The Mountains Bow Down by Sibella Giorello Page A

It was stone, red stone. Rouge Royal, I decided. The distinctive limestone from Belgium, threaded with white veins. Almost as hard as Geert.
    â€œHope to see you tonight.” He waved to the couple and started walking again, assuming I’d follow. An obedient puppy.
    We took a sharp right from the atrium and cut through the casino. The place was empty. But the acrid odor of cigarettes seeped from the green felt poker tables and the carpeting patterned with tumbling dice. We came out the casino’s other side to a dark hallway with padded blue walls.
    Geert took a small remote from his front pocket, pressed a button, and a section of the padded wall swiveled open.
    I counted four rooms inside the hidden chamber, each empty. Geert’s office was at the far end. A porthole above his desk framed a bright circle of reflected light, shifting with the play of water. He stepped to the interior wall, opened a wooden cabinet, and spun the dial on his safe, shifting his large body to block my view. I gazed out the porthole, preparing myself for another conversation that would sound like clomping wooden clogs. When the safe popped open, he deposited my gun inside, slammed the door shut, and gave the dial another spin.
    In his thick accent he said, “The mortician did not say suicide.”
    â€œThe mortician wants a second opinion,” I clarified. “Obviously something was suspicious or he’d just say she killed herself.”
    â€œWhat’s so suspicious?”
    â€œThe bracelet, for instance.”
    I was certain this was a test. His long background in law enforcement surely gave him radar. And this morning’s scene must have triggered one or two signals. When he turned toward the porthole, his Dutch-blue eyes seemed translucent.
    He twirled the handlebar mustache. “Now we got real problems.”
    â€œBecause it’s murder?”
    â€œBecause you want to stir up our guests. You can’t run around talking about murder. People pay money for this trip. Lots of money. Right now, the woman is a suicide. Caw-lee-for-knee-ya suicide. Everyone believes it but you.”
    â€œAnd you.”
    His eyes gaped. “I said no thing like that.”
    â€œYou don’t have to.” I wanted to point out the neck bruises but didn’t know this man’s full motives. Maybe he wanted to cover this up. Maybe somebody paid him to cover it up. “With your esteemed background in law enforcement, you can’t be comfortable with how well preserved she looked.”
    He gave a Netherlandish shrug. “We get all kinds on ships.”
    â€œIncluding murderers.”
    â€œWho sees a murderer? I see happy people, all over.”
    â€œHappy on the outside. But inside, somebody’s a monster.”
    â€œYou say.”
    â€œYes, and I’d like to see the complete passenger list. Along with the crew list.”
    â€œCrew?” The blue eyes widened.
    â€œI’m going to run background checks.”
    â€œWhat, you think I hire them from calling their mommy? I check backgrounds. Nobody works this ship unless they are clean like whistles.”
    â€œThen the passenger list. Please.”
    â€œYou don’t talk to nobody before you talk to me.”
    I hesitated, then lifted my head arrogantly. “I’m bringing aboard another FBI agent.”
    I said this with as much haughtiness and bravado as possible. My hope was the tone would tick him off, along with somebody of no authority giving him an order. Then he would deny Jack coming on board.
    But luck doesn’t exist.
    Picking up his desk phone, Geert stabbed ten numbers and spoke to somebody by the first name of Candice. He slathered on the charm and I learned that Candice’s son in the military was doing fine; the weather in Florida was great; and Geert was taking her for a drink next time he was in Orlando. I gazed out the porthole until he asked Candice if there were any empty cabins.
    He glanced