Interrupting us was a short, stocky, pale-skinned man dressed in navy pants and a white shirt with black shoulder epaulets sporting a single gold bar.

“Sully.” The Captain addressed him with a nod of his head.

Sully did a quick salute. “Sorry to interrupt, Sir. Just wanted you to know, that little matter we addressed last night?” Sully tilted his head in the direction of the Naples’ port. “It’s all taken care of.”

“Good to know.” The Captain cleared his throat. “You can fill me in on the details later. Meanwhile, Ms. Lawson, this is our Head of Security, Chief Henry O’Sullivan.”

“You can call me Sully. Most do.” The Chief extended his hand. He had a firm, if not slightly clammy, handshake. “You’re the American in Dede Drummerhausen’s cabin. Writing a travel feature, I understand.”

“I see news travels fast.”

“Ay. For a big ship, Athena’s mighty small.” The Chief pulled a pack of Marlboro Golds from his pocket. “Mind if I smoke?”

I shook my head.

The Chief put a cigarette in his mouth, covered the tip with the palm of his hand, and lit it. “Not much happens aboard that everyone doesn’t know about.”

“Including someone falling overboard?” It seemed like the appropriate time to ask. If the Churchill sisters were correct in their belief that Dede Drummerhausen had fallen overboard and not walked off the ship as she was expected to do in Naples, then who better to ask than the head of security?

“Ugh! You must have been talking to the Churchill sisters, Ida and Irene? Sorry to say, but those two old biddies? Nice ladies, but I wouldn’t put much credence into what they say. They’re a bit daft, and—”

“Charming.” The captain interrupted. “I believe the word you’re looking for, Chief, is charming. Isn’t that right?”

The Chief took a drag on his cigarette, locked eyes with the Captain, and exhaled a ring of smoke from the side of his mouth. “Sounds about right.”

The Captain rested a hand on the railing. “I wouldn’t want you to think any of our residents are crazy. Most of those onboard are older, and like people in any retirement community, some have a few quirky habits, but I’m sure you’ll find them all quite harmless. Just people enjoying their senior years at sea.”

Humph. The Chief took another drag on his cigarette. “You might want to warn her about Marco.”

“Marco?”

“Ay.” The Chief raised a brow. “His name is Nicholas Marcopoulos. Goes by Marco. You’ll know him when you see him. Full head of white hair. Mid-seventies. Greek. Maybe Italian. Not sure which. But you’ll recognize him. Walks with a bit of limp and, when he’s dressed, wears a yachtsman’s hat.”

“When he’s dressed?” My eyes went from the Chief back to the Captain. “Is there something you’re trying to tell me?”

“Uh-huh.” The Captain cleared his throat. “Go on, Sully. Tell her. She might as well hear it now. No point in holding back.”

“Marco’s been aboard for a long time now. Suffers from dementia and tends to be a kleptomaniac. We’ve found things in his suite that don’t belong to him. During the day, he’s not much of a problem. But at night, I’ll warn you, he likes to sleepwalk. Been known to wander the deck wearing nothing more than his hat on his head.”

“You mean he wanders around naked?” The words tumbled from my mouth. I didn’t know whether to laugh or be concerned.

“Don’t worry. He’s harmless. Maybe naked as the day he was born, but we keep an eye out for him. But if you hear any midnight reports about the Moon over Med. You’ll know it’s Marco.”

Chapter Two

Ileft Captain Byard and Chief O’Sullivan on the Sun Deck to discuss whatever matter Sully had taken care of the night before and hadn’t wanted to discuss in my presence. Whatever their concerns, including their warning about Marco’s late-night moonwalks or the Churchill sisters’ insistence that Dede Drummerhausen had gone overboard, I was convinced from the captain’s response that I had little to worry about. And with the warm weather and the briny smell of sea salt, I wasn’t about to let it bother me. After all, I was on a beautiful yacht in the middle of the Mediterranean and on vacation with a handsome Captain. How bad could things get? I did a quick lap around the Sun Deck, took one final view of Naples and the sparkling blue Mediterranean Sea at her shore, and returned to my cabin.

The rich live differently. My cabin, or Dede’s condo, was on the twelfth floor or four floors above the Promenade Deck, where I had entered the ship and came with a maid and cabin steward for butler services. My steward’s name was Finn, who, like his name, had come from Finland and had welcomed me aboard the night before. Finn looked to be in his early thirties, with white-blonde hair, luscious long lashes, blue eyes, and a gracious and very accommodating manner. In addition to helping me find Dede’s cabin, Finn had placed a welcome basket in the living room, loaded with fruit, candies, a chilled bottle of champagne, and put chocolates by my bedside table.

Not counting the outside deck, which ran the entire length of the apartment with floor-to-ceiling sliding glass doors, the cabin was at least 2,000 square feet. Two master suites complete with jacuzzi tubs, large walk-in closets, a spacious living room with a big screen TV, a formal dining room, a fully stocked bar, and a dine-in kitchen. I could get used to this. After my divorce, I downsized. Not necessarily by choice, but what at the time had been a matter of what was affordable, and what was affordable, was a small studio apartment above my grandmother’s garage. Barebones as it gets.

I got as far as the living room when I heard a noise from the kitchen. Someone had closed a cabinet door, and I could hear water running.

“Hello? Anyone here?” I knew it couldn’t be Finn. I’d seen him enter one of the other cabins when I came down the hall. Instinctively, I reached for the bottle of champagne from the ice bucket on the dining table and held it by its neck, like a weapon, above my head. “Hello?”

Seconds later, a man appeared from the kitchen, wiping his hands with a dishtowel.

“Oh!” He stopped abruptly, surprised to see me. “You must be Kat Lawson. I wasn’t expecting you.”

I lowered the champagne bottle and held it against my chest. “And you are?”

“A friend of Dede’s.” The stranger tossed the dishtowel onto the dining room table and offered me his hand. He was tall, with greying blond hair, silver-rimmed glasses, and slim. I pegged him to be about my age, or maybe slightly older—mid to late forties, and based upon the ease with which he navigated the apartment, non-threatening. “I apologize if I’ve frightened you. Finn, your butler, let me in. I assume you’ve met?”

I nodded.

“I forgot that this was the week Dede had agreed to sublet her cabin. You must be the journalist.”

“Yes, I am.” I put the champagne bottle back on the dining table.

“I stopped by to restock Dede’s spice shelf. She and I enjoy cooking and experimenting with different spices when I’m on board. Her late husband Walter and I used to consider ourselves food aficionados. But you mustn’t worry. I won’t let myself in again. I promise.”

“You have a key?”

“No, I don’t need one, I—”

“Own the ship.” I stepped back and stared at my intruder, impeccably dressed in his white slacks and light blue collared polo shirt, as another more formal, professional picture came to mind, along with his bio. Neil Webster. Head of one of London’s most successful investment funds and heir to a South African diamond mine estimated to be worth more than five billion dollars. “You’re Neil Webster, the Neil Webster. I didn’t think you’d be on board.”

“I’m not ordinarily, but I wanted to be this week. My Aunt Ida is celebrating her birthday Saturday, and I didn’t want to miss the celebration.”

“Ida Churchill?”

“You know her?”

“I had High Tea with the Churchill sisters this afternoon. Ida and Irene.”

“Yes. Lovely ladies. They’re like family to me. I met Ida and her sister Irene years ago when I attended Eaton College for boys in London. When they retired, I suggested they take up residence on board the Athena rather than live a solitary life in soggy old England. I gave them a suite, and they’ve been aboard since the first day.”

“That was very kind of you.”

“It was the least I could do. The Churchill sisters were very good to me. Right after I started Eton, my mum and dad were killed in a plane accident in South Africa. My only living relative, my uncle, had no interest in taking me in and was content to have me away at school. Neither Ida nor Irene had any family of their own. The war had taken away any chance either would ever marry. They were spinster schoolteachers who took me under their wing, and we adopted one another. I think of them as my aunties. They’re like family.”

“And now, here you are. Ready to help celebrate Ida’s birthday.”

“I am. However, selfishly, I wanted the time away from work. London’s been hectic, and Athena and the Med have always been my Happy Place. One day, maybe I’ll be able to retire and spend my days sailing into the sunset like every other resident on board. But don’t worry, if it’s any consolation to you, I won’t disturb you again.” Neil reached for the dishtowel he had tossed on the table and folded it neatly across his arm. “Unless, of course, I can ask you to have dinner with me one night?”

I couldn’t believe my luck. A Mediterranean cruise. A handsome captain. And now, a dinner invite with one of the most successful and sought-after investment gurus on the planet. “I’d love to.”

“Good. However, I’ll warn you, my dinner invitation isn’t for an interview, at least not about me. Forbes, The Wall Street Journal, Barrons, and Fortune have been after me for years for a story, and I prefer to keep my personal life out of the news. So, if you promise not to grill me about my company or ask for any investment advice, I’d welcome the opportunity to chat with you about Athena. So why not? It’ll give me a chance to get to know you better.”