Page 103 of Without a Clue

“All checked. The cruise ship, as you can imagine, keeps close tabs on their staff.”

“Not even for money?” I say. “Maybe somebody offered them a lot of money—”

“The job’s competitive. They make good salaries and travel the world thirty weeks out of the year. For free.” I open my mouth, and he adds, “While eating the same food they feed us.”

“So . . . free lobster.”

“Free lobster,” Pogache repeats. “Nobody, I can assure you, Miss Dupont, is killing on this ship for money. They’re all happier than we are.”

“And . . . none of the guests for sure—”

“Stop it. Stop it right there. I’m done talking about this. I am the professional. Now if you’ll excuse me, it’s late. I have to go to bed.”

“I thought you were in bed.”

Pogache pauses. “Again.”

He hangs up and I hang my head.

Silence weighs heavy in the air. Nash breaks it.

“So?”

“That’s it. I can’t trust myself. I am going crazy,” I say, putting the phone back on the bedside table. “There’s not one person here who looks like they aren’t covering up murder. Even Pogache seems off.”

“Except for me.”

I smile lightly. “Yes. Except you. But everyone else seems absolutely sinister,” I say, waving a hand in the air. “Jackie’s harboring the secret that she uses a ghostwriter to make her books a success.”

“Really?” Nash says, looking as startled as I was at the news.

“Crystal’s got the weapon in her dresser. Ricky screams of psychopath hiding behind curtains writing thrillers. And did you know that Neena and Hugh were engaged at one point? And then he broke it off with her?”

“Neena?” Nash rubs his face. “I know Neena has always been flirtatious with Hugh, but . . .”

“And apparently holding it against him. Everybody has a motive, Nash.”

“Except Gordon.”

“Nope.” I shake my head. “Even Gordon.”

“Why?”

“Gordon’s in the will.”

“So?”

“Gordon’s the only one in the will. Gordon gets it all.”

Chapter 20

“Why would Hugh do something so stupid? He must have millions.”

Nash, at last, has moved to standing from his seat at the door. Too many questions are running through both of our minds. Too many ideas gnawing at us. Too many problems with those ideas.

Dead-end trails.

“I’m telling you, this is tough,” I say. “Everyone’s suspicious.”