybe I did. But if I did, I'm not telling you. Not unless you tell me what you know."

  He stared down and tapped his fingertips on the desktop. Finally he looked up. "Okay," he said with a flash of white teeth.

  "Okay?" I was confused.

  "Okay. I have an idea. We'll work together."

  "Work... together?" A few minutes ago, I hadn't been sure that I would leave the office with my job intact. Now he was proposing an alliance. It all made my head spin.

  "Right. The thing is, wearing this," he used both hands to point at his uniform, "it's hard to make subtle inquiries.”

  "Well, you could take it off," I said, rolling my eyes. Then I realized exactly just what I'd said. So did he.

  " I think strolling around in my underwear would make me even more conspicuous, don't you?"

  Trying to will the blood out of my flushing cheeks, I played it cool, and tried to get my brain to stop actually imagining him strolling around the ship without his clothes. "I meant in civilian clothes."

  He chuckled. "Right. But the point still stands. Everyone already knows who I am, even the passengers, so I can't exactly conduct a subtle investigation. Everything I do is way out in the open. You, on the other hand: it's basically your job to walk all over the ship asking questions, isn't it?"

  Here he was, finally catching on to my scheme. "You might be half as smart as you look," I said, attempting a backhanded compliment.

  "Gee, thanks. So, how about it? You carry on investigating, but we work together. You share everything you find out with me. And if you clear your friend's name, then great for you. If you don't, well, just remember—you can never truly know anyone except yourself."

  I nodded, though I was pretty certain I knew Sam better than I knew myself. I mean, who really knows themselves? Not me, that was for certain. Sometimes I even stumble when someone asks me my name.

  "So shall we begin?"

  I nodded. "All right. Let's share our information and see where that leaves us."