The Case of the Jet-Skiing Jet-Setter

At the airport, on my way to see my sister in Los Angeles, I got upgraded…well, sort of.

“Sir,” said the airline employee, her gum popping like a rusted machine gun. “We have half a seat open in first class. Would you like it for free?”

“Free? Yes!” I said before thinking, then, after thinking, thought better of it. “Half a seat? Do I only get to watch half the movie? Whatever—I’ll take it.”

Thirty minutes later, after undergoing an invasive body cavity search at the metal detector that could have been avoided if the security guard believed my metallic spleen story, I boarded the plane and discovered I was sitting next to none other than Mary Marriott, the jet-setting heir to the Marriott fortune.

“Ms. Marriott,” I said, my voice squeaking like a rubber duck. “Could you please remove your bag from my seat?”

“Bark,” said the bag, rustling to life as the head of a Yorkshire terrier popped out.

“That’s my dog, Hermes,” Marriott said from beneath her oversized sun glasses. “And I paid for that half of the seat, so sit on the edge.”

“Oh, excuse me! You know, you rich people think you’re so superior, making a grown man sit on the edge while your dog rides in comfort.”

“It isn’t easy being rich,” she cried. “Everyone’s out to get you—distant relatives, random strangers, even insurance!”

“Miss Marriott, I know insurance like you know Manolo Blahniks. Lay it on me.”

“So, I was hanging at my friend Paulie’s beach mansion last week. Paulie was like, ‘Mary, you need to totally ride my Jet Ski,’ and I was all ‘but I don’t know how’ and he was like, ‘it’s easy.’ So I rode it and sure enough I hit a rock or whale or something, and caused $1,800worth of damage. Paulie says he won’t submit the claim to his HO carrier. I want to pay for the damage, but I can’t afford it.”

Can’t afford it? The thought alone made me snort so hard, complimentary champagne shot out my nose.

“I only get $5,000 a month of ‘oops’ money to cover my mistakes and I already spent most of this month’s for tossing my cookies in Elton John’s silk Versace man-purse! If only I was covered under my HO, but just like my recent photos on that beach in St. Tropez, I’m rarely covered.”

“Mary,” I said, “maybe your friend’s Jet Ski is on sale.”

How is Ace going to reduce her financial burden?

For help solving this mystery and to check your solution against Ace’s, click here.

Jonathan Hermann (hermannism@gmail.com) is an IA contribution editor.