Page 46 of Without a Clue

Crystal trying to slink out of the room entirely.

Ricky standing by/behind the curtains. (Note: Is it possible for a man to cling to curtains as a sort of security blanket? Is this telling of some holes in his childhood? My one semester of general psychology is coming up short, but I think there’s something there.)

Nash is, as is becoming a norm, by my side.

Everyone is the same except Neena, who’s fidgeting with an unruly charm on her glittering bracelet.

“I think Pogache is right,” she says. Neena glances at me briefly, then waves a hand. “There’s nothing else to do, Penelope. We’ve got to fill the void of time somehow until we get to land and this wreck is all over.”

Wreck. Wreck?!

“You can’t be serious, Neena!” I exclaim. “Carragan was murdered!”

“And we’re stuck here together another eight days, I know,” she says. “Now, I don’t know a whole lot about murder here, but the only thing that jumps out at me is that both times they were alone. So as far as I see it, I’m not going to get in a position where I’m alone ever again while I’m here. Possibly the rest of my life.”

“Tasty Tom’s does have incredible spring rolls,” Gordon notes. “It’d be a pity to miss out.”

“I’m sorry, have you all gone mad? There is a killer on the loose, and the very least you could do,” I say, looking to Pogache, “is arrest all of us suspects so that none of us end up, oh, I don’t know, killing somebody else.”

Nash clears his throat.

Leans in.

“Would you like to volunteer to be in handcuffs together under the care of that kid?” Nash whispers behind my ear.

Agh.

Fair.

He does look like he’d lock us up deep in the basement in handcuffs together and forget where he put the key.

No sense in being handcuffed with a man on the loose.

“Rest assured we have cameras everywhere.”

I frown. I’m fairly astute at this point about cameras, and I have yet to see one anywhere. “Where are you hiding them?” I say. “Somewhere in the pictures?”

He ignores me.

“Uniformed people—”

“You mean those in uniform,” I interject.

“And . . . well . . . not . . . uniformed people—”

“Undercover staff,” I say.

“Will be watching you the next few days. You won’t have anything to fear. You will all be . . . be—”

“Safe,” I interject, my frown so deep it’s going to slip off my face.

Oh. My. Gosh.

Somebody take away his driver’s license. I don’t even trust him behind the wheel.

“While I finish up this investigation. As far as this goes, you all just go about your business. Let me take it from here.”

Pogache fumbles to put his notebook in his back pocket and on the third try gets it in. He nods at us. Shuts the door.