Page 98 of Without a Clue

She looks absolutely irate for a hero.

“Where is she?” she growls at us, searching each of our eyes. “Where’s Crystal?”

Oooooh, she’s in trouble now, a childish singsong voice plays in my head.

“She was in her room, right?” I say. “Has anyone . . . else seen her? Who was her buddy?”

“What’s the problem here?” a staff member, the same kind-eyed, silver-haired man who helped me prop up my umbrella the other day, says, as two others in uniform rush to inspect the room.

“Nothing. Just our author-child trying to burn down our ship in the middle of the Atlantic,” Jackie snaps.

“Crystal, sweetheart?” Neena says, her hand curled around her phone.

All eyes shoot to her, and she spins around for privacy.

“You better get up here,” she says in a hushed voice. “Seems we’ve had a little fire in your room.”

“Where is she?” I say.

“Can you hurry, darling?” Neena says.

“Found the problem,” a woman says, emerging with the crisp black cover of a partially fire-eaten book in one gloved hand. “Curling iron left on. Seems it caught on some . . . belongings.”

“Is Pogache coming?” I say.

“I’ll call,” Neena says swiftly and begins dialing.

It takes a full fifteen minutes for Pogache to make his way to us, which is simply shocking given the circumstances.

Crystal has already come and apologized through every how-could-you-do-something-so-stupid? snap of Jackie’s. Even the staff members have finished cleaning up and moved on. Adrenaline is slowly giving way to exhaustion on everyone’s faces and the desire to return to our beds.

I never got a clear word on who Crystal’s latest partner was. At first it was Gordon, but then Neena, then Jackie, then at the very last both Gordon and Neena claimed her as their own. So clearly, no one.

Though, given Crystal is the killer, was it such a bad thing to have been absolutely terrible at being buddies with her?

At last, Pogache makes his way down the hall. Gone are his official blue jacket and name tag; on is a pair of basketball shorts I’m assuming he wears for pajama bottoms. He wears a plain gray sweatshirt. He looks exhausted.

“Where have you been?!” I say, throwing my hands out. I mean, honestly. “We’re in crisis here and it takes you half an hour to show up?”

I fling my hand toward the door.

Pogache peeks inside. Pointedly ignores me as he addresses the group. “I’ve been appraised on everything that happened tonight.”

“Apprised,” I say, frowning.

“You all can get back to bed.”

“Are you going to inspect it?!” I say, motioning to the room.

Easy now, Pip. Easy.

“It’s already been inspected,” Pogache says. “The source of the fire was found.”

“Yes, but was it by accident?” I press. My eyes dart around. “I mean, given the circumstances here, I think it’s pretty obvious that it would be unwise to assume anything about anyone.”

My eyes land on Neena, who jumps in. “I hate to say it, but she has a point.”

Gordon nods as well.