“Pst!” I think I hear from the hallway, but I’m not sure if it’s real or imagined. “Stella!”
It sounds like it’s coming from Patricia and Arthur’s room. Tentatively, I walk towards the source of the noise, but as soon as I pass the galley door a man’s arm hooks me and pulls mesideways, practically dragging me through a door I assume is a hall bathroom.
“What—“ I start, ready to give Caleb an earful about surprising me in the hallway, but as soon as I turn, I see that it’s not Caleb who’s grabbed me. And this definitelyisn’ta bathroom.
“What are you doing?” I bark as Matthew drops my arm.
“Shh!” he warns me as he carefully shifts the door closed. The room we’re in is half the size of my cabin and furnished only with an ottoman, several shelves and a velvet green reading chair. But the sparse furnishings aren’t what surprise me. What surprises me is that covering every usable surface are glass and ceramic flamingos.
Tiny flamingos. Lampshade flamingos. Flamingos splatter painted like a Jackson Pollock. In the center of it all, a golden flamingo head sticks out of the wall like a mounted antelope. Even the wallpaper is covered in tropical birds—blue and orange parakeets that flit between paper palm fronds. I certainly don’t remember this bizarre bird shrine from the tour.
“Matthew,” I ask slowly, half expecting him to tell me it’s time to sacrifice me to the avian gods. “What is this room?”
“Mom calls it her ‘office’,” he says in air quotes, “but since she doesn’t actually have a job, I’m pretty sure she just comes here to escape Dad when he’s watching Formula One.”
Hold the phone. This room belongs toPatricia?
“And the birds?”
“Honestly, who knows. I guess she just really likes flamingos. But that’s beside the point.”
I’m not sure if I’m more shocked that I’ve been missing a whole room or that the queen of the damned is partial to the most flamboyant creature of all time. But what comes out of Matthews mouth is far, far more unexpected than a few dozen flamingo sculptures.
“Stella, Mom fired Captain Caleb.”
I practically choke on my own breath.
“What?”
“Shh!” Matthew hushes me again, looking around to make sure the only ears listening still belong to glass birds.
“Why?” I wheeze, sure I’ve misheard him. “What did he do?”
“The anchor dragged while he was on watch last night, and he missed it. He had to move the ship back, which woke her up.”
I remember the engines starting last night just as I was getting ready for bed after my night with Caleb. I was so tired, I didn’t think twice about it.
“Did something happen to the ship?”
“No. Everything was fine, but when he refused to tell her where he was, she went through the security footage.”
I feel like I’m frozen and, simultaneously, like I’m going to puke. But Caleb made sure nobody saw us. He knows this boat like the back of his hand—there’s no way he’d leave tracks on camera. Right?
“Matthew,” I ask, trying to swallow the tsunami of panic that’s crashing through my body. “What did she find?”
Matthew lowers himself to sit on the ottoman before thinking better of it and standing back up. He’s avoiding something.
“Evidence,” he says quietly, and I step so close to him I can see exactly how long it’s been since he last shaved.
“Evidence?”
Matthew lets out a frustrated breath.
“She saw a frame of Steven and I…togetheron the back deck. I didn’t even know there were cameras out there. But… the footage is terrible. It’s like some grainy night-vision version ofParanormal Activity. ”
Matthew is too calm for a man who’s just been outed by hisconservative mother. The nausea in my stomach knows what’s coming before my brain can catch up.
“She thought that Steven was kissingCaleb.”
