Curse of the Arctic Star, Page 2

  “Welcome aboard, ladies,” he said with a toothy grin. “My name’s Scott, and I’m one of your shore excursion specialists. Our first stop the day after tomorrow will be Ketchikan, where you’ll have the chance to experience anything from a flight-seeing trip to the fjords to the Great Alaskan Lumberjack Show or . . .”

  There was more, but I didn’t hear it. I’d just spotted Becca halfway across the deck chatting with some passengers, looking trim and professional in her silver-piped navy jacket and skirt.

  “Sounds great,” I blurted out, interrupting Shore Excursion Scott’s description of kayaking in Tongass National Forest. “We’ll get back to you on that, okay?”

  “Save me a spot on those kayaks,” George called over her shoulder as I yanked her away.

  “Ladies!” someone called out cheerfully. Suddenly we found our path blocked by yet another uniformed employee. This one was a short, skinny guy with a wild tuft of blond hair and a slightly manic twinkle in his big blue eyes. “Hollywood Suite, right?” he asked.

  “Yeah.” George sounded surprised. “How’d you know that?”

  “Oh, they send us photos of our guests ahead of time. You’re Nancy and you’re Georgia, right?”

  “George,” George corrected with a grimace. She hates her real name. “Call me George.”

  “George it is!” The guy seemed as if he couldn’t stand still. He sort of bounded back and forth in front of us. It reminded me of my neighbor’s over-enthusiastic golden retriever. “My name’s Max. Oh, but you probably figured that out already, right?” He grinned and pointed to his name tag. “I’ll be your personal butler.”

  “Our what?” I said.

  “Whoa!” George exclaimed. “Seriously? We get a butler?”

  “Absolutely.” Max nodded vigorously. “Each of our luxury suites has its own dedicated staff, including a butler and two maids, to make sure your trip is as pleasant and comfortable as possible. You can call on me day or night for all your needs.”

  “Cool,” I said briskly. Max seemed like a really nice guy, but I was feeling impatient. Over his shoulder, I could see Becca moving on to another set of passengers. “We’ll get back to you, okay?”

  But Max had already whipped out a handful of pamphlets. “Here’s a partial list of our available services to get you started,” he said brightly. “Our room service menu, the shipboard activity schedule, spa services, our exclusive pillow menu . . .”

  George was already examining the pamphlets eagerly. I could see that it wasn’t going to be easy to shake Max.

  Then I had an idea. I grabbed one of the pamphlets. “Er, the pillow menu, huh?” I said. “Come to think of it, I can’t sleep well on anything but a . . . um . . .” I quickly scanned the list. “A buckwheat pillow. Do you think you could find me one right now? I might need to take a nap soon.”

  “Certainly, Ms. Drew!” Max beamed as if I’d just asked him to be my best friend. “I’ll take care of it right away. Just text me if you need anything else.” He handed us each a card with his name and number on it, then scurried away.

  “Wow,” George said. “A real butler! This is awesome. Maybe I should tell him to get me a special fancy pillow while he’s at it.”

  “Forget it,” I said, slapping her hand as she reached for her cell phone. “Becca. Now.”

  This time we actually made it over to her. I hadn’t seen her in a couple of years, but she looked pretty much the same—curly dark hair, sparkling brown eyes, a quick smile. She was chatting with a rather weary-looking couple in their thirties. The man wore a T-shirt with the Canadian flag on it, and the woman was keeping one eye on the eight-year-old boy dribbling a soccer ball nearby.

  “Careful, Tobias,” she called, interrupting something Becca was saying about the dinner schedule. “We don’t want to be a bother to the other passengers.”

  “Maybe you don’t,” the boy retorted, sticking out his tongue. “I told you I didn’t want to come on this stupid ship!” With that, he kicked the ball into a column. It bounced off and almost hit a passing woman.

  “Wow,” George murmured in my ear. “Brat much?”

  Becca’s smile never wavered. She glanced toward me and George briefly, then returned her focus to the parents. “We have lots of activities for our youngest guests,” she told them. “Perhaps your son would enjoy checking out the rock-climbing wall or the arcade. There’s also a kids’ tour of the ship scheduled for first thing tomorrow morning. One of our youth activities coordinators can give you all the details if you’re interested.”

  She gestured toward a good-looking young Asian guy standing nearby. Tobias’s parents thanked her, then grabbed their son’s hand and dragged him toward the youth coordinator.

  “Nancy!” Becca exclaimed as soon as they were out of earshot. “Thank goodness you made it. Hi, George.” She glanced around. “Where’s Bess?”

  “She’s, uh, busy right now.” I didn’t want to waste time explaining about Alan. I knew we probably only had a few seconds before Becca had to return to duty. “So when do you want to meet to talk?”

  “Soon.” Becca shot a cautious look around, her smile fading. Then she lowered her voice. “Something else has happened, but I don’t have time to fill you in now. Can you meet me at my office later?”

  “Sure. Where is it?”

  She was writing the deck and cabin numbers down on her card when a sudden, shrill scream rang out from somewhere farther along the huge deck area.

  “What was that?” George exclaimed.

  Becca instantly looked worried. “I don’t know, but I hope—”

  Before she could finish, someone let out a shout. “Help! There’s a bloody body in the pool!”

  CHAPTER TWO

  Body Double

  “WHAT?” BECCA BLURTED OUT, HER FACE going pale. Without another word, she rushed off in the direction of the commotion.

  I traded a worried glance with George. “Come on,” I said. “Let’s go see what’s happening.”

  We followed the crowd and soon emerged onto a sunny, open-air part of the deck dominated by a large free-form pool. It was a riot of fountains, slides, and potted palms.

  But nobody was looking at any of that. Everyone’s focus was on the blond woman’s pale, still form floating facedown in a widening reddish circle!

  My heart pounded, and for a second I felt dizzy. I’ve been involved in a lot of mysteries. But very few of them involved bloody bodies of any kind. Somehow I’d just about convinced myself that Becca was imagining trouble where it didn’t exist, that this was really just going to be a fun, free vacation with a little sleuthing on the side. But now? Maybe not so much.

  “Oh, gross,” George exclaimed, watching as a lifeguard-looking guy in silver-piped trunks dove into the pool and sliced through the pinkish-tinged water. “There’s a ton of blood!”

  Before I could answer, the lifeguard reached the body. He grabbed one arm, then jumped back. “Hey, it’s not a real person!” he called out, sounding confused. “It’s just a mannequin!”

  Realizing I’d been holding my breath, I blew it out in a big whoosh. “Thank goodness.” I glanced around for Becca and spotted her nearby. Hurrying over, I touched her on the arm. “Do you have any idea what this is all about?”

  She shook her head, looking grim. Meanwhile George was staring at a young couple nearby. A pretty, willowy blonde in her midtwenties was huddled in the arms of a tall, handsome, broad-shouldered man around the same age.

  “Whoa,” George commented. “Looks like that girl is pretty freaked out.”

  Most of the people near the pool looked more excited or curious than scared now as they chattered and laughed about what had happened. But the young woman was shaking and moaning, looking really upset.

  “I just met those two a few minutes ago,” Becca said. “They’re honeymooners. Vince and Lacey, from Iowa.”

  Pasting a smile on her face, she hurried over, George and me on her heels. The woman—Lacey—looked up as Becca approac
hed. Her big hazel eyes were brimming with tears.

  “Oh, this is terrible!” she moaned. “What kind of cruise is this?”

  “It’s okay, sweetheart,” her husband said, stroking her hair gently. “It’ll be okay.”

  “No!” Lacey cried, sounding borderline hysterical. “It’s a bad sign, I know it!” She glanced up at Vince. “I knew we should have gone with Jubilee Cruises after all!”

  Becca bit her lip. “Please don’t be upset,” she said. “This is just a, um, misunderstanding. Of some sort. I think.”

  I cringed. Becca was one of the most tactful and gracious people I’d ever met. But she had her work cut out for her. Sure, maybe Lacey was overreacting a little. But who expects to see a body—even a fake one—on their honeymoon cruise? Or any cruise, for that matter?

  Becca was still trying to soothe the hysterical honeymooner when a handsome man in his forties arrived. He was wearing a crisp navy-and-silver uniform and a name tag that read MARCELO: CRUISE DIRECTOR.

  “I guess that’s Becca’s boss,” I whispered to George.

  Within moments Marcelo had assessed the situation and hustled the couple off for a complimentary beverage. Becca and the other employees started shooing the rest of the hangers-on out of the pool area.

  “Should we take a look around while everyone’s distracted?” George whispered.

  “You read my mind.”

  We hurried closer to the pool. The lifeguard had just dragged the mannequin to the edge.

  “So where’d that thing come from?” I asked him, keeping my tone casual.

  He hoisted the mannequin out of the water by the straps of its floral bikini, brushing off his hands as it landed on the concrete edge with a clatter. Then he glanced up at me.

  “It’s nothing to worry about, miss,” he said politely. “Looks like it came from one of the onboard shops.”

  As he dove back in to retrieve the floating wig, I leaned closer to the mannequin. There didn’t seem to be anything unusual about it that I could see. It was just a plastic figure with a blank white face, like the ones occupying the picture windows of countless stores all over the world.

  George was staring out at the water. “So that’s obviously not real blood, either,” she said. “What do you think it is?”

  “It looks kind of pink, actually.” I stepped to the edge of the pool and leaned down for a closer look “Hmm. Smells like raspberry?”

  George stepped back and glanced around. Spotting a shiny silver trash receptacle nearby, she hurried over and peered inside.

  “Aha!” she said, reaching in and pulling something out. “You were close. It’s cherry, actually.”

  I looked at what she’d found. It was a large plastic tub of powdered drink mix. Cherry flavor. Empty.

  “Fake blood to go with a fake body,” I mused. “Why would someone do that? And then leave the evidence nearby?”

  “Who knows?” George said. “Maybe . . .”

  She let her voice trail off. Someone was hurrying toward us. It was a short, pointy-chinned woman in her twenties. She was wearing a man’s fedora and a thrift-store floral granny dress, along with bright purple plastic earrings and thick, square-framed black glasses. A snazzy-looking laptop was tucked under one thin, pasty-pale arm.

  “Isn’t this crazy?” she exclaimed, shoving her glasses up her nose and grinning at us as if we were her best friends. “It’s like one of those murder-mystery cruises or something, except nobody knew it was going to happen! Bonus, right?”

  “Um, yeah, okay,” George said.

  “By the way, I’m Wendy. Wendy Webster.” She stuck out her hand. “I’m a travel blogger. Wendy’s Wanderings—maybe you’ve heard of it? It’s like the coolest new travel blog, according to the coolest bloggers.”

  “I’m Nancy, and this is George.” I shook her hand. “Sorry, I don’t really follow blogs too much.”

  That seemed to take her by surprise. She stared at me over the tops of her glasses for a second, studying me as if I were an alien species.

  Finally she shrugged. “Oh. You’re retro, huh? That’s cool,” she said. “Anyway, I thought this was going to be just another boring cruise, you know? Did you guys, like, see what happened?”

  “Nope,” George said. “We’re clueless.”

  I shot her a look, and she smiled back innocently. I was already trying to come up with an excuse to get away from Blogger Wendy. We weren’t going to be able to do much investigating with her hanging around.

  Just then a pair of young men in Superstar uniforms hurried over. “Excuse us, ladies,” one of them said. “Could we ask you to please vacate the pool area? We just need time to clean up, and will reopen the pool as soon as we can.”

  The second young man nodded. “They’re serving complimentary smoothies in the atrium lounge,” he added, gesturing.

  Wendy’s eyes lit up. “Free smoothies?” she said. “I’m so there! Come on, girls!”

  I grabbed George’s arm to stop her from following. “Let her go,” I hissed. “You already had your free smoothie, remember?”

  We drifted toward the lounge slowly, staying behind the rest of the crowd so we could talk. “So that was weird,” George said.

  “What? Wendy?”

  She laughed. “Yeah, her too. But I meant the pool thing. Think they’ll call the cops?”

  “I don’t know.” I shrugged. “If they do, it could delay our departure. Based on what Becca told me, I don’t think the CEO would like that. Bad publicity, remember?”

  “Yeah. Plus, nobody actually got hurt or anything.” George grimaced. “Uh-oh—incoming.”

  Following her gaze, I saw Alan striding toward us, with Bess at his heels. “There you are!” Alan exclaimed. “Did you hear about the fake dead body in the pool?”

  “Yeah.” I traded a look with Bess, who raised one eyebrow curiously. “We heard.”

  Luckily, Alan didn’t seem interested in discussing it. “Anyway, we’ve been looking all over for you two,” he said. “Bess wants to check out our suite, but I thought we should wait until we’re all together. Should we go find it now?”

  “Sure, let’s go,” I replied. “Anyone know how to get there?”

  “I think it’s this way.” Alan hurried off toward the nearest set of elevators.

  As it turned out, he had no idea how to find our suite. We wandered around for a while, heading down a couple of levels via elevator and then following signs pointing us down one long, windowless hallway after another. There weren’t many people down there—I guessed most of the passengers were upstairs watching the ship prepare to pull out of Vancouver’s busy harbor.

  “Wow.” George was panting slightly as we jogged up a staircase. “This ship seems even bigger on the inside than it does on the outside.”

  “We could be lost for days before anyone could find us.” Alan wriggled his fingers in a spooky way.

  I paused at the intersection of two hallways. The one we’d been following was lined with numbered cabin doors. The other was narrower and shorter, with a sign on the wall reading GALLEY—EMPLOYEES ONLY.

  “Maybe we should go ask someone back there,” I said, gesturing toward the sign.

  “Aw, you’re giving up so soon?” Alan grinned. “Where’s your sense of adventure, Nancy?”

  “I’m not sure. I think I lost it a few levels back,” I joked weakly.

  We hurried down the hallway. As we neared the corner, I heard voices ahead.

  “Good, sounds like there’s someone back there,” Bess said.

  The voices stopped abruptly as we came into sight. Three men turned to stare at us in surprise. Two of them wore Superstar Cruises uniforms. One was holding a broom and dustpan, while the other had a white kitchen apron tied on over his navy shorts. The third man appeared to be a passenger. He was in his fifties and heavyset, with a droopy mustache and prominent jowls. He was dressed in Bermuda shorts and a Hawaiian shirt.

  “Excuse me,” I said. “We’re looking for our suit
e, and we’re kind of lost.”

  “Me too,” Mr. Hawaiian Shirt said, the corners of his mouth turning up beneath his mustache. “This ship is a giant maze, isn’t it? It’s like a floating fiefdom!” He chortled and slapped one of the employees on the back. “These fellows were just helping me find my way. Isn’t that right?”

  “Yes, sir,” the guy with the apron said. He looked at the other employee, who smiled uncertainly and scurried off in the opposite direction. “What’s your cabin number?”

  Was it my imagination, or did the kitchen worker look sort of anxious? It was hard to tell in the dimly lit hallway.

  “We’re in the Hollywood Suite,” George told him.

  “Ooh la la!” Mr. Hawaiian Shirt whistled. “Sounds fancy! See you youngsters around.” He nodded at us, then strolled off and disappeared around the corner.

  The remaining employee gave us directions. “Enjoy your time with Superstar Cruises,” he finished softly. Then he turned and hurried off.

  “That was a little strange, wasn’t it?” Bess said when he was gone.

  “Strange? How do you mean?” Alan put an arm around her.

  “Nothing,” George said quickly. “Um, I mean, I didn’t notice anything.”

  Alan shrugged. “Okay. Now come on, let’s see if we can find our rooms this time!”

  When we finally found it, the Hollywood Suite turned out to be pretty spectacular. We entered through a marble-floored foyer into a two-story living room with a grand piano, floor-to-ceiling windows, and a sliding door leading onto a roomy private balcony. George hurried toward the balcony, which offered a great view of Vancouver shrinking behind us as the ship chugged away. When she reached the glass doors leading out there, she gasped.

  “Whoa!” she exclaimed. “We have our own hot tub!”

  Just then one of the other doors opened, and Max the butler hurried out. “You found it!” he exclaimed with a bright smile. “I was just starting to worry. Nancy, your buckwheat pillow should be here any minute.”