Page 71 of Without a Clue

“What about when Joetta meets Emsley’s grandmother?” I say. I hardly remember this scene myself, but it’s at the tip of my memory. “What happened just before that again?”

Her blue eyes are ice as she furiously sets her glass down.

Skirts her eyes around her surroundings, cautious that no one is close enough to hear.

Through her clenched teeth she elucidates slowly, “I. Don’t. Remember.”

Incredible.

This really can’t be possible.

“Jackie? Did you . . . write these books?” I say.

And as if this is the last straw, she stands. “I am frankly appalled you would ask. I have done nothing illegal and built my career on my own. To insinuate something so . . . well, I’m done. Play your little sleuthing game if you like. I have a session to attend to.”

But then, just before she begins to move, she leans down and says under her breath, “But. If I didn’t write them on my own, that is not affiliated with the murder and no concern of yours. And if you tell anyone, mark my words, I will sue you for defamation of character faster than you can type the words on your little phone.”

And as the band strikes the first note of their cheery song, she strides away.

Chapter 15

I can’t bring myself to call forward anyone else for the rest of the morning.

I’m so unsettled by the turn things took with Jackie that my guardian angel, the server in the peacock bow tie, brings over a silver platter laden with seasickness medication options arranged in a neat little circle.

I’m so startled by his sudden presence over my shoulder, however, that I scream and push the platter over, and all the bottles of pills scatter onto the floor (which turns into one long circuitous round of us both apologizing back and forth while gathering pills on our hands and knees).

Eventually Nash comes back and—seeing my white face—immediately vows to stick around from then on, peanut butter on jelly style, and I can’t say I complain. Enough independence from me.

The rest of the day is one big buzz of activities, filled mostly with me racing around the ship from one speaking space to another, solving problems.

Gordon getting lost on the ship and not being able to find his session meeting place. Gordon not knowing how to work the projector screen.

Crystal being MIA for her session.

Gordon finally getting the projector sorted out, only to realize when a giant heart pops on the wall that he somehow opened Neena’s presentation.

Mostly Gordon problems.

Nash tags along as I move from problem to problem, which I highly appreciate. His company is reassuring, and the comment about me being his lucky star rings in my ears whether I mean it to or not.

It feels . . . I don’t know . . . immature even to think about it at a time like this, but I can’t help it. And of course, there’s the whiplash of the interview thoughts.

Did he mean it?

Or did it mean something more?

And also . . . is Jackie a murderer?

Or was Nash just looking out for me? As a friend?

It’s a challenging thing to analyze, simply because he’s the best human being I know.

Other, lesser human beings would make it easier to tell if they liked you.

Am I just a small, frail friend he realizes he needs to look after in these dire circumstances?

The man missed his own award ceremony to head out to the Appalachian Mountains, riding his horses up and down the mountains providing hurricane relief after the Helene storm.