Chapter 8
Breakfast had ended with that photo. The four of them kept smiling like we were already engaged, and I kept smiling back until my cheeks hurt. When they finally left the salon to let the crew clear plates, he squeezed my hand under the table and said, "We've got ten minutes before they come back for speeches."
I didn't take the ten minutes to sit. I stood and said I needed air, and he followed me into the hallway.
The hallway was narrower than it looked in the shock of that morning. Polished wood on both sides, recessed lights every few feet throwing warm circles on the ceiling. I stopped in the middle of it and turned around.
That was the first thing I needed to check.
From where the women had stood in the doorway, they would have seen straight down the hall to the bed. No angle to miss it. No half-blocked view. The doorway framed the bed perfectly, headboard centered, cream bedding bright against the dark wood. Anyone standing where they'd stood would have had a clear, staged view.
"It was lined up," I said quietly.
He stood behind me. "What was?"
"The doorway. The bed. The lights." I pointed at the recessed cans over the hall. "They were all on at dawn. I remember that. Who turns on every hall light at five in the morning unless they want someone to look in?"
He didn't answer right away. I could hear him breathing. Then he said, "You think they left the door open on purpose."
"I think they wanted to be seen gasping," I said. It sounded meaner than I meant it, but it felt true. Four women, crowded shoulder to shoulder, mouths open, at the exact moment the light hit the chains. That wasn't an accident. That was blocking.
We walked to his office door at the end of the hall. During the night it had been locked. Now in daylight I could see what I hadn't seen at dawn.
There was a faint scuff at the base of the door, just above the brass kick plate. Not a scratch, more like a shoe had dragged. And on the handle, the lacquer had a fresh smear where fingers had pushed.
I crouched. "Look."
He knelt beside me. His black shirt pulled tight across his shoulders.
"That's been there for months," he said, but his voice wasn't sure.
"Maybe." I ran my fingertip over it. The wood was still a little rough, the dust inside the scuff still pale. "When did the steward last polish this hall?"
"Every evening," he said. "Before dinner."
So the scuff had to be from after that. From last night.
I stood and pulled the chain out from under my sleep shirt. In the bright hall light I saw it properly. Tangled in the tiny links near the clasp were two pale fibers. Cream. The same satin as the bedding. They were caught tight, like the chain had been dragged across the sheets.
"He put it on while we were in the bed," I whispered.
He stared at the fibers. "Or I rolled onto it. Or—"
"No," I said. "I didn't have this on when I fell asleep. You didn't either. Someone had to open the clasp and close it around our necks. That takes two hands. That takes standing right over us."
His face changed. The calm he'd kept all morning cracked for a second.
The steward came around the corner then with a stack of folded napkins. Young guy, early twenties, navy polo with the yacht's logo. He stopped when he saw us by the office.
"Mr. Hayes? Need the office opened?" he asked.
He shook his head. "No, we're good. Actually—" He looked at me. "Can I ask, did anyone ask for a key last night?"
The steward shifted the napkins. "Master key? Yes, sir. Around two. Miss in the light blue blazer said she'd left her earrings in the salon and needed to get back in. I let her use the board key. She brought it back about ten minutes later."
My stomach dropped. Two a.m.
"Are you sure it was her?" I asked. I tried to keep my voice even.
"Yes, ma'am. The younger blonde one. She said she didn't want to wake anyone, so she asked me not to log it as a call, just hand her the key." He looked between us, realizing this mattered. "Is something missing?"
"No," he said quickly. "Thank you. That's helpful."
The steward nodded and kept walking.
When he was gone I turned to him. "Two a.m. The office was locked at ten when you showed me the ring box. So between two and when we woke up, someone with the master had access."
"She returned the key," he said. "That would be—"
"Opportunity," I finished. "She had the key, she knew the hallway lights, she knew we'd sleep through it."
He leaned against the wood paneling and rubbed the back of his neck. The chain glinted against his collar. "She wouldn't. She knows what that ring means. My mother would kill her if she forced something like this."
"Would she?" I said. "At breakfast she was the one who kept saying how perfect it was that we'd kept it private. How romantic. No one else pushed that line as hard."
He didn't defend her. He just looked down the hall toward the bedroom, where the bedding was still mussed and the doorway stood empty now, lights still warm overhead.
From two to four, I thought. That's when it happened. While we were asleep ten feet from an open door.
He pushed off the wall. "We can't say anything yet."
"I know," I said.
He reached for my hand. His fingers were cold. "If we accuse her with just a scuff and a steward who didn't log it, we look paranoid."
May you like
I tucked the chain back under my shirt. The fibers were still there, hidden now against my skin. Evidence no one else could see unless they looked too close.
I knew she had been in that hallway at two. And I knew someone had made sure that doorway was a stage at dawn.
