Murder [and Baklava] (A European Voyage #1)- Blake Pierce Page 0,47

Better yet, draw it for me. Show me exactly where everyone was seated. Specifically who was next to her. And put a mark by the person she had that, eh, ‘tested change’ with.”

It was all London could do to keep from correcting him.

“Testy exchange.”

But that would only make things worse than they already were. London took out a pad of paper and drew a rectangle to represent the table. Then she thought for a moment and drew little circles to represent the people sitting there. She jotted down a name beside each circle, showing all of the people who had eaten at the Magyar Öröm. And she put a check beside Cyrus Bannister’s name to indicate that he’d been the one who had quarreled with Mrs. Klimowski.

Borsos turned toward the captain and said, “Meanwhile, I must order that the Nachtmusik remain in port. All your passengers, crew, and staff must remain aboard.”

Captain Hays’s face was red with anger.

“Now see here, Alezredes Borsos,” he said. “If you suspect anyone in my employ—or any of my passengers, for that matter—of foul play, you’d better come right out and say so. And if you try to arrest anybody, I’ll have no choice but to contact the U.S. Embassy in Budapest. I’m sure that no one wants this unfortunate incident to assume international proportions.”

“Nor do I,” Borsos said. “But …”

After a pause he repeated those words, “Hamarosan megtudjuk.”

London reminded herself of their meaning.

“In good time.”

She had a sinking feeling she was going to be hearing those words a lot before this awful ordeal was over.

Borsos nodded as she handed him the diagram she’d made.

“That will be all for now,” he said. “You may go.”

Trembling with agitation, London left the captain’s stateroom.

I’m one of his suspects, she realized.

As she headed down the passageway toward her own stateroom, two crew members came storming down the circular staircase from the deck above.

“It’s chaos up there,” one proclaimed as they trotted past her.

“What do those cops expect to find, anyway?” the other replied as they disappeared in the direction of the crew quarters.

And indeed, the sound of shouting voices drifted down the stairs. She scrambled up the spiral stairs to the Romanze deck, where she saw a few more confused-looking crew members scrambling about.

She also found herself face to face with Cyrus Bannister, who was on his way either to or from his Schoenberg Suite.

He asked her sharply, “Does anybody have any idea what’s going on?”

London simply didn’t know what to say.

“Well, why don’t you know?” Cyrus added. “You’re the social director, aren’t you?”

Before London could reply, a voice came over the intercom.

“Fellow Epoch voyagers, this is your captain speaking. As you already know, the Nachtmusik has been detained in Gyor due to the untimely passing of one of our passengers. Unfortunately, this delay must continue for a while longer.”

As the captain continued, several of the passengers let out a murmur of disappointment.

“The chief captain of the Gyor Rendőrség—the local police—also insists that everybody remain aboard the Nachtmusik until further notice. I apologize for this inconvenience, and I assure you that we will set sail again as soon as we possibly can.”

The passengers were looking at London now, as if she could explain everything. She started avoiding their eyes.

The captain added, “Meanwhile, Alezredes Borsos wishes to speak to several passengers, who should come to my quarters as I call their names. The first are … Walter and Agnes Shick.”

“Do you have any idea what this all about?” Cyrus asked London with annoyance.

“He just wants to ask all of us some questions,” London said.

Cyrus squinted at her suspiciously as he headed away.

London felt a pang of guilt. She wished Borsos hadn’t insisted that she write down that list. Her heart sank as she imagined the ordeal the elderly Shicks were likely to endure under the onslaught of Borsos’s questions.

She also wished she hadn’t had to single Cyrus out as the person who had quarreled with Mrs. Klimowski. She couldn’t imagine that Cyrus or anybody else who had been at the restaurant had anything to do with Mrs. Klimowski’s death. She hated the thought of getting them into any kind of trouble, even if only fleetingly.

But it’s not like I had any choice, she reminded herself.

London rode the elevator down to the Allegro deck and headed for her stateroom. When she opened the door, she was a bit startled to be eagerly greeted by a little mop of a dog. She’d almost forgotten that she was taking care of Sir