“Buckwheat pillow?” Bess echoed, shooting me a look.
I ignored her. “Thanks, Max,” I said. “I really appreciate it.”
“That’s what I’m here for!” He hurried over to the pile of luggage stacked near the piano. “Now if you tell me who’s going to be in which room, I can assist you with your unpacking if you like.”
“Thanks,” I said again. “But I’m sure we can . . .”
My voice trailed off. I’d just noticed something.
“Hey,” I said. “Where’s my suitcase?”
CHAPTER THREE
Rumors and Surprises
I SHOVED GEORGE’S DUFFEL ASIDE FOR A better look at the rest of the luggage. My friends’ stuff was all there, along with the big hobo bag I’d used as a carry-on for the plane. But there was no sign of my green suitcase.
“Oh, dear,” Max said. “Is something missing?”
“Only the bag with most of my stuff in it,” I exclaimed.
“Are you sure it’s not here somewhere?” Bess glanced around the main room. “We watched the porter label it ourselves, remember?”
“Of course I remember.” My words came out clipped and short, and I took a deep breath and tried to compose myself before continuing. “Who should I call about this?” I asked Max.
“Me,” he declared, patting me on the arm. “Don’t fret, Ms. Drew, I’ll take care of it right away. There must have been some kind of mix-up with the room tags.”
That didn’t seem possible, since Bess was right—I’d seen the porter label the bag myself. But I didn’t get a chance to say so, since Max was already rushing out of the suite with his cell phone pressed to his ear, leaving the door standing open behind him.
“It’s okay, Nancy,” Alan said. “I’m sure your bag’s around somewhere.”
“Yeah,” George said. “It’s not like we’re at the airport and it accidentally got on a plane headed to Timbuktu. The worst that could happen is they dropped it in the harbor.” She smirked.
“Very funny,” I growled.
George and Bess traded a surprised look. “Chill, Nance,” George said. “It’s not that big a deal. Max will track it down.”
I took another deep breath, realizing she was right. What was going on with me, anyway? I wasn’t normally the type to freak out over minor mishaps like this.
Maybe seeing that body shook me more than I realized, I thought. Even if it wasn’t real . . .
That made my mind jump from my suitcase to a different kind of case. I wished I could talk to my friends about what had happened by the pool. But we couldn’t talk freely with Alan around. He’d just sat down at the piano and was picking out “Jingle Bells” with one finger.
“What should we do now?” Bess asked. “Do you guys want to start unpacking, or—”
She was cut off by a sudden loud, terrified shriek from just outside the suite.
“Who was that?” Alan exclaimed.
I was already rushing toward the door. When I burst into the hallway, a young woman was standing in front of the next door down, looking horrified. She was wearing a Superstar uniform and clutching a stack of folded towels to her chest.
“Is everyone okay?” Bess yelped, running out of the suite behind me.
My gaze had already shot from the maid to the kid crouched on the floor just across the hall. He had his back to us at first, but when he glanced back over his shoulder, my eyes widened.
“You!” I blurted out.
It was the bratty eight-year-old I’d seen earlier. What was his name again?
“Hey, it’s Tobias!” George exclaimed as she skidded out into the hallway and stopped short.
“That’s my name, don’t wear it out,” the kid snapped.
By now the maid had lowered the towels, revealing a name tag that identified her as Iris. “Oh!” she gasped. “I’m so sorry. He—he just startled me.”
Tobias glared at her. “You practically broke my eardrum, screaming like that,” he said. “I should sue you. Then I could use the money to hire a helicopter to fly me out of here.”
Just then a nearby door swung open. Tobias’s father emerged. “What’s going on out here?” he asked.
“Nothing.” Tobias stood up, quickly shoving one hand deep into the pocket of his baggy cargo shorts.
“Hmm.” His father leaned forward to peer at the maid’s name tag. “Iris, is it? Is Tobias causing trouble?”
“No, no, no, not at all, sir.” Iris took a quick step backward, clutching the towels to her again. “It’s completely my fault, really. I wasn’t paying enough attention to where I was going.”
Tobias’s father didn’t look convinced as he looked over at his son. “Well, I hope he’s behaving better than he was earlier today. It seems he’s feeling a little, uh, cranky right now because he didn’t want to come on this cruise.”
“Yeah.” Tobias scowled. “I wanted to go to Galaxy X. That’s what I call a cool vacation. Not some stupid boat.”
“That’s enough, son.” His father grabbed Tobias by the arm and pulled him into the room. “Sorry,” he added once more before shutting the door.
“Wow,” Bess said. “That kid’s pretty obnoxious.”
“Yeah, we sort of met him earlier.” I glanced at the maid. “Are you okay? What’d he do to scare you?”
“Nothing.” Iris shrugged. “Like I said, he just startled me. Excuse me, I’d better get back to work.”
She turned and hurried off down the hall. “Excitement’s over,” Alan announced. “Better get back to my music.” He headed back into the suite.
But I was still staring off after the maid. “She was acting kind of oddly, wasn’t she?”
Bess grinned. “First your misplaced bag, and now this?” she teased. “You don’t have to look for mysteries everywhere, Nancy.”
“Yeah.” George looked at the door to make sure Alan was out of earshot. “It’s not like some eight-year-old is sending threatening e-mails to Brock Walker and planting fake bodies in pools.”
I smiled. “I guess you’re right.”
We went back inside. Alan was at the piano again. Bess made a beeline for the luggage.
“I guess we might as well start unpacking,” she said, picking up her cosmetics case.
I glanced at my pathetic little carry-on. There didn’t seem to be much point in trying to settle in until Max found my suitcase. Besides, I had more important things to do.
“You guys go ahead,” I said. “I think I’ll go pick up a toothbrush in one of the onboard shops. Just in case.”
“But I’m sure Max will—” George began.
“I know,” I cut her off. “But I feel like taking a walk. I’ll be back soon.”
As soon as I was away from the suite, I pulled out my phone and texted Becca to see if she was free to talk. She texted back immediately, telling me she was in her office.
The office turned out to be a small, poorly lit, windowless cabin on one of the lower levels. It was crammed with two large desks and several filing cabinets. Becca was hunched over a laptop at one of the desks, typing frantically. When I knocked softly on the door frame, she glanced up and pushed her hair out of her eyes.
“Nancy!” she exclaimed. “Come on in. I’m just typing up the daily newsletter.” She hit a button on the keyboard and grimaced. “I’m a little behind, thanks to all the commotion earlier.”
“Yeah, about that.” I shut the door behind me and perched on the edge of the other desk. “Did you find out anything else about what happened?”
Becca sighed. “Marcelo and the captain contacted HQ to see what to do. Verity told them to treat it as a prank and just move on.”
“Verity?” I echoed.
“Verity Salinas,” Becca said. “She’s the CEO of Superstar Cruises.”
“Oh, right. I don’t think you mentioned her name before.” I nodded. “So she doesn’t want to involve the local police?”
Becca shook her head. “She said to let ship security handle it. They
already did a little investigating and figured out that the mannequin came from one of the clothing shops on the promenade level. And that pink stuff in the water was drink mix swiped from the snack bar in the kids’ playground area.”
“Did they figure out who did it?”
“Not yet.” Becca raked a hand through her hair, making her curls stand up wildly. “But I suppose there’s no real harm done. We offered the newlyweds a free shore excursion in Ketchikan, and I think that satisfied them.”
“Vince and Lacey,” I said, remembering the frightened young woman and her new husband.
“Right.” Becca smiled at me. “Good memory for names, Nancy. Maybe you should work in the cruise industry.”
“I don’t think so,” I joked in return. “Bess and George could tell you I only remember details when they have to do with a case. Otherwise, I can’t even find my keys most of the time!”
Becca chuckled, then glanced at her computer screen. “I don’t have much time,” she said. “But I guess I should fill you in on the latest trouble.” She picked at a chipped spot on the corner of the desk. “I just found out today about a rumor circulating among the housekeeping staff.”
“What kind of rumor?”
“That the company is already bankrupt, so nobody’s going to get paid.” Becca shook her head. “It’s not true, obviously. The housekeeping supervisors managed to calm everybody down for now, but nobody seems to know where the rumor started. It’s just one more thing going wrong . . . .”
“Yeah, that’s what I wanted to talk to you about,” I said. “You told me about the threat to Brock’s family that made him cancel, and that some other bad stuff had happened. What’s the other stuff?”
“Well, it started with an e-mail I got a couple of weeks ago.”
“What did it say?”
Becca shrugged. “Just something about how I should back out of this cruise if I knew what was good for me, or something like that. But that’s not all. There were a few incidents in the last couple of weeks. A shipment of supplies got lost in the mail and never turned up. Three of the ship’s cooks quit a week before departure. Stuff like that.”
“Okay, the e-mail sounds weird,” I said. “But the other problems could just be ordinary bad luck or whatever, couldn’t they?”
“Maybe. But what about the body in the pool? It takes more than bad luck to make something like that happen.”
“Good point.” I drummed my fingers on the desk, thinking over what she’d told me. “We should try to figure out possible motives. The e-mail makes it seem like someone’s trying to scare you—maybe someone who’s envious of your cool new job. Do you have any enemies onboard or any you can think of?”
“Not that I know of.” Becca looked alarmed. “Do you really think someone’s targeting me personally?”
“Not necessarily,” I assured her. “I mean, for all we know other people could’ve received threatening e-mails too. Maybe someone’s after your boss—Marcelo, is it?”
Becca looked dubious. “Everyone loves Marcelo. He’s been in the business for years and has never had an enemy that I’ve heard of.”
“Then maybe it’s the captain,” I said. “Or Verity, or the company as a whole. Or maybe someone we haven’t even thought of yet.”
Becca smiled wryly. “That really narrows it down.”
“Sorry.” I chuckled. “I’ve learned it’s better not to rule anything out without solid evidence. We need to keep thinking about motives and—”
I cut myself off as the door flew open. A woman stood in the doorway. She was in her early thirties, tall, blond, and attractive, dressed in a navy-blue evening gown with silver jewelry.
“There you are, Becca,” the woman said in a husky, rather brusque voice tinged with an Eastern European accent. “Marcelo’s wondering where you are—it’s nearly dinnertime, you know.”
“Oops!” Becca glanced at her watch and jumped to her feet. “Sorry, Tatjana. I lost track of time.” She shot me an apologetic look. “I need to change into my evening clothes so I can greet guests at dinner. We’ll have to chat later.”
Tatjana glanced at me, her gray eyes curious. “Can I help with something?”
“No, I’m fine.” I smiled at her. She shrugged and turned to follow Becca out of the office.
When I got back to the Hollywood Suite, I was relieved to see my suitcase standing near the piano. “You found it!” I exclaimed.
Max hurried over from the kitchenette in the corner, dusting a drinking glass and grinning at me. “Of course I did! I’m here to take care of you.” He gestured to the yellow numbered tag hanging from the handle. “It got mislabeled somehow and ended up in an interior cabin at the opposite end of the ship. I’m so sorry for the inconvenience.”
“It’s okay,” I said automatically. But I was frowning at that tag, feeling puzzled and a little uneasy. I’d watched the porter clip on the proper purple tag myself. How had it ended up being switched with this yellow one?
But I shook off the thought as quickly as it came. These things happened. It would be easy enough for one of those plastic tags to pop off while the busy porters were moving bags around.
Just then Bess hurried into the main room. She looked lovely in a dove-gray dress and heels.
“You’re back!” she said. “Hurry up and get changed. And don’t forget to wear something nice—Max says people usually dress up for the first night’s dinner.”
“Okay. Did you break the news to George?”
Bess grimaced. “I’ve been working on her for the past half hour. I think I finally convinced her that shorts and flip-flops are not proper dinner attire. But I’d better go make sure she didn’t ‘accidentally’ spill something on the dress I loaned her.”
I laughed. “I’ll be ready in a few minutes,” I promised.
My bedroom was beautifully designed, with a built-in bed, a large dresser, and a chair. I tossed my suitcase on the bed and clicked the latches. As my fingers brushed that yellow tag I hesitated briefly, once again wondering how the mix-up had happened. Then I shook my head and opened the suitcase.
My neatly folded clothes were still inside, held in place by a couple of nylon straps. Tucked into one of the straps was a ragged scrap of paper folded in two.
What’s that? I thought. I hadn’t put anything like that in there. I was positive.
I picked it up and unfolded it. When I saw the message written in handwritten block letters, I gasped.
I HOPE U GET LOST JUST LIKE UR BAG—& THAT U STAY LOST!
CHAPTER FOUR
Dinner Is Served
“I FEEL LIKE A GIANT GRAPE,” GEORGE complained, tugging at the hem of her plum-colored wraparound dress. Well, technically speaking, it was Bess’s dress. But George was wearing it. And she wasn’t happy about it.
“I can’t believe you didn’t pack a single dressy outfit,” Bess retorted. “Didn’t you ever see a rerun of The Love Boat? Remember Titanic? People dress up on cruises. It’s, like, a thing.”
“Now, now, ladies,” Alan put in soothingly. “You look fabulous—all three of you.”
I forced a brief smile as Bess thanked him and George rolled her eyes. But I wasn’t paying much attention to the conversation as we walked through the narrow halls leading from our suite to the dining room. I was still focused on that threatening note. Who could have left it in my suitcase? And why?
“It doesn’t make sense,” I murmured.
“What was that, Nancy?” Alan asked.
“Um, nothing,” I said. “I mean, I said I hope the food’s good. I’m hungry.”
The others started chatting about the food, and my mind drifted again. Why would someone leave me a note like that? Before today, I’d never met a soul on board this cruise ship other than Bess, George, Alan, and Becca. Why would anyone have any reason to threaten me?
As careful as I’d been, I supposed it was possible that someone had found out why I was really there. Maybe that blogger Wendy overheard George and me tal
king about the case. Becca’s coworker, Tatjana, could have lurked outside Becca’s office long enough to eavesdrop. Someone could have hacked into Becca’s e-mail account and read her messages to me last week. Far-fetched, but you never knew . . .
I shivered. Had my cover been blown? Was I trapped on a ship with someone who was out to get me?
“Wow,” George said, stopping short so that I almost crashed into her. “This place is huge!”
I peered around her. We were in the entrance to the ship’s main dining room, a cavernous space on one of the upper decks. It was plush and opulent, with crystal chandeliers glittering overhead and red-and-gold upholstery everywhere else. The smells of various types of food drifted toward us, along with the buzz of many conversations, the tinkle of glassware, and an occasional burst of laughter.
When we stepped inside, Alan craned his neck upward. “Check it out,” he said with a grin. “Dinner beneath the stars—literally!”
Following his gaze, I saw that there were several skylights between the chandeliers. Through the closest one, we could see a large swath of the evening sky—twilight blue washed with pink. Countless stars were just twinkling into sight, looking much closer than they did back home in River Heights.
“Gorgeous,” I said, the view distracting me from my worries. At least for a moment.
A smiling hostess hurried toward us. “You’re at table seventeen,” she said after checking our ship IDs. “Follow me, please.”
Table seventeen turned out to be a large round table set for nine located near the center of the room. When we arrived, three women in their sixties or seventies were already seated there.
“Welcome!” one of them said when she saw us. She was petite and tan, with short-cropped salt-and-pepper hair and wide-spaced blue eyes. “You young people must be some of our new dinner companions.”
“Yes, we must,” Alan said with a smile as he pulled out a chair for Bess. “I’m Alan, and these are my friends Bess, George, and Nancy.” He pointed to each of us in turn.
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