Stranded (15 page)

The next morning, rain lashed against the windows, effectively corralling everyone aboard the
Bering
inside. A day at sea with all exterior decks drenched in a downpour meant a hot, stifling interior. Darcy had yet to locate Gage. She'd headed to his cabin first thing, yearning to see him, but there'd been no answer. She knew he had a training class at one, and if she couldn't locate him before then, she'd wait outside the meeting room for him to arrive. She hated how they'd left things last night, and she wouldn't be able to focus until she'd spoken with him.

Oddly enough, the undercurrent of unrest pulsing through her seemed to be pulsing through the entire ship. Everyone was antsy, anxious to reach Dutch Harbor, ready to explore—but they were stuck, the torrential rain boxing them inside like caged animals. She had no idea what her role would be in the next excursion or if she'd have one at all.

With her lack of applicable skills and nonexistent swimming ability, Gage could rightly refuse her continuing on the excursions. He hadn't said anything in Mullins' office yesterday, but come tomorrow morning's excursion . . . who knew?
Gage and LFA's motto was “Safety First.” He could hardly allow her to continue and still hold true to their principle.

She stepped on the elevator and pushed the button for Deck 9, hoping to find Gage in the activities room.

The elevator paused at Deck 5, and her heart skipped a beat until the doors slid open. Two women stepped on, both in their early twenties with long dark hair, one about three inches taller than the other. Darcy glanced over to greet them and froze. Her gaze fastened on the taller woman's neck—more precisely, on the distinctive shell necklace nestled in the swell of her collarbone. The shell, purple in gradient shades, rested in a sterling silver mold following the natural outline of the shell itself. It was unique, one of a kind. It was Abby's.

“That necklace,” she said, finding her voice. “Where did you get it?”

The woman flipped her long hair over her shoulder. “It was a gift.”

Darcy stepped closer, thankful the elevator doors had shut and the woman was trapped, at least until the next stop. “A gift from whom?”

The woman squared her shoulders. “What's it to you?”

“It belongs to my friend.”

“I don't think so, lady.” She turned her back on Darcy, resuming her conversation with her friend.

“Look on the back,” Darcy interrupted, resisting the urge to grab the woman's shoulder and spin her back around. “You'll see the initials
A. T.
followed by
Proverbs 17:17.
”

The woman's gaze shifted down, but she didn't touch the pendant.

“Look, lady,” the other woman said, “you've obviously got Celia's necklace mixed up with your friend's. It's not like it's one of a kind or anything.”

The elevator beeped, and the doors started to open. Darcy panicked, hitting the Emergency Stop button. “Actually, it
is
one of a kind.”

“Are you loco?” The woman reached for the button as the emergency alarm sounded.

Darcy shielded it with her body. “I know it's one of a kind, because I made it for my friend. Please just look on the back—you'll see her initials.”

“Just do it, Celia”—the woman sighed—“so we can get away from this crazy broad.”

“Brandi . . . ” Celia protested.

“Just do it and prove her wrong.”

“Fine.” Celia huffed and flipped the pendant over. Her eyes widened as her mouth slackened.

Darcy smiled.
Another clue, Abbs
. “Where'd you get it?”

“It was a gift. I didn't steal it from nobody.”

“I'm not suggesting you did, Celia. But who gave it to you?”

Celia looked down, nibbling her bottom lip coated thick with red gloss.

“Someone on the ship?” Darcy guessed.

Celia looked down, embarrassment flushing her cheeks. “I didn't know he stole it.”

“He, who?”

“Ted.”

“Ted Norris? Does he work excursions?” Darcy tried to hide the shock in her voice, not wanting to upset Celia any more than she already had.

“Yeah . . .”

Brandi shook her head. “Mmm, Cee, I told you the guy was a loser.” She planted her hands on her hips. “He gave you some other chick's jewelry. He's just trying to get in your pants . . . or worse.”

“What do you mean worse?” Darcy asked.

“Brandi's watched one too many of those cop shows.” Celia slipped off the necklace. “Here . . .” She dropped it in Darcy's hand. “You can give it back to your friend.”

“I wish I could. She went missing off this ship a few days ago.”

The shrill emergency alarm ceased, and a voice crackled over the intercom. “Don't panic. We are working to get you out as fast as we can.”

Darcy stepped away from the control panel.

“What do you mean missing?” Brandi asked.

“I mean, she was working on the ship, and supposedly she's the person who went overboard. The cruise line says they took her to the hospital on Kodiak after the rescue, but from there she vanished.”

Celia's eyes narrowed. “What are you? Some sort of cop?”

“Or spy?” Brandi's eyes widened.

Celia cocked her head. “A spy? Girl, you've got to be kidding. She ain't no spy.”

Brandi eyed Darcy up and down. “Then what are you?”

“I'm just looking for my friend.”

The doors opened, and they were greeted by the same man who had rescued Darcy her first night on board.

“You again?” He arched a brow before checking on the other two ladies. “Everyone all right?”

“Just fine,” Celia said.

“Stupid alarm just went off,” Brandi said, glancing in Darcy's direction with a smile.

Darcy mouthed
thank you
as she clutched Abby's necklace tight, willing the tears not to fall.

She needed to find Ted. Had he been part of the rescue crew that night? Had he pulled the necklace from Abby's neck?
Abby never took it off. Period. Not in all the years since Darcy had given it to her back in their freshman year of college.

Fear tingled through Darcy's fingertips. What had happened to Abby after she went in the water?

“Lady.”

Darcy turned to find Brandi bustling down the corridor toward her.

She reached Darcy's side a bit winded. “We need to talk.”

Darcy followed Brandi down the hall and into the stairwell. Brandi leaned over the rail, looking up and down before speaking, just as Darcy had done with Gage her first day on board.

“Do you know something about Abby?” she asked, praying she'd finally found someone truly willing to talk.

“Your friend. No. Sorry, girl.”

It took a moment for the pain of that disappointment to subside. “Then . . . ?”

“Last spring, right about when I started working on the
Bering
, another gal fell overboard.”

“Off the
Bering
?”

“That's right.”

“Were they able to rescue her?”

“Uh-uh.”

A door shut above, and Brandi stopped talking. Voices and footsteps descended a flight, and then another door shut.

Brandi leaned back over the rail and peered up to be sure they were alone again. “That's the strange part,” she finally whispered.

Darcy's brows pinched together, the excitement of a possible lead coursing through her. “Strange?”

“The girl was vacationing with her family. She was out on the balcony reading when her family went to bed for the
night. Next morning her book is on the balcony floor, but she's nowhere to be found.”

“What?”

“Everyone assumed she fell overboard.”

“And that was it?”

“Far as I know. Coast Guard did a search, but nothing turned up. Her parents were upset and carried on for a while, but it simply died down. There was nothing to do.”

So within the past year a female passenger was presumed to have fallen overboard but no body was ever found, then Mrs. Bowen disappeared or was murdered and
her
body was never recovered, and now Abby.

Could they all be related?

Where is he?
Darcy banged on Gage's cabin door one more time in frustration. She'd searched the activities center—the entire ship, actually—and ended up back here. His meeting didn't start for hours, and she was dying to share what she'd learned. She
needed
to share and wanted it to be with him. The
Bering
's past was revealing a history of missing women.

“Hey, Darcy.”

She turned to find Ted strolling down the corridor. At least she'd found one of the men she was looking for.

“Just the man I was hoping to see.”

Ted smiled. “Oh yeah. Why's that?”

She pulled the necklace from her shirt pocket and let it dangle from her hand. “Care to explain?”

“Explain what?” His smile held.

“How you came across this necklace?” She held it up, anger for Abby fueling her.

“What are you talking about?” He looked at her as if she were crazy.

“You gave it to Celia. . . .”

“Celia? Oh right.” He snapped. “The hottie from the gift shop. What about her?”

“Where'd you get it?”

“Get what?”

“The necklace. Where did you get it?”

“Why are you getting so worked up?” He stepped closer. “Disappointed I haven't shown you any favors?”

Was the guy insane?

“It's only because I thought you and Clint had a thing going,” he continued.

“Clint and I don't have anything going.”

“Cool.” He smiled, inching closer still.

Her skin crawled with each step he took. “This necklace”—she shoved it in his face—“belonged to Abby Walsh.”

He frowned. “The chef?”

“Yes.”

He shook his head. “I don't think so.”

“This is Abby's necklace.”

He cocked his head slightly. “You know, for a woman you only met once, you seem to know an awful lot about her.”

“I saw her wearing this the day I boarded.”
She always wore it.

“Those shell necklaces are a dime a dozen.”

“Not with Abby's initials on the back.” She flipped the pendant over.

He squinted. “A. T.? Correct me if I'm wrong, but I thought Abby's name is Walsh. You just said so.”

How did she cover that one? Misdirection. “The point is, I saw Abby wearing this necklace the day I boarded, and
Celia said you gave it to her, so the question is . . . where did you get it?”

He remained silent a moment, then sighed. “Look, I'm not proud of it, all right, but . . .”

“But?”

“I found it.”

Darcy crossed her arms. “You found it?”

“Yeah, out on one of the decks.”

“Which one?”

“I don't remember. People are dropping stuff all the time. After a day passed and no one claimed it, I figured it was fair game.”

“When did you find it?”

“A couple days ago.”

“But Abby was wearing it the morning I boarded the
Bering
.”

“She must have lost it shortly after.”

“How would she lose it if it was around her neck?”

“Things fall . . .” He narrowed his eyes. “Wait a minute. Why all the questions about Abby? You know, you are starting to act just like her.”

“What do you mean?”

“She was always asking questions.”

“What kind of questions?”

He smiled, but there wasn't any warmth in it. “There you go again. Another question.”

“What can I say? I'm a curious journalist.”

“I think
nosy
and
misdirected
describe you better.” He glanced at his watch. “Now, if you'll excuse me, I've got someplace I need to be.”

Darcy knocked on Abby's cabin door, praying she'd find Abby's roommate, Pam, in a more amicable mood than the last time they spoke. In an effort to help that mood along, she'd come armed with a piping hot mocha—extra whipped cream and chocolate shavings.

Her encounter with Ted had reminded her that she still had the rest of Abby's belongings to go through. The night of Abby's disappearance, she'd only been able to grab Abby's purse—which was now missing.

While she doubted Abby would have intentionally left anything incriminating in her own cabin—anything that could show the truth of who she was—perhaps Darcy would find some clue. And if nothing else, she wanted to make sure Abby's things remained safe, that Abby's roommate didn't decide they were fair game.

She knocked a second time, and the door opened. Pam leaned against the doorframe, looking no less tired than she had the morning they'd met.

“Yeah?”

If it were possible, she looked even less pleased to see Darcy than before.

“Hi.”

Pam stared at her blankly.

“I'm Darcy. We met the other night.”

“Oh, right. The journalist with all the questions.” She looped her belt across her fluffy pink robe and knotted it.

Darcy held up the peace offering. “I brought you a mocha. Thought you could use it. I'm sure you had another long night.”

Pam eyed her cautiously but took the drink. “Thanks.”

“I'm sure it's hard working such late shifts.”

Pam shrugged and walked back into the room, leaving the door open. If that wasn't an invitation, Darcy didn't know what was. She darted inside before Pam could change her mind and shut the door behind her.

The room was much as it had been the other morning: Abby's bed made, her side of the cabin neat—Pam's half rumpled and tossed with clothes.

“What do you want?” Pam asked, lounging back on her bed and removing the lid of her drink. Steam escaped in a swirl, but Pam's eyes lit at the generous dollop of whipped cream.

Darcy sat in the only chair that wasn't filled with clothes and contemplated how she could claim Abby's things without making Pam suspicious. “When I spoke to Abby my first day on board, she indicated she had some excursion notes to show me.” Actually, they were case notes, but Pam didn't need to know that.

“Notes?” Pam took a tentative sip, whipped cream clinging to her upper lip.

“Like a travel journal of sorts.”

“To help with your assignment, your story?”

“That's my hope.” Though, again, she doubted Abby would leave anything too incriminating in her room, amongst
her personal belongings. She'd have found another place on the ship to stash her notes. Someplace where no one could tie them back to her. But with the ship being so enormous, it seemed easiest to start with her cabin and move out from there.

Besides, protecting the rest of Abby's belongings suddenly felt important. What if Pam decided they were up for grabs? What if she started wearing Abby's things or, worse yet, selling them off to crew members? “Mullins has been breathing down my neck to get the right feel for my stories, and I thought maybe looking through an excursion crew member's travel journal could give me great insight.”

Pam lifted a nail file and started with her right hand. “I get what you're saying about Mullins. She can be a real pain in the neck, but I imagine she has to be with the crew she's got.”

“What do you mean?” Darcy's gaze roamed over Abby's nightstand, which was clear on top, and then to her bed—
Is that a book?—
before quickly shifting her attention back to Pam.

Pam set the nail file aside, taking another sip of mocha, then retrieved the file and set back to work. “How would you like to be in charge of some four hundred employees? She has to stay on top of them all. I don't know how she keeps everyone straight.”

Mullins
. Of course. Being employee liaison, she'd have access to everyone's files, access to their personal information and employment history. Darcy grimaced. She'd clearly been out of the game too long—she should have started with Mullins.

“Toss in a high turnaround rate and snooty passengers,” Pam continued, switching the file from her right hand to her left. “I wouldn't want her job for the world.”

“Yeah, doesn't sound like much fun.” No wonder Mullins was stern—she probably had to be to get the job done.

“I think her only pleasure comes in firing people.” Pam blew across her nails.

“That's sad.” Darcy stood and stepped toward Abby's bed. The book looked like a Gideon Bible. It was highly unlikely it had anything to do with Abby—she avoided Bibles at all costs.

“That's Mullins. Takes pleasure in people's pain.” Pam took another sip of mocha and grabbed a red bottle of nail polish from her nightstand.

Darcy sank on the edge of Abby's bed, hoping she wasn't being too obvious, praying Pam wouldn't ask her to go just yet. “I get the feeling Mullins wasn't particularly fond of Abby.”

Pam knocked the bottle of polish against her palm, shaking it up. “That's for sure.”

Darcy scooted forward, resting her elbows on her knees. “Any idea why?”

“Things were fine before, but she seems steamed that Abby took off without notice.”

“I imagine it's pretty hard finding replacements when you're out at sea.”

“Yeah. You'd think.” Pam took a Q-tip and corrected a spot she'd polished onto her skin. “But Mullins has a surprising ability to find new people.”

“Really?”

“Yeah.” Pam resumed polishing, switching to her left hand. “None of us are sure how she does it, but when someone leaves unexpectedly, Mullins quickly reorganizes the shifts so we all pick up the slack—but fortunately for us, that never lasts long. There's always someone new waiting in the next port or, at the very least, in time for the next cruise.”

It couldn't be easy always finding replacements on such short notice, but she had mentioned something in the meeting about their usual provider working on finding a permanent replacement for Abby. “That's impressive.”

“Resourceful is probably a better word for it.”

Interesting
. “You seem to know exactly how stuff works around here.”

“I should.” Pam dropped the applicator brush back in the bottle of polish. “I've been on the
Bering
for five years.”

“Five years?” She looked
young
.

“Started when I was sixteen,” Pam said, blowing on her freshly polished nails.

“Is that even legal?”
Good, Darcy, call her on the legality of her profession. That'll help. Sheesh
. Where was her head?

“It's legal to work at sixteen. Besides, the ship is registered in the Bahamas—totally different set of rules.”

“Why is an Alaskan cruise line registered in the Bahamas?”

“Because that's where the cruise line originated.” Pam carefully retrieved her mocha, holding it so as not to mess up her polish job. She took a sip and then continued, “Destiny still has ships in the Bahamas. It's only been running the
Bering
in Alaska for the past five years.”

“Interesting combination—Bahamas and Alaska.”

“The ships go where there's an interest in cruising.”

“Right.” The perfect setup for smuggling between the U.S. and foreign markets. She'd read about drug busts on Caribbean ships. Was it possible someone had decided to work the same scheme between Alaska and Russia? But what had scared Abby so? They'd investigated drug runners before.

Pam stood. “Thanks for the drink, but I better get ready for my shift.”

“Oh. Sure.” Darcy got to her feet. “I'll just look through Abby's things for that journal and be on my way.”

“Ain't going to happen.”

But she'd thought they'd been making so much progress. “Why's that?”

Pam moved to the closet, gingerly fingering through her garments, careful not to get any polish on them. “Her stuff isn't here.”

“Not here? What happened to it?”

“It was collected after she left the ship.”

“Collected? By whom?”

“Mullins.”

Mullins
. There was no doubt about the next person she needed to speak with.

“Oh, okay.” Darcy took a deep breath and made a show of looking around the room. She ended by picking up the Bible from Abby's bed. “What about this?”

“Don't know. It's been there since Abby left, but I don't know why she would have taken it out of the drawer. We didn't see each other very often—because of our schedules and all that—but I never saw her reading it.”

It must have been underneath Abby's purse when Darcy grabbed it that first morning—that might make it significant. “Hmm, I've always wondered about these.” She opened the Bible and flipped through the pages. No obvious clue struck her, but maybe a closer examination would reveal a message from Abby.

She held up the Bible. “Mind if I take this with me?”

Pam was still focused on drying her nails. “Sure, nobody ever reads those goofy things, anyway.”

Darcy tucked it in her purse and thanked Pam for her time. As she left the room, she was tempted to stop to more carefully
search the Bible, but she decided the search for clues was better accomplished in the privacy of her cabin—or maybe she would stop by Gage's room.

More than likely the Gideon Bible would come to nothing, but with a lighter heart than she'd felt in days, she headed for the elevator. Rounding a corner she heard a rustle and turned to—