The only table that wasn’t discussing her death, in fact, seemed to be the one where I sat. I peered over my menu at Bebe’s traveling companions—Peg, Tony, and Preston—chances were good I was dining with a murderer right then. These were the people with the most motive to kill her.
I buried my nose in the menu. Not my circus, not my homicidal monkeys.
“Could I have your attention please?” Silas’s microphone made a crackling noise and then a booming thud as he tapped it. “Sorry.”
All the passengers and crew stopped what they were doing and stared at him.
“Everyone knows about the unfortunate death of Mrs. Bosley. I’m here to eliminate any rumors and answer any questions that you might have. First off, most of you have undoubtedly noted that we’re not moving.”
I peeked out the porthole that led to the outer deck and sure enough, we were dead in the water. The stillness of the ship unnerved me. I would have thought we’d be sailing full speed ahead to the nearest island airport to transport Bebe’s body to America.
“We’ve been communicating with the authorities about Mrs. Bosley’s death,” he went on. “So far, there seems to be some disagreement about who, exactly, has jurisdiction over this case. Our vessel is registered in the Bahamas. She’s a citizen of the United States. The nearest island is Saint Burts, but we’re in international waters at the moment.”
His shoulders tensed, and a vein throbbed on the side of his temple. Bebe Bosley’s murder had landed this cruise line smack dab in the middle of an international brouhaha.
I’d read once that due to complicated maritime law, crimes aboard ships were often swept under the rug by lawyers or large settlements, but Bebe was a celebrity. There would be no hushing this up. And nobody wanted to flub the investigation … whenever that investigation began.
As nauseous as I’d felt chugging around the Atlantic for the last two days, I preferred that to the claustrophobia of sitting here in no man’s land, er, water. Especially with a murderer on board. Come to think of it, Silas hadn’t mentioned the M word yet.
As if on cue, an elderly woman two tables over shot her hand up in the air. “Is it true what people are saying? That Bebe Bosley was poisoned?”
“Her death is under investigation.”
“Investigation by whom?” the woman pressed.
“Well—” Silas cleared his throat, rubbing his forearm.
“Under investigation because it looks like murder?” yelled a man from the back.
Hearing it out loud was so grim, so disturbing … so final. Bebe had been killed. By someone who was still on this boat.
“The circumstances of her death are … suspicious, yes,” said Silas.
“And you want us to sit here with a murderer running around?” The guy crossed his arms over his ample potbelly.
People shifted around restlessly.
“We have reason to believe that everyone is perfectly safe.” Silas waved his arms in a placating motion.
“And what reason is that?” asked the lady sitting next to the man.
Silas licked his lips. His brow crinkled, and I could tell he was weighing how much he could and should share to keep the calm.
“If Mrs. Bosley was, indeed, the victim of a crime, then the motive was most likely a personal one. We have absolutely no reason to believe that anyone else is in danger.”
My eyes flitted over to my tablemates. Peg, Tony, and Preston had all three become intensely interested in the napkins on their laps.
“Thank you for your patience,” said Silas. “If anyone has any further concerns, please don’t hesitate to bring them to me privately. We will do absolutely everything in our power to make sure that you feel safe and comfortable.”
He came and sat at our table. Jenna reached over and patted his hand. Her face was as wan and drawn as his, like neither of them had slept a wink last night. Heck, they probably hadn’t.
“You don’t really think Bebe was killed, do you?” Preston kept his voice light, but there was a strained note in it.
“I’m afraid I can’t discuss it,” said Silas.
“But when you said personal motive, that would mean—”
“I can’t discuss it.” He cut Preston off and screwed his mouth into a mirthless smile.
I raised my eyebrows and smeared the last bit of herbed cream cheese on my asiago cheese bagel. George, my cabin steward, came rushing over to our table. His eyes darted between Silas and a table on the far side of the room.
“Sir, we have a situation,” he whispered.
“Yes?” Silas rose to speak to him.
“I found this.” George held up a stunning sapphire necklace, the one Bebe and Preston had fought over. “Stuffed under the mattress as I was making the bed just now.”
Jack took the necklace. He folded it into a napkin, shielding it from view, but Preston Bosley shouted, “That’s mine!”
“Preston, you know that sorting through this will is going to be a mess,” said Peg.
“Wait.” Silas placed a calming hand on Preston’s shoulder. “George, why were you making Mrs. Bosley’s bed? Her room shouldn’t be touched.”
“Not Mrs. Bosley’s bed,” said George.
“Whose then?”
“Hers!” George pointed straight at my kleptomaniac cousin Tammi.
Chapter Fifteen
Gotta say. Didn’t see that one coming. Yeah, my cousin was a cheating hussy kleptomaniac. But a murderer?
This was someone with whom I’d sat on my bed at the age of eleven, giggling over cute guys in Seventeen magazine. Of course, she stole half the issues and then pretended my cat Missy ate them.
So, yes, she had a history of truth-mutilation, but it was a mighty big jump from telling the occasional ridiculous lie to cover her petty theft all the way to stealing precious jewelry and murdering a celebrity to cover it up.
It wasn’t yet eleven o’clock, and it was hotter than Satan’s armpit out here in the middle of the Caribbean. My skin warmed and my muscles loosened as the sizzling sun blazed under a cloudless sky. I couldn’t help but feel the teensiest bit guilty, hanging out in a lounge chair by the pool while Tammi was locked up somewhere like a convict.
A shiver danced across my skin as I thought about the scene she’d made at breakfast. It had taken three crew members to drag her out of the dining hall. Tammi had screamed herself hoarse that she’d been framed.
I tore pages out of an old magazine, folding them into thick strips then weaving them into an intricate basket.
Some people meditate. Some people twist their bodies into yoga pretzels (not to be confused with yogurt pretzels … mmmm). Some people journal.
Not me.
When I need to think, I craft. Forget the yoga mat and the Zen music. Give me a hot glue gun and a can of spray paint any day.
But try as I might, I couldn’t focus.
I flopped onto my stomach and stretched out, tossing the basket aside. I had to stop thinking about Tammi. It wasn’t like I could do anything for her.
Lance came stalking over and plopped in the chaise next to me.
“This is all your fault,” he said with nary a preamble.
“Excuse me?” It was hard to hear him with the wind flapping the edge of my magazine. It had almost sounded like he said this was my fault.
“I said, this is all your dang fault.”
“Ex-cuse me?” That time, I heard him just fine. “To what are you referring? The murdered reality show star? Or the fact that your new wife killed her to get at her jewels?”
Even as I said it, it felt all wrong.
“Killed her? Bah! You know Tammi couldn’t squash a spider.”
“No, she’d rather stab it in the back,” I mumbled.
“She was clearly framed. And it’s your fault.” He jabbed a finger in my face that I was tempted to snap right off. “If you hadn’t made that big scene pushing Tammi into the pool, then no one would have known to frame her for a theft.”
“
First of all, I didn’t push her into the pool. She fell in because she was afraid of a parakeet.” A fierce parakeet, but a parakeet nonetheless. “Second of all, what are you even talking about? How could that set her up to be framed?”
“The theft. You let everyone know she has kleptomania. But you know as well as I do that this isn’t Tammi’s style.” He pulled off his baseball cap and dragged his fingers through his hair. “She might have ownership issues over sentimental items at family gatherings every so often. And she might pilfer cheap doo-dads at the occasional store, but she’d never steal a necklace that cost more than she makes in twenty years. And murder? Come on.”
As much as I hated to admit it, Lance was right. Tammi wasn’t capable of murder.
“Well, what do you want me to do, Lance? It’s not like I can un-tell everyone that she’s a kleptomaniac. I’m sure it will be fine. There has to be forensic evidence to support her innocence,” I said, getting all CSI on his butt.
“Yeah,” he said. “Forensic evidence that the real killer can get rid of or plant on Tammi to make her appear even guiltier.”
“Look, I’m sorry about making a scene. I’d help her if I could. But I don’t even have the money to phone her parents or email a lawyer. What do you expect me to do?”
“You … you could figure out who the real killer is before we dock.” He lifted his chin.
“I’m a wedding planner, Lance.” Or an ex-wedding planner, depending on who you talked to. “What qualifies me to play detective?”
“You read all those mystery books. You always solve them before the end.” He ticked off his fingers. “Oh, and you took that class at the police station.”
“It was a self-defense course, you doofus. So unless the plan is to kick everyone on this boat in the crotch until they confess, I don’t see how that does Tammi any good.”
My voice had officially risen to a holler, and I lowered it about five notches before continuing.
“I’d like to help. I honestly would.” Lord knows why, but it was true. “Unfortunately, I don’t know where I’d even begin.”
“You could start by talking to her.”
“Meh.” I was afraid he’d say that.
“Please.”
For the first time, I really examined Lance. The man had the spine of the Stay Puft Marshmallow Man, true. But a cobweb of blood vessels stained the whites of his eyes pink. Desperation fogged his gaze. A new emotion swelled within me … pity.
Part of me wondered if he’d have mustered the same passion to exonerate my name if I’d been the one in this predicament, but that was a futile train of thought.
“Fine.” I threw the magazine down. “I’ll help.”
“This means the world to me,” said Lance. “If anything should happen to Tammi—”
“Ehh.” I stopped him with a flick of the wrist. “I am not doing this for you. I’m barely doing this for Tammi. You’re still an arsewipe. Don’t forget that. But you’re an arsewipe whose new wife is related to me, and who I don’t believe is guilty.”
Lance had the decency to look slightly sheepish. It was probably an act, much like most of our relationship had apparently been.
It occurred to me that this might be my only chance to ask one of the questions that I’d been wondering since our wedding day.
“Lance, tell me something,” I said. “Why didn’t you end things earlier between us? Before we even got engaged, or at least before the last minute.”
“I guess that I didn’t want to make a scene,” he mumbled.
“Didn’t want to—?” I snorted. “My mom threw an entire bouquet of calla lilies across the Fair Street Baptist Church parking lot while screaming, ‘why, dear Lord, why?’ Trust me, you made a scene. What you mean is, you didn’t want to witness a scene.”
Lance gulped.
“I suppose you’re right,” he said. “Will you still help Tammi?”
I let him squirm a minute before answering.
“Yep.”
Lance was a gutless wonder, but he was right about one thing. I was a total murder mystery junkie.
I’d sat at the same table as everyone who knew Bebe, a.k.a the most likely culprits. They all had reason to dislike her.
Enough to kill her? That remained to be seen.
But I was in a unique position to snoop.
If I could track down seven hungover bridesmaids the morning of Mary Pat Bouveau’s wedding and have them sobered up, makeup done, and hair poofed by lunchtime, I could sure as heck figure out who had the means, motive, and opportunity to kill Bebe and frame my cousin.
While Tammi was the last person I felt like talking to right now, Lance was right. It made the most sense to start with her.
Lance told me where they were holding Tammi. The ship didn’t have a brig, so they’d simply sequestered her in an empty cabin, ironically one of the ones that Bebe had paid for. Silas sat outside it on a metal folding chair.
“Hey!” I crossed my hands behind me, all nonchalant. “Would you mind if I visited with Tammi?”
“I would actually.” Silas picked up a stack of files from the ground and tapped them into order. “The last thing I need is a double homicide on my hands.”
“I just want to make sure she’s doing okay. You can’t really think she killed Bebe.”
“What I think is irrelevant. I’ve been given conflicting orders from law enforcement in three different countries, and the one thing all of them agree on is for us to do nothing until the authorities are able to board the ship. Once they agree on who those authorities are.”
“And how long is that going to take?”
“I have no idea.”
“But in a murder investigation, it’s important to act quickly, to gather clues while the trail is hot and everyone’s memory is fresh.”
He cocked an eyebrow at me. “Is that so, Detective Columbo?”
“If you’re going to insult me, fine, but don’t take Columbo’s name in vain.”
“I’m not trying to insult you,” said Silas. “But I am trying to warn you. There is to be no interference in this case.”
“But Tammi is my cousin. Even Hannibal Lector was allowed one phone call!” I was pretty sure this was a.) not true, and b.) irrelevant as Hannibal was a fictitious character, but it gave Silas pause.
“Technically, she’s not under arrest. And you’re operating under the assumption of what her legal rights would be in America. I’m not sure that will be the case. You see my conundrum.”
“But wouldn’t it be smarter to have a neutral party who can testify that she was treated humanely no matter where the case is tried?”
“I—” He frowned and rubbed the back of his neck.
I could just see the PR nightmare he was envisioning.
“All right,” he said. “Ten minutes. And remember … you’re only checking to make sure that she’s being treated well. I don’t need any more complications in this mess.”
“Deal.” It was better than nothing.
Chapter Sixteen
The room where they held Tammi was clean and comfortable … and larger, in fact, than mine.
Between the melted mascara and the gloomy circles under her eyes, Tammi looked like a raccoon that had been on the losing end of a bar brawl. I tried to squelch any sympathy that sprouted up. Stick to the facts. It would make it easier to stay focused.
Yes, she was my cousin, but what if she actually had committed this horrible crime? Tammi let out a chin-quivering sniffle when she saw me, and I sighed. Nope. There was no reconciling this fluff-brained pilferer with a hardened thief, much less murderer.
As soon as Silas shut the door behind me, Tammi rushed into my arms. She burst into a fresh round of tears.
“I didn’t do it, Piper! You have to believe me. Oh, what will Mama think?”
“It doesn’t really matter what Aunt Kathy thinks.” I pried her off of me. “But it is going to matter what a jury of your peers thinks unless we figure out who did do it.”
She simmered to a light sniveling.
“To be clear,” I said. “it wasn’t you?”
“How can you even think such a thing?”
“Well, it’s not like you’ve been Little Miss Innocent over the years. Or even over the last week. You did just run off with my fiancé, remember?”
“Do we have to keep rehashing ancient history?”
“It happened less than a week ago.” I threw my hands in the air. “You were still gloating about it last night.”
“I’m sorry!” she wailed. “It was a reflex.”
“I know you only found out about it a couple days ago, but Lance and I started shagging ages ago. Let’s see. I think it was when you brought him to the family reunion last June—no, year before last.”
“I can’t do this.” I put my hand on the doorknob. This woman had stabbed me squarely and brazenly in the back. And I was supposed to help her?
“If you don’t believe me, no one will.” Tammi whimpered like a weaned puppy.
Oh, good grief. I closed my eyes and whispered the Serenity Prayer under my breath.
“I believe you,” I finally said. “Quite frankly, this jewel business seems ridiculously contrived. Anyone could have planted it there. Bebe made such a big show of taking it off it in front of all the other passengers. If that’s all the incriminating evidence they have, then they don’t have much of a case against you at all. I mean, how stupid would you have to be to hide the necklace under your mattress after you’d just stolen it?”
My cousin was dumb as dirt, but even she would have enough sense to hide it somewhere else.
Tammi stopped whimpering, but she also avoided my gaze.
“Tammi?”
She didn’t answer and picked at her cuticles instead.
“Tammi, did you steal that necklace?”
“No! Of course not.”
“Then—wait. That is all they have against you, right?”
“Welllllll, there might have been one other itsy bitsy thing. It was nothing really. Some blown-up nonsense that got taken the wrong way, and—”
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