Page 101 of Without a Clue

But it’s no use.

Pogache orders us all back to our rooms.

Nash and I are both exhausted. Absolutely and totally exhausted. To the point of making mistakes if we’re not careful.

Nash pushes the rolling chair to the door.

Drops down into it.

Crosses his arms one over the other.

“What are you doing?”

He tilts his head. “Pip, you weren’t exactly discreet.”

I open my mouth to protest, but he beats me to it. He raises a hand. “I’m not saying you did any less or more than you had to do. That Pogache kid is incompetent, as has been made abundantly clear.”

“Do you think he really missed the knife?”

“Of course. I think he took one look around, ate some Fritos off the floor, and stole a hoverboard. Because he’s twelve.

“But regardless,” Nash continues, “if Crystal is the killer and saw you hinting as much, and if we really have this situation on our hands to deal with on our own, then I’m going to park here and personally make sure we don’t have any visitors in the middle of the night.”

That’s it.

Nash has summed it up nicely, unfortunately.

It is up to us now.

Not just “could be up to us” but definitely is up to us to figure this out, and soon, because the second we get on land, there’s no doubt the killer is going to make a beeline out and we’ll never see them again.

Or worse, I’ll spend the rest of my life looking over my shoulder for crazy lunatic Crystal to come at me with a knife.

Just. Super.

No pressure, Pip, at all.

I look over at Nash.

Good, unbelievably good, Nash.

His hat is tipped over his face again, boots on. One leg crossed over the other at his ankle. Leaning back in the chair. Chin dipped to his chest. Arms crossed. Pocketknife, I note, resting in his hand.

“Do you really think she did it?” Nash murmurs.

My cheeks flush, leaving me feeling spotted for staring at him in the dim light.

“She must have. I guess,” I add with less certainty. “We all know Crystal is unreliable. And emotionally irresponsible. And spends way too much money on ridiculous things—”

“I think she has a whole wall of those hoverboards,” Nash says.

“And who knows?” I say with a shrug. “Maybe that’s it. Maybe somehow money had a part in it. Usually does, somehow. Anyway, I think I’ll have a better guess after I interview her tomorrow.”

“After you what?” He tips his hat up. Gives me a look that absolutely should not make me feel a thrill inside, but there it is. It can’t be helped. Concern for someone is entirely attractive. Especially when tipping up a cowboy hat is involved. “You can’t be serious.”

“I have to. What better way to get a good read on the situation than by interviewing her, just as I have the others? Everyone’s agreed to it. She’ll look suspicious if she denies my request to interview her. And what is she going to do? Kill me in plain sight?”

“Yes, that’s exactly what she could do. Kill you in plain sight.”