I smiled sweetly. “I’ll just finish up here, and if they don’t need me, I’ll let myself out.”
She looked unsure—as if she’d been given directions to never let anyone out of her sight while on the Celeste. But she also looked like she trusted me. Our conversation about Luna seemed to have relaxed her a little bit. “Okay,” she said. “I do have more dusting to do. You wouldn’t think a boat would get so dusty. It’s a mystery to me.”
She said the last as she trotted up the stairs. I waited for her to disappear and for the sound of the door opening, and then I bolted, letting the walk-in slam shut on the half-emptied box. I had to get out of there before the Ambrosia guys came in and realized they’d been gifted a coworker who didn’t actually exist.
The housekeeper’s voice floated down toward me, intermixed with the voices of the two men. I stood at the base of the stairs and gazed up. No way could I go back up this way. I would be intercepted for sure. Instead, I hurried through the kitchen and out a side door, which took me to some sort of Jet Ski garage. Two Jet Skis were parked in front of a rolling door, life jackets lining the walls. Seriously cool and swank, but not really a great place to hide. I kept moving, finding myself in a fitness room, and then a recreation room. There was a bar down here, along with some card tables, a pool table, and three really huge flat-screen TVs. The lower deck of this ship probably cost more than my house.
God only knew what the upper levels held.
I was about to find out.
I ducked through a door on the other side of the recreation room, spilling into a spa room, with mirrored makeup stations and three massage tables. The air smelled like oils and lotions, and if I wasn’t desperately trying to find a place to hide, it might have been tempting to just lie back and enjoy the aromatherapy.
I kept going. On the other side of the massage room was what looked like a big storage area. I turned in circles, assessing whether I could hide here. It mostly seemed to be filled with tubs and boxes, and a tall, partially disassembled Christmas tree in one corner. In order to hide in here, I would have to empty a box.
I could barely hear the voices anymore, which made me relax a little. If they were excited, I might hear some yelling or at the very least calling out.
Still, I pressed forward, and found myself in an engine room. Also no place to hide. But there was a set of stairs at the end, presumably leading to the main deck and beyond.
I stood at the bottom of the steps and bit my lip. If the housekeeper decided to come down these stairs, there would be no hiding. There would also be no explaining why on earth I was on the opposite end of the ship that I was supposed to be on. Not to mention, why hadn’t my supposed coworkers ever heard of me?
I was in too deep to go back now. I could make up a story about needing to use a restroom and getting lost. I could play up the whole golly-gee-willikers-this-is-a-mighty-big-boat thing. Maybe she would believe me. Maybe she would at least believe me long enough for me to get away before she called the police.
But I didn’t want to get away. And I did want the police to come. Or at least one particular officer.
I pulled out my phone and fired off a quick text, hoping it would go through from the depths of a ship.
Party at Luna’s tonight. Be there or be square. I’ll be—I paused, thinking. Where would I be? around, I finished.
I sent the text, chewed my nail, and wrote another.
Actually, don’t be square. Just be there. Or here. Or not. Whatever.
Half a second after sending that one, I winced, wishing I hadn’t done so. I sounded like a confused dork even to myself. I opened my text box one last time.
I’ll find you.
There. That would be enough. Hopefully. I wasn’t exactly sure he would still be willing to do something like this for me. I wasn’t exactly sure I would blame him if he wasn’t.
The texts sent, I pushed my phone back into my pocket and started climbing stairs, hurrying, but trying to keep my footsteps as quiet as possible. I passed the main deck, figuring that would be the most likely place for the housekeeper to be hanging out, and pressed on to the upper deck.
I came out in a little hallway. On my left I could see a dining room, so filled with shining silver and crystal it hurt my eyes. On my right, I could see . . . the ocean. The entire room was made of windows. Just as there had been couches and tables and candles at Blue Yonder, so were there here. Probably a hundred people could sit in the lounge area and stare out at the water or step onto the small deck outside for a dip in the glass-walled pool, and probably tonight there would be.
Up here, I couldn’t hear the water lapping against the sides of the ship or the hum of the refrigerator or the soft rumble of the kitchen appliances or the birds outside. I definitely couldn’t hear the men talking anymore. All I could hear was my own breathing, and the soft shush of my shoes on the carpet as I walked warily down the hall. Cabin after cabin opened up on either side of me—six of them in total, their beds identically made in melon and turquoise linens. Guest beds.
I ducked into a stateroom and opened a closet. Other than a life vest, it was empty. Which meant lots of room to hang out, but nothing to hide behind. I assumed every cabin would be identical in that way, so when I came across another stairway at the ship’s stern, I headed up.
The top deck was obviously just for the sun goddesses. Luna probably avoided this deck like the plague, given the fair skin that she was so proud of. Deck chairs were lined up like soldiers. I felt high above the water, the breeze whipping salt into my hair. Just me and the sun.
I sat on a lounge and closed my eyes, taking the tiniest moment to soak it in.
This was Luna’s life. This was what it was like to grow up part of the Hollis clan. This had been Peyton’s normal. This had been what Dru was accustomed to. Could it ever feel ordinary to me? Probably not. Ordinary had nothing to do with this life. Come to think of it, ordinary had nothing to do with my life, either.
I was so not a Hollis it wasn’t even funny.
Maybe that had been the message Dad had been trying to send me this whole time. Maybe he hid things from me to protect me. Even if he’d had something to do with Mom’s murder. Even if she was dead because of him. Maybe he was trying to spare me the same fate.
Or maybe he was persona non grata to Bill Hollis, and you just didn’t get to be Hollywood elite if someone like Bill Hollis wanted you locked out.
I had to stay on this yacht until the party. I had to confront Peter Fairchild. I had to find Luna.
I got up and jogged one deck down, passing all the staterooms swiftly, my focus sharpening on possible hiding places. Closets—not the best. Beneath the dining room table—surely the housekeeper would be up there at some point, polishing silver or whatever she did to prepare for parties. Behind the upper-deck bar—that would be opening at some point this evening, I was sure of it.
Then I saw it. A tiny door flush with the wood under the grand staircase that went from lower deck to top deck. A perfect place to hide.
The door was locked, a tiny key lock visible in the wood. I bent to inspect it, then went all the way back to the lower deck and rooted through the spa room until I found a handful of bobby pins and a paper clip. I worked quietly, hearing the hum of the men’s voices again. I tiptoed to the door and listened to their conversation. They were talking about onions. Nothing at all to do with the strange disappearing employee who had somehow ended up delivering their wine. Thank God.
Tools in hand, I went back upstairs, pausing only long enough to see what the housekeeper might be doing on the main deck. She was running a rag in tight circles along the brass bar rail, humming softly to herself.