Chapter 8
Chapter Eight
Gilly and I left Pippa on the fourth floor and headed up to deck sixteen.
I wasn’t sure what I expected when we got to the gate.
Maybe police tape or some kind of barrier cordoning off the Resplendent Retreat, but no.
It looked like the death of a guest on their ship had been nothing more than a blip on the radar, and, today, it was business as usual.
We swiped our key cards and entered. Surprisingly, there were fewer than twenty people inside. Given that the area was reserved for concierge-level guests and those staying in the more extravagant suites, I understood why.
A sign in front of the hydrotherapy pool declared it Closed for Maintenance.
It was the only indication that something terrible had happened here.
If we hadn’t found Sebastian’s lifeless body floating in that very pool, we never would have known.
We hadn’t heard a whisper of rumors circulating the ship about a sudden death.
They had a tight-lipped crew. I wondered how many staff members had even been told about the incident.
“Well, at least they had the good sense to shut down the pool.” Gilly planted her hands on her hips. “I can’t tell you how angry I’d be if I found out I’d been swimming in the dead guy soup.”
“Okay… gross.” I grimaced. “I’m sure the filtration system handled… whatever bodily fluids or, uh, other things might have ended up in there.” Still, I agreed with her. The thought made my stomach turn.
The same scent from the night before lingered in the air.
Eucalyptus and lavender. It wasn’t as strong now, but I picked up warm undertones of sandalwood and something sweeter, maybe jasmine or hibiscus with softer notes of vanilla.
Or was that chocolate? I inhaled deeply, trying to discern the difference.
It was chocolate. Nice. The aromatic blend smelled incredible.
I made a mental note to experiment with the combination when I got home for a new soap and lotion line for the shop.
“Okay,” Gilly said, her voice light but her eyes serious. “Where do we start? You point us in the right direction.”
A young man in a crisp uniform walked by, balancing a tray of drinks. He delivered them to a couple lounging by the hot tubs. The badge on his shirt named him as Bruno.
“Excuse me?” I lifted my hand to get his attention when he was walking back to the bar with the empty tray.
He stopped, offering a polite, toothy smile. “Can I get you ladies something to drink?” His accent was thick, though I couldn’t quite place it, maybe Eastern European. Still, he spoke clearly enough for me to understand.
I gestured vaguely around us, circling my finger in the air. “Do you know what this scent is? It’s amazing.”
His grin widened. “That’s our signature fragrance,” he said proudly. “It’s called Resplendent Relaxation.”
“It’s lovely,” I told him sincerely.
He held up a hand in a gesture for us to wait. “One moment, ladies. I’ll be right back.”
He hurried over to the towel shack, stood on his toes to reach over the counter, and rummaged underneath. A moment later, he jogged back, holding out his hand.
“Here you go,” he said, handing me a small stack of sealed packets, each the size of an alcohol wipe. “We have samples for guests. You can use them in your cabin.”
I blinked in surprise, accepting the packets. “Thank you. That’s really… thoughtful of you.”
He gave a small nod. “The fragrance is sold in larger sizes at the Serenity Spa. You should get you a bottle so you can take the retreat anywhere you go.”
“Thanks for the tip.” I’d look into getting me a bottle when we went for our treatments on Tuesday.
His grin widened. “Now, can I get you ladies something to drink?”
“I’m good,” I told him.
“I’ll take a strawberry daiquiri,” Gilly piped up.
I gave her a look, and she shrugged. “What? I’m just here for moral support. I don’t have to be sober for that.”
I chuckled despite myself. “Nope, I guess you don’t.”
Trying to seem casual, I wandered toward the hydrotherapy pool, Gilly at my side.
I didn’t want to draw attention. The last thing I needed was a staff member asking questions or, worse, chasing us off before I could see if I could pick up any relevant memories with my psychic nose.
Or as Gilly liked to call it, my scratch-n-sniff visions.
So far, since we’d arrived on the cruise, my visions had been scarce.
Other than the one intense flash in the elevator, all I’d caught were faint glimpses — hazy, sentimental memories.
My guess? Most people on board were first-time cruisers, still too new to form deep emotional ties to the smells and spaces around them.
On the one hand, it was great news. I’d been working hard on blocking the more mundane emotional memories that gave me glimpses into people’s personal lives.
After the letter to the editor in the Garden Cove Gazette last year, calling me out as a psychic and accusing me of invading the privacy and personal thoughts of unsuspecting citizens, well, let’s just say I’d worked even harder to control what I saw and when I saw it.
I was going to have to let some of that tightly held control loose now, though, if I wanted any hint as to what went down with Sebastian, leading up to his death.
“Anything?” Gilly asked.
“I haven’t tried yet,” I told her.
“All right,” she said casually. “I’ll be over here distracting any lookie-loos who might be curious.”
“Much appreciated,” I told her.
I squatted near the pool, still amazed at how well my knees were holding up since I’d started platelet-rich plasma injections with an orthopedic doctor four years ago.
I’d been diagnosed with juvenile osteoarthritis in my teens, but I’d never let the pain in my joints hold me back.
But when my later forties rolled around, the pain gradually worsened until I was in my fifties and struggling to go up and down stairs.
When my doctor suggested the treatments, I was skeptical at first. Not anymore, though.
The injections gave me so much pain relief and made my active lifestyle a heck of a lot more fun.
The first two shots were six months apart, but since then, I’d only needed one shot a year.
“The hydrotherapy pool is closed,” a middle-aged woman with bright bleach-blonde hair said with a snide tone. “You can’t use it.”
“We know,” Gilly informed her in a “mind-yer-business” tone.
“Sorry,” she said huffily. “But it doesn’t seem like—”
“We can read a sign?” Gilly motioned with her hand dismissively. “No worries. We’ve made it through seventh grade.” Then a bit like caveman speak, she added, “We know words good.”
I coughed to cover the “hah!” that escaped my throat as the woman’s eyes widened and she scurried off to lick her wounds. “You’re on a roll, babe.”
“We’re on a mission to get this vacation back on track, and nobody better try to stop us.” She tapped her wrist. “Time’s a wasting. Get to doing your thing.”
“You’re getting so bossy in your old age.”
Gilly gasped. “Nora Black, you’re not too big for me to whoop.”
“That’s probably true.” I didn’t try to stop the laugh this time. “Quit distracting me or we’ll be here all day.”
“Your daiquiri,” I heard Bruno say.
“You’re a doll,” Gilly told him.
“What is your friend doing?” he asked.
“She’s just sniffing the water.”
I shook my head but tried to ignore her and concentrate on the scents of the hydrotherapy pool.
“Is that an American thing?” he asked.
“I don’t think so,” she said. “It’s mostly just a Nora thing.”
I turned my head over my shoulder to gawk at Gilly so fast I nearly gave myself whiplash. Bruno was standing next to her, and they were both watching me like I was a wild animal at the zoo.
Gilly took a long sip from a straw poking out of her bright red frozen drink. After she made a rolling gesture with her hand in my direction and told him, “It’s better to observe from a distance and avoid interference.” My bestie was in rare form.
“I see,” the young man said, playing along. “I shall be guided by your experience in this matter.”
I rolled my eyes before turning my attention back to the water. I noted a light, fresh odor coming from the pool, and only the barest hint of chlorine. Since Bruno looked like he was sticking around, I asked, “What do they use to treat the pool?”
“It has an ozone filtration system,” he answered. “Top of the line. First class, all the way.”
The clean scent was pleasant enough, but it wasn’t inducing any helpful visions.
What would the perpetrator have smelled?
I concentrated on taking in the retreat’s signature fragrance and the clean scent of ozone.
The air the night before had been particularly briny, like fresh oysters on a half-shell.
It wasn’t as pronounced this morning, but the heat of the sun probably played a part in that.
I reached down and dragged my fingers across the water, breaking the surface tension, and without warning, a strong, vivid memory took hold.
Inside an elevator, a figure is hunched and shadowed beneath an oversized hood of a large, shapeless rain jacket, dark orange like the ones they showed during the evacuation drill.
With gloved hands, they press the button for the sixteenth floor.
I can’t tell if it’s a man or a woman. The jacket’s size and shape masks any sign of the person beneath it.
Sebastian’s limp body is slumped on the floor against the back wall.
His face is blurred, but I recognize the wine stain on his white shirt.
The doors open, and the figure bends over, breath coming in harsh, uneven puffs. He or she grabs Sebastian’s feet and drags him from the elevator car. His body is dead weight, awkward and unwieldy.
The figure glances around, then spots a nearby lounge chair. With some effort, they heave Sebastian’s body onto it, his arms dangling limply off the sides.