I have a love-hate relationship with the sea. Nothing like its salty breeze to tangle my curls into an unruly knot or several, ones I'd have to spend a good hour detangling before bed—like I had nothing better to do!

Then again, there was also nothing like the salty, fishy smell and taste of that same coastal breeze on my tongue to help me unwind faster than a glass of gin and tonic with lime ever could. The sea and I, we have a complicated relationship, fraught with wins and losses on both sides. My first husband was someone I'd met on the job. I met him on a cruise. Two year. Countless trips to far away warm shores, staring at the walls of a small room, cleaning too many vomits than I care to admit ... and I met him. The love of my life. He was a guest. I was housekeeping. His room was under my care.

I was just a simple girl. A simple girl who was running away, wanting to see the world the only way she could. Third year into Uni, a friend of mine came across a cruise liner ad looking for crew members so we both applied. I was bored. My life and degree were dull. I wanted an adventure, something that could make me feel alive, something that could make my pulse thrum; something that could help me hide.

I'd done something I regretted. I'd done something I was ashamed of, but mostly, I'd done something I could not forgive myself for. I'd unwittingly become the other woman, even for a moment. And how do I know this?

My sister. She was the girlfriend. But I couldn't break her heart, not like that.

So I took whatever job the cruise liner offered. Housekeeping. It was the first time I'd been away from my family. My father and my sister. I had to. It was the only way to avoid him. Her boyfriend. My one huge mistake!

And that's how I met Charlie Le Fontaine, the young CEO of some new tech company I hadn't heard of. I was in charge of his section, and I accidentally walked in on him coming out of the shower. In my defence, I'd knocked twice—hard, might I add—and the 'Do Not Disturb' sign wasn't on the door. Second, what single young man of his status and stature would spend the nights in his own room when the cruise was full of beautiful single women left, right and centre? Naturally, I hadn't expecting to find him in there, all hot and naked! Third, how was I to know he was a high-roller, recently broken up with his two-timing fiancée and on that cruise, in that giant suite, to spite her and mend his broken heart?

Anyway, I was heartbroken, he was heartbroken; I found him hot, he somehow found me open to ideas ...

#

"Ms Dhungel? Devi? What does this have to do with what happened the night of your accident?" Hector's voice intruded in on her thoughts.

Devi threw him a look. Do you mind not interrupting?

Hector shifted his weight on the edge of the bed. "I'm just saying, you were going to tell me about the suspects..."

"I'm laying the scene!" Devi squinted at him. I need to lay the scene... 'cause I can't very well say I don't really remember everything.

"Fine. Just get to the point."

But getting to the point was going to be harder than trying to find love in Mystery Cove.

"Anyway. Where was I?" Devi glanced out the brightening window. "Charlie. By the end of that cruise, I was enamoured with him. I was in love; with his room, with its view, with his bed, his life; him, that drool-worthy man between my legs. I was finally Marvin who?"

She entirely missed the uncomfortable flush on Hector's cheek, trying not to imagine a hot guy between those legs of hers.

We were having a fling. That's all I thought it was at first. A fling, and if my dad ever found out how 'loose' I was with a man I barely knew, he would have been livid. But I didn't care. That, and I thought, he's probably just like Marvin—Charlie—that he would also forget me as soon we disembark. Or that my managers would find out about us and fire me, and I would never to see him again. So I threw caution to the wind, for those nine glorious days and nights, I let Charlie into my life, body, and soul.

But none of those things happened, Charlie forgetting me or the liner firing my unprofessional butt.

On the last day of that cruise, Charlie waited for me in his room and begged me to disembark with him, choose wild adventures and foreign shores I never dreamed of, choose freedom like I'd never had; choose him.

"What?" was all I could say. Eloquent, wasn't I? But it wasn't my eloquence he fancied. So I didn't care. Charlie Le Fontaine's smile and eagerness both were hard to ignore, same as his, "Come with me,"—promising me a life of luxury.

Take the chance! My heart leapt, and somehow, by the next morning, I met him in his room with my bag, ready to abandon my dream of sailing around the world on cruise ships until I was a ripe spinster; ready to settle down with any man my numerous aunties flung photos of at my dad. With Charlie in my life, I was ready to shed the doldrums, the guilt. I was running away with a man I barely knew, and somehow I loved it. I loved the thrill. I loved him.

For what it was worth, it was love at first shag. He was a hunk of a man, quite a sight, and my fragile heart—at twenty-two, already jilted by her deflowerer—I saw a lifeboat. Charlie was my lifeboat. Charlie was a man who wanted me, unlike Marvin, who'd shagged me, given me a magical night, all to them forget me; that the next time I'd meet him, I would be kissing his cheeks politely while my sister introduced him into the family as her boyfriend.

Bhawani had a boyfriend? Since when? That should have been the questions running through my mind. Instead, I gawked at that slap-worthy face of the jackass, hoping he'd play Devi Who? Too, like I was doing him. Inside, I was screaming: Did you hook up with me while you were with my sister?

Truly, if it wasn't for that minor hiccup and me being terrified that any day, either Marvin or I, would let something slip and break Bhawani's heart, I would not have calculatedly removed myself from my family. That was the start of it. Us drifting apart.

I deferred the last year of uni, hopped on a cruise as a housekeeper—all to avoid Marvin—and thought when I return Bhawani would have figured it out. She would dump the scumbag and life would be return to normal. No one would know.

But when I returned from that trip, just two weeks later, hoping to announce my own 'I met someone [who isn't a lying, cheating asshole!]', she was running into my arms, screaming, "Oh my god, Devi, he gave me a promise ring,"— whatever the fuck promise rings were—as soon as my head popping out of the taxi.

So I ran away again. Another cruise, another avoid-the-truth removal of myself, another slip into Charlie's warm embrace whenever I could spare the days, in between trips.

I wasn't going to be the big sister that broke her little sister's heart. I wasn't going to be that. I clung onto the thought Bhawani was smart. She'll eventually figure out Marvin is a sleazy snake. She will. It is just a matter of time.

But low and behold, when I returned after a whole summer, she announced she was pregnant, and by announce I mean, she whispered into my ears and begged my help with breaking that very unsavoury, very un-Nepali-like news to our very Nepali father. And that was it, wasn't it? Marvin became a permanent fixture in my life whether I liked it or not, like an unsightly wart that pops up on your face and refuses to shrink, to go away, so naturally, I ran away again, back to the cruise liner, for two years.

I could not break my sister's heart, but little did I know ...

#

"Little did you know what?" Hector's eyes were bug-wide. Curious. Breath abated.

"Are you finally enjoying one of my stories, Inspector Martinez?" Devi smiled, satisfied that she'd done that.

A gentle smile tugged at Hector's mouth. "I didn't quite say that ..."

"You didn't quite say no either, so I'll take it."

"So you were trying not to break your sister's heart. Why? You weren't to know Marvin was a cheater ... if he cheated. What did you do then?"

#

Two years. It became my life, avoiding my family, avoiding Marvin, avoiding my sister. Cruise after cruise, missing home, lonely. Two years of avoidance and isolation. Then I finally met Charlie Le Fontaine, and it was, 'Marvin, who?'

Charlie a sight! Even to this day, I mourn my loss. Yes, I became his young widow—some would say 'how fortunate'—but I missed him, I missed his agile body. He could make me scream in bed till kingdom come. Even wild-oats Marvin Garcia had nothing on him, the man I'd given my cherry to, the man naïve young me had thought, 'maybe he's the one,' and hung onto the phone, hoping he'd call me, that it wasn't, I wasn't, a one night stand.

So yeah, the sea had given me that precious gift after taking so much. Charlie. It also gave me something else. My burning desire to write. To tell a story. To tell a friend's story.

There was a young girl, my age, on my first cruise. A Malaysian girl. We became friends. We were almost always working the same ships—we worked so frequently that it was bound to happen. On one of those later trips, before I met Charlie, I lost her. On a choppy night, she was thrown overboard. They never recovered her body. Instead, people whispered: Who would go out on the deck in that weather? Perhaps, she'd had enough of her life ... but I refused to believe it. Maybe someone pushed her, but I refused to believe she could have done so herself.

That was the first time I was driven to write; to tell her story. That was my first book. The sea had given me that too, my love of writing. It was a book that took me years to write, polish, and send out. But that was how I started writing, mourning a friend. I'd sit at nights in my cabin, scribbling away on a notepad. Or when I finally choose Charlie, I'd sit up in bed with him next to me, happily asleep. I wrote. I wrote frantically, possessed to tell a story. Or a conspiracy. I couldn't tell.

Anyway, so that was how I came to love-hate the sea. It had given me much, but it had taken away too. But not this year! I thought. Not this year. This year, the sea would take nothing from me.

That day, 24th November, I waited for my guests, grinning like a fool, eyeing the yacht below the rim of my straw hat as the crew shuffled about on deck. I was channelling Rose-what's-her-name from Titanic. I was pretending my life was rich. That I was still Charlie's spoilt girl. I was pretending it was taking me towards some semblance of freedom—unlike Rose—at least for a few days.

I wanted to celebrate another dance around the sun. I wanted to splurge on a holiday of a lifetime: sailing the Australian east coast on what was once Charlie's gift to me, a private yacht. I wanted to feel like that young woman again, who'd run away from her world, who took chances on strangers, who pretended she had no care in the world, and not the other way around. I wanted to feel alive.

So, for the next five days, I was going to pretend I still owned that yacht, even though I'd sold it to a friend-with-benefit years ago. I'm only turning forty-three once, I'd thought.

My life was unravelling around me. My career was stagnating like a waterlogged pond in sweltering heat. My money was vanishing like my youth; fast and easy. Keeping up this lifestyle was costing me every penny in my savings. I was close to selling most of my assets—Charlie's really, he'd set us up nicely before he ... Anyway. What else was I going to do? My love life was no better. It resembled a prune more than a cherry; all dried up and lifeless. And I'd decided, I don't need love, I need another success. Another book that can catapult me back into the limelight where I feel alive. So I was living it up one last time before I broke the news to them.

And I had just the book to do it, to revive my career [or so I hoped]. The night before, on the 23d, my agent had emailed me with some good news: D! This is it. This is the next big one. What were you on when you wrote this? I'm subbing it wide and anticipating an auction ... Maybe your birthday will be lucky! Enjoy the trip.

And I intended to do just, enjoy the trip. I was replying happily to her message, stood on that deck—Finger-crossed. I'd love a five-way auction, doesn't matter who!—when I saw him, headed up the gangplank with a champagne flute already in hand, smiling at me like the Big Bad Wolf. What better to eat me with, I suppose...

#

"Who?" Hector's notebook was in his hand, ready for him to note the name of his first suspect. Devi didn't blame him. She'd probably do the same if their roles were reversed.

"Marvin Tiago Garcia." She met his gaze, curious to see how he'd react to, "My brother-in-law; the annoying wart that refuses to go away."

"Marvin Tiago Garcia." Hector nodded, mumbling as he wrote it down. But a second later, his head snapped up. "Wait. Your one-night stand from uni? The one you gave up your cherry for? That douchebag that never called back? Your sister's old boyfriend?"

"Bingo." Devi chuckled.

"What's he doing on your boat?" Hector asked, suddenly reminded of his mother.

"A man like that never says no to a free holiday, especially if it's his sister-in-law's birthday." Devi loved the incredulous look that came over Hector's face, offended on her behalf.

Hector's mouth opened in shock. "You mean she didn't dump him?"

I wonder what you'll think of this. Devi took in a long breath and said, "Unfortunately, he is family."

"He's what?" Hector rose to his feet, peering down at her with shock.

Devi's heart skittered in her chest. If only she could express her feelings like that in front of her family. For a wordsmith, words had always failed her when it came to them.

"Wait... No way!" Hector paced a small ring at the foot of the bed. "He married her? Your sister? After all that, he married her?"

"Shouldn't you be saying 'she married him'?" Devi felt that old guilt again, but this time it dug deeper in her chest as a flash of memory dripped into her subconscious. Holy shit, did I really kiss him on the yacht? Why? Why in the world would I do that again? 

(Chapter continued in part b...)