Sammy Keyes and the Killer Cruise

  Well, stupid me, ’cause something about that pulls the gag off his mouth. “It’s more than disrespectful, it’s a lie!” He shakes his head. “He’s a master liar!”

  In the front of my mind I’m going, Stop! U-turn! Go back! But the back of my mind is calculating quick, and out of my mouth comes, “Bradley?”

  “Yes! Grandfather was onto him, but Grandmother always falls for his lies.” Then he says, “We’re scattering Grandfather’s ashes tomorrow, and he lies to cover up that his daughters are partying with their friends in Miami Beach? After everything Grandfather’s done for them?”

  “Maybe Bradley doesn’t know? Maybe your cousins lied to him?”

  “Oh, he knows!”

  I think a minute. “His wife’s supposedly sick, too, huh?”

  “See? She’s probably there with them!”

  I study him. “Don’t your cousins know you can see their posts?”

  He just stands there, saying nothing.

  “Ah,” I say with a little nod. “Too many friends to notice an imposter?”

  “Look,” he says, sitting down across from me. “I helped you. Now help me by just staying out of it.”

  I put my hands up. “Gladly!”

  “I want Grandmother to know because she should know, but there’s no way anyone can find out the information came from me.”

  “What about your mother?”

  “No one!” he says, and it comes out all fierce.

  Like it’s somehow a matter of life and death.

  TEN

  Kip took off after he went all fierce on me, and I buckled down on my work sheet. And even though I sweat bullets through every single one, I wound up finishing six problems.

  Six!

  Which meant I didn’t have to do any on my birthday!

  Well, technically, it was two in the morning on my birthday, but it didn’t matter.

  Now I could sleep!

  Trouble is, as I’m going up the stairs to sneak back into my room, Kip’s coming down the stairs to sneak into his. We hit the Deck 9 landing at the same time—which was awkward enough right there—but then who steps off the elevator at that exact moment?

  Darren and Marko.

  So of course I try to duck, and of course they see me.

  And Kip.

  So far, fourteen wasn’t one bit luckier than thirteen.

  “No!” I groan, and actually stomp my foot. “This is not what it looks like!”

  Darren just stares at me, then gives Kip a look that could crush rocks.

  “I gotta go …,” Kip stammers, and runs off, acting totally guilty.

  So there I am, left trying to explain. “Look!” I tell Darren, yanking my chemistry work sheet out of my backpack. “I went down to the library to do homework! And Kip happened to—”

  But it was already sounding so lame.

  So conveniently “coincidental.”

  “Here,” I tell him, and shove my chemistry work sheet at him. “This is what we were doing.”

  He looks it over and eyes me. “Why?”

  “Because I hadn’t done the problems I was supposed to do today and felt guilty! Because I kept hearing my science teacher’s voice telling me she’s proud of me for working so hard to bring my grade up! Because I didn’t understand the assignment, and it was freaking me out, and I didn’t want to be stuck doing double the problems on my birthday, and Marissa says we’re doing some land excursion the next day, and I have no idea what that is or how long it’s going to take! And because Marissa was snoring and I couldn’t sleep!”

  His look is half uh-huh and half oh. And since he’s not saying anything, I just keep barreling along. “And since there was no place in the room to work without waking Marissa up, I went one little floor down and worked in the library. Kip came in to use a computer, which turned out to be really lucky because he actually knows how to do this stuff and tutored me. And I got two days’ worth done, which is a huge relief, believe me.”

  Darren hesitates, then gives a little nod. “Ah.”

  Since I don’t know what it means and since now I’m all keyed up, I go, “What am I, a doctor?”

  Darren gives me a puzzled look, but Marko chuckles, which makes Darren look at him like, What? which makes Marko go, “You said, ‘Ah’?”

  Darren rolls his eyes a little and gives a kinda weak smile. And I can tell he thinks he should be doing some, you know, official parenting or something, but either he just doesn’t have the heart for it or he believes me.

  “It’s the truth,” I tell him softly.

  “What, that you’re a doctor?” He shakes the work sheet a little as he hands it back. “Keep this up and you will be.”

  I look down. “I don’t want to be a doctor. I just want to turn fourteen without being in trouble.”

  He puts an arm around my shoulders. “Too late for that.”

  Marko grins at me. “Congratulations on surviving back-to-back thirteens, though. Quite a feat.”

  “Thanks,” I grumble.

  Darren studies me a minute, then lays a big smooch on my temple. “Happy birthday, kiddo.” Then he pulls away and eyes me. “Now get to bed, and stay there!”

  I laugh, thinking, Kiddo? And even though I’d started fourteen by getting into trouble, I do what he says and head straight to bed.

  I fall asleep quick, too, feeling weirdly happy.

  * * *

  Even lying in a bed nine decks up, you can hear the ship’s engines. It’s not a roar—more a deep, steady purr that you don’t really notice unless there’s a big change in speed. The rest of the time it’s like a calming whisper, telling your subconscious that everything’s okay.

  So my excuse for sleeping until ten is that engines nine decks down were sneakily lulling me to sleep.

  Hypnotized by the Great Engine Lullaby!

  Lucky for me, rock stars are notoriously late, so when Marissa threw me in the shower with, “They’ll be here any minute!” I actually had nothing to worry about. It was eleven before we were all finally ready to go.

  “I am starving,” Marissa said as the rest of us hurried up the stairs after her. “I’ve been awake for hours.”

  For all the exploring we’d done the day before, we hadn’t gone into the Schooner Buffet. It was on Deck 11, and took up the whole back end of the ship. It was in the shape of a giant U, with a wide entrance at the end of each leg. There were hot food dishes swooping clear around the middle of the U, seating along the wall of windows that went around the outside of the U, and islands with cold foods or plates and utensils or drinks in between the hot food and the seating parts.

  The hot buffet was amazing. There were omelets and pancakes and waffles and bacon and … well, any kind of breakfast food you can think of—plus lunch foods, seeing how it was after eleven o’clock.

  But the islands in between the hot buffet and the tables were my favorite. One had big bowls of fresh-cut fruit, and I couldn’t get over the way it was decorated with carved watermelons. They were crazy! Incredibly detailed—like they’d been done with a laser. There was a watermelon shark with its mouth full of melon balls, a watermelon turtle with melon balls underneath, a half watermelon where the rind was carved into a bouquet of flowers, and a whole one where the rind was a beautiful sailing ship.

  Then I discovered that right next door was … Dessert Island! It had mousses and chocolate-dipped strawberries and pies and cakes and brownies, and it was right next to … Cookie Island! Which was right next to … Pastry Island!

  “This is unbelievable!” I said, and Marko was loading up like a kid, too, going, “Dude, check this out! Dude! Check this out!” until finally Darren told him, “Dude! I’m checking it all out! Calm down!”

  When we finally sat down, my tray was crammed with everything from key lime pie to egg-drop soup to waffles and oatmeal to a taco and pink lemonade.

  “That is a strange combination of food,” Darren says as we sit down at a window table.

  “She gets that fr
om Casey,” Marissa says. “He’s always putting weird foods together.”

  Which reminds me of something I’d been wanting to know since about midnight. “What’s the deal with the Internet?” I ask Darren. “Is it free?”

  Marissa butts in with, “Actually, it’s super-expensive. Even when we weren’t broke, Mom and Dad wouldn’t let us use it.”

  I look down. “Oh.”

  Darren eyes her. “It’s not cheap, but it’s probably more that they didn’t want you spending all your cruise time on the computer.” He turns to me. “You’re wanting to check in with Casey?”

  I give a little shrug. “He’s not expecting it. I told him I wouldn’t be able to.”

  “So you’ll get to surprise him.” He gives me a cockeyed smile. “I set up an account yesterday, and I’m happy to share with the birthday girl.”

  “Really?”

  “I’ll show you how to use it if you promise not to spend all your time on the computer.”

  I laugh and nod and promise, and all of a sudden I’m feeling stupidly giddy. It’s only been a day and a half, but it’s my birthday! And I miss Casey!

  Marissa jolts me away from thoughts of Casey by nudging me and saying, “Somebody’s not happy.”

  I follow her gaze out to Bradley Kensington, who’s standing alone near Dessert Island, holding a padded black folder and talking on his cell phone. His brow’s all wrinkled, and even though I can’t hear what he’s saying, the vibe is definitely tense. “Busted,” I say with a little laugh.

  Darren and Marko whip around to look. “Who’s busted?”

  “Don’t!” I tell them, and kick them under the table.

  Marko whips back around. “Hey, you can’t go, ‘busted,’ and have us not look!”

  “That’s right!” Darren says, frowning at me like I’ve just spit in holy water or something.

  Marissa’s keeping one eye on Bradley and the other on me. “Why busted?”

  “That is one angry-looking man,” Marko says, glancing over his shoulder.

  “Stop looking!”

  He does, but he keeps talking. “Obviously, his mama didn’t let him play the drums as a child.”

  Which, yeah, seemed about right. I couldn’t picture him—or any Kensington, for that matter—cutting loose on the drums.

  “But why busted?” Marissa asks again.

  “Uh … it’s supposed to be in the vault?” I say, kinda low.

  Marissa’s eyes quit doing the splits as she focuses on only me. “How can you know something I don’t?”

  Darren leans in, too. “You haven’t told her?” he asks, and it’s maddening the way he’s grinning.

  Marissa punches a fist onto her hip. “Told me what?”

  Marko zooms in, too, wiggling his eyebrows. “About your secret midnight rendezvous?”

  “What?” Marissa asks. “With who?”

  “You guys are terrible!” I tell Marko and Darren. “You’re total … troublemakers!”

  Darren seems pleased. “That we are.”

  “Now open the vault, matey!” Marko growls, giving me a piratey look.

  So I do, telling them about Kip’s little Internet adventure and how his uncle Bradley’s daughters—and probably his wife—lied about being sick. And I’m just winding down when I notice someone lurking on the other side of Dessert Island.

  Someone paying way too much attention to pies and cakes without actually putting anything on his tray.

  “What?” Darren says, looking over his shoulder.

  “Stop!” I hiss at him.

  “Well, stop looking over there!” he hisses back.

  “It’s Kip,” Marissa tells him. “Spying on his uncle.”

  Marko is actually bubbling. “Dude, don’t you feel like you’re back spying on the Flemings?”

  “Only now we don’t get to see anything!” Darren grumbles. “We just get kicked and told to quit looking.”

  “Who are the Flemings?” I ask.

  “Neighbors,” they say at the same time. And they both shake their heads in the same way as they eye each other.

  Like there’s no way they could even begin to explain.

  “Finish your story,” Marissa says, but her eyes are doing the splits between Bradley and me again.

  So I finish it quick, and remind them that I’d told Kip I wouldn’t tell anyone about his little computer find and that they need to close the vault about it.

  “Who am I going to tell?” Marko says.

  I can see the wheels turning in Darren’s head, though, so I ask him, “What?”

  “What what?” he asks back.

  “Don’t give me that. I can tell you’re thinking something.”

  He sort of eyes me. “What I’m thinking is that kids are both stupider and smarter than we were as kids.”

  Marko’s eyebrows go flying. “Stupider than us? Than us?”

  “Well, it is we,” Darren says.

  “Okay, Mr. Grammar. We hid from the principal on the roof of the school and then couldn’t get down, remember that?”

  “Hey, that was your idea.”

  “Whose idea was it to sneak into the Flemings’ basement? And why?”

  Darren mutters something that none of us can understand.

  “Say it!” Marko demands.

  He sighs. “Because there was gold down there.”

  “Gold. In the Flemings’ basement. They didn’t even own a car, and you thought there was gold.”

  Darren gives a little shrug. “Or maybe maps to gold?”

  Marko turns to us. “But instead we found gnats! Thousands of mean, biting gnats.”

  Darren shudders. “They were no-see-ums. Invisible stealth biters.”

  “The bites lasted weeks!”

  “And itched …”

  “And you told everyone we’d been attacked by biting ghosts.”

  “Biting ghosts!” Marissa and I cry.

  Darren frowns. “I was eight, okay?”

  “And then there was the time we were playing dodge, and we crashed our dirt bikes into each other fifteen miles from anywhere, remember that?”

  “You can stop right there,” Darren tells him through his teeth.

  Marko backs down. “Just sayin’. We had our fair share of stupid.”

  Now, really, I want to say, Don’t stop! Because I’m having a really good time picturing the two of them as kids, getting into scrapes and trouble.

  It makes me feel like … well, like we have something in common.

  But then Marissa gets out of her seat and says, “Bradley’s leaving. Dessert time. You take the far end, I’ll come in from this side.”

  The weird thing is, I know exactly what she means, but the real question is, Why?

  So I ask.

  “Why?”

  “Kip heard everything!”

  And for probably the first time in our friendship, I’m the one to go, “Who cares?”

  But she gives me one of her stern looks and a scoopy little wave, so what can do? I roll my eyes and follow her.

  “Watch out for gnats!” Marko warns.

  “And biting ghosts,” Darren adds.

  Which makes me laugh. I mean, how cool is that, to be able to make fun of your own dorky selves?

  Anyway, Marissa circles Dessert Island from the left and I swoop in from the right, and Kip doesn’t stand a chance.

  “Whoa!” he says, jumping back a little.

  “Did you get all that?” I ask him.

  His eyes dart back and forth as he death grips an empty tray. “Get all what?”

  “Uncle Bradley’s intense conversation.”

  “You’ve been spying on me?”

  “Uh, I think you were the one spying?”

  Marissa nods. “We were just observing.”

  “And what we observed,” I tell him, “is that you were spying.”

  He blinks. First at me, then at Marissa. Then all of a sudden I notice that his eyes are getting all glassy, and he’s all, like, choked up.
Or maybe choked off. Or, you know, trapped. And in that moment I feel really sorry for him. I mean, who spends their cruise spying on some angry uncle? Why isn’t he hanging out with his cousin or his mom or some random teens in the arcade, or rock climbing or mini-golfing? Or at least eating some dessert!

  Obviously, being part of a fragrance empire isn’t as easy as it seems.

  So I grab a dish of chocolate mousse, stick in a huge strawberry, put it on his empty tray, and make my confession. “I told Marissa about last night.”

  I’m expecting him to freak out, but he just shakes his head fast and says, “This isn’t about that.” He looks down. “This is actually really bad.”

  Marissa and I both stare at him like, Well?

  “Grandmother’s missing.”

  Now, excuse me, but the first thing I do is laugh. I mean, come on. It’s a big boat. And when you’re rolling in dough and your nephew’s the cruise director, you could be anywhere!

  “This is serious!” he says, all serious-like.

  “Sorry,” I tell him, “but she’s got to be someplace, right? The casino? Having breakfast with the captain? Drinking champagne in the Cloud 9 Bar?”

  Kip shakes his head. “They haven’t found her, and I don’t think they will.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because I don’t think she’s on the ship.”

  “But we haven’t docked and—” I blink at him as what he said sinks in. “You think she jumped?”

  He shakes his head super-fast. “Grandmother would never jump. And Grandfather’s urn is still in the suite.”

  “So?”

  “So if she did jump, she would have taken him with her!” He looks all around, then drops his voice. “I think she was pushed.”

  ELEVEN

  “Pushed?” Marissa gasps. “As in overboard? As in murdered?”

  Kip’s death grip on the tray sure isn’t getting any looser, and he’s shaking so much that the giant strawberry I’d jammed into his mousse is sorta falling over, and the shiny strawberry seeds suddenly seem like tiny windows on a big red ship to me. A big red ship that’s tilting over in a sea of foamy chocolate.

  I shake off the thought and grab him by the arm, ’cause obviously he’s having a meltdown. “Come with us.”

  But when he sees we’re headed over to Darren and Marko, he pulls back. “I’ve got to go.”