Page 16 of Without a Clue

“We’re baaaaack,” Neena says in a singsong voice, shimmying up to the two of us with the rest of the group trickling in behind. The time for Rhubarb and Rosewater is over.

“Did people break into your room and steal your clothes?” Hugh asks the group. “I went to the bathroom, came out, and it was all gone.”

“Check your drawers,” Gordon says cheerily. “They put everything away. Down to a very tidy arrangement of my hats by color and size.”

Jackie sniffs. “They wrinkled my tweed blazer.”

“It’s been ten minutes. Can tweed really—” I begin.

“Sixty seconds,” Jackie hisses. “You can ruin a whole wardrobe in sixty seconds—”

“Oh! Somebody grab me some pearls to clutch! The tea is boiling!” Crystal announces cheerily. “What’ll be next at this diabolical luxury cruise? Unwashed slices of lemon in the water glasses? Lint on the bathrobes?”

“A dangerous thing . . . to do,” Ricky murmurs in his painfully cryptic voice. “Breaking in . . . to the room of . . . a man so closely acquainted . . . with murder.”

Nash gives me a look.

I give him one back.

“Okay, okay, everyone,” I jump in before the conversation snowballs down this looooong hill. “In good news, Hugh didn’t attack anyone trying to fold his laundry. I’ll personally head over to your closet with an iron later, Jackie. And I have a tour to go over with you all. Move along.”

I shepherd the group through a tour of the cruise ship in terms of workshops, meals, planning sessions, and free time. I lose Crystal to the slip and slide at some point and end up backtracking a fair bit to drag her back, but ultimately the day is smooth sailing (pun intended).

The big group introduction session goes as planned (except for Gordon, who loses his pet rabbit and spends the rest of the session checking under tables for a missing Holland Lop), and by dinnertime, we’re all enjoying a feast of every meat under the sun in one of the big ballrooms.

The room is loud and jubilant with first-night energy. Nothing but sea and sunshine to the ends of the earth.

As dessert plates are being cleaned up, Hugh steps over.

“I need a word, Penelope. Just you and me,” Hugh murmurs quietly with a touch to the elbow.

“We’re just about to head to Coffee and Conversation in the parlor,” I say with a can it wait? tone, but he just shakes his head.

“Okay,” I say, swinging my head to the others.

Jackie is already halfway out of the room.

Neena, not even in view, is probably already there.

“They’ll wait,” he says, pressing me toward the back door.

There’s no humor as we walk briskly down the hall, away from the others.

Which is odd, because Hugh always looks like he’s on the brink of hearing a big joke.

I follow along the intricately patterned dark blue carpet, our feet making no sound. We twist this way and that until even I am turned around, and just when I think I may recognize an elevator in the distance, he pulls me into an empty room.

He switches on the light, illuminating gilded spines of books all around. Six stuffed red lounge chairs and couches circle the interior of the room, the blackness of night of three portholes soaking the view. A room of red, gold, and black. Fitting for the sense of dread coming over me.

I move next to one of the standing lamps, like a moth hunting for light.

He looks both ways down the hall, then shuts the door with particular care.

When he turns, I’m frowning.

“Is this about Jackie telling you not to eat the ice cream? I know she can be overbearing, but she’s just worrying over you. It’s the freakish way she shows she cares.”

“No,” he says, exhaling as he moves to a chair. He drops into it and beckons me to sit on the couch opposite. “No. But I wish it was.”