“I suddenly regret asking,” he says, dropping the tub onto one of the leather seats.
“Well, I’m off to bed,” I choke out mechanically, turning like a poorly-configured Roomba.
“Night!”
“Goodnight, Stella,” Caleb says.
That was too close,I think as I amble down the stairs. What if Jim suspects something? What if Caleb tells Jim and Jim tells Harry and then Jules and I are used as chum on his dad’s next fishing expedition? I take a few deep breaths and remind myself to chill. Caleb has just as much to lose on this as I do. And if I’m going to pull off mission impossible tomorrow, I’m going to need every ounce of focus I can get.
Let’s just hope the captain can hold up his end of the bargain.
15
The next morning, I wake up armed with a plan. All I need to do is convince the notoriously inflexible Warrens to completely deviate from their precious schedule and head to an unknown island run by a total stranger I met in passing at a bar. Easy enough.
When I make it upstairs, I see that everyone is already seated outside on the aft deck. Now that Arthur and Patricia are on board, the breakfast setup has graduated from coffee and fruit to a full-on three course meal. And unlike last night, Arthur is actually lucid enough to keep his eyes open.
“Morning, Stella,” he says as I join the table, wiping his mustache with a literal pocket square like the monopoly man. “Glad to see you’re feeling better.”
Patricia looks down distastefully at my blue cotton sundress—the same one I was wearing when she arrived. I imagine it’s the same look she reserves for bugs who need squashing.
“Thank you, Arthur,” I say cheerfully. “Must have been the ginger!”
“Someone’s chipper this morning,” Matthew groans into histoast. The bags under his eyes tell me his night did not end with Whist.
“You might be, too, if you weren’t so intent on draining every bottle of scotch on this boat,” Patricia reminds him. “At this rate we’ll have to send the boys back to Nadi for provisions.”
The single piece of toast on her plate is barely touched, but I notice the ‘coffee’ she’s drinking smells vaguely of schnapps.
“Arthur,” I ask as I load my tray with pastries. “Has the Vela Bianca ever ventured to Narara island?”
I try to keep my tone as casual as possible, but my shaking croissant threatens to give me away. Men like Arthur Warren aren’t used to taking suggestions. But like Caleb said, if I can somehow make him think this is his idea, maybe he’ll bite.
“Not that I recall,” he muses. “What’s the name of the resort there?”
“There isn’t one. It’s the home of the Fijian Marine Conservation Center. It’s actually just a few miles from us.”
“A conservation center, here?” Matthew scoffs. “What are they protecting? Palm trees?”
“Coral,” I tell him. “And mangroves, too. They’re working to replant some of the reefs that have been damaged by bleaching.”
“How educational,” says Patricia disdainfully. This is going to be harder than I thought.
“Usually they’re not open to tourists, but I met one of the program directors while we were at Cloud Nine. She invited us all to tour the facility. I was wondering if we might be able to squeeze it in on the way up to our next anchorage.”
Arthur shakes his head.
“Not possible. The itinerary is set well in advance—any change to the plan would throw off our entire schedule.”
If I weren’t so nervous, I might laugh. Like son, like father.
“Actually, I checked the map, and it’s right on the way,” I tell him. “If we just shave off an hour at the beach?—“
“And cut short our picnic?” Patricia half-laughs. “Not a chance. We have a schedule for a reason, dear. We have to time everything by the tides.”
I’m losing them. I look to Jules for support, but she’s acting like I’m invisible. Ofcourseshe’s ignoring me after our fight last night.
“Morning, all,” the voice of Satan interrupts from behind me. I turn to see Caleb standing in his uniform at the base of the stairs.
