Death In A Deck Chair

by Georgia Kains

  There weren’t many public spaces on the ship, and it didn’t take long to locate Preston. He was pacing across the top deck. The wind played with the thin thatch of hair that he’d scraped across his head in a sad attempt to hide a glaring bald spot.

  He clutched a phone to his ear, frowning as he spoke. He held the phone so hard, his thumbs were white with exertion. Every few seconds, he tried to smooth his hair flat, but it was a losing battle.

  I crept behind him quietly, careful to not alert him to my presence. Between the whistling wind and lapping waves, it was noisy. I still caught a few stray words of the conversation.

  “Twenty-four hours? I’m on a boat in the middle of nowhere. Threaten all you want. What are you going to do, you—” Preston finally noticed me leaning on the rail a few feet away. “I’ve got to go.”

  “Hi,” I said.

  “Hey.” He fumbled with his phone then shoved it into his pocket. “Didn’t see you there.”

  Buzz. Buzz. His phone vibrated.

  “I hope I’m not interrupting anything.”

  “Not at all.” He scratched his neck and looked away. When his phone buzzed again, he yanked it out and switched a button to silence it before returning it to his pocket.

  “I’m so sorry for your loss,” I said.

  “My loss?”

  “Your grandmother or, umm, step-grandmother?”

  “Oh, yeah. Thanks.” He shrugged. “We weren’t really that close if you couldn’t tell.”

  A waiter passed by with a tray of drinks, and Preston flagged him down. He placed his order, then turned to me.

  “Would you like something to drink?” he asked.

  My cheeks reddened. I didn’t want him to know that my shipboard credit had been cut off.

  “My treat,” he said as if he could read my mind.

  “Thanks so much. But—” And then I saw a way in to the topic I wanted to broach. “Actually, a piña colada sounds lovely. Thanks.”

  Preston lifted two fingers, and the waiter lifted the premade drinks from the tray.

  “I suppose I don’t need to worry about whether you’re good for it,” I said, guzzling a swig of my drink to gain a bit of liquid courage. I’d need some to press the money topic. “Bosley’s Potties seems to be quite an empire.”

  If Preston was surprised at the rudeness of my comment, he kept it under wraps.

  “That it is,” he said, lowering into a deck chair with a grunt. “My grandfather used to say he felt like a king with a million thrones.”

  “Ha.” I let out a weak laugh, more to flatter him than for his awful joke. “It must feel good, though, I mean sad about Bebe, but good to have the family fortune intact again.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Sorry,” I said. “I’m not trying to nose around where I don’t belong. I just seem to remember from her show that she’d cut into your inheritance and—”

  “Actually, all that was contrived drama for the cameras.”

  “You mean reality show producers ratchet up the drama for ratings?” I clutched my chest in mock surprise.

  “I know. Shocking.” Preston chuckled. “There was no feud. Bebe didn’t inherit all of my grandfather’s money. She didn’t inherit any of his money, in fact. Nor did I. She was on a stipend. Just like me.

  “A stipend? Like an allowance?” That had to smart, being treated like an eight year-old child.

  “Yeah.” He grunted. “It’s a comfortable amount but an allowance nonetheless.”

  “That’s so weird. On her show, they always made it seem like Bebe was an heiress.”

  “Well, it … it was complicated. My grandfather’s will was a detailed and complex document. Makes the Constitution look like it was written in crayon. He spelled out where Bebe could live, where she could buy her groceries, who she could employ. Or she’d lose her stipend.”

  “Wow.” That would be enough to make anyone resentful.

  “He was an odd throwback—loyal to a fault. Born and raised in a small town, and he wanted to support it no matter what. He contributed a huge amount to the local economy and he knew that when he died, there would be a hole left. To make sure that hole was as small as possible, he spelled out all these ways that people could still benefit from his money without directly leaving it to them. He didn’t believe in charity. But he wasn’t above using his next of kin as puppets to dispense his hard-earned dollars for years to come.”

  Hmm. Puppets. Not exactly the most glowing memorial to granddaddy dearest.

  “He sounds interesting,” I said, “that’s for sure.”

  “Interesting. That’s a nice way to phrase it. No, he was an old cuss of a control freak. He left Bebe with a generous stipend, but she had all those specific, detailed things she had to do to receive it. I think that’s why she loved doing the reality show so much. It was her own money, no strings attached, and she could spend it however she wanted, not shopping at the same small town stores that my grandfather prescribed.”

  “So the Pepto pink limo?”

  “Bebe’s money. Although I’d bet it was a rental.” He rolled his eyes. “And she liked that with the show, she could have her own entourage. Not just ol’ Peg and me.”

  “Yeah. About that,” I said. “I was surprised her whole film crew wasn’t here. And the gossipy dog handler and the chatty makeup artist. What were their names? Tad and Lulu? This seemed like it would be perfect fodder for her show, going on a cruise.”

  “Didn’t you know?” Preston’s eyebrows rose as he pulled his cell phone back out. “Her show was cancelled.”

  “What?”

  “Yeah. It happened a few weeks ago. Not officially announced yet, I suppose. Bebe was distraught about losing it.”

  “But I saw her taping segments for it.”

  “You did?”

  “Yes. On a handheld video recorder. I thought it was odd that she wasn’t taping it with the film crew, but—”

  “Maybe she was trying to get them to take her back or convince another network to renew the show.” Preston shrugged. “I think she enjoyed the notoriety and fame almost as much as she did the extra money. It was a hard blow when she lost it. Or maybe she was in good old-fashioned denial. With Bebe, you never knew.”

  “So what happens to the stipend she was allotted from your grandfather now that she’s dead?”

  “Into the company coffers, I guess. I certainly won’t see a raise in my allowance.”

  “The company of which you’re the president?”

  Preston might still benefit indirectly from Bebe’s death, through his family’s business.

  “The company of which I am merely one of fifteen voices on the board of directors.” Preston nipped that line of thought in the bud.

  “Did you like Bebe?” I asked before the drink wore off and my Southern upbringing had the opportunity to slap me silly for asking such rude questions.

  “Couldn’t stand her.” He switched his phone back on, shaking his head nonchalantly.

  “But I thought you said—”

  “I said there wasn’t a feud. Doesn’t mean I liked the woman. You had eyeballs. My grandfather was an old fool for marrying her, but at least he wasn’t a blind old fool. He made sure to protect his business and legacy. She was like an annoying gnat that buzzed around. Loved to make trouble. It doesn’t surprise me that someone finally swatted her down.”

  “Make trouble like—?”

  Preston scrolled through his messages, and his face went pale.

  “If you’ll excuse me, I have some business to attend to.” He hurried away.

  I drained the rest of my drink, deep in thought. If what Preston said was true, then he didn’t financially gain from Bebe’s death. There went the most obvious motive.

  Still, the sole reason that Tammi had been suspected, at least initially, was the theft of the sapphire pendant. Preston had said the jewelry had a strong sentimental value.

  Maybe he hated Bebe more than he let on. And maybe seeing h
er flaunt the necklace was the straw that broke the toilet heir’s back. He certainly had the means and the opportunity. He was the one who had noted Bebe’s affinity for extra-dirty martinis and inability to taste anything. Preston could have easily snuck away from the bustling dance floor, dumped the nail polish remover in her glass, and slipped back in.

  He might have killed Bebe, taken the necklace, then later realized that they would search for it. So he stashed it in Tammi’s room to throw everyone off the scent, knowing that it would be returned to him eventually after the legalities had been sorted.

  Farfetched, but certainly not impossible. It was as good a motive as any.

  He’d made that comment about Bebe loving to make trouble. If her source of extra cash had dried up when her show was cancelled, maybe she’d explored less savory means of acquiring it. Blackmail? Extortion? That would be a definite motive for someone to get rid of her.

  My stomach rumbled. Sleuthing left me famished.

  I hiccupped.

  And a little bit tipsy.

  Chapter Twenty

  Dinner that night was about as pleasant as a rectal exam.

  Silas and his family were silently eye-fighting over something. I tried to figure out if it could have anything to do with Bebe’s murder, but it seemed to be more of a personal matter. Poor sweet Jenna looked like she was ready to tunnel right through the hull and make a swim for it.

  At the beginning of the meal, Preston engaged me in a few pleasantries, but then he whipped his phone out and began texting under the hem of the tablecloth. Personally, I couldn’t imagine what business would be so important that you’d have to take care of it in the middle of an ocean.

  Preston’s teeth occasionally clamped down in response to something he read. I couldn’t tell if it was anger or surprise. Or fear.

  Every time Preston’s phone buzzed, Peg let impatient puffs of air escape her cheeks like a squirrel loathe to part with a single stored nut.

  “Surely your business can wait until later.” Peg kept her lips upturned in a brittle smile even as she voiced her disapproval.

  “Sorry.” Preston hunched over the screen. “It’s important.”

  Tony was the only member of the party who seemed oblivious to the tense mood of the table. He devoured a slice of filet mignon with a level of gusto normally reserved for lions celebrating the takedown of a particularly fat, slow zebra.

  And then there was the blatant hole where Bebe had sat. Well, technically two holes as no one in her party had deemed Mimsy a worthy dinner table partner in Bebe’s absence.

  “Would you like the rolls?” I asked Peg, leaning across the open gap where Bebe had been. My T-Rex excuse for arms only made it about halfway.

  “Thank you.” Peg took the basket away from me, bending over the edge of the table. The locket she wore dipped into the saucer of salad dressing.

  “Oh, crud, I’m so sorry,” I said.

  “Oh, no!” She snapped the locket open and began scrubbing the dressing off, her face stricken.

  “Here, let me help.” I dabbed the corner of my napkin in my water glass and went over to help her. She swatted my hand away, practically snarling. I recoiled. But not before I got a good glance of the picture inside her locket.

  It was a photo of a much younger version of Peg next to a not-quite-so-geriatric version of Winston Bosley. The picture must have been taken decades before he had ever met Bebe. In fact, Bebe might not have even been born when it was taken. He wasn’t a young man in the photo, maybe in his late sixties or early seventies, but he was fit and hale and hearty. And handsome. His arm wrapped around Peg in the picture, friendly and jovial.

  But the surprising thing about the picture wasn’t him. It was Peg. In the picture, she gazed at him with wide, adoring eyes.

  The woman sitting next to me was cold and stiff. The woman in the picture was vibrant and alive. The expression on that younger self’s face was … well, it was hard to put my finger on it, but if I had to label it, I’d say it was worshipful. Possessive.

  I didn’t know when or where that photo had been taken, but I knew the look of a woman in love.

  A woman who then had to sit by and watch as the object of her affection chased after a girl who was a fraction of his age. That was the kind of thing that left deep scars and lasting resentments. Enough to make her want to kill Bebe? Probably not. Or at least I’d wonder why she hadn’t done it earlier.

  But then again, Bebe had been plotting to get Peg fired. If Peg had found out, that would have thrown a match into a bucket already filled to the brim with the gasoline of hate and jealousy.

  Murder, no matter how cold and calculating it was, required a certain level of passion. Behind that cool veneer, Peg was a woman scorned. She’d studied the law left and right. Maybe waiting until we were out to sea would make it easier to get away with the crime from a legal standpoint.

  “Since we’re all gathered, now might be an appropriate time to discuss Bebe’s memorial service tomorrow.” Peg waved away the dark chocolate tuxedo cake that the waiter brought around and pulled out a plastic protein shake mixer instead, dumping a hideous green powder into it along with the rest of her ice water.

  Ick. Why not drag a net through the ocean outside and siphon off some algae instead? It would probably taste better.

  “You know my vote,” said Preston. “Burial at sea. Dump her over the side.”

  “How dare you!” roared Tony.

  “It was a joke.” Preston smirked.

  “Not a funny one. She was the love of my life.” Tony clutched a fist over his heart. “The fiery flames of our passionate devotion cannot be extinguished by mere death.”

  My head popped up in surprise at his words. Oh, please. Seemed to me those fiery flames were pretty well doused when Bebe had thrown her engagement ring into the pool. The engagement ring that had then magically reappeared on her finger immediately after her death.

  And after he’d muttered that threat about her regretting her decision to dump him. My expression must have betrayed my incredulous line of thought because Tony watched me with a shrewd scrutiny. I squirmed under his gaze, feeling like a dissected worm.

  “Actually, Preston,” said Peg, polishing off her nasty protein shake and ignoring Tony’s outburst. “Winston had a specific provision in his will stating exactly how he’d like us to celebrate and honor the life of his lovely wife”—yes, Peg managed to choke those words out without wincing—“in the unlikely event that she passed away while we were still living.”

  “Of course he did,” muttered Preston.

  Tony burst into a fresh round of tears.

  “I just loved her so much,” he wailed. “A love that burned so pure and bright was almost too painful to bear.”

  Yeah, yeah, and he’d born it all the way onto that waitress’s lips on the island.

  Jenna offered Tony a napkin for his eyes, but they had stayed remarkably dry during his outburst.

  “At least her killer has been safely captured,” he said.

  Peg and Preston murmured their assent.

  “Although how you could allow a notorious jewel thief on board is beyond me,” Tony added. “You were asking for a tragedy.”

  Oh, please. Calling Tammi a notorious jewel thief was like calling a Lifetime movie a well-researched documentary.

  Thankfully, I kept any snorting under my breath. Tony didn’t notice, but Silas shot me a strange look.

  Come on, even if Silas hadn’t known Tammi her entire life like I did, surely he had to admit that it was all a bit too convenient. Bebe’s murder involved some quick thinking and mental prowess. He had to have observed that Tammi wasn’t the deepest anchor in the sea. And then, after all this supposed masterminding, she dumped the evidence under her own mattress? Not likely.

  “Our passengers’ safety is our top priority,” said Silas as if he were reading a script. His mother nodded along.

  “Anything we can do to help you with the memorial, please let us know,�
� Cappy said. “We’re at your disposal.”

  “Thank you, Lisa,” said Peg. “You’ve always been a good friend to the Bosley family.”

  Hmm. Jenna had made some comment earlier at the info desk about the Bosleys’ special relationship to their cruise line. It was hard to imagine that anyone in the straight-laced Goode-Tripp family could be involved in a murder, but they might have more knowledge and insight that could help as I tried to figure out who the real killer was.

  Cappy excused herself to return to the bridge, and Peg launched into boring details about which songs to play at the service, which readings to recite, even the temperature of the room. I wasn’t the only one stifling a yawn by the time she’d finished, but Silas kept an alert, thoughtful expression on his face the entire tedious time.

  I gulped back another yawn, but that reminded me of another order of business.

  “Silas,” I said. “Sorry to interrupt, but I had a maintenance request to talk to you about.”

  He glanced to Peg, but she waved us away with a serene smile. “I already have all the other details sorted out.”

  She certainly wouldn’t need to worry about not having enough tissues available for all the grieving loved ones, sobbing away their sorrows.

  Silas escorted me out to the deck.

  “Sorry,” I said again. “But there’s a clunky sound in my walls. Maybe the air vents? It was doing it before we left port, but I forgot to tell Jenna during all the craziness. When we were moving, it was quieter, but now it’s loud again.”

  “Does it sound like, ‘kathunk’?” His impression of the noise was spot-on.

  “That’s it,” I said, hoping the fix was as simple as turning off the kathunkinator.

  “Yeahhhh.” He leaned his elbows on the railing and stared out at the jet black water that oozed out for miles in every direction like spilled ink. “That’s kind of an important noise. From an important machine.”

  “Oh.” You know what else was important, buddy? My sleep. “Maybe you could turn it off at night?”

  “Maybe not.” His dimple appeared as he bit back a grin at something he found funny.

  “Please? I need my shut-eye.”