Page 106 of Without a Clue

“A hundred? And you found new motives?”

“Only about a thousand.” I hold out my coffee cup. “Alright, hold this. I’m going to try to get out of my bed of papers,” I say, unwinding my legs from beneath the covers.

Ten minutes later, we head into the library, where everyone is already gathered. The rising sun shines bright over the glassy sea out the windows. It’s bizarre, actually, seeing everyone sitting so near each other, looking for just a moment like the old team I knew, and with a heart swell, I taste the bitter sensation of old times gone.

I shut the door behind me.

Neena stops talking as everyone turns momentarily and looks at me, then back at each other.

“You’re going mad over those pills,” Jackie says with a sniff. “There’s no whale out the window.”

“I saw what I saw,” Neena says, wiggling through the crowd to get a closer view through the window. “There was a whale, and it was beautiful. It leapt right out of the water.”

Jackie throws back her head with a phff. “A one-hundred-thousand-pound whale. Jumping right out of the water.”

“It can be done.”

“A pod of killer whales,” Ricky says slowly. There’s a monumental pause. “Attacked and sank a fifty-foot yacht.” The clock on the wall ticks. “In the Strait of Gibraltar. Seems . . . plausible . . . that with enough collaborative effort . . . they could take this ship down.”

Reliably grim as always.

“It could be pirates,” Crystal says.

Gordon perks up, squints out the window.

Jackie folds her arms. Shifts her attention with the perma-scowl of hers on me. “Enough wasting the day. Let’s get on with it. I want breakfast.”

“Okay,” I say and tap on my tablet for the day’s schedule. “Obviously we’ve had a rough patch lately.”

“Did you figure out the killer yet?” Jackie says, scowling pointedly at me.

“I . . .” I begin.

“Because my nerves are running on thin ice here,” she says. “I can’t express enough how much I want this to be over.”

“I have a few more people to interview.”

“We’re going to be on land in a matter of four days,” Jackie says, throwing her hands in the air. “And I don’t care what anyone says—I’m getting off this thing when we get there, heading straight for the airport, and flying myself home. This entire experience has been unbearable.”

“Something to take the heat off?” Neena says, opening up her purse.

Jackie pushes her away.

“So we’re continuing with our morning workshops today,” I say, “followed by lunch and an afternoon all-group event in the ballroom. I will help however you need, and plan”—I give a pointed look to Jackie—“to squeeze in the last interviews as I can. It’s a tight schedule, though, people. The itinerary is only getting busier and busier as we near the end of the trip. Please stick to groups. Three if you can. Anybody else need help with anything for this morning session?”

Gordon raises a hand meekly. “I was trying to get my computer to open today . . .”

Neena pats his hand. “You and technology, darling. It’s agonizing.”

In good news, it was just a stomach virus that took hold of me the next seventy-two hours and gave me the shakedown of my life. Not attempted murder. And when I’m back on my feet, I go straight to Crystal.

“Does he really think I’m going to pound your head with an eight ball while you’re in here with me? Does he really think I’m that stupid? For Pete’s sake, Nash, shut the door. Let the girls talk.”

Crystal, standing on a hoverboard no less (her “backup,” she says), pulls back on the pool stick as she eyes the white ball down the line of the pool table. We’re in some kind of game room I didn’t know existed.

Apparently there’s a lot of the ship I didn’t realize existed.

But then again, that’s how it goes when your boss is murdered while on vacation, I guess.