Free Mask on the Cruise Ship by Melanie Jackson Page A

listen.
    Later I planned to sing it again, maybe not quite so loudly, for Madge. Now that we were ocean-bound again, she was swaddled in comforters in our stateroom, suffering a fresh bout of seasickness.
    â€œYou’re certainly a big draw,” Mr. Trotter admitted after the show. He mopped delicately at his mustache curls with a blue-and-white napkin to remove any hors d’oeuvres crumbs. “If only you were, well, quieter in other respects.”
    I knew he was referring to what had happened at Mendenhall Lake. It was the talk of the ship.
    Evan was tinkling out dah DAH dah dah DAH dah ; he glanced up and smiled wryly. “I hardly think Dinah chose to be shoved in the lake, Mr. Trotter.”
    The program director’s apple-like cheeks grew mottled. He didn’t like being contradicted, especially by a lowly staffer.
    Then he saw Julie, cute in a leopard print mini-dress and black fishnet stockings, and his expression became fond and beaming. He oozed out some compliment, but she ignored him.
    â€œWho do you think pushed you, Dinah?” she asked, looking frightened. “Was it Gooseberry Eyes?”
    â€œI don’t know,” I said unhappily. That particular whodunit had been bothering me all day. Or at least since a whole crowd of anxious fellow Empress passengers had pressed hot chocolates on me, and the intense sugar hit had revived my numb brain.
    Evan kept playing. I fit the words in my mind to his tune: Who WAS it who PUSHED me? “I just didn’t see,” I admitted.
    â€œWhy would Gooseberry Eyes, having stolen the mask, then head over to Mendenhall Lake for a trail hike?” Mother wondered to Julie. “It doesn’t make sense. Wouldn’t he want to get as far away as possible, as fast as possible?”
    â€œYou’d think so,” said Julie, clearly troubled.
    â€œYou’d bet so,” I interrupted. “Gooseberry Eyes wants to sell the mask to some unscrup —unscrup — ”
    â€œUnscrupulous,” Julie filled in, with a wan smile.
    â€œUnscrupulous art collector,” I finished. Mother often lectured me about interrupting, but it was hard not to.
    Julie sighed. “Yes, our gooseberry-eyed thief must be long gone.”
    She frowned at Mr. Trotter, who’d been smiling admiringly at her. Embarrassed, the program director backed up — to bump into Jack. “You. French ,” Mr. Trotter blurted out. “Can’t you watch where you’re going?”
    â€œIt’s evidently more in my interest to watch where you’re going,” Jack returned, nursing the foot Mr. Trotter had stepped on.
    Jack had a lazy way of speaking, especially when delivering insults, so that people were left puzzling whether or not to feel offended.
    Dah DAH dah dah DAH dah , played Evan, hiding a smile.
    â€œI trust you’re not being humorous again,” Mr. Trotter snapped at Jack.
    â€œSorry,” said Jack. “Dinah, did you see anyone on the trail before you went into those woods?”
    â€œJust a bunch of people hiking up,” I said. “ Empress Marie people.”
    Evan shook his head over the notes he was playing. “And among them, possibly, a gooseberry-eyed outsider.”
    Mother shuddered. I would’ve shuddered too, except that I was hot and sweaty from singing. Besides, one face from the bunch of hikers had detached itself to hover, like a question mark, in my mind. A long, oval question mark with a black lock of hair tumbling over it. Talbot St. John.
    Talbot had been among the hikers — and we didn’t like each other. To him, I had about the status of the dirt underfoot on the West Glacier Trail.
    Was scorn enough of a motive for him to push me into Mendenhall Lake? Talbot wasn’t stupid. He was acing his grade seven science tests at Lord Bithersby (yet another reason to dislike him). He had to know that near-freezing water wasn’t the healthiest thing to immerse a