“Possibly,” Gramps says carefully, with a small glance back at his mom. “At least from the deck of the ship. TheBlack Orchidwill sail past the island.”
Carter almost explodes with excitement. “So I guess that’s why giving a talk on the Bikini Killer is a good idea—you can tell everyone in the lecture we’re going right past the island prison that he bust out from.”
“True. And it fits with the whole theme of Greek mythology. Ancient stories claim that the waves smashing against the rocks on that island turned even Odysseus away. Vincent, the Bikini Killer, however, orchestrated an ingenious, almost impossible escape.”
“Will you tell me more about him and all his other escapes later?”
“Of course.”
Carter squeezes his grandfather’s hand tightly, and his chest fills with pride as they step off the top of the escalator. A greeter in a blue uniform points them down the gangway toward the ship entrance, where more smiling crew members await, one with a tablet in her arms.
“Did the Greeks ever recapture him?” Carter can’t help pressing as they head down the gangway, dragging their hand luggage.
“Nope. Not the Greeks.”
“You mean some other detectives—just not the Greeks—put him in prison again?”
“Several times. In other countries.”
“And he escaped themall?”
“Yup. Until ... one day he didn’t. And he was put away for life. He tempted the Fates one too many times. And the Fates turned on him.”His gramps glances down, smiles. “As the ancient Greeks will tell you, the three Fates do not appreciate hubris.”
“What’s hubris?”
“It’s when you think you’re so special and above it all. You get too cocky. But Vincent was still just a mere mortal.”
“So who was the final detective who got him?”
“A Nepalese cop who never forgot what Vincent did in Kathmandu. Vincent was arrested for the very last time when he—for some reason known only to him—returned to the scene of one of his crimes many years later. He was sentenced to life in Kathmandu for the murders of a Californian woman—Bobby-Jo Hanson—and her boyfriend, Guy DuPont, a Canadian tourist from Manitoba. They were brutally killed by Vincent and his assistant, Sanjay, their bodies hacked and burned and left in a farmer’s field back in 1975.”
Another quiver of excitement chases through Carter. “Is Vincent still alive?”
“He is.”
“So he never escaped again?”
Something shifts in his grandfather’s demeanor. His crumply face changes. “No,” he says quietly. “He did not.”
It appears his grandfather is going to say something more, but he hesitates, then looks away.
“Welcome aboard theBlack Orchid!” the woman with the tablet says cheerily as they reach the ship entrance. She scans their boarding passes, hands them back. “Dr. Gideon Marsh, Sarah Frost, we’re so very pleased to have you on board for our inaugural voyage.” She glances down at Carter. “And you must be Carter?”
He puffs out his chest, still clutching proudly onto Grandfather’s knobbly hand. “Yes, I’m Carter James Frost, and I’m going to be a famous detective someday. Like my granddad.”
Roshaan
Roshaan DaSousa exits the sumptuous Elysium Sky Villa suite and quickly shuts the door behind her. She takes in a deep breath, smooths down her dress, and hurries to the elevator. Her heart pounds. She’s just crossed a line, and panic is squeezing claws into her throat. She’s not built for this. She’snota liar. Nor a criminal. And what she’s just done at Theo’s behest is distinctly, undeniably illegal.
At the elevator bank she avoids glancing at the security camera. There’s CCTV everywhere on the ship—decks, corridors, restaurants, elevators. Theo instructed her to be careful even when she thinks she’s unobserved. His words curl through her brain like dark smoke as she presses the elevator button.
Do nothing to attract attention, Rosh. Act completely normal. Remember, babe, guestsexpectcams to be watching everywhere, so what difference will a few more make?
Except the tiny spy cameras Theo persuaded her to hide in several of her elite suites are in intimate spaces. It won’t be ship security watching, but Theo.
As she waits for the elevator, tension tightens across Roshaan’s chest. Her gaze catches a mural dominating the wall—it’s one of the many commissioned pieces for theBlack Orchid, each inspired by a scene from Homer’sOdyssey. This one depicts Zeus reclining on a bed of thunderous clouds, and he points a jagged bolt of lightning at Odysseus’s little boat being tossed on a stormy ocean far below. It’s titledJudgement Day.
Roshaan swallows.
