Page 139 of Without a Clue

But then I laugh again. “Can you believe I thought they had killed him? Jackie? Ricky?”

“That one’s not so far-fetched.”

“Neena?” I shake my head, halfway disgusted with myself. “You?”

“How did you know about Neena? That was a lot of points to connect.”

“I just followed the trail of logic. If Neena is in love with Gordon, then she didn’t really have the motive to kill Hugh, did she? And if she didn’t, her influencing me to believe she could have been angry enough at Hugh for breaking her heart was a lie. And if she was lying about being in love with Hugh, what else was she lying about? And then if the so-called anxiety pills she was popping to make her calm and easygoing weren’t actually the reason she was so calm and easygoing, then what was?”

I shrug.

“The only possible thing I could think of that would allow her to be emotionally restored from the death of one of her oldest and dearest friends was exactly that: that there was in fact no death of one of her oldest and dearest friends. That in fact she was using those pills as a cover-up for the fact she was truly going to enjoy this vacation. And if there was no death of one of her oldest and dearest friends, then somebody was making it up. And the only person I know who would possibly make up something so stupid is the man himself. Hugh. And where is the one place Hugh knew I wouldn’t visit while on this cruise? A little karaoke lounge deep in the hole of the ship, which I would avoid after he just so happened to give me a phobia organizing a recent diving trip.”

Nash pulls up to sitting from his lounge position. His brow furrows in disbelief. “You don’t think. No. He wouldn’t do something so bad as to give you a complex—”

I raise a finger. “No? You don’t think he would plan months ahead to play with my head for the point of this game?”

Nash frowns toward the dark abyss ahead. “I severely underestimated that man . . .”

I drop my head. “Okay, fine. He didn’t create a complex in me. He probably just discovered my issues on our last research trip and decided to use it to his advantage. The reality here is he decided to use the lounge as a hangout while waiting for me to face my fears—or get ticked enough—to go down there.”

Nash shakes his head. “And?”

“And what?”

“And how did it feel? Facing your fears?”

I take a breath. “Not great, per say, but . . .”—I exhale—“it was progress and that’s something. Baby steps in the right direction.”

“Does that mean you’re going to sign up for another cruise?”

I shake my head. Laugh. “Never.”

“What might you do? Go diving again?”

Another shake of my head. “More like I’ll walk inside a basement apartment again. I’m going to look at this like let’s get my discomfort under control so I can manage average realistic situations I may end up in in normal life, not let’s get used to confined places so I can go scuba diving for megalodon teeth in the Florida Keys.”

“That’s an admirable goal.”

“Thank you.”

I pause. Take a breath. “What about you, Nash? Does the tall, strong author-cowboy have any weaknesses? Because I’ve been around you awhile now, and I’m pretty convinced you’re not human.”

“Oh, I have plenty of ’em. But I know better than to fall for that trick. I’d rather you find out my weaknesses one by one. Spread ’em out a little. Give me a fighting chance.”

I laugh. “Fine. Tell me one weakness. Just one. Make me feel better.”

“You really want to hear my weaknesses?”

“I really do.”

Nash sits up. Leans closer. “I’m a horrible speller.”

I squint. That’s pathetic. “You . . . can’t spell.”

“My editor hates me for it. I have to look up simple words. Like vacuum.”

“Nobody can spell vacuum. We’re forever second-guessing ourselves on the one c or two.”