by Frost, E J
He gives me the master key Ed Isaak promised, differentiated by the other key cards I’ve been given by its dull orange color. I tuck it away in my breast pocket while I ask about the delivery and storage of medicines. Palmer echoes what the security guard told me.
“Officer Ashton mentioned you have some system for keeping track of how many non-prescription medicines each passenger has been given.”
“It’s actually by cabin number, not passenger,” Palmer explains. “Staff log the meds into the system and it flags me if any room has had more than a certain number in a twelve-hour period. If I get an alert, I check in with the cabin and see if a guest needs medical attention.”
I nod. Sounds like a good system and I like the personal touch. It’ll be a shame if it goes the way of the room-service robots.
“Other than Dramamine and Advil, what can be dispensed by non-medical staff?”
“Heartburn medication, topical creams without steroids, lubricants, condoms,” Palmer ticks them off on his fingers. “I think that’s about it. Oh, sorry, sunblock. No one’s going to need that today, though.”
“No,” I agree. “What about the spa staff?”
“Nothing more than what the pursers can dispense.”
“The spa manager mentioned that he uses some herbs during some of his classes. Do those go through the pursers?”
“Spa supplies are kept with the main stores and dispensed by the C-deck purser. I know there aren’t any fresh herbs in there because we keep all perishables separate. Spoilage is a huge problem for us. Dried herbs? There might be. Gabe Matapang is the C-deck purser. He’d know.”
I nod. I have an interview with him next.
“Are you aware of a guest on the last cruise named Bill Black?”
“The guy who died?” Palmer asks. “I heard about that. Heart failure. Then I heard something about food poisoning. Is that right?”
The fucking rumor mill on this boat.
“Possibly. Do you remember him at all?”
Palmer shakes his head. “I don’t think I ever met him. I’ve tried to think back. All of us have. I’ve talked with Gabe about it. None of us remember anything out of the ordinary.”
“Who told you about his death?”
Palmer frowns. “Look, we’re a family on this boat. I don’t want to drop anyone in the shit.”
“Understood.” And I do understand, but their security is leakier than the bastard child of Wikileaks and a sieve, and I want to know where the bloody torrent of rumors is coming from. “But there’s a man dead, and his widow doesn’t believe it was heart failure or the food. I need to know who is talking about him, because it could affect what people remember. So, again, who told you?”
“Dan. He questioned me and Gabe when we signed on, the day before the ship left L.A.”
Reyes. That man is a liability.
“Okay,” I say neutrally. “And you told Dan you didn’t remember?”
“I did. After Dan spoke to us, I looked the guy’s cabin number up. The computer never flagged it. We had good weather that trip, so no one needed anything for sea sickness. The guy didn’t even ask for condoms.”
That’s consistent with what the Pink Pearl people told me in our briefings. None of the victims needed medical attention during their trips.
Since I’ve got my laptop out, I pull up the pictures of the other four victims and show them to Palmer. “Remember any of these four?”
Palmer shakes his head.
“Okay. I really appreciate you taking the time to speak to me. I know you’re a busy man.”
“I feel like I haven’t been very helpful. The possibility that a guest died because of something we did or didn’t do?” He leans forward and clasps his hands between his knees. “That keeps me up at night.”
Poor bastard. I can imagine.
“I’ll repeat what I told Ed Isaak,” I tell him. “I find the staff on this boat exceptionally caring and professional. Black’s death isn’t down to any failing of yours.”
“What’s it down to?”
I want to answer him, I really do. He deserves to know that this wasn’t his fault, or the fault of any of the people he’s responsible for. But that’s not my job.
“I hate to do this, but you’re going to have to ask Ed Isaak. I’m not at liberty to disclose the results of my investigation to anyone. But I’ll recommend Ed share them with you. This isn’t down to you, and it shouldn’t be disturbing your sleep.”
Palmer stands and offers me his hand. I rise and shake. “Thank you.”
I show him out and nearly stumble over the white-uniformed purser waiting in the corridor. Gabe Matapang. He’s ten minutes early, which suits me just fine. Palmer nods to Matapang as they pass each other. I introduce myself to Matapang and invite him into my suite.
I spend very little time on pleasantries and get right to it. “You’re probably aware that a guest named Bill Black died the night after disembarking from the last cruise. I’m investigating his death. I understand you don’t remember Mr. Black.”
“Sorry, no, I don’t.”
His English is smooth and unaccented.
“That’s okay. My questions are really about the ship’s storage. They may not seem relevant to Mr. Black’s death, but please answer them as completely as possible.”
Matapang nods. “No problem.”
“I understand the spa’s supplies are kept in the purser’s stores on C-deck. Who has access?”
“Any purser. Kofi, of course. The captain, if she needed to for some reason.”
“Spa manager?”
“Mr. Merullo? Sure.”
Interesting. He calls his boss by his first name, but not Merullo.
“Does Mr. Merullo go into the stores himself?”
Matapang nods again. “Used to be that I took care of all the spa supplies. I had everything organized alphabetically. When the spa staff needed something, they just let me know and I’d get it for them. No problem. Since Mr. Merullo came, it’s all changed.”
And Matapang doesn’t sound at all happy about that.
“How?”
“Mr. Merullo made me put everything for the spa in its own section. Organized the way he wants. Half the time, I can’t find what they need. He makes it seem like that’s my fault. If he’d just let me organize it like it was, there wouldn’t be any problems.”
Hard to believe that Mr. All-Mighty Dollar would want anything done in a less efficient, less profitable manner.
Unless, of course, he’s hiding something.
“What’s in the spa stores?”
“You mean, oils and things?”
“Yes.” I poise my pen over my pad.
“Oils. Lotions. Cleansers.” He ticks them off. “Special shampoos and soaps. Kel, she does nails at the spa, her tubs of acrylics and brushes and things are in there.”
“When I interviewed Mr. Merullo, he mentioned that everything for the spa is ordered from a company called Serenity. Is that right?”
I ask to test whether Matapang knows about the supplies ordered from Hidden Emerald Ranch. Seems like there’s no love lost between Matapang and Merullo, but if Merullo has taken control of the spa supplies to hide the brick, Matapang may simply be in the dark.
“No, I guess he doesn’t know where everything comes from. Addie, she’s the stylist, she gets shampoos and dyes from a place called Triffic Tresses. Kel’s nail stuff comes from a company called Glitter and Gel.”
I wait, but he doesn’t mention Hidden Emerald Ranch.
“Mr. Merullo also mentioned herbal supplements that he uses in a class he teaches. Are you aware of those?”
“Sure am. He’s real picky about those. I’m not even supposed to open the boxes.”
Bingo.
“Mr. Merullo unpacks them himself?”
“Yeah. Leaves me the empty packaging to clean up, though.”
Considerate guy.
“Are they marked, the boxes with the herbal supplements in them?”
Doubtful. Now I know what I’m looking for.
“Gabe, thanks so much for your time. You’ve been tremendously helpful.”
“You’re welcome.” When I stand, he rises and shakes my hand. “You won’t mention this to Mr. Merullo, will you? He’s already had me written up a couple of times.”
“Not a word,” I promise. “My investigation’s confidential.”
And I don’t think Merullo is going to be around to butt heads with Matapang much longer.
Once I show Matapang out, I check my phone. My good little girl has sent me a text saying that she and Vashi are going to check out the bondage market. As I start to respond, another text pops up to say that they’re back and watching a movie.
Emily will be occupied for at least an hour, and she’s safe enough with Vashi with her. I text her to say I’m going out so she should put the manual latches on the doors, but that I’ll be back by five-thirty.
That gives me an hour and a half to find the brick.
I wait until I hear the metallic click on the other side of the connecting door that tells me my baby doll’s safe. I fire off a quick text to Niall, then I go hunting for boxes with green diamonds on them.
* * *
It takes much longer than I expect. Everything conspires against me.
First, the storm’s hit in earnest and, either because they don’t want the cleaners working until dawn, or because the open decks are dangerous with the spray and wind, the crew have closed the Lido and outside decks. I have to work my way around the closed spaces, taking the stairs down two decks, walking through the casino and relocated bondage market, before heading back up towards the spa. With the Lido and outer decks closed, the casino level is packed to the rafters. I’m forced to push my way through the crowd, trying to avoid knocking into any of the passengers, who are already looking green around the gills from the roll of the ship. When I finally pass the heads at the far end of the casino, the air’s ripe with the smell of vomit. Guess those anti-sea-sickness pills aren’t all they’re cracked up to be.
My second bit of bad luck is finding the spa closed due to the weather. I figured if all the staff were in the spa, I could slip into the stores. Since I don’t want any of them walking in on me while I’m rifling through boxes, I use the orange key-card to let myself in and check the computer on the reception desk.
The computer’s not password protected. More crappy security, which I make a mental note to mention to Ed. It makes checking the appointment calendar easy, though. The nail tech and stylist have blacked out the rest of the day. Presumably, they’re off hiding from the storm. Merullo and the other massage therapist are both out on appointments. Merullo’s finishes at sixteen thirty, while the other therapist finishes at seventeen hundred. Not a lot of time.
I debate.
Now feels like the right time to look for the brick. With the storm, no one will expect me to be poking around. I don’t know if I scared Merullo, but, from the calendar, he was booked solid around our interview, so I’m hoping he hasn’t had time to move the brick.
I could get reinforcements and come back later. I’d score big points with Dan Reyes if I pulled him in to help me search. But with the delay from the storm, I’ll be bumping into the hour of edging I promised Emily. She’ll forgive me if I needed to reschedule, I know, but I don’t want to. I want my baby doll to be certain that when I say I’m going to do something, I do it. I also want her to know how important she is to me. I told her that some of my previous relationships failed because I put work ahead of my bottoms; I promised I wouldn’t do that with her. I’ve always felt keeping promises was important, but somehow keeping promises to my little girl feels vital. I can’t let her down.
Resolved, I let myself out of the spa quietly, slip through a door marked “Staff Only” that yields to the orange key-card, and find myself in a long corridor behind the spa. I haven’t been in any of the spaces of the ship that were not for passenger consumption and the utilitarian hallway makes me smile. Much more what I’m used to.
The stowage isn’t marked, but it’s easy to find: the fourth door along the corridor. Once inside, I come across the third obstacle.
The stowage is huge. The space must be fifty by a hundred, and it’s a maze of shelving and stacked boxes. It’s a mini bloody warehouse. For a moment, I consider trying to track down Matapang so he can show me where the spa supplies are kept. But I have no idea how long it will take to locate him, and I can hear the clock ticking in my ears.
I work methodically from the shelves closest to me. It’s like being in a damn Costco, with the towering shelves on either side, products in boxes or wrapped up like mummies in cling-film. Everything’s neatly labelled. Air fresheners. Bags. Bleach. Brushes.
Matapang told me he keeps everything in alphabetical order.
Merullo may have reorganized the spa’s supplies but there’s no way he could dictate to Matapang where the supplies are kept.
I back up to the entrance, pick the third aisle, and start down it. Towels. Toilet paper.
Too far. I back up to the second aisle. I slow as I pass boxes of sanitizers. There’s space in the shelving after the block of soaps. A small stack of boxes stamped “Glitter and Gel” catch my eye.
The spa supplies.
They’re at the very end of the aisle. I circle the shelving slowly, taking in the boxes. There are none with a green emerald immediately visible and tension tightens my shoulders. Maybe Merullo got here already. There’s shelf after shelf of boxes with a sunset logo and the word “Serenity” in ornate script. No green diamonds.
I move back around the shelving, working top to bottom.
On the bottom shelf, half-hidden behind plastic-wrapped, industrial sized bottles of something labeled “hydrating toner,” I catch a flash of green.
Working carefully, I unbuckle a webbed strap that’s cinched around the block of boxes. The ship is rolling with the waves and wind, but not so much that what the strap is restraining should fall off the shelf. At least, I hope not. I don’t want to end my investigation buried under massage oil and nail acrylic.
I pull the plastic-wrapped bottles off the shelf and set them on the floor. There.
Four boxes stamped with a green diamond and the words “Hidden Emerald Ranch, Ontario” are tucked to the back of the shelf. I pull them out. They’re sealed with tape but from the creasing of the cardboard and multiple strips of tape, they look like they’ve been opened and resealed. Standing over the boxes, I unbuckle my belt and pop the clasp on the small knife in my belt buckle. The carbon-fiber edge makes short work of the tape. I spread the box open.
Bottles, big and small. Ginkgo Biloba. Black Cohosh. Dropper bottles of Camomile tincture. Blackcurrant powder. Nothing jumps out at me. I’ll check all of the boxes before I start opening the bottles.
Box two is more of the same. Peruvian Maca. Cod Liver Oil, which brings back memories of winters in England: sitting on Gran’s couch and holding my nose while she dumped the foul goo off a spoon and down my throat. Nice to see they make it in capsule form now. Whole generations of children must be grateful. Powdered Ashwagandha. I’ve got no idea what that even is. Merullo’s got an entire bloody pharmacopeia back here.
Box three contains fewer bottles but lots of smaller boxes. Herbs in compressed tablet form. St. John’s Wort. B Complex.
My fingers trip over a plain white box. I pick up a box of Milk Thistle tablets before my brain registers what my fingers have found.
I drop the Milk Thistle and pick up the unmarked box. It’s the size of a Band-Aid box, wrapped in a layer of clear plastic, which I cut open carefully. Inside, there’s a row of five blister packs. I tip them out into my palm and stare at the neatly packaged pink pills.
Sealed in plastic and foil. Encased in layers of cardboard. Buried among so many other smells. Small wonder the dogs didn’t catch them.
I close the box and tuck it into my jacket pocket, then take each box and bottle out of the larger cardboard box and set it on the floor. No more plain, white boxes. I replace everything and open the fourth box. The same methodical search produces one more plain, white box. I slip it into my pocket without opening it. I’ve been here too long. Without even checking my phone, I know it’s well past sixteen thirty. The hairs on the back of my neck are prickling, but I take the few moments to return everything to its place and re-cinch the storage strap.
Patting my pockets to make sure I’ve got the two boxes of brick, I back away from the spa supplies and quickly make my way down the long aisle. My phone buzzes in my pocket and I take it out. Missed call from Miranda. Fuck. I’ll deal with her later. First, I need to get out of here and call Ed Isaak. With any luck, he’ll still be at the office. We need to figure out a plan for getting Merullo off the boat tomorrow. We don’t dock at Mazatlán for another two days, but there is a helipad on the ship, so I’m assuming they could airlift him off. I know Ed won’t want to involve the Mexican authorities, but there’s no way he can leave Merullo running around the boat. If this were a Navy vessel, we could stick him in the brig, but, despite a surplus of dungeons, I’m guessing this ship doesn’t have a holding cell.
A flicker in my peripheral vision as I round the end of the aisle pulls me out of my thoughts. I have a split-second to react, snapping my head away and raising my arm, before a lightning bolt crashes through my head, driving me to my knees.
The pain’s so sharp it drives the breath out of my chest, all thoughts out of my head. I slap at the floor in an attempt to support myself but collapse onto my side. The movement makes thunder roll through my ears and more lightning strike behind my eyes.
“You fuck.”
The words draw my eyes up. Merullo’s standing at the end of the aisle, in the shadow of the shelving, holding a fire extinguisher with the nozzle near his shoulder and the butt-end pointed at me.
I see blood on the end of the extinguisher. My blood, which runs, stinging, into my right eye.