“Trust me, O’Donnell will be thrilled to see me dive off his ship. As long as I stay out of his way, he could care less what Artur and I are doing.”

“You’re kidding. He’s a maniac about boat safety, but he won’t care if you—”

“He’s a manic about boat safety. Not passenger safety. Trust me.”

Thomas shook his head and went to put on his scuba suit.

Chapter Twenty-nine

They had narrowed down the suspects to the new seafood restaurant (”Cap’n Clammys!”), the new Sleepytime Hotel, and the old (but: recently massively renovated) World Trade Center. The plan was for the three of them to dive in, check out the underwater sites, pipes, and other detritus of construction, and see if they could pinpoint the bad guy. What they would do then, even if they could find a pipe pouring shit from one building, Fred wasn’t sure.

Artur favored strangling the owner until his neck cracked. Thomas leaned toward ratting them out to the EPA. Fred was torn. Surely the culprit, whoever it was, knew what he (or she) was doing. So there should be a greater consequence than a fine. But neither did she favor murder (though Artur claimed it would be a simple case of self-defense).

Talk about putting the cart before the horse, she thought, diving in beside Artur as Thomas went, in the scuba-approved fashion, over backward. First we gotta find the guy. (Or gal.) Right now, I’d settle for that.

Instantly her uneasy stomach settled and she felt loads better. She playfully gave Thomas a pinch (which he probably couldn’t feel through all the rubber) and darted past both men.

Feeling better, Little Rika?

Thomas was giving her a cautious thumbs-up.

Loads. Don’t use your telepathy to exclude Thomas. She gave him the thumbs-up back.

Do not use my what to do what?

Never mind. Keep your eyes open. And your nose.

I confess I do not know how to feel. I have no urge to taste that particular taste again.

Right there with you, Artur, Oh, look at this.

Thomas was gesturing them over, shining his undersea light at what she assumed was Cap’n Clammy’s from below.

Let’s get to it.

Ah, Little Rika, your devotion to duty is commendable.

Yeah, that’s what they keep telling me.

Chapter Thirty

It was difficult to work the key card when Barb had already yanked his pants halfway down his knees, but Jonas managed. They staggered into the Presidential Suite, struggling with each other’s clothes, kissing, panting, groaning, gasping. Jonas tripped over a divan and down they went.

“Ooof!”

“I’m so sorry!” Barb cried, leaning over him. “Are you all right? Am I too heavy? I’ll get off.”