“Sheila!”
Catherine came toward me along the exterior walkway beside the indoor pool. I waited for her to reach me.
I’d wrapped up with Imka after the receptionist knocked on the door and asked with unconvincing meekness when Imka might be available to take an appointment. The receptionist also stared suspiciously at the lack of equipment in sight.
“All set,” I said cheerily. I splayed my fingers and raised my hands. “Imka did a beautiful job, didn’t she? You can hardly tell where she made the fix.”
Under my breath, I murmured to Imka that I’d be in touch and told her to text me if something else came up, while I pressed a tip into her hand with my cell number on it. I held it so my thumb pointed to the numbers. She’d seen it.
Turning off the music, I nattered to the receptionist about how much I loved getting into the Christmas spirit early. The suspicious woman accompanied me out past the desk and beyond the confines of the spa.
I’d barely shaken her off when Catherine appeared.
“You are the talk of the ship,” she said.
“Great,” I grumbled.
“Only good is being said about you. How calm you were. How you kept your head.”
“I was screaming on the inside,” I admitted with a grim smile.
“I’m sure, dear. But what matters is what you did on the outside. Bob was impressed by you.”
“I’m grateful he answered my shout and got the officials.”
“They kept you such a long time. You and that woman’s husband. Who, apparently has been spinning a tale of marital sweetness and light, even though he also says she never returned to their cabin last night.”
“No.”
“Yes. He says he fell asleep and didn’t wake until they came to find him this morning. And only realized then that she had not slept there.”
“They suspect—?”
She shrugged in slow-mo. “Though, even if they don’t, I understand why they kept him. They needed time to search their cabin for any clues.”
“Is that where she was killed?”
As I asked, I recognized I had full confidence Catherine would know. She did not disappoint.
“No outward sign of it. No sign of a struggle or blood or such. They have now moved him to another cabin, allowing him only the fewest personal items from their luggage and checking it all quite thoroughly, whilst they have supplied him with toiletries and such from the shops. They even had the doctor inspect all their prescriptions — his and hers — before allowing him to take his regular medications.”
“How do you find out all this stuff?”
She waved that off as trivial. “What I don’t understand is why they kept you so long when they believe they know who did it.”
“The killer often is the one who finds the body. Not this time. I swear—”
“Ach, I never doubted it.” I’d never heard her sound more Scottish. I was touched that strong feelings about my innocence brought it out.
“What do you mean they believe they know who did it?”
“They have video from those closed-circuit cameras around the ship. But I understand the quality’s not what one would hope.”
“Then why do they think they know who killed Leah?”
“Because, they say, that grouchy young man giving out the towels is the only one with a motive. Because Wardham’s been telling them that not only he, but everyone loved Leah.”
“But I told—” I broke off, realizing announcing I’d pointed out a bunch of people with potential motive might not make me popular. Not that Catherine would blab, but things could slip out — I looked around — or be overheard.
She nodded agreement with my unspoken belief that there were lots of potential suspects. “But the officers investigating appear to be full speed ahead with one view. Nice and neat. All wrapped up. Turn it over to the authorities as done and dusted when we next dock.”
“But that’s… That’s the day after tomorrow.” We were scheduled to cruise tomorrow, then spend the next day on a Bahamas beach used exclusively by the cruise line. We’d leave there in time for dinner, sail one full day, then arrive in Tampa early the next. “Can’t they wait until we get to Tampa?”
“Can or can’t, they aren’t going to.”
“That’s not—” I hesitated over the final word to swallow down the what-am-I-getting-myself-into foreboding that rose in my throat. “—right.”
She took me by the arm and turned me toward the elevators. “It’s not. It’s not at all right. So, get about your work.”
“Me?”
“You help your great-aunt with solutions to her made-up murders. Apply that here.” It was like a Scottish echo of Aunt Kit.
“How do you—”
“Petronella told us of how your great-aunt has been a not very successful writer for so long and you’ve helped her.”
“That’s not—”
She pushed me on my way.