Jimmy closes the distance in two strides and grabs Roman by the scruff of the neck. He tosses him toward his partner. “Arnie, take the kid below deck till he cools down.”
Vassili grips the railing with one hand and straightens out his shirt with the other. “Thank you. I’m not sure what has so upset him.”
“Leticia Whitecloud does not care about your family squabbles. You promised us that the take from this pathetic memorial service would cover your debts. So far, the shortfall is enormous.”
“I— I have all the money now,” he stutters. “Just be patient until the accounts are transferred over. I can easily pay you in a couple of weeks.”
Jimmy’s thick hand grips Vassili around the throat.
Leticia steps forward.
“Time’s up.”
The bodyguard lifts Vassili off the ground and the poor man’s feet kick helplessly.
I can’t watch another minute of this. “Hey, Vassili, I’ve been looking for you.” I stride across the deck as though I haven’t seen or heard a thing. “I need someone to show me how to play craps.”
Jimmy lowers our host back to the deck, and as soon as his feet touch the wooden surface, Vassili hurries to me.
Stepping toward the criminal element, I adopt a light, airy tone. “Oh, hello again, Ms. Whitecloud. I hope you’re enjoying the beautiful evening on the water.”
The mobster queen makes no verbal reply, but I’m fortunate to have a vast array of other senses. And they are all screaming to get below deck.
I hook my arm through Vassili’s elbow and tug him toward the bow. “So you and Liliané met in Greece?”
As we reach the narrow stairway to the middle deck, the tear-stained face of Iris appears below us. “Is it true?”
There is a distinct “cheating cheater” vibe in the air, and it’s time for me to make myself scarce. “Thanks for showing me to the stairs. I have to be getting back to my father.” I unhook my arm from Vassili’s elbow and slip past Iris.
She doesn’t even wait until I’m out of sight. “Is it true, Vassili? I heard some waitress talking about hooking up with you? She was telling one of the other help that you promised to take her to Mykonos. Is it true?”
Time to find another route to the main deck and ask my father if he has any idea how to get us off this boat before the scheduled return to the docks.
Apparently, it’s way easier to follow someone blindly around the convoluted passageways on a vessel than it is to navigate one’s own path.
After three wrong turns and a random toss at the craps table, I give up and grab a coupe of champagne. It feels too Sedona woo-woo to say, but when you stop seeking and release the outcome—
I spy my father’s slicked-back swath of bone-white hair nodding politely as two dowagers entertain him with their tales.
Casually bobbing my head back and forth, in what I hope is a subtle attempt to get his attention, I wait to be noticed. But before I find success, a blood-curdling scream rips through the night.
All heads turn toward the disruption, and my father knifes through the crowd to scoop a protective arm around my shoulders.
The ring on my left hand turns to ice and I glance down in time to see a rope.
The stomach-churning chill twisting around my spine can’t possibly mean anything good.
Chapter 4
My fingers dial the number before my brain has time to realize what’s happening.
“Erick? You better get to the marina.”
His first question is to confirm that I’m all right, which is adorable and deserves acknowledgment, but my gratitude will have to wait. Instead, I quickly fill him in on the events aboard the Jewel of the Harbor. And, sorry to have to say this, but those events include a body dangling from a rope secured to the railing of the top deck.
My father, Jimmy, and Arnie have secured a perimeter on both the middle and top decks.
While the captain steers the boat back toward its mooring, the guests dash about, frantically gazing at everyone with heightened suspicion.
I kick my extrasensory perceptions into overdrive and hunt for clues.
Leticia Whitecloud is nowhere to be found. At this point, I’m not sure if that makes her guilty or innocent, but it’s worth noting.
Roman Barnes has bellied up to the bar and, in the short time since the scream alerted us all to the unfortunate incident, he’s thrown back at least two whiskeys and tossed a crumpled cigarette pack on the deck.
For some inexplicable reason the band is still playing a jazzy Charleston, and for a moment I feel as though I’m aboard the Titanic, and we’re all supposed to pretend that everything’s all right as we slowly drown.
Slipping down the ladder I discovered earlier, I’m surprised to find the private poker game still in session. However, this time when I pass through the room, one of the players looks up.
“What’s all the commotion up top?”
“I can’t say for certain it’s murder, but Vassili Barnes is dead.”
Murmurs circle around the poker table and a small, nervous man suggests they call it a night.
The dealer stops shuffling and waits for consensus.
The man who posed the original question about the commotion seems to hold sway over the rest of the players. “Not on your life, Dickens. It’s not our fault if you don’t know when to quit. We finish this hand, and then you pay up.”
My clairsentience picks up on a visceral wave of fear from the man called Dickens. I can safely assume he’s unable to cover his bet. Not my concern.
Sneaking down the back stairs, I check the suites below deck. All empty—this time.
As I pass through a stretch of the passageway with no hatches, I get a strange tingling on my ring finger. I look down and simply see polished wood paneling. But I have more than the average passenger’s experience with secret doorways, and something about the tingling and the image stirs my curiosity.
I run my hand over the paneling near the top of the wall and feel an indentation hidden in the shadow. Hesitantly slipping my finger in, I press. A section of the paneling pops open, and I’m not entirely surprised to be gazing into the somewhat shocked face of Leticia Whitecloud.
Pushing the door fully open, I smile. “Ms. Whitecloud, I’m sure you’ll want to come above deck to speak to the sheriff about the murder that so recently occurred on your gambling boat.” Without waiting for a reply, I turn and rush down the passageway before she can pull out the gun she most certainly has in her pearl evening bag.
Racing up the stairs near the bow, I come face-to-face with Iris and her husband. She’s shaking her head in violent disagreement, and he’s mumbling in a very menacing tone.
They both fall absolutely still and silent when they see me. Maybe she needs some kind of bailout from this threatening exchange. I’m nothing if not helpful—and curious—but mostly helpful.
“I’m sorry, aren’t you Iris? Roman was looking for you. He’s at the bar on the main deck. He seems very upset.”
After dispensing the lie, I sink into my psychic gifts. Iris seems to seal herself off in a prison of ice, while her husband’s anger instantly shifts to protectiveness.
He grips her firmly by the arm and tugs her back up the stairway. “Come along, Iris. Let’s go to deal with your insufferable baby brother.”