Page 57 of Without a Clue

“Well,” I say, taking a quick, steadying breath to force myself specifically not to become the girl weeping on his jacket right now, “if we’re going to start interviewing, let’s go with Neena. She’s the only one here who looks like she won’t accidentally stab me.”

“To Neena,” he announces, and together we begin striding her way.

Chapter 13

“You don’t mind if we sit here, do you, chickadee? It’s just vitamin D is so important for our mental well-being.”

Carefree Neena has stripped off her purple outer layer and is now basking on a lounge chair beside the rippling Mediterranean pool. A group of women are doing water aerobics with little colorful foam weights across the way. Neena’s hand is outstretched with a crystal goblet, and a waiter rushes over with more foamy pink drink. Sunlight stretches across the length of the deck, so much so I pull down my sunglasses to keep from squinting at the glossy, blinding marble statuettes at every corner. At the far end of the boat, a group is clustered around the helm, each standing at an easel, each with a paintbrush in hand.

I’m not gonna lie.

It’s a weird place to conduct an investigation.

This was never a setting in any of Hugh’s books.

Nash, in true bodyguard fashion, stands a few feet away, his eyes cautiously bouncing from one person to the next, as if expecting to see some elderly woman pull a gun out of her foam noodle.

“How are you feeling, Neena?” I say.

My phone is quietly beside me, the Notes app open and ready for typing.

Surreptitious is the plan.

Although to be honest, I can only appear so casual when I’m stretched out in black work leggings on a lounge chair.

“Awful, of course. Thank you, young man,” she says to the waiter, winking at him as he tops off her glass. “Just awful.”

I purse my lips.

“Who was it—Ricky perhaps?—who said you’ve been taking some pills to help your nerves?” I say casually.

“Yes. Quite the stuff indeed,” she replies, then takes a sip of her drink.

I frown. I’m not so sure alcohol plus medicine is a good idea, but now is not the time.

“Why?” she says, turning to look at me. “You need some? I have a wonderful tele-visit doctor—”

“Oh no,” I say quickly. “Appreciate the offer. I’m good. So.”

“So,” she says back.

How do I do this again?

How did Hugh have his detectives start off?

I’m having a case of too many bookish examples running through my head.

“I guess . . . we should start at the beginning.”

“It’s a very good place to start,” she replies, then giggles at herself. “Sound of Music.”

“I’m aware. Okay.” A pause. “Right.”

I’m floundering here.

It’s a little bit of a unique situation.

I’m not exactly a detective off the streets.