Page 100 of Without a Clue

Careless.

Unstable.

The kind of person you like enough at a distance but don’t invite over to dinner at your place because, well, you just never know what kind of chaos you might end up in.

But . . . this look.

This murderous look.

I mean, it’s shocking.

Just when you think you know someone . . .

I’m really going to have trouble trusting anyone. Ever. Again.

Suddenly, Crystal’s door swings open.

Pogache steps out, arms behind his back. “I’ve finished my search.”

“Yes?” Nash says, frowning.

“And I did find something . . . quite . . . concerning.”

I lean forward in anticipation.

“And . . . ?” I say, unable to help myself. “And? What is it?”

“And this,” he says, whipping it out, “is not allowed on board. I’m going to have to take it.”

Crystal flings out a hand. “No, dude. Not the board.”

He’s holding out a hoverboard with a long flame down the center. And he’s looking at it like he’s fully intending to use it the second he gets down the hall and out of sight.

“Code 7375. No hoverboards, Airwheels, or drones allowed on the craft. Do you”—he looks up curiously—“have a drone in there too?”

Crystal glares. “No.”

She grabs for the board.

Swiftly, he puts up a hand. “Code 6828. No physical contact with an officer. Get your hands off me before I cuff you for physical aggression with security.”

And while they continue to scuffle like schoolchildren at a playground, I loudly clap my hands. “Hey! Kids!” I call out. “Anything else in there worth noting?” I wave my hand around at the others. “Because if you haven’t noticed, we’re a little stressed.”

“Miss Dupont.” Pogache looks me straight in the eye. “You would do well not to stereotype people. Me included.”

It’s a little hard to take him seriously with a hoverboard tucked under his arm.

“Rest assured,” he continues, “I am taking this all very seriously. Very seriously indeed.”

“So you didn’t see any evidence inside?”

He moves to lift up the heinous hoverboard to show it to me, and I add, “Any real evidence that would help with this case?”

“The man says no,” Crystal puts in.

He looks to her. “Thank you.”

I squeeze the back of my neck. Working with this guy is a nightmare. This whole situation is a nightmare. I throw my hand out toward her hand, which is now reaching gently for the hoverboard, and he, idiot that he is, is unconsciously handing it over. “She just wants the hoverboard back. Please. For the love of all, focus.”