Cooks, Crooks and Cruises: A Humorous Cruise Ship Cozy Mystery (Cruise Ship Cozy Mysteries Book 2)

by A. R. Winters

  “You, too.” She waved goodbye, but there was a suspicious look on her face as she watched me leave. I could feel her eyes boring into my back until I’d fully rounded a corner and re-entered the ship.

  Didn’t anyone realize that it was the first officer I was interested in?

  Chapter 23

  I spent a fruitless hour sitting at my desk—if you could label the metal protrusion from the cabin wall with as grand a term as desk—with my computer in front of me.

  Time after time I wrote a sentence, then deleted it, then wrote another, and deleted it again. The problem was that I couldn’t decide what to write. I really needed to decide what angle to go with before I could do an article or press release justice. After speaking to both Meredith and Olivia, I was still undecided.

  Was I going to assume that Meredith was guilty, and then portray Vince as the kind of artist so obsessed with his passion for cooking that he didn’t notice his wife was a killer? Or should I go the other way, with Vince and Meredith as the ultimate couple-team, fighting for justice when one of them was wrongfully locked up? Without knowing which way I wanted to go, I couldn’t write anything.

  It was useless.

  I closed the lid of the computer and stood up, scraping the chair across the floor with an annoying screech. I’d have to buy some rubber feet for the chair next time we were in port

  What I really wanted to know was whether Meredith actually was guilty or not. Olivia, who had every reason to hate the woman—she was after all the ultimate roadblock (at least in her mind) to getting together with Vince—had stated that she didn’t believe Meredith was capable of being a killer. And if Meredith was innocent, this could actually end up being a great PR event. Being accused of a crime she didn’t commit would be sure to attract a lot of attention. We could probably get that splashed across national media.

  But the evidence was stacked against her, and now Ethan Lee was convinced she was the murderer and had her locked up for the rest of the cruise.

  I paced up and down my little cabin. The more I thought about it, the more I wanted her to be innocent. And the more I wanted her to be innocent, the more I thought about reasons why she might be.

  For me, it kept coming back to one thing. On the day of the murder, Meredith had been with me when the body was found by Beverly.

  If she were the killer, she would’ve needed to make a pretty quick—though not impossible—escape from the scene of the crime, go down and around in the ship, and then come up to where me and Cece were on our walk over.

  It wasn’t impossible, but when we had met her that morning, she hadn’t seemed like she had just killed someone.

  Not that it’s necessarily obvious when someone’s just killed someone, but you do tend to think there would be at least some signs. If not precisely blood on the hands, you would at least expect her to be out of sorts.

  But Meredith had been relatively calm and friendly that day, at least for her. If she had killed Hannah, wouldn’t she have seemed a bit more crazed? More unstable?

  And then there was Olivia. Or rather, what Olivia had left behind.

  The sunglasses I’d found under that table, which hadn’t been seen again since. If their presence were a mere coincidence, and they had in fact belonged to someone else, I would’ve thought I’d seen Olivia wearing hers again. But I hadn’t. Perhaps she was connected to the crime.

  It was useless.

  I needed information.

  I decided to ask Ethan Lee what he thought. I snatched up my phone, checked I had my ID hanging from the lanyard around my neck, and headed over to his office.

  I was waved inside after a brief call over the internal phone by the orderly stationed outside his office. By now, he was used to my frequent presence.

  When I entered, the smell of wood polish and a lingering odor of a masculine cologne greeted me. I breathed it in deeply. There was something if not relaxing then at least reassuring about Ethan’s base of operations.

  He was sitting behind his desk with a stack of papers in front of him, and an old-fashioned fountain pen next to them. Clearly, he’d been signing them.

  “How did you get on with Meredith?” He paused his work to lean back in his chair for a moment. “Did you get anything out of her? Or did she just screech about suing and injustice some more?”

  “There was plenty of complaining, but yeah, she did talk to me in the end. She thinks I’m on her side.”

  “There are no sides, remember. Only truth and guilt.”

  “I do think she is definitely unhinged in some way.” I saw Ethan force back a smile at that pronouncement. “But I’m not convinced that she was the killer.”

  “Have a seat.” He gestured toward the high-backed wooden chairs in front of his desk. “So you think she’s crazy, but that she didn’t do it?”

  I walked across the room and sat down while he was speaking. The chairs were uncomfortable as they were too straight. My back preferred slouching over ramrod-military straightness.

  “I’m not sure, but maybe. I spoke to Olivia after, who hates the woman, but she thinks Meredith isn’t violent. That she couldn’t kill anyone.” I leaned forward to relive my back. “Of course, Meredith told me she didn’t do it, and she also told me that Hannah wouldn’t have been worth the effort anyway. She was just some fangirl. No threat to her and Vince. Meredith didn’t really have a reason to kill her.”

  He drummed his fingers on the table. “Right. But we know that Beverly was poisoned by the pastries that Meredith gave her. Even if she didn’t kill Hannah, she went after Beverly.”

  “About that.” I rested my hands on my knees and shifted again, trying in vain to get comfortable. “Do you remember what Beverly said, about that?”

  “In what sense?”

  “How do we know those pastries were from Meredith?”

  Ethan frowned. “They were exactly the same as the ones Vince was cooking. You remember that basket I put in your arms when we collected her?”

  “Yes, but even so. Just because the pastry was the same, it doesn’t mean that Meredith sent it, does it?”

  “You could be right. Beverly said there was a note—”

  “She did. But where is the note? Do you have it?”

  Ethan slouched back in his chair, in thought. He put his hands behind his head. After a moment, he sat up straight again. “There was no note when we got there. Did you see one when you first found her?”

  I shook my head. I was quite certain there hadn’t been a note there at the time. “No. So I don’t think we have any proof that the pastry was left by Meredith, even if they were made by Vince. If it wasn’t Meredith, perhaps the real poisoner took the note away after Beverly collapsed—sneaked back in and grabbed it. Maybe they were there just before me.”

  “But why would they bother?”

  “Well, if the note wasn’t written by Meredith, then we would be able to tell through handwriting analysis. Right?” My mind was whirring along now. Before I arrived, I thought there was a chance Meredith was innocent, but I was rapidly beginning to think that she may have been framed. “It makes sense, doesn’t it?”

  He tilted his head to one side. “But Meredith could have done the same thing. She could’ve sent a note and then stolen it back, so there would be no evidence. Right?”

  I had to agree. That was true.

  “Is there anyone else who had access to the pastries?”

  I lifted my hands, palms facing up. “I suppose almost anyone, right? Anyone could have broken into the kitchen, or their cabin, or wherever they had been stored overnight.”

  I really thought I was on to something. If the only evidence we had against Meredith was circumstantial, then anyone could have tried to frame her.

  Unfortunately, Ethan did not yet seem convinced.

  “It’s something to consider. But at the moment, I’m inclined to follow Occam’s razor. The simplest solution is always the most likely: Beverly was poisoned by Meredith. They were Vince’s pastr
ies, after all, and Beverly said they were provided by Meredith.”

  He wasn’t wrong, but it didn’t feel right to me. There was something more that we were missing.

  “There was something else as well though. Do you remember when we found Hannah? You got there almost immediately after me.”

  Ethan nodded slowly and looked up toward the ceiling.

  I imagined he was thinking back just like I was, to that horrible image of Hannah lying on the stage.

  “You found Olivia’s sunglasses there, right?”

  Ethan’s chin dropped and he leaned forward, resting his arms on his desk. “How did you know about that?”

  “I saw them at the time, but I didn’t want to disturb you. You were with the body. They were right there, so I knew you’d find them.”

  “That’s right. We found them almost immediately.”

  “Did you ask her about them?”

  He nodded affirmatively but didn’t offer anything more, which annoyed me immensely.

  “Well? What did she say?”

  “She says that she had been hiding under that table.”

  I snorted. “And why was she doing that?” I was pretty sure I could guess, but I wanted to see what he said.

  “She couldn’t get tickets for the event that was supposed to happen. She thought she would hide under one of the tables, and then pop out to watch the action once it all began.”

  “But that would never work. As soon as someone sat down and put their legs under the table, they’d realize there was a woman under there! It’s a ridiculous plan.”

  “Yeah.” He raised his palms. “That’s what she said, too. She said that once she realized that would happen, she gave up on her plan and just went back to her room. She says the glasses must’ve fallen out of her pocket, or off her head or something. It was still dark, so she wasn’t wearing them at the time.”

  I chewed my bottom lip in thought. “Do you believe her?”

  “Yes. At least, I did. She certainly seems nuts enough to try a stunt like that.”

  “She certainly is. But I’m just not sure whether she actually did try to do what she said. If she was worried about being found under a table, couldn’t she have found somewhere else to hide?”

  Ethan blew out a long puff of air and stared off into the distance before replying. I didn’t think he was exactly bored with my theories, but I got the impression he may well have some other work he wanted to get back to.

  “Look, at the moment we’ve got no evidence to connect Olivia to anything. I do think she’s just a bit, you know, obsessed with Vince. But she doesn’t strike me as someone who would go as far as to kill. Do you?”

  I shook my head. “I guess not. And I suppose if she had, then it would have made more sense for her to try and persuade me that Meredith actually was a killer, instead of telling me that she thought Meredith was incapable. Right?”

  “Right.” He paused for a moment. “Then again, who knows? I can’t wrap my head around any of these fangirls. How could you be that into a celebrity who doesn’t even know you exist?”

  I shrugged. I was fully in agreement with him there. I had never developed the same fanaticism about celebrities that other people did—even Sam!

  “I know! And he isn’t even that big of a celebrity. He’s just a chef. It’s not like he’s Hollywood A-list or anything.”

  Ethan nodded. “Perhaps that makes him seem more accessible? More real? A more realistic target for a girl like Olivia?”

  “Maybe you’re right.”

  We looked at each other, not talking for a moment in a relatively comfortable silence.

  Finally, I stood up, and gave him a smile. “Thanks again for giving me access to talk to Meredith. I’ll let you get back to whatever it was you were doing.”

  “Thanks. Let’s catch up soon. And not just about this.” He waved a derisory hand.

  I smiled at him some more. It sounded to me like he was asking me on another date.

  “Yeah, let’s do that.”

  I gave him a little wave, turned around, and headed off. There was something I wanted to see.

  Something about Olivia’s story didn’t quite check out.

  Chapter 24

  I found Cece cleaning one of the internal cabins for passengers who didn’t feel the need to splurge on a balcony cabin. Despite being the least expensive, they were all much better appointed than those given to us lowly staff members though.

  “Hey, sweet cheeks,” she said as soon as she spotted me. She raised her palm to her mouth, kissed it, and then made a show of blowing in my direction. “What’s up?”

  I closed in toward her and greeted her with a poke in the shoulder. When were people going to stop teasing me about Meredith’s misconception?

  “I was hoping I could borrow your magic key again.”

  She stuck her hand on her hip, and raised her eyebrows at me. “What, without me?”

  “No way. I figured you were busy. But if you’re due for a break…”

  Cece winked at me. “I’m always due for a break.”

  I snorted, but I wasn’t about to criticize her. With my own job, I felt like I was on a break most of the day. It didn’t seem fair to call taking pictures and writing tiny little fluff pieces an actual job. But hey, they paid me for it.

  Cece leaned back against the wall of the hallway.

  “Where are we going?” Cece pulled off the big pink plastic gloves she was wearing, each one coming off with a snap. She crumpled the two together, and tossed them onto her cleaning cart. Then, she pushed the cart so it was right up against the wall and not blocking the hallway.

  “We’re going back to the outdoor event space.”

  Cece fixed me with a quizzical look. “The scene of the crime?”

  “That’s right.”

  Cece took a step back, and ran her eyes up and down me pointedly. “You know, they say the killer always returns to the scene of the crime.”

  I snorted again. “You were with me, remember?”

  Cece laughed. “Yeah, just kidding. But why are we going back there?”

  “Do you remember I found those glasses that were just like the ones Olivia had been wearing?”

  “Go on…”

  “Her excuse for that? She wanted to sneak in and watch the demonstration that she didn’t have a ticket for. She was going to hide under one of the tables, until the event started. But she realized she wouldn’t be able to hide there unnoticed, so she gave up her plan, and left.”

  “That’s her alibi?” Cece was slowly shaking her head to herself as she spoke. “That she couldn’t find anywhere else to hide, in the whole section? That does seem unlikely. Doesn’t it?”

  “Yep. That’s why we’re going to go and have another look.”

  Cece began to reach for the strings on her cleaning smock to take it off. Her hand paused over one of the hanging strings, and she reconsidered.

  “Maybe I’ll just keep this on.” Cece stepped toward me and interlocked her arm with mine. She smelled pleasantly of pine-scented floor cleaner. “Come on.”

  Access to the outdoor event space via the deck had been completely blocked off by the security team. As I didn’t fancy climbing over a barrier—one virtually hanging over the ocean—we needed to approach the space through the ship’s interior. The doors leading out to the event space had been locked shut. Hence, my need for Cece’s magic key.

  Cece held the little plastic rectangle hanging from her lanyard up to the electronic lock, and it immediately flashed green and the door motor whirred as it unlocked.

  “The sealed crime scene is now unsealed,” Cece pushed the door open, and immediately sea-salt-scented air blew into our faces. Instinctively, I breathed deeply. I didn’t think I could ever get bored of the smell of the ocean, no matter how long I spent aboard the cruise ship.

  “Let’s check it out.”

  We walked outside to the area where the demonstration was supposed to have been held. It still looked ex
actly the same. Presumably, this was deliberate and the scene had been preserved under Ethan Lee’s orders.

  There was the small stage at the front, which was now adorned with plastic sheeting, and in front of it were a dozen or so tables and chairs spread out so that everyone seated could get a good view of the stage. Where the deck curled around to the side of the ship, it had been blocked off with roped-up tarps to stop anyone entering. The only way in and out of the space right now was through the door we had just used—or a dangerous climb up or down.

  “There!” I pointed toward a table near the back. “I found the glasses under that table.” We walked over to it. Like all the others, it was a heavy plastic table with folding metal legs. The kind that could be folded up and moved around the ship as and when required.

  “That is a terrible hiding place,” Cece gently swung out and kicked her legs under the table, as if giving the boot to an invisible Olivia. “She would be spotted as soon as anyone started to enter to sit down.”

  “Well, her excuse was that this was a bad place to hide, so she left. I guess if she had arrived before the sun had risen, she may not have realized quite how bad it was. Perhaps then when the sun came up, she gave up and fled.”

  “Yeah, maybe. But maybe she killed Hannah on her way back to her cabin.” Cece kicked under the table again, as if to really punish the non-existent person hiding underneath.

  “Yep.” I turned my head around scanning the area. “That is one massive flaw in her excuse. But I think there’s another one too.”

  “What’s that?” Cece sidled up beside me and followed my gaze.

  “Even though that is a terrible hiding place, there have got to be other decent ones, right?” I started striding toward the stage. “Come and check this out.”

  I had a strong suspicion that there was another, much better hiding place. One right in the thick of the action.

  I hopped up onto the stage and couldn’t help but stare at where the murder had taken place. A layer of plastic had been placed over that whole section of the stage, to protect it from the elements, for when a real investigative team could come aboard when we returned to port.