Accessory: The Scarab Beetle Series: #4 (The Academy) (25 page)

We moved over to a bench that had a coffee table. I put my flute on the table and he held onto his, occasionally sipping from it. Meanwhile, I had a difficult time trying to figure out a way to arrange myself. The skirt went super short when I sat down, and even shorter when crossing my legs to prevent exposing myself.

“Just put your knees together,” Axel said.

I tried that, but it felt like if anyone sat across from me, I’d be exposed. I lowered my knees down by sliding my feet out and that was awkward. “I should have never taken this dress,” I said, crossing my legs again and smoothing out the material, tugging it lower on my thigh.

“It looks good on you.”

“I’m going to spend more time worrying about flashing people than I am actually doing anything productive.” I leaned my legs to one side, pressing my knee into him and doing an ankles squeezed together thing. It was cozier into Axel than I’d intended, but it seemed to be the only way to look natural and not be exposed.

Axel placed a palm on my knee. “I never took you for modest.”

“Do you want me to get manhandled?” I asked. “Flashing an invitation isn’t high on my priority list right now.”

“Kayli, the more I learn about you...” He never finished and rubbed my knee.

I thought he was just trying to get me to settle down and quit worrying about my skirt. I tried to be still, and worked on studying other people as they began to arrive.

The blond crewman eventually walked back up the gangway empty-handed and redirected the drivers to continue to carry the luggage onboard. The men put the luggage down on the deck, until the blond man spoke and they reluctantly picked suitcases up again and followed the blond man inside the foyer. How mean. He was going to make them deposit the luggage in the rooms? Didn’t they even have a cart for them?

Was the blond man just lazy? It didn’t feel like the driver’s job to deposit suitcases. But then, why were these cases brought up on this deck and not through that door he’d pointed to before?

I was going to mention this when a silver platter materialized in front of us. On it was an offering of meat, cheese, and cracker combinations. The portions were big, like half a slice of bread big.

Kevin was holding the platter and looking at us. He wore the same dark clothes as the other crew. “You should try the crackers on the third row,” he said. “Those are the best.”

I squinted at him and then looked at the platter. They were all the same.

Axel picked two up off of the third row. “Thanks.”

“No problem,” Kevin said, and then moved on toward Blake. I watched as Kevin started to offer up the platter. Blake went to reach for an hors d’oeuvres, but then Kevin pointed to another row. Blake carefully picked up the second selection.

It wasn’t the same row Kevin had pointed out to us. So Blake got regular hors d’oeuvres and not the ones we got. Was he leaving Blake out in particular?

Blake shrugged, ate a bite, and then casually made his way toward the hot tub.

The bikini-clad girls raised their hands, waving at Blake. He passed off his snack to Fancy, who ate it. He greeted them all and then put an arm around the waist of one of the girls, and talked to them. He seemed to be talking particularly to Fancy, but the beach bunnies giggled.

“Ugh,” I said, unable to stop myself. A heated bubble of jealousy worked its way into my chest. I turned my head away from him, trying to ignore it. I couldn’t be jealous. My brain flipped from trying to tell myself he was trying to blend in, to outright wanting to throw the flute of orange juice in his face. Did he have to do that while I was sitting here watching?

Axel elbowed me. I turned my head to see him open his hand; there was an earpiece in his palm. Then I found he’d put the uneaten hors d'oeuvres aside. Kevin had delivered our earpieces. Axel had black boxes, too, like Blake’s.

“Why do we even have these?” I asked. “They don’t even work that well. They cut off...”

“Don’t talk,” he said. “Just put it in.”

I reached over and took the small earpiece. I stuck it into my ear, wiggling it into place.

At first, I thought mine was broken. I didn’t hear anything. My first reaction was to cover my mouth somehow as I talked, so I picked up my flute to cover my lips.

“Yeah, Corey?” Axel said, looking at me like I was part of the conversation.

Oh. That made sense. I pretended to talk to Axel instead. Nothing from my earpiece. Axel got Corey. Did I get Marc or Raven?

“Hey...” I said quietly with the flute in front of my mouth, simply because it felt weird.

“Don’t talk,” Doyle said in my ear. “Don’t even start.”

I looked at Axel, who appeared to be listening. Corey must have been telling him something. “Are you supposed to tell me something?”

“Will you be quiet? I’m trying to give you the silent treatment. I heard it works to let your opponent know you don’t like them.”

“Then why did I get this earpiece?”

“To annoy you.”

“I can take it out now.”

“I’m connecting you,” he said. “Just shut up.”

Connecting me? I waited. Kroner and Hill were onboard now. The woman who had picked up the poop now also carried the small dog. The Yorkie yapped at every person they passed along the way. The two men talked to each other. They greeted Ethan and Avery briefly. Then they approached the bar, grabbed a flute each and moved to a bench, taking a seat as they chatted. The woman kept Raisin with her until Mr. Hill settled in and then she put the dog into his lap.

First to arrive. We were going to sit here as maybe a thousand more people boarded? Didn’t they need to check in or something? Or was that what security was for down at the dock?

“Kayli?” Blake’s voice drifted into my ear.

My eyes instantly went to Blake, who stood with one of the beach bunnies. He smiled out toward the river like he was enjoying the view. The bunny in his arm talked to Future and the other girl.

Blake turned his head, looking like he was talking to the girls but I heard, “I like you in that outfit, but I don’t think it suits you. The glasses are an interesting touch.”

“If you’ve got a question about my outfit, talk to Fancy,” I said. “Her idea.”

Axel leaned into me, putting an arm around my shoulder and turning me slightly toward him. If we were going to talk, we needed to pretend to talk to each other. I wondered if he knew I was talking to Blake. Then I realized that’s why Blake was with the beach bunnies. He was hiding the fact that he was really talking to me. He didn’t have a partner.

He spoke to me now. “One of the men from Nightingale is coming onboard in a minute. He just arrived: Mr. Smith.”

“Original name,” I said. I waited quietly. It seemed like Axel was done with his conversation for now. All I was hearing was the girls on Blake’s side giggling and talking about something.

Eventually, three people showed up, two men, one woman. I didn’t recognize any of them.

“Which one is Smith?” I asked.

“Bald, hook nose.”

There was a really tall man fitting that description. He was Lurch with a tan. Gold rings on his fingers, wearing a Hawaiian shirt and khakis. He looked like he belonged on a cruise liner, far into retirement. I couldn’t help but check out his pockets, he was carrying something heavy.

“Is Mr. Smith on the list for gun carriers?” I asked, repositioning the flute to my lips to mask what I was saying in case anyone was paying attention.

“No,” Blake said. “Why?”

“Because he’s got one.”

Blake turned his body, dragging the woman in his arm with him. He peered toward Mr. Smith and then spun again to try to not get caught looking. “Where?”

“Center of his back pockets,” I said. Of course it could have been a water gun, or something else completely, but I went for the most realistic item for the shape. I had practice at school when I would try to figure out what was in pockets before I picked them. I’d gotten pretty good at it. “I’m pretty certain it’s a gun. Wallet in his left pocket, phone in his right. Gun in the middle. He’s probably got a belt for it. Unless he stuck it in his pants, and then he’s an idiot.”

“Mr. Smith doesn’t have anything registered.”

“Is registration mandatory in this state?”

“No,” Blake said. “Only to carry on public property or conceal carry. And I don’t have a record of him having a gun. He wasn’t on my list.”

“No,” Axel said next to me. He must have been listening to me at least partially. He leaned in and then whispered in my ear. “You can do that?” he asked. “Pick out what they’re carrying just by looking?”

“He’s asking that now?” Blake asked. “You just did it. It’s obvious you can.”

“Yes,” I said, answering both in a way, although I looked at Axel. This was going to get confusing. “He’s carrying right now while dressed for vacation. Isn’t that weird?”

“There’s only one reason I can think of to carry a weapon while on vacation,” Blake said. “And that’s because I expect to shoot someone. Or to be shot at.”

“Sometimes people just carry all the time,” Axel said. He leaned away from me, talking again to Corey.

I thought it was funny that Axel and Blake were almost carrying on a conversation, except they couldn’t hear each other. “You can’t just shoot people with witnesses around,” I said to Blake.

“We’re going out to sea, sugar. There’s lots of place to hide on this ship. And there’s a lot of ocean to dump a body.”

Now I wasn’t able to pull my eyes from Mr. Smith. He was pretty scary on his own, thin but gnarly-looking. He split up from the people he’d boarded with. The blond man greeted him at the big glass doors. They spoke briefly. “Maybe he’s just one of those guys who likes to carry.”

“A right wing nut? Or just an enthusiast? Maybe. But then I’d assume he’d have at least one registered gun somewhere.”

“Let’s find out if he’s right wing or whatever,” I said. I stood up, downed my flute of orange juice grossness and put the empty glass back down at the table. I motioned to Axel that I was going by the bar again and would come back. He nodded, although he stiffened. He didn’t like me getting away from him.

I walked slowly toward the bar, watching as Mr. Smith continued to speak to the staff. I had time, so I walked around the pool, right past Blake and the bunnies.

Mr. Smith plucked a couple of twenties out of his front pocket, passing them over to the blond man who then disappeared into the foyer. Mr. Smith looked around and then headed toward the bar, too.

I covered my mouth and pretended to cough. “Someone needs to follow Mr. Grumpy blond and find out why Mr. Smith just paid him.”

“I’m headed in now,” Blake said. I couldn’t see him now from where I was, closer to the bar but I could hear him breathing a little heavier now. He was walking quickly to catch up and I only caught sight of him as he got to the doors and slipped inside. “Needed to get away from those girls. That high-pitched cackling was about to drive me up a wall. Thank god you don’t cackle.”

I was too close to the bar now, unable to comment. As soon as I got there, I picked up another flute, giving my hands something to do. I looked around casually, taking my time, watching and assessing the other people coming aboard. Most headed inside, a few lingered on the dock, checking out the view of the river.

“Get me a whiskey on the rocks,” Mr. Smith said to the barwoman. He drummed his knuckles on the wood surface and pointed at a particular bottle behind her. “And fill the glass.” He had a dry, gravelly voice. He didn’t clear his throat, so I suspected his voice was always like that.

I gritted my teeth. I didn’t know anything about politics and didn’t really know where to start a conversation. I sighed, trying to relax. Just say hello. I eyeballed Mr. Smith as he leaned on his elbows against the bar. “I really like your shirt,” I said.

Mr. Smith continued to stare ahead for a moment and then shook his head as if I’d broken his concentration and turned to stare at me. “Huh?” he said.

That was an awkward opening. I really wasn’t good at this. I wondered if it was too late to just steal his wallet and walk away. “I like the...” I looked at his shirt again. It was a light blue with tropical islands and sea creatures mixed in: dolphins and fish. “The blue color. It’s my favorite color.”

“
Is
that your favorite color?” Blake asked in my ear. “I never thought to ask.”

Blake was distracting. Didn’t he know I was making conversation?

Mr. Smith looked down at his shirt and smoothed his hands over the buttons. “Oh,” he said, “thank you.” He looked over to the bartender who was putting ice in a short glass.

I was losing him. Lame conversationalist that I was, I needed a different approach. “Have you been to one of these before?” I asked, going for innocent. Help me sir, I’m the new kid and need directions.

“Are you an intern?” he asked. The bartender handed him his glass and he took it. He swirled his drink and then took several long sips from it. “Do you need to find your owner?”

Rude!

“Mr. Smith is a seasoned traveler,” Blake said in my ear. “There are rumors he is looking to retire and would basically live on cruise ships. No wife or kids. Bachelor forever.”

No kidding. He was a jerk. “I’ve never been on a private cruise,” I said, rolling with whatever was in my head. I could either make friends now, or I’d have to rely on Blake or the others to do it. We weren’t hitting it off, so obviously, I needed to up my game. “Ever since I was hired by Mr. Murdock last year, there’s a lot of these get-togethers and charity events and...”

“I’ve never seen you at a charity event,” the man said. He turned to me, leaning with one elbow on the surface. “I’ve been to all of them.”

I blinked at him, mouth open. Suspicious. Careful. I was just rambling, throwing anything at him to get him to talk. I sucked at this. “We must have missed each other.”

“I don’t know who you are,” he said. He leaned in and I could smell the whiskey on his breath. This wasn’t his first drink. And it was still early in the morning. “And I don’t know why you’re talking to me. I don’t know if you’re even old enough to be drinking what you’ve got in your hand.”

Crap. How old did I look? Maybe innocent wasn’t the way to go since I was trying to look older than the eighteen year old that I was. This wasn’t going to work. I summoned up a brave smile and tried not to look upset. “I’m flattered,” I said. “I hope when I turn sixty I can still look ten years younger.”