Carter
Gramps is having an espresso. His mom is wondering out loud whether Gramps will be able to sleep tonight if he has caffeine. Gramps claims he needs to stay sharp for his late-night talk tonight, which is called Sleeping with Devils: Women Who Run with Killers: Are They Villains or Victims?
“It’s too late,” says his mother.
“What time will it be?”
“Midnight,” Gramps says. “That’s why they’re calling it the Midnight Salon Series.”
“There’s nothing on this ship for kids,” Carter complains. “I’ve only seen one other kid on the boat so far. Everyone else is adults and old people.”
Mom gives Gramps one of those looks again.
She wanted them all to go on a Disney cruise, where there are slides and pirate stuff, but Gramps wanted Greece.
Carter is starting to think it’s definitely related to his crime board—there’s that photo of the Black Orchid pinned there.
If Mom finds out, she’ll hit the roof. Not only that, she’ll be sad.
When Carter asked his mom a while ago why she was always talking about “reconnecting” with her father, she explained that when she was little, he was so busy being Dr. Gideon Marsh and hunting infamous killers that he left no time for being a dad.
He abandoned his wife and daughter in the suburbs, she said.
And when he did come home, he was always in his study with his files, and up late into the night.
When Gran found horrible pictures of dead, mutilated women on his desk while she was cleaning—that was her line in the sand.
She packed herself off to San Francisco with Carter’s mom, and that’s where Mom grew up, with only occasional visits from Gramps.
She’s still deeply upset about this. It’s why she gets mad when Gramps tells Carter about killers.
“There’s plenty to do on the ship,” Gramps offers. “And you’ve got your Black Orchid Passport Challenge to keep you busy.”
“That’s homework.” Carter licks his fork. “It’s okay, though. I might be developing an investigation of my own.”
“Oh, really?” Gramps smiles. “On what?”
The Bikini Killer, Carter thinks, and Gramps’s hunt for a missing accomplice.
But he doesn’t say that. “There’s suspicious happenings occurring on the elite deck.
The concierge was acting strange outside the Calliope suite.
She’d been crying. When I asked what she’d been doing inside the suite, and if she was okay, she almost ran to the elevator—like she couldn’t get away fast enough.
And there’s an old lady with the eye patch, who’s probably an old spy.
She’s got a weird assistant with thick round glasses.
” Carter leans forward and drops his voice conspiratorially.
“They’re sitting over there, on the other side of the pool.” He tilts his chin in their direction. “With a very tall fair-haired man, and a woman with red hair who could be a model, or a movie star, or something.”
“And why do you think the assistant is weird?” Gramps has a faint smile on his lips.
Carter shrugs. “Gut feeling. She doesn’t fit with the others.”
“Probably because she’s just the hired travel companion,” his mother offers. “She’s probably really good at her job.”
Carter nods. “Possibly. Nevertheless, I shall keep them under surveillance,” he says in his best Sherlock accent.
“I’ve created a map of the suites on our deck.
There are two single men occupying two of the other rooms in our section.
One is friendly and has an accent, but he doesn’t seem like a regular tourist. Neither of the men do, actually.
I don’t know what the second man sounds like—he never even responded when I greeted him.
He’s at the bar right now, and he’s got an orchid in his jacket collar. ”
Both his mom and Gramps glance toward the bar.
“Sheesh,” Carter hisses. “Guys. You can’t look at people directly when you’re tailing them. That’s rule number one.”
Gramps laughs. It’s a big gruff infectious noise, and it fills Carter’s heart with pleasure.
“You gotta be aware of everything in your peripheral vision,” Carter explains. “Or you can study a suspect via reflections, like in a store window, or car mirror. But never stare directly. People can sense it, you know—they can feel eyes on them? It’s called combat intuition, or Spidey sense.”
“And where did you learn all this, Carter?” Gramps asks.
“Books. Especially the Harry the Spy series. Harry Buttons is eight, like me, and his dad, Maximillian Buttons, is the best spy in the world.”
Gramps looks straight at the bar again, despite Carter’s input, and brazenly studies the man at the bar for a moment. Gramps then finishes his espresso, dabs his mouth with a napkin, and says, “I think I’ll go back to the suite to refine my speech. Sarah?”
“Jacuzzi for me,” Mom says. “Carter, you done?”
“I don’t wanna go down to the suite yet.”
“It’s almost bedtime,” his mother says.
“Can I please stay up a bit longer. Pretty pleeeeeeease?”
His mom hesitates, and Carter knows he’s won.
“Fine,” she says. “Why don’t you go do your passport checkpoint for the Loom of Fate mural at the elevators. Answer the questions about destiny, karma, choices, study the painting, then come straight down. Don’t go anywhere else.”
Carter makes a face, but he figures it’s better than going back to the cabin, because he noticed a small alcove with a bench near the mural. He can study the painting from there, as well as observe the comings and goings in front of the elevators. He could spy quite a few interesting guests.
“Okay.”
“If you take too long, I’ll come find you,” Gramps says.
Carter grins. “Deal.”