And mostly old.
There is someone on the stage announcing squares, but it’s not Noah, and after we’ve scanned the room for a minute, I ask Kip, “Do you see him?”
He shakes his head, and Marissa pipes up with, “Usually the cruise director opens and closes shows and activities. He doesn’t stick around for the whole thing.”
“Maybe he’s backstage?” I look at Marissa. “Do you know what’s back there?”
She shrugs. “Never been.”
Well, that was a first. And for once I was wishing she did know all about it already, but since she didn’t, I started thinking that there had to be a door off to the side of the stage, and that going through it would be like sneaking through an employees-only door at the Santa Martina Mall—you go in, look around, and either find what you’re looking for or get kicked out.
So I start cutting through an empty aisle of seats, heading over to where I figure the door must be.
Right away, Kip gets nervous. “Where are we going?”
I whisper, “Backstage, I hope,” and keep on moving.
“Why don’t we just wait for bingo to finish?”
Behind me, I can hear Marissa whisper, “Because that would be too easy.”
I glance at them over my shoulder. “Do you really want to watch old people play bingo for an hour?”
Well, the answer’s obviously no, because they follow me.
And I’m right about there being a door.
Actually, there are two.
Trouble is, both of them are latched and have key-code pads.
“Look at you,” Marissa whispers as I scout out the area. “Your eyes are all bright, your cheeks are all flushed, that crazy brain of yours is off to the races trying to figure out how to get back there.” She leans in toward me and says, “Of all the things you might get for your birthday, nothing’s going to compete with this, is it?”
“What are you talking about?”
She just snickers. “You know what I’m talking about.”
“So we wait?” Kip asks, not really tuning in to what Marissa’s teasing me about.
Marissa snickers again, but this time she doesn’t actually say anything.
And she’s right.
I’m terrible at waiting.
So I do the only thing I can think to do when I’m blocked by a locked door.
I knock.
“What? No!” Kip whispers.
“Why not?” I ask him, and knock again.
“Because it’s loud,” he hisses.
Which it is.
But I’ve already done it twice, so after a few quiet seconds, I figure what the heck and try again.
The door does not open, but a guy with a walkie-talkie comes running toward us from the back of the auditorium. His blue shirt has patches and lots of brass buttons, so I know he’s some cruise official, but it’s not like we’ve done anything wrong, so I’m not worried.
Kip, though, is sweating bullets. “Look what you’ve done!” he whispers.
Now, Marissa’s usually the one getting all nervous, but I guess Kip acting that way makes her switch to cool and collected, because when the Walkie-Talkie Official asks, “May I help you?” Marissa jumps right in with, “We need to find Noah. It’s sort of an emergency.”
The WTO asks, “Noah Marlowe?”
Kip nods and says, “That’s right,” and then Marissa pipes up with, “He’s his uncle. Family emergency.”
Walkie-Talkie studies Kip, and I’m thinking he’s thinking that Kip and Noah sure don’t look related and that we’re probably just a bunch of annoying kids causing trouble, when out of his mouth comes, “Are you Kip?”
Kip nods.
Walkie-Talkie looks around. And I can tell he’s thinking rapid fire, but I can’t tell what about. I know what I’m thinking, though. And when I look at Marissa and Kip, I can tell that they’re thinking the same thing I am.
How did he know Kip’s name?
Then all of a sudden the rapid-fire thinking seems to have hit its mark. “Come with me,” the WTO says, and in a flash, he’s keyed in the access code and is leading us backstage.
THIRTEEN
Walkie-Talkie takes us down a corridor that starts out narrow and dim but then turns and opens up to a bright hallway with racks of clothes and wigs and props along one wall, and open doorways to dressing rooms along the other.
“Where are we going?” Marissa asks.
“Right back here,” Walkie-Talkie tells her. And he keeps hurrying along until a voice behind us calls, “Kip?”
We come skidding to a halt, and when we whip around, there’s Noah, leaning out of one of the dressing rooms.
Walkie-Talkie hurries back. “I was told you were in the entertainment office, sir.”
“Thank you, Jacques,” Noah tells him as he wraps Kip in a bear hug. Then over his shoulder, he calls, “Mom! He’s safe. He’s right here.”
“Shall I call off the alert?” Jacques asks.
Noah nods. “Right away. I’ll let my family know.”
“Is there anything else, sir?” Jacques asks him, and when Noah tells him no, he leaves, going back the way we’d come.
So Noah says, “I’ll be right back,” and suddenly Ginger’s there, gasping, “Oh, Kip! We’ve been so worried!”
Kip blinks hard and fast. Like he’s having trouble making sense of any of this. “About me?”
“Of course about you! Where have you been all morning?” Then she looks at Marissa and me and says, “But I see the answer’s right here in front of us. Tell me your names again?”
“I’m Sammy,” I tell her, “and this is Marissa.”
“Have you found your sister?” Marissa asks. “Kip’s really upset.”
“We have not,” Ginger says, and she’s doing one of those brave-face adult things. “But we really don’t want you to worry! Leave that to us, okay?”
Just then Noah returns, and Kip asks him, “Does the captain know Grandmother’s missing? Is the Coast Guard looking for her? Why didn’t we turn around? What’s being done?”
Noah and Ginger exchange concerned looks, and then Noah takes a deep breath and says, “You know I love your grandmother, right? So please believe that I’m doing everything I can.”
“But if she was shoved overboard—”
“Shoved?” Ginger gasps. “Sweetheart, who would have shoved her?”
“Any of them!” Kip cries.
“Any of … who?”
“Any of the Kensingtons!”
Ginger blinks at him. “Why on earth would you think that?”
Kip backs down. And I’m thinking, Tell her, only he doesn’t. Which seems insane. I mean, how will they ever get to the bottom of things if they won’t talk to each other? So I decide to say it for him. “Because of that big fight last night.”
Kip shoots me a look, but he seems more nervous than mad. So I’m thinking, Okay. Sticking my nose in was a good thing for once.
Until Ginger zeroes in on me.
“A big fight?” she asks.
She made it a question but I can tell that a) she definitely knows about a big fight, and b) I’m definitely not supposed to know about a big fight.
Now, the way she’s looking at me is pretty unnerving. But Kip is either feeling braver because of what I said or he doesn’t know where else to turn, because instead of backing down again, he pulls his computer printout out of his back pocket and hands it over. “I came up last night to slip this under the door. I thought Grandmother should know.”
Ginger takes the paper, and an eyebrow goes creeping up as she figures out what it’s about. Noah studies it over her shoulder and frowns as he says, “Well. This shouldn’t be a big surprise. Bradley’s always been a master at pulling the wool over her eyes.”
“Exactly!” Kip cries. “But Grandmother never believes it, and this time I finally had proof. But when I heard the fighting …” He gives a little shrug.
“You didn’t want to get caught?” Ginger
asks.
Kip looks down, and I can tell he’s feeling really uncomfortable, so I pop in with, “So it was Bradley and Lucas and Teresa fighting? Anyone else?”
She studies me a minute, and I can tell she’s dying to say, “What business is it of yours?” but instead she gives a little nod and says, “The three of them. And when they left, Kate was extremely upset.”
“Did you talk about the fight after you were alone?”
She raises an eyebrow at me, then turns to Noah, who cuts in with, “Let’s leave the questioning to the authorities, shall we?” Then he looks at Kip and says, “You trust me, don’t you, Kip? That’s why you came looking for me … that’s why you let me see that paper … that’s why you’re asking me for help … right?”
Kip nods.
“Then please know that I’m doing everything I can. I’m hoping that she’s just somewhere cooling off. It’s a big ship. Almost four thousand passengers, over a thousand crew members … lots of places she could be.” He forces a smile. “I’m so relieved we don’t have to worry about you, too.”
“But I don’t understand why you were worried about me.”
“Your mother told us that you’d disappeared, too.”
Kip blinks at him. “I’ve been in the wide open all day!”
“Where?” Ginger asks.
“At the Schooner Buffet!” He looks at Marissa and me. “We were all just sitting there in plain sight!”
“Well,” Ginger says. “Your mother was very agitated.”
“But why? She kicked me out of the suite this morning, remember? She couldn’t care less!”
Ginger and Noah look at each other again, but before they can say anything to try to smooth that over, Kip blurts out, “I know Grandfather was paying her. I overheard them talking about it.”
Ginger studies him a minute, then says, “I think you should come stay in the Royal Suite with me. There’s plenty of room.”
“But …” Kip stares at her. “Why do you want me to stay with you? And what would I tell my mother?”
Ginger frowns. “Tell her what you overheard. That’s all the explanation she deserves.”
“I think staying in the Royal Suite is a very good idea,” Noah says. “At least until things settle down.”
Something about that didn’t make sense to me. And I couldn’t help thinking that I sure wouldn’t want to be staying in the alien hive—the place where fights happen and people disappear. So why were they trying to talk him into it? If Teresa was really worried about Kip like they said, then … it just didn’t fit together. And all of a sudden, I start to picture Noah as the big snake from The Jungle Book, hypnotizing Kip as he hisses, “Trust in me.…”
It’s feeling very creepy.
I guess Kip thinks so, too—well, at least that it’s strange—because he shakes his head and says, “I … I can’t.”
Ginger nods, and she keeps on nodding. Like she’s rappelling down to some deep, dark cranny in her mind. Then all at once she pulls herself back out, cups Kip’s cheeks in her hands, and says, “If you change your mind, you know where I am. Day or night. Just come over.”
Noah checks his watch and gasps. “Come on, kids. I’ve got to wrap up bingo and get poolside for limbo!” He starts down the hallway, calling, “Meet you later, Mom. Shut down the lights, won’t you?” over his shoulder as Kip, Marissa, and I hurry along behind him. And when we’re almost to the security door, Noah tosses a grin at Kip and says, “What happens when you breathe out two heliums?”
“You laugh,” Kip says without even a hint of a smile. “He He.”
“Aw, Kip—you’ve heard them all, haven’t you?” Then he opens the door and tells him, “I’m not making light of the situation. Really. I’m just trying to make you smile and think optimistically. Worrying won’t help, so go try to enjoy yourself!”
He bounds up to the stage, and while the three of us file out of the Poseidon Theater, I try to tell myself that none of this is my problem, but I can’t help feeling sorry for Kip. No wonder he sneaks notes under doors. No wonder he eavesdrops on relatives. No wonder he acts suspicious and frustrated and upset. All his relatives seem to be hiding something. All of them seem to be cloak-and-daggering around.
In a very sophisticated, oh-we’re-Kensingtons way, of course, but still.
Now, I don’t want to say any of this, so as we’re leaving the theater I ask, “So, uh … did you get anything out of that?”
“Yeah,” he says with a scowl. “They think I can’t handle the truth.”
But before I can ask him what truth he’s talking about, we run smack-dab into JT.
Which is weird.
I mean, out of four thousand passengers and another thousand crew members, we bump into a Kensington?
Plus, he’s out of breath.
“Hi, guys! What’s up?” he says, acting way too friendly.
I just glare at him, and so does Marissa.
“What’s up,” Kip says as he pushes past him, “is that Grandmother is missing.” He stops and turns to square off with him. “Unless you’ve tracked us down to report some good news?”
“Tracked you down?” JT says with a fake little laugh. “You make it sound so … sinister!”
Kip crosses his arms. “Is there news on Grandmother or not?”
“News?” His face goes sour. “Like that she drinks too much? Like that someone saw her flirting with the bartender at the Sky-High Bar last night? Like that she’s probably sleeping off a hangover on some lounge chair?” He gives Kip a little squint and adds, “What’s your deal? Why do you care so much anyway? It’s not like she’s your real grandmother.”
And just like that, JT’s on the floor, screaming in pain, with blood streaming out of his nose.
FOURTEEN
Kip didn’t hang around after he punched JT in the nose. And I think he expected us to follow him, but Marissa and I were in such shock that we just stood there with our jaws dangling.
What finally made me snap to was the blood. A little of that stuff goes a long way, and there was more than just a little coming out of JT’s nose. So I tracked down a bathroom, and snagged some toilet paper and a bunch of paper towels. I made some of the paper towels wet, then hurried back to the big open area outside the Poseidon Theater where it had all gone down, but bingo people were filing out of the theater right across the spot where I’d left JT.
“Over here!” Marissa calls, and now I see that she’s got JT sitting on a bench by a wall. So I jet over and hand JT my selection of blood blotters.
He’s got his nose pinched to stop the blood, so he sounds all stuffy when he says, “Thanks.” He jams some of the toilet paper up his nose, then wipes around with the wet paper towels to clean up.
Marissa and I just stand there watching, and after a minute I’m itching to leave. I don’t like what JT said to Kip, and I don’t like him. But what’s keeping me there is that I also don’t like that Kip punched him in the nose, which is actually kinda confusing to me.
See, I’ve punched someone in the nose before.
Someone who turned out to be my future boyfriend’s sister.
Blood went spurting then, too, but the difference was, she’d jabbed me with a pin. She’d been physical, so me being physical back seemed justified. Not that the school agreed—they’d suspended me for “brawling.”
But here, JT hadn’t touched Kip. Still … something about what he’d said had obviously really hurt Kip, so what was the difference?
Anyway, I’m trying to sort through all this when a voice behind me goes, “What happened here?”
I whip around and there’s Noah, looking really concerned.
“Kip happened here,” JT grumbles.
“He hit you?”
“A total ninja attack.”
“Wait a minute,” I say, and then tell Noah the whole story.
“You actually said that?” Noah asks him.
“Oh, come on!” JT cries. “It’s stupid that everyone pretends th
at he’s really one of us!”
“JT …,” Noah warns.
“I’m serious! He doesn’t look like us, he doesn’t act like us, he doesn’t sound like us … the whole thing’s a joke! And you know what? The next time you or my parents tell me to chum around with him or keep an eye on him, I’m going to say forget it!”
Noah’s face flushes a little, but he manages to keep his cool. “Legally, he’s part of the family, so if I were you, I’d find a way to accept him.”
JT stands up and snaps, “Who are you to tell me what to do?” And he may not say it, but we all hear what he’s thinking loud and clear: You’re not a Kensington, either! You’re just a dorky cruise director! And by the way, your jokes are totally lame!
Then he storms off, leaving all his bloody blotters behind.
Noah mutters, “Arrogant little …,” as he picks up JT’s garbage. Then he looks at us and says, “Sammy and Marissa,” like he’s double-checking that he’s got our names right. When we nod, he says, “I’m worried about Kip. It’s not like him to hit someone. He must be very upset, and I’m just wondering if you could try to get his mind off of all the family drama. There’s rock climbing, golf, swimming, Ping-Pong, ice-skating, basketball, board games … or the Serpent’s Lair is a cool hangout just for teens. And the Arena Arcade is always popular with kids your age.…” His voice trails off, and he shakes his head. “I can’t manage all this while doing my job.”
Marissa gives him a kind of pinched look. “Uh … we just met him yesterday? And this is Sammy’s first cruise? And it’s her birthday today? So …”
He gives a little wave. “I get it, I get it. And I’m sorry for asking.” He turns a half-watt smile on me and says, “Obviously, enjoy your birthday.”
And I guess I’m feeling bad about not jumping at the chance to babysit Kip, because I have this urge to explain, and out of my mouth comes, “I was thirteen twice, so today’s actually kind of a big deal for me.”
Sammy Keyes and the Killer Cruise Page 10