It's barely been a day since John left for New Zealand, and we're already bored. On the plus side, the flat is quiet, spared from John's permanent lecturing.
"Start from the beginning," dad says to the client perched on the stool in front. "Try and be interesting."
"Right," the man says, looking down to the floor. He's wearing skinny jeans and a tight top, his hair laced with product. "My name is Danny Waters." His hands begin to shake. "My partner and I booked a cruise to America a few weeks ago to get away from work and to celebrate our marriage."
"When you say 'partner', you mean that as in your 'civil partner'?" I confirm, leaning back into John's seat.
"Uh," he replies, his face reddening. "Yeah. His name was Mick."
"If there's been a murder, Mr Waters, why have you come to us and not the police."
"I did go to the police," the man protests. "But they passed it off as a suicide."
"But you don't think it is. Why?" dad asks, frowning.
"Because he didn't say goodbye," he starts to sob and I sigh, leaning back into my seat. And it looked so promising.
"Aw, how touching," dad says sarcastically. "Now if you don't mind..." He waves a hand towards the door.
"Wait!" Waters tries, and I lean forward again. "That's not all. The night he died, he was called out for a meeting with someone, he didn't say who. Apparently some others were going as well, and I waited up all night and he didn't come back."
"And the other passengers?" I question, my interest growing. "The others who went that night?"
"They didn't come back either."
"You still haven't answered my question," dad says. "Why assume murder?"
"If it was suicide, he would have left a note."
"Not neccesarily."
"Mick was an author, he wrote down everything. He would write a suicide note." Dad looks across to me, seeking my opinion before giving his answer. I shrug in reply.
"We'll take the case," dad says, putting his hands up to his face. "I'll need Mick's diary or notes before we start. What was the name of the ship?"
"The Tilly Briggs," he tells us. "Thank you Mr Holmes, I just want to know, more than anything."
"Yes, right, lovely, leave," dad says, and Waters stands up and leaves, stopping by the door to say goodbye, but then thinks better of it. As the door closes downstairs, dad brings his hands away from his mouth and looks back over to me. "Look up the Tilly Briggs," he says, walking over to where I'm sat.
"Doing it now," I mutter, typing the name into the search bar and waiting for the results to come up. "'The Tilly Briggs prides itself on providing a luxury cruise for male couples in a retreat away from prying eyes' ect: ect," I read out. "So basically it's a gay ship."