The South Pacific Murders

by Sylvia Massara

  He was right. The fact that Smythe was standing with us as part of our group raised my hackles. If only I were travelling with Chris and Dobbs exclusively, I thought wistfully, we’d have a grand time.

  I frowned at Dobbs but didn’t trust myself to speak. It seemed Smythe had also decided to stay silent, I noted, as I threw a furtive glance his way. He was standing next to Chris, looking very smart in khaki shorts and a navy blue polo shirt, listening to more of the ship’s statistics while Chris read on in a lower tone.

  I turned quickly away, despising myself for finding Smythe attractive despite my antagonism toward him. He reminded me of my ex-husband in terms of looks and stature—yet another reason to hate his guts. Moreover, it didn’t help that his appearance was similar to Tom Selleck minus the moustache. Smythe was close to his mid-forties, only a few years younger than I. And a deep instinct told me that Dobbs got it into his head that because I was partial to younger men, Smythe fitted the bill.

  A sudden burst of laughter caught my attention and I gazed toward a large group of men and women standing a few feet away from us, queuing at the “Groups” check-in counter. The group looked to be in the age range of late thirties to somewhere over sixty.

  “I wonder who they are,” I remarked to Dobbs and pointed with my chin in their direction.

  Dobbs followed my gaze and took a few moments to assess them. “Probably some kind of convention.”

  “Hmm,” I returned, soon losing interest. Our line was slow in moving and I fidgeted with the luggage tag attached to my suitcase.

  “Try to have some fun, Mia,” Dobbs implored, picking up on my mood of despondency. “Look at me; I’ve started already.” He pointed to himself, wearing a big grin on his face, and I smiled.

  He looked every bit the relaxed tourist with a loud Hawaiian shirt, which was a tad too tight around his widening girth, and white shorts.

  Before I could comment, he interjected, “Yes, I know I’ve put back all the pounds I lost last year when I went to Hawaii to visit my daughter, but I intend to lose them again on this holiday.”

  I regarded him with amusement. “And how do you propose to do that? We’re about to go on a cruise ship that’s full of restaurants, buffets, cafés and bars. The temptation will be too much for you, Dobbs.”

  He winked at me with confidence. “I’ll be walking a lot. They have a jogging track onboard for exercise. That’s what I’m going to tackle every morning before breakfast. I’ll walk two miles every day and soon this,” he patted his belly, “will go back down.”

  “I’ll hold you to that,” I answered doubtfully. “But I bet you’ll welch at the first sight of the desserts on offer.”

  Dobbs started to say something in his own defence, but the line moved forward all of a sudden and we were next to check in.

  ~~~

  Our cabins were located on Deck 9. Chris and I had a cabin next to each other, with Dobbs and Smythe across the passageway.

  “Too close for comfort,” I whispered to Chris before inserting a plastic key to open my cabin door.

  Chris winked with a grin and went into his own cabin.

  “The luggage will be dropped off and left outside our doors.” Dobbs, whose cabin was directly opposite Chris’s, announced. “Why don’t we go and explore together in the meantime? We’ve got two hours before departure.”

  Smythe, whose cabin was opposite mine, opened his door and replied, “Good idea.”

  I frowned, not wanting him to tag along with us, and inspiration popped into my head. “Dobbs,” I addressed him without even glancing Smythe’s way. “You and Smythe go. I need to discuss a few things with Chris.”

  Dobbs went to open his mouth to speak but seemed to think better of it and turned to Smythe instead. “Give me five minutes, Phil, and we’ll go.”

  He and Smythe disappeared into their cabins just as Chris’s head popped out of his. “I heard that,” he remarked with a cocked eyebrow. “I hope you’re not going to carry on like this for the entire trip.” He admonished.

  I pushed my way into his cabin and closed the door behind me. “Don’t be a smartarse, Chris Rourke,” I chided. “We’re not here to play happy families, or I should say ‘happy friends’. If Dobbs was dumb enough to ask Smythe along, let him hang out with his cop buddy. I certainly don’t intend to.”

  Chris regarded me with surprise in his eyes. “Whatever happened to being more civilised in the spirit of keeping Smythe sweet?”

  I scowled. “I hate it when you’re right.”

  Chris laughed and patted my shoulder. “You’re something else, Ferrari. C’mon; I’ll hang out with you for now, but you have to promise to have dinner with us this evening, okay?”

  I nodded with my bottom lip sticking out like that of a petulant child. “Oh, okay.”

  We decided to meet up after Dobbs and Smythe left on their exploration. Meanwhile, I returned to my cabin to look around. I had a queen-sized bed in what was a smaller version of a hotel room with a rectangular window, or porthole, as they were known in the old days. There was a writing desk; a couple of plushy chairs flanking a small round coffee table; a flat screen TV attached to the wall opposite the bed; a mini-bar fridge; a walk-in robe equipped with hanging space and drawers, plus a small safe for valuables; and a smallish bathroom with all the amenities. The cabin was cosy and had all the comforts of home.

  A fruit basket rested on the coffee table and I picked up the small white card attached to it. It read: “Compliments of the Captain and Columbine World Cruises.”

  I put down the card when I heard a soft knock at my door and Chris calling, “Mia, you ready?”

  We went for an exploratory walk around the ship. Deck 12 was the busiest, with two restaurants and a café as well as an outdoor grill, which made mostly burgers and steak sandwiches. Opposite the grill were two swimming pools; one for adults, where one could swim to an open-air bar; and another for children.

  Deck 13 was the highest deck on the ship and it contained the gym and spa; the jogging track Dobbs had told me about; and the entrance to the nightclub. The interior of the ship, from Decks 8 down to 5, consisted of an atrium filled with shops of all kinds; a casino; a theatre; the reception lobby, with an entertainment area and piano bar; a small café that sold hot drinks and cakes; an a-la-carte restaurant; and a series of theme bars.

  “My God,” I exclaimed, looking down at the atrium from Deck 8 and shivering in remembrance. “I hope we don’t get another jumper landing on the baby grand like we did at the hotel last year.”

  “Don’t even mention it,” Chris stated soberly. “This is our holiday and we don’t want anything to spoil it.” He looked away from the atrium and toward the café, where we spotted several tables with computer terminals on them. “Great! They have an internet café plus Wi-Fi here; the same as on Deck 12.”

  “I thought you brought your own laptop.”

  “I did. But I still need a Wi-Fi hotspot.”

  I smiled. “Well, my dear boy, you better have loads of money because I hear internet access on ships is super expensive seeing as they have to use satellite.”

  Chris regarded me with an excited gleam in his eyes. “I knew this already, and that’s why I told Dad to fix it with his business partner for me to have complimentary internet access.”

  I shook my head in wonder. “Trust you to think of that.”

  “Hey, Ferrari, I can’t live without the net,” he protested.

  “Well, I can,” I replied. “And if I don’t see another computer again, it’ll be too soon.” I wasn’t really into the internet, but I used computers at work every day when updating the duty manager’s log or to generate reports for different departments.

  “So it’s a good thing you have me onboard.” Chris smirked.

  I threw him a suspicious look. “What’s that supposed to mean? I hope you’re not thinking of hacking into anybody’s computer for a prank.”

  “Nothing of the sort,” he assured me. We started to walk dow
n the stairs of the atrium, toward Deck 7; otherwise known as the Promenade Deck. “I was thinking,” Chris continued, “that if there should be a murder investigation, I’d be on hand to help.”

  I stopped walking abruptly and turned on him, causing him to bump right into me. “I thought you said to not even mention this kind of thing.”

  He gave me a sheepish look. “I did, didn’t I? But then, I forgot wherever you go, trouble follows.”

  “You’re mad.” I resumed walking with him in tow.

  “You think?” he challenged. “You’re a magnet for trouble, Ferrari.”

  I sniffed dismissively. “That’s what Dobbs always tells me.” Then, I opened a door, which led to the outdoor deck area, and stepped out, only to come upon the group of people I’d seen earlier at check-in. They were drinking, smoking, or both, while engaged in loud chatter that ended in bursts of laughter. I backed away and returned inside. Chris followed me.

  “That’s the smoking side of the Promenade,” I stated and headed across the floor, past the lifts, and to the other side of the ship. “I wonder who those people are. There must be like sixty of them.”

  “They’re a convention of doctors,” Chris answered.

  “How do you know?” We reached the exit to the non-smoking side of the deck and stepped out to admire the view of White Bay with its little boats bobbing up and down in the water and the Anzac Bridge in the distance.

  “I checked the passenger list.”

  I cried out, upset with him, “You what! Why are you hacking into the ship’s computer?”

  “Hey, calm down.” He tried to placate me with one of his charming smiles, which reminded me of his handsome father. “I was only checking to make sure my internet access worked through the ship’s Wi-Fi.”

  I shook my head in disbelief. “But you were with me most of the time we’ve been onboard. So where did you do this?”

  “In my cabin, while we were waiting for Dobbs and Smythe to go. It seems I can pick up the Wi-Fi from there, which is great.”

  “You’re a shocker;” I said, and then added thoughtfully, “but it’s good to know we can check out who everybody is.”

  Chris grinned. “I knew it! I knew you’d be expecting trouble.”

  I frowned. “I’m not expecting trouble at all, Chris, but in life you never know. Now, let’s enjoy the rest of our walk and then go back to see if our luggage’s been delivered.”

  ~~~

  The ship sailed at 5.00pm and most passengers stood around the top two decks, taking in the September sunset while sipping on welcome cocktails, compliments of the ship.

  I broke away from our group and went to stand toward the bow of the ship as we started to make our way out of White Bay and into Sydney Harbour. The ship sailed on, under the iconic Harbour Bridge, and then headed for the “heads”. This is a cliff-like landmark with a massive gap in the middle, where the harbour waters give way to the Pacific Ocean. With a cliff on either side of the water, the heads, as they are known, form a dramatic entrance to the deep blue beyond.

  Music blared in the background and loads of excited people yelled out in excitement when the ship emitted three blows of the foghorn to signify our departure from port. The sound was so loud, it reverberated inside my chest, bringing up a certain kind of bittersweet emotion I could only attribute to the fact that I was now single and had no-one with whom to share this special moment.

  To avert the danger of sinking into melancholy, I headed for the small bar the crew set up for the welcome cocktails and picked up a fruity concoction laced with rum. Then, I returned to my spot near the bow and huddled into my windbreaker while I sipped my drink.

  It was the beginning of spring in Sydney, but it was still quite cool out on deck. I looked forward to getting into the warmer climes of the Pacific Islands, especially when we neared Hawaii, which would bring us into the tail end of their summer.

  I stood at the railing for a long time, lost in my own thoughts and missing the passing scenery, when someone accidentally bumped into me. “I’m sorry,” said an elderly man sporting a black walking stick. He looked like Colonel Sanders, except he wore a safari suit with khaki pants, matching jacket, and Akubra hat instead of the colonel’s famous white ensemble.

  “No problem,” I returned with a smile.

  “I didn’t spill your drink, did I?” he enquired with concern when he saw me dry my fingers with a tissue. “I’m happy to get you another one.”

  I shook my empty tall glass so he could see it. “The cocktail’s long gone. I was simply wiping my fingers from the condensation on the glass,” I reassured him.

  He seemed relieved. “Well, I’m still happy to get you another one if you wish.”

  I declined politely. “No need. This one was strong enough for me. If I drink any more, I’ll fall asleep before dinner.”

  I went back to watching the approaching heads and the Pacific Ocean beyond, and zipped up my windbreaker all the way to my chin as the wind whipped up, making me shiver. From the corner of my eye, I noted my companion, who stood beside me leaning on the rail. He lifted the collar of his jacket to ward off the cold ocean breeze and held onto his hat with one hand to save it from being blown off his head.

  “This is the part I like best; passing through the heads and straight into the deep swell of the ocean,” he remarked as he took off his black-rimmed glasses, wiped the lenses with a handkerchief, and put them back on while still managing to hold onto his hat.

  I turned to him with interest. “You’ve cruised before?”

  “Many a time,” he replied with a smile that crinkled his rose-cheeked face.

  He wore a white close-cropped moustache and a beard that only covered his chin. His cheeks were clean-shaven. I tried to work out his age but couldn’t make up my mind. From the white beard and thick thatch of white hair, which peeked from under his hat, he could have been anywhere between late sixties to somewhere in his seventies.

  “I’m Mia Ferrari, by the way.” I extended a hand toward him.

  He took it in his and gave it a firm shake. “Professor Benjamin Tully.”

  “And on a much-needed holiday, I imagine.”

  “Yes.” He let go of my hand. “Time to get away from all those pesky students,” he stated with humour in his voice.

  “Where do you teach?”

  “Sydney University.”

  “Well, it’s a small world,” I remarked. “One of my travelling companions goes to Sydney Uni. He’s studying IT.”

  Professor Tully turned to look at the ocean ahead of us as the ship passed through the heads. “Breathtaking, isn’t it?”

  I nodded. “The ocean’s always majestic.”

  “I teach physiology.”

  “Huh?” I was temporarily thrown off at the change of topic. “Oh, you mean at uni.”

  “Yes,” he responded. “Therefore, I wouldn’t know your friend unless he’s taking medicine.”

  “Makes sense. It’s a big university,” I commented.

  Professor Tully held the collar of his jacket a little closer to him. “Excuse me, my dear, but I’m going to go back inside. It’s getting a bit too cold out here for an old man like me.”

  “It was nice to meet you, Professor,” I replied. “I’m sure we’ll run into each other again.”

  He gave me a parting wave and lost himself in the crowd while I turned back to drink in the awesome sight of the Pacific Ocean with its endless horizon.

  ~~~

  Our group met for dinner at Horizons Restaurant, which was the ship’s a-la-carte venue on Deck 7. I would have preferred the more informal and quick buffet-style bistro I’d espied earlier on Deck 12, called The Anchor, so I could make a speedy getaway from Smythe’s company; but it seemed I was destined to suffer his company for longer than I expected.

  We were seated at a window table for four, with me and Chris side by side and Dobbs and Smythe sitting opposite. Dobbs was directly opposite me; and for this small mercy, I was incredibly than
kful.

  “Who’s having wine?” Dobbs asked when the drinks waiter approached our table.

  “Red for me,” I answered, looking forward to obliterating the evening in an alcoholic haze, hence forgetting Smythe’s presence.

  The others opted for light beer, so Dobbs and I ended up sharing a bottle, half of which I consumed by the time we were into our first course. I felt Dobbs’s disapproving glare at my behaviour, but I didn’t care. What with all the rum in the cocktail I’d consumed upon departure and now the wine, I started to feel uninhibited and looking forward to begging off early so I could go to la la land. And I wasn’t referring to LA, either.

  I had no idea what kind of conversation ensued around the table or what I ate. I was only aware of Dobbs’s grumpy manner toward me and Chris’s amused gaze. Smythe was simply a blank—which suited me just fine.

  When the waiter came by to ask about dessert, I took the opportunity to stand up, none too steadily, and announced, “I’m full, so no dessert for me. If you’ll excuse me, I’m off to bed. It must be the sea air.”

  “More like the alcohol, I’d say,” was the smartarse rejoinder from Dobbs.

  I let it slip. “Well, goodnight everybloody... I mean... everybody.”

  Chris stood and took hold of my arm. “Let me walk you back to your cabin, Ferrari,” he remarked with mirth in his tone. “If the ship should lurch, you could fall and break your neck.”

  Someone added a sarcastic comeback in answer to Chris’s comment, but it was just as well I didn’t take it in for I was sure it had come from Smythe.

  ~~~

  I tossed and turned in my alcohol-induced sleep, thinking how noisy it was on the ship. How the hell could anybody sleep with all this racket going on? I was sure someone was playing the drums, and I had to fight my way back to wakefulness so I could go out there and tell them to shut up. Surely, the entertainment was over by now, I thought as I glanced at the clock on my bedside table with one eye. It was 2.11am.