His mom laughs softly. “Very good.”
“Can I go downstairs now? I’ll wait for you and Gramps in the atrium where the big poufy seats are—near the bookstore?”
His mother inhales, summoning patience.
“Fine. Take your phone so I can track you. And stay near the bookstore, okay? We’ll be down in about twenty minutes. I’ll go wake your gramps up.”
Carter scrabbles his stuff together, including his book of suspicious happenings. He stuffs it all into his yellow backpack, leaves the suite, and bounces along the hallway to the elevators, spirits lifting already.
Down in the atrium Carter flops onto a big pouf and watches people milling about, chatting, eating ice creams, looking into the windows of boutiques dotted around the perimeter of the atrium.
He spies Maxine—the friendly lady who welcomed them onto the ship. She’s at a nearby concierge desk, talking to another crew member in a white uniform. Their conversation looks serious.
His thoughts turn to Arrabella, and he wonders if she made it back onto the ship, or if she’s still missing. Or why she was talking with the orchid man in the first place in front of the mural about a lady who poisoned her husband.
And Gramps? The early text. Him disappearing in the dark dawn? It’s a weird mystery to Carter. So are those photos in Gramps’s files. He can’t share that information with his mom. He really wishes there were someone he could talk to. He’s lost in his own labyrinth. One that has nothing to do with a Minotaur.
Suddenly he spotsher.
Poppy Poirot.
Anticipation and a zing of pleasure burst through him. But as she nears, Carter realizes she looks ... wrong. Disheveled and hot and red in the face. She’s walking fast, head bent forward, like a rumbling little train that will bowl over anything in its way.
As she passes him, he calls out, “Poppy?”
She doesn’t hear him, just marches straight for the counter where Maxine stands. She halts directly in front of Maxine and says something. Maxine looks concerned as she responds, and Poppy grows agitated. Her voice rises. Curiosity sinks teeth into Carter.
He scoots off the pouf and edges closer. He hears Poppy say, “But I need my passport back. I need to get off this boat. Why is this even complicated?”
“Of course, Ms. Buchanan,” Maxine replies calmly. “They’re kept in the purser’s office. You’ll need to meet with him, and formally request disembarkation and sign a waiver. Then you’ll be fully released from the ship’s responsibility.”
“Fine. I want to do that. Now.”
“Our next port’s in Turkish waters,” Maxine explains. “You’ll need a visa to get off there. Alternatively you can wait until Santorini—no immigration issues there for a UK citizen.”
Poppy hesitates. She appears confused. Her face is going redder.
Maxine says, “I can have Roshaan organize you a tender ashore from Santorini for early the following morning?”
“Fine,” Poppy grumbles. “I’ll wait for Santorini.” She walks away and drops heavily onto a bench nearby, as though too exhausted to gather up steam again. She takes off her glasses and begins to wipe them with a little pink cloth.
Carter hesitates, then approaches.
“Poppy?” he says softly.
She squints at him, puts her glasses back on. “Oh. It’s you.”
“Are you okay? Should I get water or something?”
She stares into the middle distance for a moment, as though determining whether she is in fact okay.
Carter meanwhile shrugs off his yellow backpack and sits tentatively on the bench beside her. Not too close. He places his backpack on his knees.
“I wanted to ask you something,” he says. “You know, as a fellow detective.”
Her eyebrows lift. “Like what?”
“Well—” He’s suddenly nervous. This might be a mistake. But he needs to tell someone. He lowers his voice. “It could be dangerous. It’s about real crimes. Serious ones.”
