“Me and three other people. A retired Interpol detective who helped work the original case, the old detective in Nepal who arrested Vincent and finally put him away for life, and the retired Dutch ambassador to Thailand who was instrumental in first bringing the case to everyone’s attention. Back in the mid-seventies he’d been searching for two missing Dutch citizens who vanished after landing in Bangkok. It was he who first began to believe there might be a serial killer operating in Bangkok, and preying on tourists embarking on the Hippie Trail to Kathmandu. Turned out it was worse than anyone imagined.”
“How didyouget involved back then?”
“I consulted on the case. We all formed a bond, and kept up correspondence over the years. We all wanted to know what really happened to Sanjay Lohar—there was no proof. And we also believed there were still many more murders that had not yet been attributed to Vincent. When he was released last year, the old Interpol cop kept in contact with his counterparts in Europe. Vincent was a free man, but they werekeeping an eye on him after his release. Turns out he left Paris, went to Belgium, and then the Netherlands, where he set up in Amsterdam as an art and antiquities dealer and started his scams again.”
Carter leans forward. “Has he killed more people since he’s been out?”
“We don’t believe so. Not yet, anyway. But when he suddenly went on a spree, buying expensive designer clothes and luggage, and he secured a ticket on an invitation-only trip on theBlack Orchid, our suspicions were aroused. And I followed him.”
“Is he targeting someone on this ship?”
Gramps hesitates, choosing his words carefully. “Vincent thinks he is. But ... let’s just say, the script has been flipped. Someone else is targeting Vincent. He just doesn’t know it yet.”
“Who?”
He doesn’t answer that question. Instead, he glances down at Carter. His eyes shine with emotion. “But I got something more valuable than answers on this trip. I got to know you, son. And I’m so proud of you. You know what else? Your mom and I had some really deep talks. Difficult but good talks. She’s decided to give things another try with your dad. He’s going to be waiting for us on Santorini.”
Poppy
“Poppy, thank you for coming. Please take a seat.” Lillith gestures to a chair across from hers. She sits in front of the windows, dressed in white—an ethereal one-eyed Miss Havisham in her pale-hued suite. Her tone is calm, cool, eerie. Confusing.
Poppy glances at Avi. He stands between the two doors, feet planted squarely, arms at his sides as though ready to quick-draw a weapon. Poppy has no avenue of escape.
Her gaze darts to the sliding doors that lead out to the patio area behind Lillith. If she manages to exit those doors, what would she do? Jump overboard? There’s at least a fifteen-story drop to the ocean. Water is not compressible. She’d slam into it like it was concrete, break every bone in her body. Even if she did survive, she’s not a swimmer. There’s not one athletic molecule in her middle-aged body.
“If this is about Paz,” she says, “I didn’t do it. I was acquitted. I—”
“Poppy, please, just sit,” Lillith says quietly.
She goes to the chair, lowers herself slowly onto the edge of it.
“Can Avi get you something to drink?” Lillith asks.
“What? No. I just want to know what’s going on.” Her gaze goes to Lillith’s ornate cane. The same cane she had with her on that bench in Brighton, where she sat waiting to trap Poppy, ready to cast a net to lure her to Scotland. A silvery black widow from a Scottish castle. She looks terrifying in her frail paleness. Or because of it.
“Not even a G&T?”
Poppy would actually kill for a strong drink. Something to blot this out, make it all go away. She feels like Alice who’s slipped through the looking glass into an alternate reality—cruising her way toward Santorini with Avi guarding her exits like some trained assassin.
“No. I don’t want a drink. I want to know what you want with me, what game you’re playing.” Her voice comes out croaky. But she clears her throat and fights for more stridency. “Because if this is about Paz and the—”
“The poisoning?” Lillith angles her head.
“I told you I didn’t do it. I didn’t kill him. It wasn’t me who put those leaves in his tea. I—”
“Poppy, Poppy.” Lillith sighs gently. “We both know you’d be in prison right now if it wasn’t for my excellent legal counsel.”
Poppy’s jaw drops. She stares. Her gaze shoots to Avi. He remains motionless. A statue. Her attention darts back to Lillith. Her heart is racing so fast it’s about to bust free of her chest.
“It—it was pro bono. It—”
“No. It wasn’t.”
“Youhired them?” she whispers.
Lillith nods.
“Why?”
