“I’d like that.” I picked up the bottle of champagne and suggested we finish it on the deck, where we could watch the sunset. If I couldn’t get Neil to open up about his past or personal life, I hoped that somewhere between the champagne, the sunset, and the sound of the water lapping up against Athena’s hull, I might learn more about his relationship with some of the Gang of Eight. Instead, Neil apologized and said it was getting late.

“We’ll be in Capri tomorrow. Unfortunately, only for the day, and much as I’d like to, I’ve some business to take care of. Things to do for Ida’s party. I haven’t been much of a host, but I could ask Antonio—”

“No!” The word escaped my anxious lips before I even had a chance to think of an appropriate response.

“I’m sorry. Is there a problem?”

“No. It’s just I have a lot to do.” I didn’t want Neil to think I suspected Antonio might be a problem, but there was no way I wanted to be alone with Antonio, not after today.

“So, you’ll be fine on your own.”

“Yes, of course. Please, don’t worry about it.”

Chapter Twenty-Two

Ibid Neil good night and shut the door behind him. His visit had made no sense. Neil had no reason to stop by and check in on me—dive or otherwise. With Oleg’s death, Neil should have been too busy helicoptering to Naples and back to care about how my day had gone. Unless, of course, the real purpose behind Neil’s visit was because the Gang of Eight wanted assurances I hadn’t spoken with Oleg. I could only hope that I had convinced Neil I knew nothing. But I had no guarantee.

I returned to the bar and picked up the champagne flutes. I was about to take them back to the kitchen and rinse them out when I stopped. A chocolate from the gift basket Finn had left on the coffee table had rolled onto the floor. I stooped to pick it up, then scanned the living room for more. If Greta had searched Dede’s apartment looking for her bag, might there have been something else as well?

Marco believed the artifacts the Professor had displayed the night of his lecture had been stolen and that the Professor and the Gang of Eight were using Athena to smuggle them to anxious buyers across the Mediterranean. I had no proof of any of this. Nor that the items I had seen that night had been stolen. For all I knew, Marco was, as both Byard and Sully had told me, suffering from dementia and a bad case of paranoia. But after my dive with the Gang of Eight today, I was beginning to think that for all Marco’s malingering, the man was sane. Still, until I knew more about the Brutus coin I found in Dede’s bag, I had chosen not to tell Marco about it. But now that I believed Greta had searched Dede’s cabin, I was inclined to think the coin I had found in Dede’s bag was real and that Dede was, exactly as Marco had said, little more than a pawn for the Gang of Eight.

As for Neil, I was growing ever more suspicious. I found another piece of chocolate on the floor, picked it up, and went to the kitchen. The first time I had met Neil, he had been rummaging through Dede’s spice cabinet. He claimed he was restocking the shelf, but what if he had been hiding something? More old coins or maybe diamonds? I wouldn’t have been surprised if a diamond merchant’s disinherited son had hidden diamonds inside a spice jar. I opened them all, turned their dry powdered contents onto the counter, and found nothing. I then searched through the cabinets and kitchen drawers and was about to give up when I saw a key attached to a round white metal holder marked Storage Locker.

Palming the key, I decided to take the stairs to the Marina Deck. I wanted to avoid running into anyone in the elevators, and when I got to the Marina Deck, I paused long enough outside the door and peered through the round window. I needed to assure myself the gym was empty and the coast clear. It was the dinner hour, and most of the residents had returned to their cabins to clean up after a busy day on shore, and the gym and storage area appeared empty.

I slipped quietly through the gym, bypassing the pool, and stepped through the watertight doorway to the storage area. Ahead of me were two long rows of wire cages, arranged by suite number and marked with identification tags indicating the owner’s name. I quickly found Dede’s, suite #1122, at the rear of the ship, right beside the Professor’s, #1123, and several storage areas down from that, was the Inspector’s locker, #1125.

I didn’t need a key. I could see through the wires what was inside Dede’s locker. A petit-point embroidered footstool, rocking chair, several small lamps, and at least a dozen boxes marked books. I moved to the Professor’s locker. It was stacked with boxes marked Christmas ornaments and old clothes. But it was the Inspector’s locker across the aisle that caught my attention. An empty black backpack was stacked on boxes along with miscellaneous swim gear. From all appearances, it looked like the same black bag the chef had packed with Garnier’s lunch that morning and that the Inspector had carried back on board just hours before. I was about to pick the lock on the Inspector’s locker when I heard a sound.

“Someone there?”

I recognized the voice.

“Captain Byard? Hi, it’s me, Kat.”

“Kat?” Byard’s voice sounded surprised. “What are you doing down here?”

I wrapped my arms around myself and walked toward the watertight door. I needed an excuse.

“I thought I left my watch in the gym when I came for my scuba lesson this afternoon.”

“Did you find it?” Byard rested his hand on the door’s handle.

“No.” I stepped through the water-tight door and pointed to the back of the ship. “I looked everywhere and thought I heard voices from the storage area. I thought maybe it might be Elli, and I went looking.”

“Elli’s not around now. The gym closes at eight. I’m sorry, but you can’t be here. You can leave a message on the gym’s answering machine if you want. Elli comes in early. I’m sure she’ll call you first thing in the morning if she has it.”

Byard shut the door behind us. “Anything else?”

I hesitated. Glanced back at the closed door. There was no way I was getting back into that storage area by myself. I was going to need some help.

“Yes, I was hoping you’d have dinner with me tomorrow night.”

“Sorry. Can’t tomorrow.”

“Look, I realize we got off on the wrong foot, but—”

“Tomorrow is Ida Churchill’s birthday party. I promised her I’d sit at her table. But Saturday night? I’d love to.”

Chapter Twenty-Three

Friday morning, four-forty-five a.m. I stared at the bedside clock as Athena pulled into Capri’s harbor. I could feel her motor slow, a slight shudder of her hull as we came to a stop, followed by the heavy vibration of the anchor chain as it descended into the ocean’s water below. I was exhausted.

Part of me wanted nothing more than to dress quickly, take the Brutus coin from the safe, and go ashore to the nearest police station. But after talking with Marco yesterday, I realized how naive I was about the police and theft in this part of the world. At best, I’d be taking a big chance. What could I tell them? I thought Oleg, Athena’s previous captain, and maybe Dede had been murdered? Or that I was sailing with a group of marauding senior citizens, a Gang of Eight including an anorexic aerialist, who I believed were smuggling antiquities siphoned from a larger cache of stolen artifacts from inside Genevia’s Freeport? The more I thought about it, the more bizarre it all sounded. Who would believe these otherwise respectable senior citizens were bootleggers, raiders of sunken and lost treasures? Modern-day pirates on the old Silk Highway?

Other than the coin—which I wasn’t even sure was real—I had no proof. Sure, the Professor was toting around a bunch of ancient artifacts, things that looked like they should be in a museum. But, like Marco said, the Professor wasn’t stupid. If questioned, he had the necessary documentation, forged or otherwise. And if I were to hand the Brutus Coin over to the police, what then? What assurances did I have that whoever I would be talking to wouldn’t recognize the coin as valuable, take it from me, tell me they would look into it, and be done with me? Who would believe me?

I sat up and pulled the sheets around me. I could only hope that if Greta had searched Dede’s apartment and found her bag and not the coin inside, Greta didn’t think I knew anything about the coin or thought I had hidden it. I was pretty sure that Neil believed me when I told him I hadn’t spoken with Oleg. And if Neil had convinced the Gang of Eight I didn’t know anything, then I had nothing to worry about. At least, I hoped so.

I weighed my options and decided not to leave the ship. I had a travel feature to write, and if I left now, I’d lose the story and my job. Not to mention any chance to cover what, in my mind, was a major smuggling operation by a group of geriatric pirates looking for their last hurrah. I was itching to write the story. Banner headlines flashed across my mind. Seniors at Sea Turned to Piracy. Lunacy or Piracy? Seniors transport stolen antiquities across the Med. Despite the danger to myself, I believed if I continued to maintain my cover, I could convince Neil and the Gang of Eight I was nothing more than a travel journalist doing my job.

I slipped back down beneath the sheets. If I closed my eyes now, I could catch another hour’s sleep. Instead, I heard a scratching coming from down the hall. I grabbed my robe off the foot of the bed and followed the sound to the front door. Someone was jiggling the handle.

I placed my hands against the door and peered through the peephole, but all I could see was a fisheye view of an empty hallway. I took hold of the handle.

“Who’s there?”

“Kat, it’s me.” From the other side of the door, I could hear Marco’s whispered, raspy voice.”

What now? I pulled the door open, and Marco, who was on his knees, shoulder-rolled from the hallway into my foyer. A pair of lockpicks tumbled from his hand onto the floor.

I closed the door behind me and picked the lockpicks up off the floor. What on earth? Marco extended a hand, and I helped him struggle to his feet.

“You better have a good excuse for this, Marco? It’s not even daylight out yet.”

“Don’t worry, your neighbors aren’t early risers, and Finn won’t be along to slip the morning paper under the door for at least another hour. I wanted to be here for breakfast.”

“I don’t eat breakfast. Least of all with men who try to slip into my apartment at five in the morning.” I slapped the lockpicks back into Marco’s hand. “Do you carry these with you all the time, or am I just special?”

“I didn’t want to ring the bell. Never know who might hear. And the lockpicks are a holdover from my prison days. It’s easier to get someone’s attention if you come to them rather than the other way around. We need to talk, Kat.”

I sighed. “Fine. I’ll make coffee. But this had better be good.”

I left Marco in the living room and returned to find him staring at the bookcase.

“Place has changed. There used to be a lot of books on these shelves.” Marco took a seashell from the shelf. “Can’t say I’m surprised. Dede never struck me as much of a reader. Not like Walter. He was the intellect.”

I put the two cups of black coffee on the coffee table. “You knew Dede’s husband?”