Page 102 of Without a Clue

“She wouldn’t.”

“And how do you know that? You have an inside track into the minds of murderers?”

“She likes to hoverboard. She wants to keep the hoverboard. And nobody who has a death wish of being tossed overboard in your wrath, Nash, has an active hobby of hoverboarding. The girl wants to live. She wants to get away with it.”

“I don’t like it. I saw the way she looked at you. She suspects you now—”

“I couldn’t help it. I had to try to get Pogache to use his brain. He’s the one with the handcuffs after all.”

“Let’s hope that’s all he has on him. I’d hate to think he’s walking around with a gun.”

“Hovering around, you mean. The point is, I have to interview her. Because the problem is, everybody is starting to look like a killer on this ship. Every interview has been weird. I think it’s Crystal now with a knife in her bedroom, but then, who knows? Tomorrow a waiter could be poisoning Neena’s water for all I know, and I’ll be thrown again. Frankly, I wish it was someone else entirely on this boat. Someone we don’t know to make this all easier. Speaking of—”

I pull out my phone, dial Pogache’s number. He doesn’t answer.

I tap to call him again.

Pogache picks up on the third ring.

“What now?” he says.

“I’m calling about the checks. Did you have that information?”

“Checks?” Pogache says.

“Background checks,” I say. I hear a familiar song on the other end and frown. “Are you seriously leaving a crime scene and moving on to a restaurant right now?”

The music immediately stops.

He’s muted me.

Muffled me.

“If you must know, I’m in bed. With the television on. Like you should be.”

He’s trying to sound authoritative. It falls flat.

“Did you do the background checks?” I repeat.

There’s a massive sigh. It goes on . . . and on . . . and on.

“It’s none of your business,” he says at last. “But they’re all clear.”

I feel a drop in my stomach. I didn’t even realize how much hope I had in this theory, treacherous as it was, and now it’s slipping away. “Everyone on board?” I say. “There are, what, three hundred people—”

“Two hundred ninety-seven,” he corrects, and I’ll give him that. For the first time he sounds a little like he knows what he’s doing. “And they were all checked before we even boarded.”

I nod sullenly.

I had background checked many of the people myself before they came on this cruise. Not a legitimate background check, of course, but I looked up their social media handles before adding them to the list of people coming on this trip.

Everybody looked about the same. Pictures of their Christmas trees in their living rooms. Pictures of their new wainscoting in their hallways. Pictures of grandchildren dressed up in matching blue gingham for Easter.

Nobody looked like they were secretly hoarding hate and planning murder.

But of course, I guess, the good killers never do.

“And the staff?” I venture hopefully.