Page 48 of Without a Clue

Gordon frowns.

Everyone, for the record, is frowning.

“And yes,” Neena continues, “most likely I’ll go Hula-Hooping this afternoon during a reader workshop. I’m taking this trip by the horns, and my plan is to pretend none of this is happening until I’m back in the safety of my therapist’s couch when this is all over. You can all join me in the dining hall, or you can sit here miserably in the company of a murderer. The answer is clear to me which of the two I’m going to choose.”

And then to prove her point, she pulls a pill out of her purse and pops it in her mouth. “Seize the day!”

I look to Nash.

Then the others.

No.

We can’t do it this way.

We can’t just go with the flow.

As she makes to open the door, I call out, “Stop!”

Neena halts. Turns.

Everyone looks at me, and I shuffle toward the center of the room. Put my hands on my hips as I muster up a plan.

“Neena is right.” I turn to face everyone. “The reality here is that like it or not, we have a murderer on the loose and a teenager with peach fuzz who just mispronounced the word forte fumbling around trying to solve things before something worse happens. Maybe you all can just sit here and let the chips fall where they may, but . . . well, I can’t. This is a textbook issue. I know what happens when people do nothing—at least in books. Someone else dies.”

Gordon spins the pawn around in his hand. “Well, what do you propose we do, Pip?”

He’s asking genuinely. He really wants to know.

“Well,” I say, taking a fortifying breath, “the way I see it, we need a proper investigation. We’re stuck on this ship, going nowhere. And it’s clear we’re not going to get any help on the outside. So then . . . we’ll have to do it ourselves.” I look around the room. “One of us needs to play investigator.”

I might as well have just asked a bunch of kids who wants to go first and they all put their fingers on their noses. Everybody except Nash becomes immediately fascinated with the objects around them. I try in the silence to get someone to connect eyes.

“Fine.” I throw my hands out. “I’ll do it. I’ve read enough of Hugh’s books. I can piece together an interview. Do some sleuthing. So you all go off and do your classes, go about life as normal, and we can agree that I’m going to talk with each of you, one by one, and see if I can figure out what exactly made Carragan come to his realization.”

“He did find a killer among us?” Jackie says, horrified.

“He said he thought he had,” I say.

Nash’s brow furrows. “Or we should all”—his glance to me is subtle but telepathically communicates except us—“separate. Get as far from each other as we can on this ship and stay that way.”

“And remove ourselves by what? Three hundred feet?” I say. “We’re on a small ship in the middle of a big ocean. And yet, someone has still broken in a locked door once and left dead bodies underfoot twice. The unfortunate fact of the matter is, if someone really wanted to find us, they would. So go about your business. Stay in pairs or groups of three at the very least.” I cast a tiny glance at Nash to message telepathically except us, naturally. “Let’s keep a running text of where we are and who we’re with so . . .” I hesitate. “If by unfortunate circumstance, someone we’re paired with did want to do something . . . nefarious . . . there would be a running log on our side of who we’re with that would keep unfortunate actions at bay.”

The group doesn’t look too happy with that, so I continue.

“Look, the reality is, we’re a smart bunch. Every single one of us may be many things, but the one thing we all have in common is intelligence. And if there’s one thing I’ve learned in my years under Hugh, it’s that people kill for four reasons: love, hate, greed, or just plain craziness. But there’s a vast difference between how you do it. Stupid or smart. And yes, there may be one among us who has a secret motivation that is shocking and something we’d never suspect in a million years. Fine. But there’s one thing I do know that gives me confidence: One of you may be evil and willing to commit unearthly crimes, but no matter what, you are also intelligent. And intelligent people don’t kill other people without an alibi. Carragan was alone and was murdered for knowing something we don’t. Hugh was alone and murdered for something I have yet to discover. So the way I see it, none of you are at risk if you keep to yourselves, communicate where you are and with whom at all times, and go about your business. The only person who has anything to worry about”—I look around the room—“is me, I guess. And that’s a risk I’m willing to take.”

Silence follows.

“Well, Pip’s got a plan, as always!” Neena cries out cheerily. “Now, what do we say? Waffles!”

Chapter 12

It’s up to me now, I guess.

The assistant who doesn’t have a clue.

There’s a certain level of motivation that comes from having a purpose like this, at least, something that feels right if compared to just filling out workshops and scheduling social media posts. I mean, Neena’s clearly not in her right mind, and what could Crystal do? Waterslide an answer to this?