“That wasn’t part of the show?” the captain asks, and his cheeks are all flushed. “You roared through the crowd with a huldre on a Vespa right up to the stage! Everyone thought it was fantastic!”
“I wouldn’t call it roaring,” Marko tells him, and then Drew asks, “What’s a huldre?” and after that, stories start flying and Troublemakers are laughing and Marissa and I just enjoy soaking it all in.
The captain did try to include Marissa and me in the conversation. The first time was when our appetizers were served. They came in fancy chilled shrimp cocktail glasses, but instead of shrimp, there were chunks of raw fish buried under a red sauce.
Fancy dish or not, it looked pretty gross to me.
Marissa was sort of playing with hers, too, and the captain took a break from his conversation about music to tell us, “Oh, try it. It’s delicious!”
“What is it?” Marissa asks in a kind of squeaky voice.
“Herring!” he tells us. “A favorite in Norway!” Then he chuckles and says, “Go on. It won’t bite.”
And he’s, you know, watching us, so we’re pretty much forced to use our fancy little mini-forks and take bites of saucy red herring.
“See?” he says, like a happy little boy.
We smile and nod to be polite, but it’s tangy and salty and cold.
And also … interesting.
So even though Marissa’s had enough after one bite, I wind up trying another piece. And another. And pretty soon I have to admit I like it.
During the main course, he asks me, “So how do you like being the daughter of a rock star?”
I almost laugh and say, Well, it’s been a weird couple of months, that’s for sure! But when I glance over at Darren, I don’t know—it’s like he’s holding his breath. Like what I answer matters to him.
Or maybe he just doesn’t want to get into how it was he didn’t know he had a daughter until a couple of months ago.
Which I totally get.
So what winds up coming out of my mouth is, “You can have the rock star part, but the rest is good.”
The captain does a kind of nod. Like, Ah. Only I can tell he’s not really sure what I mean.
Darren, though, gives me a smile that’s either grateful or relieved, or maybe both. Then, probably trying to switch subjects, he makes the mistake of asking what it takes to become a cruise ship captain, and for the next half hour we hear all about Captain Harald’s childhood and his dream of becoming a mariner and his training in the fjords of Norway—including the names of all the fjords—and the extensive knowledge and skill required to become captain of a cruise ship.
I guess even he knew he’d been going on forever, because he finally looks around the table and says, “But enough about me. How do you like the cruise so far?”
Drew and Cardillo tell him that they basically just got there but that so far “everything looks rockin’,” which seems to make the captain happy. And Marko and Darren make nice comments about the ship and how we’d had a great time snorkeling in Puerto Vallarta, which gets steady nodding and smiles from the captain.
But then he turns to Marissa and me and says, “How about you? Are you having a good time?”
Now, I was about to say, Yeah, and let him get on with conducting the conversation, but Marissa, Marissa, says, “It’s been great except for the whole Kensington mess.” She rolls her eyes. “That’s taken up a lot of time.”
“The Kensington mess?” he asks.
And that’s when it finally hits me.
HOLY COW!
This is the CAPTAIN!
He knows EVERYTHING!
So I say, “You know—because Kate Kensington disappeared?”
“Who?” he asks.
One look at him and I can tell he really doesn’t know who I’m talking about. So as calmly as I can, I ask him, “Noah hasn’t talked to you about that?”
“About what?”
“His aunt’s disappearance?”
“From this vessel?”
I nod. “She hasn’t been seen since Sunday night.”
He looks horrified. “You’re referring to Noah Marlowe? Our cruise director?”
I nod again. “He said he was doing everything he could, but I didn’t understand why we just kept going if someone went overboard.”
“Overboard!”
“That’s what her grandson thinks.”
Marissa butts in with, “He’s the reason we know any of this.” And then Marissa, Marissa, says, “And he seems to be missing now, too.”
“The grandson is?” The captain looks back and forth at us and finally says, “You’re not just pulling my leg here?”
We shake our heads.
“Well, you did get that note,” Darren says to me.
“Which I think someone else wrote,” I tell him, then hand the note over for Captain Harald to see.
“What’s this 6-6-6?” he says, and he sounds worried.
So I have to explain that it has nothing to do with the devil and about the coded notes and all of that. And when I’m done, he hands the paper back and says, “People use reunions on our ships for all sorts of purposes. Maybe this is like a dinner theater?”
I fold the paper up and put it away, saying, “Or maybe someone shoved a billionaire grandma overboard because they wanted to inherit a bunch of money.”
He studies me. “I’ll ask Mr. Marlowe about it. But I’m sure if it were serious, he would have reported it to me.” And since our waiters have come to take away our dessert dishes and refill coffees, he uses that as an excuse to totally switch topics. “So,” he says, turning to look at Drew and Cardillo, “are you two on board for the duration, then?”
“No,” Drew tells him. “We’re being flown out Friday morning.”
“Apparently a ventriloquist is taking our place,” Cardillo says with a grin.
And that’s when something else hits me.
Hard.
I butt in with, “We’re at sea the whole way back, right? No more ports?”
“That’s right,” the captain says.
I look at Cardillo. “So you’re flying out on a helicopter?”
Cardillo nods. “That’s what we’ve been told.”
My heart starts beating faster and my head starts feeling like it’s going to float away, ’cause I’m sure I’ve just figured it out.
I mean, if you’ve got a billion bucks and you’ve had a major fight with your family and you’re stuck on a cruise ship with them and just want to get away, you don’t need to jump overboard!
You can hire a helicopter to come fetch you!
So I ask the captain, “Were there any helicopter transports on Sunday or Monday?” and let me tell you, I am totally perked up in my seat.
“On this cruise ship?”
“Yes!” I pant, all eager-eyed and waggy-tailed.
And you know what he says?
He says, “No.”
No!
Not “Not that I know of,” or “Not on my watch,” or “I’d have to check the heli-log.”
Just no!
The perky in me starts to sag, but I’m still holding out hope. “Are you sure?”
He chuckles. “If a helicopter landed, I would know about it.” He smiles at me. “It takes a coordination of efforts, you know.”
I think about that and go, “Oh, right. The ship is moving.”
He smiles at me. “Exactly.”
But I still can’t believe that I’m not onto something. I mean, it seems like the perfect explanation to everything!
Well … except for the coded notes.
And Kip disappearing.
Still. I can’t let it go. So I ask, “Well, what if there was a medical emergency? What if someone flew out in the middle of the night? What if—”
He puts a hand up. “I would know about it.”
“But … don’t you have a co-captain or something? I mean, who’s driving the boat right now? When do you sleep?”
His smile’s not
looking too smiley anymore. “It’s a ship, young lady, not a boat. And yes, the staff captain and I work together to navigate the vessel. If there was a medical evacuation or another unexpected need for the heliport, I would absolutely know about it!”
I sit back with a little frown. “So there’s no way Kate Kensington flew out of here without you knowing about it?”
“That is correct.”
I take a deep breath and finally let it out. “Thanks.”
He gives me a kind smile now and says, “Try to enjoy your family instead of worrying about theirs.”
“That is very good advice!” Marissa tells him.
And I guess he thinks that’s a good note to end things on, because he stands up and thanks us for joining him for dinner. “You’re welcome to stay and enjoy your coffee,” he says to the guys, “but I need to get back to the bridge.”
So everyone says thanks and nice to meet you and all that jazz, and then off he goes.
“Sorry,” I say, looking around the table, because it feels like I’ve messed up dinner with the captain.
“Are you kidding me?” Marko whispers. “If I hear the word fjord again, I think I’ll fjart!”
“You’ll fjart?” the other guys laugh.
“Yeah, and it won’t be fjun. Not fjor anyone.”
Darren tosses down his napkin. “So let’s fjind something else to do.”
“I’m hangin’ with the Samster,” Marko says as we all stand up.
My eyes pop. “The Samster? Sounds like hamster.”
“The Samminator, then,” Marko says.
“That’s way more like it,” Marissa tells him.
“So where’re we goin’?” Darren asks, putting his arm around my shoulders as we walk away from the table.
I grin up at him. “Haven’t got a clue.”
He grins back. “Perfect.”
TWENTY-FIVE
We wander out of the dining room and through the elevator area, and then Marissa starts making noise about going to the Poseidon Theater to see what show’s playing tonight. “If I remember from the Cruzer, it’s Music Across the Ages. That sounds like something we’d all like, right?”
Darren kids her with, “Our very own cruise director.”
“Better than our real one,” I grumble, because knowing that Noah never reported Kate’s disappearance to the captain didn’t just bother me, it kinda scared me. Especially after what had happened in the Royal Suite.
I’d been trying to come up with reasons why Noah hadn’t told the captain. The obvious one was that he had something to do with Kate’s disappearance. What better way to control the situation than convince everyone you had authority to get to the bottom of things and then do nothing?
But … he didn’t seem to have any motive for getting rid of her.
So maybe he hadn’t told the captain because the Kensingtons were his family and private people, and he thought he could handle everything himself.
Or maybe by the time they knew Kate was missing, it was too late to turn the ship around, so why tell the captain? And maybe other people in the family wanted to avoid a scandal. Or the press. Or whatever people with big bucks who don’t want their image tarnished worry about.
But if he never reported it to the captain, then there was probably no Coast Guard on the lookout for rich old ladies flailing in the water, and no alerts sent out to other boats, or anything!
So when Noah told us that he had a lot of authority on the ship and was doing everything he could, what did that mean? He must have done something, because Lucas and the others had made it sound like they weren’t allowed to leave the ship. But I hadn’t seen anyone going around questioning Kensingtons. Kate couldn’t be holed up in some bar drinking blue martinis for three days. Shouldn’t there be an official investigation going on?
Or … maybe there was, but they’d kept it quiet, like Bradley had said.
And maybe Kip had been right when he’d said he thought Noah was acting the way he was because he didn’t think Kip could handle the truth.
Or maybe Noah did have a motive and I just hadn’t figured it out yet.
Like … maybe Ginger was in the will.
Maybe she was fed up with being her rich sister’s sidekick and wanted to finally get her mitts on some money of her own!
And maybe Noah was helping cover things up! Maybe he was sick of the whole lot of Kensingtons—especially since it was obvious they thought he was a doofus.
So yeah, my brain was whisking around ideas and they were getting pretty frothy. And really, all it did was make me worry about Kip. Where was he? If he trusted Noah, and Noah turned out to be in the middle of a desperate murder cover-up, maybe Kip was in danger. Maybe he’d figured out the code and …
And what?
What were those stupid codes about?
Who had slipped them under the doors?
And why codes?
The whole thing was maddening and stupid and didn’t add up!
Then, somewhere in the froth in my mind, I hear Darren ask, “Thinking about Kensingtons?”
“Huh?” We’re walking through the casino now, but I sure don’t remember getting there. “Oh. Yeah.” I try to smile. “Guilty as charged.”
“Do me a favor,” he says, studying me. “Stay away from that Noah character, would you?”
I avoid looking at him, because the way he said it was real … intuitive. Like he can tell something’s up. I do nod—a serious I-get-you nod—but what I really want to do is blurt out what I’d done up in the Royal Suite. I don’t, though, because a) I don’t want him to worry, and b) I’m afraid he’ll think I’m stupid.
Not to mention reckless and psycho.
So I just keep walking.
And then he says, “And maybe take the captain’s advice?”
I nod again, and then a grin kinda steals my face and what comes out of my mouth is, “You mean, enjoy my fjamily?”
That makes him laugh really hard, which makes me laugh, too. And then, from behind us, Drew calls, “Hey, me and Cardillo are gonna hang in here for a while and play some slots.”
“Let’s have a band meeting over breakfast,” Darren says. “The buffet’s on Deck 11, way in the back.”
“Noon?”
“Sounds good!”
So the two of them veer off and the four of us keep going, until Marko spots the casino bathroom and says, “I’ll be quick!” and hurries through the door.
Five seconds later, he’s back. And I’m thinking, How is that even possible? when he tells Darren, “Boozer with a bruiser,” and now they both hurry inside the bathroom.
I look at Marissa and go, “Boozer with a bruiser?” and she shrugs and says, “Got me.”
A few seconds later Darren and Marko come out of the bathroom dragging a man along the floor by his armpits. Marissa and I move in closer while Marko lays the guy down and snatches up a ship phone, which is mounted on the wall between the women’s and men’s bathrooms. “Holy smokes!” I gasp. “That’s Bradley Kensington!”
“It is?” Darren asks, which is understandable, ’cause the body sprawled out on the floor is not looking too Kensington-esque, if you know what I mean.
I look closer and nod. “It sure is. What happened?”
“He looks passed-out drunk to me,” Darren says. “Smells it, too.”
“Is he breathing?”
“I wasn’t interested in getting that close.”
Bradley is looking really ripe, but still, I put my fingers up to his neck to check for a pulse, and when I feel it, I nod and go, “Tick tock.”
Marko joins us. “A guy named Dr. Wadham is on his way,” he says, then asks, “Did I hear you say that’s Bradley Kensington?” And when I nod, he says, “For such a hoity-toity guy, he sure is wasted.”
I’m about to stand up, but then I notice that there’s a corner of a piece of paper sticking out of the pocket of Bradley’s coat.
The paper’s white.
With no lines.
And I’m sorry, but I just can’t help it.
I pull it out.
It’s a sheet of notepaper folded over once, and when I open it, what I see is a handwritten message.
Darlings, I’m sorry. I miss your father so. Go on and live your best lives. No tears, Mother.
I gasp and show it to Marissa, who gasps and shows it to Marko, who says, “Dude!” and shows it to Darren.
Trouble is, now I see the corner of another piece of paper sticking out of Bradley’s pocket. And when I pull it out and unfold it, what I see is …
Darlings, I’m sorry. I miss your father so. Go on and live your best lives. No tears, Mother.
Only it’s written about six times in a row.
I gasp and show it to Marissa, who gasps and shows it to Marko, who says, “Dude!” and shows it to Darren.
So now I dig through his pocket and discover a handwritten letter signed by Kate Kensington, plus Bradley’s coded note, which is still clean—like he’d barely even looked at it, let alone tried to figure it out.
“Dude!” Marko says. “The worm was forging a suicide note from his own mother!”
I look over my shoulder and see a man carrying a Red Cross bag coming toward us. So real quick, I put the practice forgery note and Bradley’s coded paper inside my purse, then jam the other papers back in Bradley’s pocket.
Marko covers for me, intercepting the Red Cross–bag guy by sticking out his hand and going, “Dr. Wadham, I presume?”
I stand up in time to see the doctor give Marko a curious look before saying yes. Then he gets right to work, checking Bradley’s heart and breathing. “He’ll be fine,” he says after a minute. “You related?”
“No,” Marko tells him. “I’m just the lucky sucker who found him passed out in the bathroom.”
Bradley starts groaning, which is our clue to hightail it out of there. “Thanks, doc,” Marko tells him as we abandon ship, but the doctor doesn’t seem to mind. “No, thank you,” he says, then gets on his walkie-talkie.
“What are you going to do with those papers?” Marko whispers.
“I’m not sure,” I tell him. And I’m not. But I know that talking about seeing forged notes and actually having them are two completely different things.
Sammy Keyes and the Killer Cruise Page 19
