Page 10 of Below the Deck

As she pulled it out, something white in the main compartment of her bag caught her eye. A scrap of paper, folded up. She was sure she’d taken all the rubbish out when she’d unpacked earlier – she didn’t like any mess in her bag; it was always neat and tidy. Just a small pouch with her compact and a few pieces of make-up, her sunglasses and her phone. She must have missed a ticket or receipt or something.

She picked up the piece of paper, was about to throw it in the bin, when she noticed it wasn’t a receipt or a ticket. It wasn’t anything she had put in there herself. It was from theLusso di Marenotepad – she could see the gold emblem through the fold.

Did someone drop one of their answers to the quiz in my bag by mistake?

Curious now, Talia unfolded the note, took in the sentence scribbled on it, and watched it fall to the floor as both her hands moved instinctively to cover her mouth.

This was nothing to do with the quiz.

This was no accident – the paper hadn’t ended up in her bag by mistake.

This was a message addressed to her – it had the letterTat the top – and beneath it, in a hurried scrawl:

Get away from him before it’s too late.

GENDARMERIE MARITIME DE POLYNÉSIE FRANÇAISE

CASE NUMBER: 247849

DATE: 11/06/2026

INTERVIEW EXCERPT ONE

Interview subject: Brett Marchant – First Officer on boardLusso di Marecharter

Interview conducted by Chief of Police Henri Robert

M Robert: Monsieur Marchant, can you tell me what your first impression was of the guests when they arrived on theLusso di Mare?

M Marchant: Sure. I actually kinda liked them. It’s not that often we get guests who are sort of … normal, everyday people. You know, not, like, super-rich? Most of our charters are for insanely wealthy power couples and tech moguls bringing along supermodels and shit. I knew the primary had a bit of cash, but everyone else was just, like, regular people. There for a party and a great holiday – a once-in-a-lifetime experience type thing.

M Robert: The primary? You mean Mr Ashworth?

M Marchant: Yeah, sorry, superyacht vocab – that’s what we call the people who pay for the charter. He seemed okay too, at first. Friendly, didn’t speak to the crew like sh— sorry, like dirt. He made some corny jokes here and there, but I didn’t mind him.

M Robert: It’s okay; you can curse. And what was the crew’s general mental state that first day?

M Marchant:Our mental state? What, like, were we worried or something? I mean, no, that first day, everyone was fine – probably better than fine. We felt good – excited, well-rested. Everything was ready to go – the boat was clean and fully stocked, the skies were clear. Captain Taylor had all the anchoring spots booked and we’d had our briefings about the guests. All the guests seemed pretty happy and easy-going when they first arrived too.

M Robert: So you didn’t pick up on any tensions between the guests – or among the crew – on day one? Nothing to raise alarm bells?

M Marchant: Well, I wasn’t, like, hovering around the guests all day like the stews do. I’m on the bridge a lot of the time, with the captain. So maybe I missed something. But to me, they all seemed good. Sam had that cut to his foot, but it wasn’t serious – Michaela cleaned it up for him. Lucy was a little sick, and we offered her some meds. But everyone perked up anyway when they had a few drinks in them.

M Robert: So there was nothing to suggest that events would unfold as they did?

M Marchant: You’re asking me, did I have any idea that we’d end up with a dead body … with a murderer on board? That these … these nice people would end up killing each other on their luxury freakin’ holiday? No, man – fuck, no. No one, no one on this entire fucking planet, could have predicted that.

ELENI

8 JUNE

Eleni blinked and rubbed the sleep out of her eyes as the room came into focus. She was groggy, but something had stirred her from the depths of a heavy, still jet-lagged sleep.

She squinted and peered towards the window: soft pink and yellow tinges of daylight were creeping underneath the thick blackout curtains of their cabin and Nick was snoring softly next to her. She couldn’t work out what had dragged her out of her dreams, but a voice in her head was insistent:wake up.

Her mind wandered back to last night. She’d headed below deck to bed around midnight, waited for Nick to come down – she’d hoped he’d stay on the main deck and chat to Rory for a while, but he’d wanted to catch the end of a football match up in the sky lounge. When he hadn’t reappeared an hour later, she’d drifted off to sleep, tipsy, unsettled and frustrated that her attempts to get closer to both Rory and Talia had amounted to so little.Never mind. I’ve still got plenty of time.

Hushed voices reached her ears from the passageway outside the cabin. So that was what had woken her. She checked thetime on her phone –7.56 a.m.– and rolled over to face her husband sleeping flat on his stomach, face buried in his pillow. She touched his shoulder.