Curse of the Arctic Star (11 page)

“It’s okay,” Bess said. Then she turned and smiled sweetly at Alan. “We still have a few minutes before the show starts. Think I have time to go find a soda before that? I’m parched.”

Alan jumped to his feet. “Stay here—I’ll find you one.”

George watched him hurry out, then turned to Bess. “How do you
do
that?”

Bess ignored her. “So what do you think?” she asked me. “Are you ready to cross our favorite spider wrangler off the suspect list?”

“I’m not sure,” I said slowly. “On the one hand, it’s
weird that he won’t confess. It’s not like he’s shy about causing trouble most of the time.”

“Good point,” George put in. “If anything, you’d think he’d be bragging about it.”

“On the other hand,” I went on, “who else even knew that spider was aboard, let alone had access to her?”

“Another good point.” Bess looked thoughtful. “What about the maid, Analyn? Maybe it was her, or the other cabin attendant. Either of them might have spotted Hazel while they were in there cleaning.”

“Or what about the kid’s parents?” George peered down toward where the family was now seated. “I mean, they seem like nice people, but so have a lot of the baddies you’ve busted, Nancy.”

“I guess you’re right. They certainly had access to the spider, since it was in their cabin.” I chewed my lower lip. “But why? What’s their motive?”

Just then Alan returned. “Sorry,” he told Bess breathlessly. “They told me there’s no time—show’s about to start. Maybe we can get you a drink afterward?”

“Sure, no problem.” Bess smiled and squeezed his
hand as he took his seat. “Thanks for trying.”

As we waited, I thought about what George had said. Could Tobias’s parents be in cahoots with their bratty son? Having a couple of adults involved made him a much more believable suspect. But why would they try to sabotage a ship? What could they possibly be trying to accomplish?

I was still pondering it when the show started. It was entertaining, but I couldn’t seem to focus on it. About five or ten minutes in, I noticed that one other person didn’t seem very involved in the show either. I saw Scott check his watch, then stand up and head toward the exit.

No big surprise there,
I thought.
He’s probably seen this show a million times.

But his exit gave me an idea. “I’ll be right back,” I whispered to George, who was sitting beside me. “Bathroom break.”

She just nodded, not taking her eyes off the action.

I made my way to the outside of the arena and glanced around, wondering where to start. The streets
of Ketchikan were as crowded as ever, which wasn’t going to make it easy to track down any of my suspects. If there was an Internet café in town, maybe I could check to see if Wendy was hanging out there . . . .

At that moment a knot of people moved aside, and I noticed Scott standing nearby. He was talking to a man I’d never seen before—his face wasn’t one anyone could forget, given the large, jagged, ugly scar bisecting it. Scar Guy was maybe a few years older than Scott, dressed in ripped jeans and a grimy plaid flannel jacket. The two of them were leaning close together and appeared to be deep in conversation.

Then Scott quickly looked around, though he didn’t notice me watching. He stuck one hand into the pocket of his windbreaker, pulled out something I couldn’t see, and shoved it at Scar Guy. Scar Guy tucked whatever it was into his jacket, then took off without another word in the direction of the docks. Scott put both hands in his jeans pockets and started walking fast in the opposite direction.

What was that all about? I wondered. Something
about what I’d just witnessed had set all my sleuthing instincts on high alert, though I wasn’t quite sure why.

I took a few steps after Scott, keeping him in sight, not certain what to do. Sure, Scar Guy looked kind of seedy. But so what? Scott could easily have friends or acquaintances in various ports, and I knew better than to judge someone on appearances. There could be a million perfectly innocent explanations for what I’d just seen. And Scott wasn’t even on my radar as a suspect. Why waste time worrying about what he was doing?

But sometimes a girl just has to go with a hunch. Besides, it wasn’t as if I had a better plan in mind. Putting on a burst of speed, I followed Scott as he rounded the corner and headed deeper into town.

THIS IS A WASTE OF TIME
, I THOUGHT AS I
ducked into a doorway.

I’d already followed Scott for several blocks. Every so often he paused and glanced around, and I’d been careful to stay out of sight. It wasn’t hard, since we were still in the touristy part of town and there were plenty of people around. Maybe if I was lucky I’d come across Wendy or one of my other suspects, and that would give me an excuse to give up this crazy idea of tailing Scott.

The crowd thinned out a little as we turned to head off the street and up a short walkway toward a low-slung
wooden building. I hung back until Scott disappeared inside, then hurried forward. A sign by the door identified the place as the Totem Heritage Center.

“Cool,” I murmured as I saw several intricately carved faces grinning or scowling down at me from a tall totem pole near the building.

But I wasn’t here to sightsee. Pushing in through the door, I glanced around.

It took a moment for my eyes to adjust to the dim lighting. The place was small, making the collection of towering totem poles seem even taller as they loomed up in the center of the room.

There were a couple of older tourists wandering around, but I didn’t see Scott anywhere. I wandered farther in, staring up at the poles. My footsteps echoed, seeming to bounce off the impassive totems. The place was cool, but a little creepy, too.

This is silly,
I told myself.
I’m sure Scott’s just here scoping out this place to include on future tours, or some other ship business like that. I should go, maybe try to track down Wendy or something.

But I couldn’t help remembering how Scott had acted as he walked here—stopping every few minutes to look back, as if he didn’t want anyone to see where he was headed. If he was just going about his normal business, why would he act like that?

Besides, I was already here. I might as well follow through.

By now the tourists had disappeared into the adjoining gift shop. I glanced in there, but there was no sign of Scott, so I kept going, circling around the totems huddled at the center of the room.

Where’d he go? I wondered.

When I reached the back wall, I heard the sound of muffled voices. Spotting a door, I pushed it open, revealing the bright glare of daylight—and Scott’s surprised face.

“You!” he blurted out harshly, freezing in place. “What are you doing here?”

My eyes darted from his face to his hand. It clutched a large wad of cash, which Scott appeared to be in the process of handing to another man. The second man
was big and burly, with a wool cap pulled low over his broad, ruddy face.

“Gimme ’at,” the man rumbled, grabbing the cash and then taking off, moving surprisingly quickly for someone his size.

“I—I—,” I stammered, unnerved by the furious scowl on Scott’s face. I looked around quickly, realizing we were alone in a small alleyway behind the building.

But when I looked back at him, his angry expression had melted away, replaced by a sheepish smile. “Sorry, Nancy,” he said. “You startled me!”

“Sorry,” I said, glancing in the direction where the other man had disappeared around the corner of the building.

Scott followed my gaze. “I guess you’re wondering what that was all about,” he said. “That guy’s a poker buddy of mine—lives here in Ketchikan. I owed him some cash from the last time I was in town, and he called in the debt.”

“Oh. Um, okay.”

“I hope you won’t say anything to the captain about
this.” Scott bit his lip. “Ship employees aren’t supposed to get involved with gambling while we’re on duty, and I could lose my job if anyone finds out.”

“Sure, don’t worry. I won’t breathe a word,” I said, pretending to draw a zipper closed across my lips. But once I got back onboard, of course I was going to say something.

“Good.” He was all smiles again. “Now, aren’t you supposed to be at the lumberjack show? How’d you end up here, anyway?”

I babbled some excuse about needing air and going for a walk, which seemed to satisfy him. Then we headed out through the museum and parted ways outside.

As I hurried toward the lumberjack arena, I thought about what I’d just seen and heard. Scott’s story made sense—he’d been sneaking around because he didn’t want any of his coworkers to see him and possibly report him. And it wasn’t as if he made a likely suspect for any of the trouble that had happened so far. I made a mental note to ask Becca what she knew about him, and maybe have George check him out online just in
case. Otherwise, it seemed safe to forget the whole encounter. Well, I hoped it did anyway.

I arrived back at the arena just as the audience came pouring out onto the street. Almost everyone I saw was laughing and chattering with excitement, and I was kind of sorry I’d missed most of the show.

Then Alan spotted me and hurried over, with Bess and George trailing along behind him. “Where’d you disappear to?” he demanded. “That must’ve been one heck of a line at the ladies’ room!”

I thought fast. “I always hate when people crawl back and forth to their seats during a show,” I told him with a shrug and a smile. “So I decided to just hang out at the back and watch from there so I didn’t disturb anyone.”

“That makes sense,” Bess said quickly, though Alan looked a bit dubious.

I couldn’t really blame him. It wasn’t really that kind of show.

For a moment I wondered if all this subterfuge was really worth it. Maybe I should just give in and tell Alan the truth after all. It would certainly be a
lot easier than all this sneaking around, plus it would mean an extra set of eyes watching for clues.

“Anyone else hungry?” Bess asked cheerfully before I could decide.

“Starved.” George checked her watch. “I vote we bag out of that fjord thing we have scheduled and find some food instead.”

I glanced at Alan, expecting him to argue. But he nodded.

“I could go for that,” he said. “Besides, I kind of want to get a better look at Creek Street. What do you say?”

Creek Street was one of the town attractions that we’d passed on our tour earlier. It wasn’t exactly a street at all, at least not in the usual sense. Its colorful wooden buildings—shops, restaurants, historic houses, art galleries, and other attractions—lined a boardwalk-like pedestrian walkway set on tall pilings over Ketchikan Creek. We’d only caught a glimpse of it from the horse-drawn carriage, but our tour guide had recommended checking it out on foot later if we had time.

“Sure,” I said. “Let’s go.”

Creek Street was even more crowded than the rest of town. Tons of people were crammed onto the antique wooden boardwalk, which I guessed had to hang a good fifteen or twenty feet above the water at this point.

Bess peered over the drop. “I hope these walkways are stronger than they look,” she joked.

“Don’t worry.” Alan took her hand. “I’ll keep you safe.”

She fluttered her eyelashes at him. “Why, thank you, kind sir.”

George groaned. “Is anyone else suddenly losing their appetite?”

“Funny.” Bess stuck her tongue out at her cousin. Then she glanced around, her eyes lighting up when she spotted an Alaskan-themed gift shop just ahead. “Hey, as long as we’re here, I should do some souvenir shopping. The people back home will be expecting lots of trinkets. Let’s start in there!”

She made a beeline for the store’s entrance without waiting for an answer. George was right behind her, but Alan paused to glance back at me.

“Coming, Nancy?” he asked.

“You guys go ahead. I’ll hang here and people watch,” I said. “Just tell Bess to grab me some souvenirs if she sees anything good.”

I turned to gaze out over the railing as he headed after the others. Most of Creek Street was laid out on a gentle curve, following the creek’s meandering course, and I had a pretty good view of the walkways farther along. I rested my elbows on the railing, enjoying the feel of the sun on my face, and idly watched for any sighting of Wendy, Tobias, or Baraz while my mind returned to the case.

Not that I had any new brainstorms. I felt as if we were going in circles, trying to match up suspects, motives, and most of all opportunity. What did anyone onboard have to gain? Sure, there was Wendy—it was possible that she was drumming up action and scandal so she could report it on her blog and attract more readers. But how did that motive fit in with the threat that had made Brock Walker cancel? She’d mentioned his absence in one of her blog entries, but only briefly.

Then there was Tobias. He definitely had a motive—he’d made no secret of the fact that he didn’t want to be on the ship. And of course the tarantula incident almost had to be his doing, even if he wouldn’t admit it. But I found it hard to believe he could have pulled off the pool incident so soon after arriving on the ship. And even if we threw his parents into the mix and assumed that they’d overheard me talking somehow, it seemed unlikely that any of them could have slipped that note into my suitcase. Or tampered with the heating and cooling systems on the lower decks, for that matter.