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“Over three thousand people?” He let out a low whistle. “You’re going to have a revolt.”
“What I’ve got is a missing woman, and very likely a dead body somewhere on this vessel. I’ve also got a killer. I want somebody in here with them,” she added. “I want a look at all security discs, cams, monitors.”
“That’s no problem.”
“We need an e-m an to try to triangulate the signal with Grogan’s ’link. If she’s still got it, we may be able to locate her. What time did she go missing?”
“As close as we can determine, right about one thirty.”
Eve glanced at her wrist unit. “More than an hour now. I want to—”
She heard the boom, the gunfire crackle, the shouts. Before the next blast, she was rushing through the door and out on deck.
Passengers whistled, stomped, cheered, as an impressive shower of color exploded into the sky.
“Fireworks? For Christ’s sake. It’s still daylight.”
“There’s nothing scheduled,” Jake told her.
“Diversion,” she muttered, and began to push and shove her way in the opposite direction of the show. “Get somebody to find the source, stop it.”
“I’m already on it,” Jake said and shouted into his communicator. “Where are we going?”
“The scene of the crime.”
“What? I can’t hear a freaking thing. Say again,” he yelled into his communicator. “Say again.”
Eve broke through the celebrating crowd, ducked under the barricade.
She stopped a
s she saw the woman arguing frantically with the DOT officer guarding the door of the restroom.
“Carolee!” she called out, and the woman whirled. Her face was deathly pale with high spots of color on the cheeks, and a purpling knot on her forehead.
“What? What is this? I can’t find my boy. I can’t find my son.”
The eyes were wrong, Eve thought. A little glassy, a little shocky. “It’s okay. I know where he is. I’ll take you to him.”
“He’s okay? You . . . Who are you?”
“Lieutenant Dallas.” Eve watched Carolee’s eyes as she took out her badge. “I’m the police.”
“Okay. Okay. He’s a good boy, but he knows better than this. He was supposed to wait right here. I’m sorry to be so much trouble.”
“Where did you go, Carolee?”
“I just . . .” She trailed off. “I went into the restroom. Didn’t I? I’m sorry. I have a headache. I was so worried about Pete. Wait, just wait until I—” She stepped into the snack bar when Eve opened the door. Then slapped her hands on her hips.
“Peter James Grogan! You are in so much trouble.”
The boy, his brother, his father, moved like one unit, bolting across the room. “Didn’t I specifically tell you not to—”
This time the words were knocked back as her three boys grabbed her in frantic embraces. “Well, for heaven’s sake. If you think that’s going to soften me up after you disobeyed me, it’s not. Or only a little.” She stroked the boy’s hair as he clung to her legs. “Steve? Steve? You’re shaking. What is it? What’s wrong?”
He pulled back to kiss her, her mouth, her cheeks. “You—you’re hurt. You’ve hit your head.”
“I . . .” She lifted her fingers to touch the bump. “Ouch. How did I do that? I don’t feel quite right.”
