A Witch On The High Seas: Merryweather Mysteries

by Bankhead, Jenny

  Lorna was not sure what to think. She glanced at Charlie. He had not seen her pick it up. He was busy pulling things from his pockets. With a burst of intention, she willed herself to hear his words.

  “Thought it was in here somewhere,” he was saying. “Could be in the room. Have to go get it… Another glass of champagne would be good, first. Or maybe Irish coffee. Yes, that’ll fire up the old noggin. Then I’ll see about that tape… Oh, and I’ve got to call the police. Right. But first…whiskey.”

  Lorna quickly replaced the snow globe, just where she had found it. She gave Betty’s sleeve a tug. “Let’s go,” she whispered and began guiding Betty towards the stairs.

  After the long and laborious climb up the steep, narrow staircase, the two women emerged once again on the second level of the ship. Lorna was breathing hard.

  Betty was walking slowly. She’d pushed the limits of her knee on the staircase and was wishing for her cane.

  Lorna spotted a cluster of cushy, plump chairs and led the way. It felt good to sit down. Once seated, she was able to catch her breath.

  “I don’t know that Charlie is going to get very far with this case,” Betty said thoughtfully. “And by the time the police get aboard the ship, the culprit could have covered up his or her tracks quite nicely.”

  “I was thinking the same thing,” Lorna said. “Charlie is off to the bar. I don’t think he’s going to do much of anything before the police arrive.”

  “And until then,” Betty said, “a murderer is on the loose.”

  “That is, unless…” Lorna was hatching a scheme in her mind. She waited for Betty to do a little mind reading and catch on.

  “Yes!” Betty said, sitting forward. “We’ll begin tracking down the killer ourselves.”

  “We’ve done it before,” Lorna said, thinking of poor John Larkin’s murder six months before.

  “And we can do it again!” finished Betty.

  Lorna grinned. It was exciting to be embarking on a new case. She knew that if they wanted to make progress, they had to start now, while the trail was hot. “Now,” she said. “Where should we begin?”

  Chapter 7

  “The snow globe,” Lorna said, answering her own question. “It’s our best lead.”

  “Snow globe?” Betty asked. “Fill me in, won’t you? Paint a picture for me.”

  “It was leaning against the leg of a plastic chair,” Lorna said. “Maybe the killer dropped it there and ran from the scene without pausing to pick it up. It was a winter ocean scene within a glass orb, situated on an antique-looking metal foundation.”

  “I’m sure Maurice Crabtree would love to get his hands on that,” Betty said. Maurice, the owner of Tweed-upon-Slumber’s Crabtree Antiques, loved to display unique items in his shop.

  “Yes, I think he would,” Lorna agreed absentmindedly. Her mind was far from Maurice and his antiques. She was puzzling over the murder at hand.

  She wished that she had her notebook. If she did, she would write down some observations. As it was, she had to work to keep it all straight in her head. “That scream,” she said. “It sounded like a woman’s voice, didn’t it?”

  “Yes, definitely,” Betty said.

  “And yet, when we reached the crime scene, whoever the woman was that did the screaming was gone.”

  “She must have run away,” Betty said.

  “Who would do something like that? Scream and then run?”

  “Someone who is frightened,” suggested Betty.

  “Or guilty.” Lorna furrowed her brow. “But if she was guilty, I suppose it would be odd to scream so loudly and alert the entire ship to the murder.”

  “Unless it was unplanned. Sometimes murderers act rashly and surprise even themselves. Then, they get upset about what just happened while they were in a blind rage.”

  “Yes. You’re right,” Lorna said. The two of them made quite a team. Betty was such a master of human emotion, while she, Lorna, had to admit that she had a logical side and was quite capable of fitting together clues.

  She thought again of the snow globe. “We better start with the only lead that we have,” she said. “Before the trail goes cold.”

  “You’re talking about the snow globe that was found by the chair?” Betty asked.

  “Yes,” Lorna said. “Someone left it there. It must belong to someone. We just need to figure out who it belongs to.”

  Though it felt divine to sit in the cushy chairs, Lorna forced herself to stand. Up and at ’em! she thought. Such is the life of a dedicated detective. Lorna offered a hand to Betty, who needed assistance getting out of the bum-cradling chairs. If one wasn’t careful, one would wind up sinking so far in, and getting so comfortable, that one would sit all day, watching the world go by in a state of relaxed comfort.

  That simply would not do. Not today, of all days. Today there was work to do.

  “All this thinking has stirred up my appetite,” Betty said as she reached her feet. “Perhaps we should start our investigation in the bar.”

  Lorna agreed. She always worked best on a full stomach, with a cup of tea in hand.

  The staff had transformed the champagne brunch into a lunch buffet. Many people were lingering around the long buffet line of food, and around half of the round tables were occupied as well. Lorna scanned the faces for any that she thought might be helpful to interview.

  She spotted Raul, the ship’s owner. Well now, that might be a good place to start, she thought.

  Raul was smoking, even though signs posted around the interior bar clearly stated that there was no smoking. She leaned over to Betty. “There’s Raul Alvarez,” she said, “smoking a cigarette again. He always seems to be smoking.”

  “I can smell it,” Betty said, sniffing the air.

  “He’s not supposed to smoke in here.” Lorna led the way towards the tea station. “But I suppose he can do what he wants, since it’s his ship, after all.”

  “Yes, he must feel very entitled,” Betty said. “Let’s talk to him.”

  Once the two women had tea and plates of sandwiches in hand, they made their way towards the table where Raul was seated.

  He was leaning back in his chair, puffing casually on his cigarette. His dark hair was slicked back on his head, and he wore a button-down dress shirt made of a silver-colored material. It had a metallic hue when it reflected the light. He looked very relaxed.

  Lorna wondered if he knew about the trouble that was brewing on his vessel. As the owner of the ship, why isn’t he more concerned about the dead body that is just one deck below us? wondered Lorna. Has Charlie not told him about it yet?

  “Mind if we join you?” Betty asked politely.

  Raul nodded lazily. He seemed utterly unconcerned with their presence. Lorna knew that if she and Betty did not engage him in conversation, he would ignore them entirely. He was just that kind of man.

  Yes, he had been friendly when they first stepped aboard, but that attitude had quickly changed when the journey was underway. Whenever she had seen Raul since, he had been too preoccupied to grace her with a greeting. He seemed to be very self-absorbed.

  “We’ve been having a wonderful time on your ship,” Lorna said, trying to start the conversation politely. “Everything is top-notch—the food, the ambiance, the decor, the service. We’ve especially loved the entertainment. Isn’t that right, Betty?”

  Betty, who had a mouth full of cucumber sandwich between her cheeks, gave an enthusiastic nod.

  Lorna continued. She wanted to ask Raul about the murder and the snow globe, but there was one other thing she wanted to gauge his reaction to first. “The dancing, in particular, has been very good,” she said. “You’re lucky to have Sandy Owens on your staff.”

  As she said the name “Sandy,” she watched Raul’s face carefully. His features remained serenely indifferent.

  Hmm, interesting, thought Lorna. Sandy’s heart was broken by a man on this ship, but I doubt if it was the man before us now. Raul seems to be unp
hased.

  Raul spoke. “Good that you’re enjoying your time on the ship. It’s unfortunate that the engine’s busted, but it will be fixed soon enough,” he said.

  Betty had finished her bite of food, and now, while Lorna bit into her sandwich, Betty took over the questioning. “What do you make of the murder?” she asked boldly.

  Yet still, Raul remained calm.

  “Ah yes, Charlie just told me about that. Another unfortunate event,” he said casually, and then brought his cigarette to his lips and inhaled.

  Betty wanted to know more. She pressed on. Lorna, chewing, listened with interest as Betty stated, “It was Leon Thomas that was killed. I’m sure you knew him well. You must have hired him, correct?”

  Now there was a flicker of reaction inside of the outwardly calm man. Raul stirred in his seat and tapped his cigarette against the ashtray nervously. “Poor Leon,” he muttered. Then, a curse that won’t be repeated here.

  “You knew him well?” pressed Betty.

  “Of course, I knew him well!” Raul said. His voice was full of contempt. “He was my vice-captain. He shouldn’t have been killed.”

  He looked genuinely upset as he spoke. He raked his hand through his hair and then took a nervous, intense drag from the cigarette. His hand was shaking slightly now.

  Lorna took up the questions where her partner had left off. “Have you seen him with a snow globe before?” she asked. “One was found by his body, you know. We’re wondering if it was his.”

  “A snow globe?” Raul shook his head. “Never. The only snow globe I’ve ever seen on this ship belongs to Captain Gasparini. I saw it in his cabin once. He asked me not to touch it and went on about how precious it was. Valuable, or something like that. I thought that was odd—a grown man going on about a snow globe.” Raul gave a nasty, condescending laugh. “Some people have no class,” he said. Then he snuffed out his smoke and folded his arms in front of his chest. “I can’t wait to get off of this blasted ship and sell it once and for all.”

  Well! thought Lorna. The man before them had made a complete one-hundred-and-eighty-degree turnaround from the character that had first greeted them aboard. She was shocked by the degree of his change in attitude, but Betty was unsurprised.

  After the two women excused themselves, leaving half-eaten sandwiches and unsipped tea regretfully behind, Betty spoke. “He’s one of those people that’s learned how to put on a good act to get what he wants. But beneath the surface, I feel he might be quite unpleasant.”

  “Quite,” agreed Lorna. “At least he shared about Captain Lou before he closed off to us. We’d better go confront the captain. If the snow globe was his, that implicates him in the murder!”

  “Do you remember the way to the bridge?” Betty asked. “That friendly crew member took us up there on the second day, but I can’t remember which way to get there. There are so many twists and turns on this ship.”

  Lorna was sure that she could find the way, but her memory was not what she thought it was. After leading the way down several dead ends, she finally found the hallway that she was looking for. One more right turn and there was the staircase to the bridge, clearly marked.

  Up they went.

  The top third of the ship was the smallest level. If this ship was a wedding cake, this tier would be the layer that got wrapped in tinfoil and stashed away in the freezer for a first-year anniversary. Lorna and Betty passed four rooms on their way to the bridge. Each room was marked with a little brass plaque.

  RAUL ALVAREZ stated the first room. Next came CAPTAIN LOU GASPARINI. Immediately following that was a room marked VICE-CAPTAIN LEON THOMAS. This third suite would remain vacant for the remainder of the time at sea, since its sole occupant no longer needed a place to rest his head, alive anyway.

  The fourth room that the women passed was a small dining area and lounge. CAPTAIN’S LOUNGE read the brass plaque.

  Lorna and Betty reached the bridge.

  Lorna tried the door, but it was locked. “Shoot!” she said, pulling on the door again. “I think it’s locked.” A quick glance to her right revealed a small black box with a blinking light. “It looks like it’s only opened with a key card,” she said.

  “Can you see him in there?” Betty asked. Indeed, the bridge had many windows. This was the place on the ship where the captain sat when he was steering. Since he needed to be able to see the water below, the bridge was walled off with glass rather than wood or metal.

  Lorna pressed her face against the glass to ward off the glare. She could see inside, but the small room looked empty.

  “He’s not here,” she informed Betty. “Shall we wait here for him?”

  Betty did not have a chance to answer. The sound of a man yelling made the two women rush to the railing and look overboard.

  “Help! Help! Overboard! Man overboard!” Far below, in the blue-gray water, a figure was thrashing his arms and hollering.

  As Lorna watched, the man began swimming a crawl. He sliced through the water expertly, swimming out a bit from the side of the boat. Perhaps he hoped to become more visible by the people aboard ship. This tactic worked. Lorna watched as a crew member on the very lowest deck rushed to the side of the ship.

  “Man overboard!” cried the crew member, pointing out to sea.

  This drew a crowd.

  “Come on!” Lorna said. She suddenly felt that they were very far from the action. Besides, even from sixty feet up, she knew who was splashing about in the ocean below. I would recognize that dignified head of salt and pepper hair anywhere, she thought to herself, the instant her heightened senses spotted it.

  “I see him!” she said excitedly to Betty while rushing back towards the stairs that they had just climbed. “That’s Captain Lou Gasparini!”

  Together, Lorna and Betty began hiking back down to the second level.

  “What has that man gotten himself into?” Betty mused between uneven steps as she hobbled after Lorna.

  “Trouble, that’s what,” Lorna said from a few paces ahead. “Looks like he’s gone and gotten himself thrown overboard.”

  “Who would throw the captain of a ship overboard?” Betty wondered aloud.

  This was a good question. Neither Lorna nor Betty had the answer, so they descended the next flight of stairs in silence. When they burst through the doors, out onto the lowest deck of the ship, they were greeted by a hectic scene.

  A row of crew members, male and female alike, were straining to pull on a thick, red-and-white-striped rope. They looked for all the world like they were engaged in a game of one-sided tug-of-war.

  “Heave!” called a man in the front, who seemed to be the leader of the tanned and brawny pack. Muscles strained. Then, “ho!” he called. Again— “Heave! Ho!”

  Lorna and Betty hustled across the deck towards the action. They didn’t want to miss a second of it.

  Just as the two sleuths reached the edge of the ship, where all of the heaving and ho-ing was happening, salt and pepper hair crested the railing. Then an unhappy face popped above the rail.

  The captain, usually so coiffed and distinguished looking, now resembled a wet rat. He was sputtering and coughing. Water dripped down his face. His hair, usually wavy and styled just so, was now flattened against his head in a very unattractive manner.

  He was breathing erratically, gasping for air between hacking coughs. Occasionally, as the crew continued hoisting him over the rail, he spit out a mouthful of saltwater.

  You might think that this process would be quick, but it was not. It took several more minutes to get the captain safely up and over the rail. When he landed on the deck with a splat, he clearly was not pleased about the situation. His crew was supposed to respect and admire him. Now here he was, lying prone on the ground in a tangle of rope, while they looked down on him.

  Even though his muscles must have been burning with the exhaustion of trying to stay afloat in the open seas, he struggled to get to his feet. He stumbled at first, but then managed
to stand. He straightened his spine, lifted his chin, and then opened his mouth to speak.

  Before he could get a word out, Charlie Wright emerged from the crowd. “I’m onto you, Captain Gasparini!” Charlie bellowed. “You won’t get away with it that easy. I know you think you can hoodwink ol’ Charlie…but I won’t stand for it. Your act doesn’t fool me. I know that you killed Leon!”

  Chapter 8

  Members of the crowd that was gathered around the captain gasped.

  Lorna herself did not gasp. She was skeptical that Charlie had truly put the pieces together. His accusation seemed a bit too hastily drawn. She would wait and watch for the Captain’s reaction.

  Charlie Wright jabbed his beefy finger into Lou Gasparini’s soaking chest. “I saw you quarreling with Leon two days ago.”

  Lou wiped water from his eyes so that he could pin the head of security with a sufficiently steely glare.

  Charlie retracted his finger.

  Lou was a full foot taller than Charlie, and he utilized his full height now. He was practically standing on his tip toes as he stretched to his full height and then looked down at Charlie.

  “SO? WHAT?” he bellowed. His face was red. It seemed that he did not like anything about the events taking place.

  First, he had to suffer the embarrassment of being hauled over the rail in a most undignified manner—rear first. And then he’d been tossed in a puddle on the deck. Now this? He was not going to stand for it. “I fail to see how my argument with Leon makes me into a murderer, Mr. Wright.”

  Charlie stepped back, out of Lou’s shadow. From a safe distance away, he presented his case. He thought it was quite brilliant, and he was hoping that it was the truth. That way, they could all get on with things, such as eating and drinking and lounging by the pool—as it should be.

  “You fought with Leon and became so upset with him that you decided to kill him! Then, you threw yourself overboard, in a bid to remove yourself from suspicion.”