We continued past the door to the employees-only entrance. As soon as we pushed it open, a cacophony of sounds and smells struck us—the sizzle of butter, the smell of bacon and eggs, the shouts of a dozen or more kitchen workers asking for more pancake batter or whatever. The hustle and bustle was a stark contrast to the serene peace of most of the ship.
“Now what?” George murmured in my ear. “Someone’s going to notice us and kick us out soon.”
I hardly heard her. I’d just spotted a familiar face. It was Mr. Hawaiian Shirt. Today’s shirt bore a different raucous pattern from yesterday’s, but otherwise he looked exactly the same. He was leaning against a stainless-steel countertop, stroking his mustache with one finger as he talked to a couple of young kitchen workers washing dishes nearby.
That was kind of weird. The first time we’d encountered him, he’d acted as if he didn’t know his way around the ship. And last night he’d been sitting in the dining room like just any other guest. Could he actually be some kind of supervisor or something? He didn’t exactly dress like the rest of the crew, but years of amateur sleuthing had taught me to assume nothing.
“Excuse me,” I said, stepping over to him. “Do you work here?”
He blinked at me. “Oh, hello again,” he said. “No, I don’t work here. I just came back here to thank these hardworking people for their efforts and let them know it’s appreciated by someone.” He waved one meaty hand to indicate the kitchen staff, though the workers nearby had turned away and seemed to be pointedly ignoring him. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I need some coffee.”
Pushing past us, he hurried out of the kitchen. Bess stared after him.
“That was kind of a strange answer,” she said.
George shrugged. “He seems like kind of a strange guy.”
I tapped the nearest worker on the shoulder. “Hi,” I said. “I don’t mean to bother you, but I wonder if I could ask you a few questions.”
The worker, a short, swarthy man with intelligent dark eyes, shrugged. “I’m sorry, miss,” he said with a shy smile. “Guests should not be back here.”
“I know. This’ll just take a moment.” I made my smile as ingratiating as possible. “I was just wondering if there’s been any trouble around here lately. In the kitchen, I mean. Anybody not getting along?”
“I would hope not,” the worker responded. “If anything is upsetting you, however, the cruise staff is always available for complaints.” He picked up a stack of dripping pans. “If you’ll excuse me, I have to get back to work.”
He hurried off before I could respond. I frowned, glancing around for another victim. At that moment the door swung open behind us.
“This way, kids!” a cheerful voice sang out. “Next I’m going to show you where all the food on the ship is prepared! If you’re good, you might even get some samples!”
“Yay, samples!” several childish voices cheered.
“Good,” another kid said. “I’m starved.”
That last voice sounded cranky. And familiar. Turning, I saw that a whole group of kids had just entered the kitchen, led by the youth activities coordinator Becca had pointed out to Tobias’s family yesterday.
And speaking of Tobias . . .
“This is boring,” Tobias went on, scowling at the coordinator. “When are you going to show us something cool?”
The coordinator’s smile barely wavered. “Now, now, Tobias,” he began. “The tour’s barely started. Just give it a chance, and I’m sure you—” He cut himself off as he noticed my friends and me. “Oh, hello,” he said, hurrying over. His name tag identified him as Hiro. “You must be lost. Are you looking for the café?”
“No, we were just looking around,” I said. “Thanks.”
Hiro looked uncertain. “Um, passengers really shouldn’t be back here.”
“Why not?” George pointed at the kids. “They’re passengers, right?”
“Yes,” Hiro said. “But they’re only here as part of the exclusive backstage tour of the ship.”
“We’re going to see everything!” a little girl spoke up eagerly. “Even the engine!”
Hiro smiled at her. “That’s right, Maria,” he said. Then he turned back to us. “There’s a similar tour for adults—I think it’s the day after tomorrow. If you’re interested, all you have to do is let someone from the cruise staff know.”
“Okay, maybe we will,” Bess said. “Come on, girls, let’s move on.”
George and I followed her into the hall. “Okay, smelling all that food cooking made me hungry,” George said. “What say we hit up that café? I’m not much good at sleuthing on an empty stomach.”
“Take it easy, George,” I said. “Just because it’s all-you-can-eat, that doesn’t mean you have to try to eat it all.”
George looked up from her fourth helping of scrambled eggs. Bess and I had finished eating a good twenty minutes ago, but George seemed to be a bottomless pit.
“I’m almost done,” she mumbled through a mouthful of toast.
Bess checked her watch. “I should check in with Alan,” she says. “I just realized it’s been, like, an hour and a half since we left the suite. He’s probably wondering where we are.” She pulled out her phone. “I’m surprised he hasn’t been calling or texting me.”
“Maybe he’s still asleep,” I suggested.
“Maybe.” Bess texted him. A moment later her phone buzzed. “Nope, he’s up,” she reported a moment later. “He just texted me back.”
By the time George finished her eggs, Bess had arranged to meet Alan on the Anchorage Action deck.
When we got there, Alan was waiting for us outside an Alaskan-themed snack bar. “Good morning, ladies,” he sang out, stooping to plant a kiss on Bess’s cheek. “You three were out and about early today!”
“Sorry for abandoning you,” Bess told him, slipping her hand into his. “I just couldn’t wait to check out the spa. Did you have breakfast?”
“Yes, back at the suite,” he replied, patting his belly. “I couldn’t let all those pastries go to waste! But now I’m thinking I need to work some of it off before lunch. What do you say to a round of miniature golf?” He gestured to a sign nearby. “I’ll buy a smoothie for anyone who can beat my score.”
“Mini golf? I’m awesome at that!” George said. “You’re on.”
“Why don’t you three go ahead?” I said. “I’m not really in the mood for mini golf. I might go check out the shops or something.”
Actually, I was thinking that playing miniature golf was a waste of time when I could be investigating. If I could get away, I’d have some time to snoop around, maybe track down that camera crew and see if they’d let me look at their footage.
But Alan shook his head. “What, are you afraid I’ll beat you?” he teased. “Come on, Nancy, you can’t chicken out.”
I forced a smile. “It’s not that . . . .”
Just then a pair of small boys came charging at us from around the corner of the snack bar. “I win!” one of them shouted as both skidded to a halt.
A moment later several other kids appeared too. Finally Hiro arrived, breathless and dragging Tobias by one hand. “Wait up, kids!” he called as his charges swarmed the snack bar. “Everyone’s got to sit quietly before anyone gets their snack, okay?” Finally noticing us standing there, he smiled. “Oh, hello,” he said. “Can I help you folks find anything?”
“Nope, we’re good, bro,” Alan told him. “We’re just on our way to play some mini golf.”
“Wonderful!” Hiro beamed at us. “Our brand-new miniature golf course is fabulous. It features a rugged Alaska theme.”
“Sounds cool, thanks.” Alan glanced at me as Hiro disappeared into the snack bar. “So what do you say, Nancy? You’re not seriously going to ditch us, are you?”
I shot my friends a look, then glanced back at Alan. Was that a hint of suspicion in his eyes?
“Um, okay,” I said. “You talked me into it.”
The mini-golf c
ourse was actually pretty cool. As Hiro had promised, it featured an Alaskan theme complete with fake glaciers, grinning totem poles, a life-size moose, and a roaring grizzly on its hind legs.
“This is awesome!” Alan exclaimed. “Who wants to go first?”
For a while we had the place to ourselves. Just as Bess was lining up a shot at a waterfall with little fake salmon leaping out of the water, we heard voices coming our way.
“Check it out,” George said. “It’s that camera crew. They probably heard about my awesome swing and ran right up here to get it on film.”
Two burly cameramen stepped onto the course, along with a skinny young man dressed in black jeans and a gray T-shirt. Several passengers trailed in behind them.
“This way, everyone!” the skinny guy called. “Grab some clubs and we’ll get started.”
“I can’t believe I’m gonna be in pictures!” an old man with a ring of white hair around his bald head exclaimed with a grin. “I’m ready for my close-up!”
“Stop, Harold.” The woman with him rolled her eyes, rearranging her sun hat atop her tidy red curls. “You’re such a ham!”
I recognized them as part of that family reunion we’d seen at the beginning of the trip. The group had been hard to miss at dinner last night, taking up three tables all on their own.
The thin young man spotted my friends and me and hurried over. “Good morning,” he said. “I’m Claude, the director of the film crew.” He looked me up and down. “Did anyone ever tell you that hair of yours is totally cinematic?”
I touched my hair, feeling self-conscious. “Um, I don’t think so.”
Claude glanced at the cameramen, who were already filming various parts of the mini-golf course. Establishing shots, I guessed.
“Baraz, get over here!” Claude barked. “I want to get this girl on film.”
One of the camera operators, a man with a buzz cut, stepped toward us. “Sure, boss,” he said, pointing his camera at me.
“No, not there—we need a better background.” Claude glanced around, tapping his chin. “Something to set off that hair, that all-American complexion . . .”
“How about the moose?” Alan suggested. “That might look cool.”
“Perfect!” The director clapped his hands. “The strawberry blond should really pop against the dark-brown fur.”
I stepped toward the moose. Everyone was staring at me. Well, almost everyone. Bess and Alan seemed to have taken the distraction as an opportunity for a romantic moment. They were standing close together by the moose’s side, laughing and talking softly while holding hands. But everyone else? Staring. At me.
“Is this okay?” I asked, striking a golf stance with my club near the moose obstacle.
“Closer,” the director ordered. “We need to get all of the moose in frame.”
I took a step back, glancing up at the moose’s head looming above me. “Okay, now what?”
“Just forget that we’re here,” the director said. “Pretend you’re just playing golf. Laugh and toss your hair and act normally.”
I didn’t bother to point out that I wouldn’t be acting normally if I started tossing my hair around while I was playing mini golf. I quickly lined up my shot on the green, aiming for the hole directly underneath the towering moose.
Just as I was about to swing, I sensed something—movement right above me. Acting on instinct, I dropped my club and jumped back.
A split second later, one of the fake moose’s huge antlers came crashing down—right where I’d just been standing.
CHAPTER SIX
Animal Instincts
“NANCY!” BESS CRIED.“ ARE YOU OKAY?”
“Yes. I mean no.” I glanced down at my left arm, realizing that it was hurting. There was a trickle of blood on my forearm. “I mean, um, sort of.”
By now George, Claude, and various others had reached me too. “Stand back, please!” Claude ordered. “She is injured!”
“Oh, dear!” one of the older ladies watching exclaimed.
“Shall we call the medic?” the old man called out.
“Of course we should, Harold!” his wife said. “Don’t be such an old fool!”
Just then a young man in a Superstar uniform elbowed his way to the front of the crowd. It was Mike, the employee who’d helped us pick out our clubs. Hiro the youth coordinator was right behind him.
“What happened?” Mike asked. “You’re bleeding.”
“I’ll call a medic.” Hiro whipped out a cell phone.
“No, I’m okay.” I took a deep breath, willing my heartbeat to return to normal. Then I glanced at my arm. “It’s just a scrape—see? The edge of the antler must’ve caught me on its way down.”
George frowned and glanced at the moose. “How’d that happen, anyway?” she wondered. Grabbing the moose’s nose, she swung her leg up onto its knee and started climbing.
“Miss! Get down from here!” Mike warned. “Please, the medic will be here shortly.”
“I told you, I’m fine,” I insisted. “I don’t need a medic.”
George let out a cry. “Check this out!” she exclaimed. She’d climbed higher and was straddling the moose’s neck by now. “It looks like someone loosened the screws that were holding that antler in place. All it would take is for someone to touch the moose, and bam! Down it would come.”
Bess went white. “Oh no!” she cried. “It was me! I leaned back against the moose’s side to get a better view of Nancy. It’s all my fault!”
“Don’t be silly.” I grabbed her hand and squeezed it. “You had no way of knowing those screws were loose. Anyway, I’m fine.”
Mike looked troubled. “This mini-golf course is brand-new,” he said. “Someone must have forgotten to tighten those screws when they were putting everything together during setup.”
Hiro bit his lip and clapped his hands sharply. “Please step away from the obstacles, everyone!” he called out. “We’ll have to check them all for safety before the course can reopen. This was just an unfortunate accident, but we’re taking care of it.”
An accident? I wasn’t so sure. From what I could tell, it seemed to fit the pattern of sabotage so far.
And I’m a target again, a little voice in my head added.
I shook off the thought. Accident or not, there was no way the saboteur could have known I’d be the one standing beneath the moose. Was there?
Suddenly nervous, I glanced around. Two more employees had appeared and were busy herding Harold, his wife, and the other onlookers over toward the snack bar. Bess still looked distraught as she stared at my arm. Alan was next to her, murmuring into her ear. Most of the others were watching George climb down from the moose, including one of the cameramen, who was filming it.
My eyes widened as I remembered the cameras. The whole incident had been caught on tape! This could be the break we needed.
I glanced around. “Where’s the other camera guy—Baraz?” I asked Claude. “We should look at the footage he got and see if we can tell what happened.”
Claude glanced around too. “Looks like Baraz has disappeared.” He frowned and muttered, “Again.”
The other cameraman heard us and stepped forward. “I might have something,” he offered. “The moose was in the background of what I was filming. See?”
He held out the camera so Claude and I could see its little playback screen. George, Bess, Alan, Mike, and Hiro huddled behind me, peering over my shoulders.
The playback focused on Bess and Alan. It was obvious that the cameraman had been going for a cute, romantic human interest scene of the two of them. They were standing to one side of the moose, laughing and flirting. I was barely visible in one corner, first standing there stiffly, then shuffling closer to the moose and lining up my shot.
“No!” Bess exclaimed as she watched Alan put his arm around her on the monitor, the two of them leaning back against the moose’s furry side to watch my shot. “See? It really was my fault!”
“Our
fault.” Alan glanced at me. “We’re so sorry, Nancy.”
I waved him off, focusing on the monitor. “Can you play it back again?” I asked the camera operator.
But it was no use. The accident was visible in the background, but it was a pretty awkward angle, and we couldn’t see much more than we already knew. The only thing the footage confirmed was that nobody else had been close enough to tamper with the moose.
As the second playback ended, my phone buzzed. I glanced at it and saw a text from Becca: SOMETHING ELSE JUST HAPPENED, she wrote. GOING 2 CHECK IT OUT. WILL UPDATE SOON.
The medic, a brisk woman in her thirties, appeared at that moment. “Step aside, please,” she ordered. “Let’s have a look.”
She was still examining my arm when Becca rushed in, breathless and pink-cheeked. “Nancy!” she exclaimed when she saw me.
I smiled weakly as we both realized at the same time that I was the “something else” she’d just texted me about. One of the employees must have called her.
“I’m okay,” I told her. I waved a hand at the medic. “This is just a precaution.”
Becca nodded, though she didn’t seem to be focused on me anymore. She was staring at Hiro, who was kneeling down to examine the fallen antler. There was a strange expression on Becca’s face, one I couldn’t quite figure out. What did that mean?
Before I could pull her aside to ask, Marcelo arrived on the scene. “Well, now,” he exclaimed in his jovial voice. “What do we have here? Attacking mooses? Or is it meeses?” He chuckled. “I can never remember which it is.” He came over and put a hand on my shoulder. “How is she, doc?” he asked the medic.
“She’ll be fine,” the woman replied. “But I’d better take her to the clinic and clean that scrape.”
“It’s okay,” I said. “I have a Band-Aid back in the suite.”