“Your secret’s safe with me. But tell me, how is it you came to work onboard, and how did you meet Neil?”
“Ahh, that’s easy.” Finn got up and went to the glass doors overlooking Dede’s private deck. “I fell in love with Neil Webster the minute I saw him. I know that sounds crazy, but I did. I was working aboard a cruise ship when Athena pulled in beside us in Porto, Portugal. Neil was on the Sun Deck. A tall, nerdy-looking blond dressed in a suit. He was there on business. I didn’t know who he was at the time. All I knew was that I had to meet him. I won’t say I stalked him, but I did follow him to a bar in town, and the rest is history. He offered me a job and my own suite aboard Athena. We don’t live together for appearance’s sake, but we’ve been together ever since. Except when he’s off on business traipsing around the world raising money for one thing or another.”
“Leaving you behind to keep things afloat?”
Finn crossed back to the bar and put his drink down. “I’ve learned not to complain. Being Neil’s paramour has advantages, and I have a good life.” Finn returned to the bar and finished his drink. “It’s late, and I’ve bent your ear long enough. I should be on my way.”
I walked Finn to the door, bid him good night, then checked to make sure Dede’s black crocheted bag was still inside the drawer of the entry table. Satisfied it was where I had left it, I closed the drawer and headed to the bedroom, then opened the envelope Finn had given me.
Dear Ms. Lawson,
On behalf of Athena’s staff, I would like to welcome you aboard and offer you a complimentary massage and use of the gym during your stay. I look forward to helping to make your visit a healthy, happy experience. Please call for an appointment,
Elli Webster
Extension 1505
I stared at the signature. Elli Webster? Her last name wasn’t lost on me, nor what I thought was Elli’s British accent—not British at all—but South African. A little too much of a coincidence not to be connected to Neil Webster. The Churchill sisters had said Neil was an only child, his only surviving relative an uncle who wanted nothing to do with the boy after his parents died. And yet, here was this girl, younger by at least twenty-five years and on summer break from California. What were the chances? I picked up the cabin phone, dialed her number, and left a message.
“Hi, Elli, it’s Kat Lawson. I’d like to take you up on your offer for a massage. If you’ve time tomorrow afternoon, I should be back on board after my morning visit to the island sometime after 2 p.m. Call me back. Extension 1221.”
Chapter Thirteen
Ihad coffee in my cabin the following morning. Like Dede, I wanted to wait until I was sure the Professor and Greta had left their apartment before I ventured out and risked running into the Professor. As a travel reporter, I needed time on my own to do my job, and I spent the early morning reading through my guidebook about the sights I planned to visit and still be back in time for my massage later that afternoon. Not so much because I needed a massage, but to collect information about some of those on board.
My former boss used to tell me whoever coined the phrase, Only her hairdresser knows for sure, would have made a damn good investigative reporter. People talk, he said. You want to know about someone. Talk to everybody who knows them. Priests. Tax Accountants. Best friends. Even their damn hairdresser. And under the circumstances, I hoped I could coax Elli into sharing some of what she knew about Neil Webster and maybe the Professor and Inspector Garnier while she worked out the kinks in my neck.
By nine o’clock, I tossed my guidebook into my backpack and dressed quickly. Taking a pair of shorts and a t-shirt from the closet, I slipped into my tennis shoes, grabbed my coffee, and headed outside to the living room deck for a view of Ischia and the Aragone Castle. The weather was picture-perfect. Small fishing boats bobbed in the harbor, protected from the open sea by a causeway connecting Ischia’s island to the Castle, which looked like it rose from the sea like a giant rock. It was hard to imagine, as pristine as everything looked, that somewhere beneath the calm turquoise-blue waters lay the legendary sunken city of Aenaria, dating back to the end of the first century BC, a once great port and center for trade in the Mediterranean.
Anxious for pictures, I snapped several, then, checking my watch, swigged down what was left of my cold coffee. It was 9:25 a.m. I figured I had waited long enough for the Professor and his group to disembark for their tour. I stuffed my camera inside my backpack, then headed downstairs to the Marina Deck to catch one of the morning shuttles to the island.
Unfortunately, the tenders had been running late, and the Professor, Greta, and Camile were waiting with a small group of residents. Upon seeing me, Camile turned her back while Greta left her husband’s side and approached.
“Oh, there you are. I was tempted to knock on your door this morning. Will you be joining the tour?”
“I’m sorry, I can’t.” I feigned disappointment. But after dinner with the Churchill sisters and Inspector Garnier and Camile’s chilly reception, I had begun to feel my presence on board, while known to all, was less than welcome and that the observer had become the observed. “My publisher’s given me a long list of places to see and photograph. And I have an appointment this afternoon for a massage.”
“Such a shame. You’ll miss The Atelier delle Dolcezze.” Greta put her hand on her stomach and licked her lips.
The Professor took his wife’s hand. “Don’t let the name mislead you. It’s more than a chocolatier. It’s an art gallery. Once the meeting place for young arts and cultural types and today, according to my wife—home to the best chocolate in all of Italy.”
The midshipman who manned the Marina portal interrupted and held out his hand. “Let’s go, people.” Athena’s tender had arrived. Patiently, the young sailor helped those in line ahead of me through the narrow door and down the short rope ladder to the awaiting tender.
I stepped back and told the Professor to go ahead. “Looks like this is going to be a full boat. You have a tour to give. I’ll catch the next shuttle.”
The Professor squeezed around me. “Whatever you say, Ms. Lawson. But tomorrow, no excuses. I want you with me on the dive to Aenaria. It’s like nothing you’ve ever seen or ever will again. Promise me.”
“I’ll be there.” I waved goodbye, relieved I wouldn’t be spending the morning in the Professor’s company, and found a seat near the pool where I could wait for the following tender to arrive and pulled my guidebook out from my backpack.
“Morning, Kat. You planning to go ashore?” I looked up from my guidebook to see Neil. He stepped back and adjusted his baseball hat. “If you are, I know a good tour guide. That is if you don’t mind sitting on the back of a Vespa.”
“You driving?” I stood up and stuffed my guidebook back inside my backpack.
“Unless you’d like to. But if you don’t know where you’re going, I wouldn’t advise it. The streets can be challenging, and the locals here don’t all speak English. Ischia isn’t your typical tourist trap.”
I shifted my backpack to my back. “I’m in, but I need to be back onboard by—”
“Two. Yes, I know. You have a massage scheduled.”
“Is there anything you and everybody else on this boat doesn’t know?”
“Probably not.” Neil glanced out the open porthole. The speed boat had arrived. “You coming?”
* * *
The small green Vespa Neil had reserved was barely big enough for two people. But Neil didn’t appear concerned and took hold of the handlebars. “Hop on. This’ll be fun, you’ll see.”
I straddled the seat, put my arms around Neil’s waist, and held tight as Neil gunned the bike’s small engine, and we zipped onto the narrow street.
“We’ll start at Mortella Gardens, or as the Italians call it, Giardini La Mortella.” I was impressed with Neil’s pitch-perfect Italian accent, and as we scooted around small cars and pedestrians with their shopping bags, despite the sudden stops and bumps in the road, I started to relax. Juggling my backpack on my lap, I grabbed my camera and snapped a few photos.
“You might want to wait until we get to the gardens. The view of the bay from there is as good as it gets. You can see the ship from there, and the gardens are the most beautiful in Italy. You’ll thank me.”
As we got to the top of the mountain, the road narrowed, and Neil pointed the bike onto a smaller dirt path, plush with plant life, the colors like an artist’s palate, of green and yellow gold, all melded together with the sounds of birds, and waterfalls. I had never seen a jungle of plant life so radiant or felt the subtle abundance of color and the sunlight so soft against my skin. Neil parked the scooter, got off, and walked ahead of me to the bluff like he had been there a hundred times before.
“To your left is Ischia Porto, and over there,” Neil pointed to the Aragones Castle, “is Ischia Ponte, where you can see the Castle. It looks like it’s growing straight up from the volcanic rock.”
I snapped several pictures, including one of Athena, moored in the harbor.
