Curse of the Arctic Star (3 page)

“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 approached. 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 suite, 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.”

“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?”

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.