Page 127 of Without a Clue

“You won’t tell me what you think?”

He shakes his head, easing my mind no more or less.

I sigh.

Gordon always has played by his own rules.

“Mind if I keep playing with you for a while?”

And at last, Gordon smiles.

Truly smiles and digs a handful of quarters out of his pocket.

His eyes twinkle. “I thought you’d never ask.”

We spend the next couple of hours at that bizarre little dungeon of an arcade, watching each other play games and playing games ourselves. I’ll never be a “gamer,” but I will say, two hours and three fizzy Shirley Temples heavy on the cherries later, I’m feeling more refreshed than I have in a long time.

The world still doesn’t make sense; nothing makes sense, but standing beside Gordon quietly cheering each other on as our players grab gold coins and eat imaginary cherries, well, it brings just a little fairy dust to the day. A little hope that not everything is going to stay dark forever.

“Well, I guess I gotta go back to the real world.”

“It’s the gamer’s remorse. Probably wise to get out while you can.”

“See you at dinner?” I say.

“I will. And before you go, Pip?” I feel the gentle press of his hand on mine. I turn.

His eyes are soft.

“Keep your chin up. I think we’re nearer the end of this journey than we know.”

“Six interviews down and done. Did you break through any mental walls back there?”

We are walking down the hall toward the dining room, and quite frankly, I hate myself for keeping a solid distance between myself and Nash.

Nash walks with his eyes alert but his hands in his pockets.

Afraid of something around the corner?

Or is he at peace knowing he’s the only thing to fear on board?

“Not yet,” I say. I shake my head.

“Maybe it’s as simple as someone else getting on the ship. Some old criminal from Hugh’s past. Revenge. That’s the most logical idea.”

“They did know he’d be here,” I say. “I publicized it enough exactly where he’d be, sure. But”—I shake my head—“that’s not what Hugh alluded to.”

“What?” Nash halts. “When he spoke with you the night before he died?”

I flinch.

I’m guilty, aren’t I?

He came to me, sharing his fears with me, and yet what did I do?

Not take them seriously.

“He said he was afraid it was someone from the inside,” I say.