Death In A Deck Chair

by Georgia Kains

  “It would seem so.”

  “Hmm.” My job here was done.

  Well, not completely done. I could hang up my spy glasses, but I still needed to keep my Martha Stewart apron on for a few more hours. I had spray painted a basket of seashells that I still needed to arrange and put on the info desk. But the final wall quote signs needed to be good and dry before I brought them out to the lobby where they might get smudged. And the mirror and the lamps—oh! And there were some old tires down there that I might have time to wrap in rope to use as the base for a side table. Crap. I was running out of time.

  “The company is in shambles,” said Peg with a sad smile. “Looks like I’m out of a job.”

  And after all she’d endured to prevent that very thing.

  “What will you do?” I asked.

  “Early retirement. I’ve socked away a decent nest egg. Quite frankly, I never trusted Bebe, even with the supposedly airtight will. I wouldn’t have put it past her to pull some shenanigans to try to take away my pension—have me declared incompetent or some such nonsense—so I never counted on it.”

  Peg was even more on top of things than I’d realized.

  “So what will you do with your newfound freedom?” I asked.

  “Freedom, not so much. Bebe named me as Mimsy’s caretaker in her own will. She spent nearly every cent she earned, but she left what she had to the dog. Enough money for me to live on while I maintain the dog’s blog.”

  “Mimsy has a blog?”

  “Oh, yes. It’s quite popular actually.”

  “That you’ll have to write?”

  “It was another provision in Bebe’s will.” Peg’s cheeks puckered like someone had shoved a lemon in her mouth.

  “You’re kidding.”

  “I never joke about legal documents.” Peg let out a cry of dismay as Mimsy dropped a doot on her shoe. She ran off to deal with it. Poor woman.

  I should have felt better that all the loose ends were tying up, but a nagging shred of doubt clung at the edge of my brain. It was that necklace. Silas had been right. If Preston needed money so badly, why not hock the thing? If he had the necklace in his possession, why would he give it up? He could have taken any of Bebe’s possessions to frame Tammi. Possessions that weren’t worth a ton of money.

  Oy. Maybe I was being too hard to please. A hopeless perfectionist. Here I had helped solve what was soon to be one of the most infamous celebrity murders in history, and I still couldn’t chill out and be happy, or at the very least relieved.

  I sunk into my chaise and took another sip of the mojito. I’d done everything in my power (and a few things that technically weren’t in my power) to help solve the case. I could rest in the knowledge of that.

  Chapter Thirty

  “Now that’s what I’m talking about.” I smacked my glossed lips together and admired my handiwork in the mirror.

  I looked dang good, thank you very much. I’d given myself a full makeover getting ready for dinner. True, I’d had to explore some shades of blush that I never had before since my skin still had a faintly orange pallor to it, but at least it was fading evenly and resembled something on the natural end of the spectrum thanks to Jenna.

  I told myself that my makeover had nothing to do with the fact that Tammi had been released that afternoon and was sure to be at dinner. She and Lance would be in full newlywed mode.

  But apparently, I still had at least one petty bone in my body.

  Now that the real killer had been caught, and I’d been the one to catch him, I wanted to be drop-dead fabulous while Lance groveled and thanked me for my effort in exonerating his new wife.

  Elton had been napping under the lamp since I’d returned to the room. He woke long enough to wolf whistle my current ensemble then drifted back to sleep. Someone knocked on the door. Since the murderer was now behind bars, I hadn’t bothered to lock it.

  “It’s open,” I called while fastening the button on my skirt. Silas stood in the hall holding a bright pink shopping bag.

  “Hi.” I hadn’t seen him since we’d set sail.

  “Miss Monroe,” he said.

  “Oh, I think we made the permanent move to first-name basis right around the time I was digging around in the pockets of your pants.”

  “Piper.” A hint of red creeped up his neck as he held out the bag to me. For some reason, a faint blush took hold of me as well, and I had the oddest feeling that I had forgotten something I was supposed to say to him. Or had already said to him? Or … oh well. Must not have been too important.

  “What’s this?” I asked, sifting through the mounds of tissue paper that someone had stuffed in the top. “Do all the girls who catch killers on your ship get gifts?”

  “They do when they lose their shoes in the process.”

  For the tiniest millisecond, my heart took off in a hopeful whir that he’d replaced my stolen Jimmy Choos, but it was a pair of flip-flops.

  Oh, yeah. I’d lost them in my chase after Preston.

  They were nice flip-flops. Cute, silver sandals that would go with anything. Jenna had probably run ashore to buy me a pair in one of the many gift shops that lined the market area.

  And they were better than these disposable spa ones that were already tearing apart.

  “Thanks,” I said as I switched shoes. “Any word on Mr. Bosley?”

  “He’s awaiting extradition. He confessed to embezzlement charges.”

  “But not to the murder?” Not that I blamed him. There’s a big difference between a white collar country club prison and a federal penitentiary.

  “No. He maintains his innocence on that count.” Silas held out the crook of his elbow. “Could I have the honor of escorting you to dinner?”

  “Certainly.”

  Our table party had dwindled to a depressingly intimate group. Just Peg, me, and the Goode-Tripp family. And after everything the last few days, none of us was what you’d call chatty. But with the fresh stock of foodstuffs, and the excitement mingled with relief of heading home overnight, our final dinner was an extravagant affair.

  Succulent rib eye steak, soft shell crab stuffed with fresh peppers and mushrooms, shrimp scampi sizzling in herbed butter.

  It was like they were trying to wash the less savory memories of the cruise from our brains by making our mouths water enough.

  Well, it was working.

  The band struck up a tune right as I cracked the sugar-sparkled top of a caramelized crème brûlée. I smiled at Silas as I took my first bite.

  “Looks like we’ll pass through some rough weather on the way home,” said Cappy.

  “Any extra precautions?” asked Silas.

  “Nope. Just a bit of rocking, but most everyone will be asleep. I’ll do an announcement before bed.”

  After a couple songs, my toe tapped to the beat. Silas pushed his chair back, and I shifted in my seat, secretly hoping he’d ask me to dance. But instead, he excused himself and went to schmooze at the other tables. I gave myself a good smackdown for the sliver of disappointment I felt. Come on, Piper. If you want to dance, dance.

  I pushed myself up and gazed around. At the next table, a man in his seventies or eighties kept snatching hopeful glances at his wife every time a new song started, but she was having none of it.

  “Sir.” I tapped him on the shoulder, and he practically jumped. “Would you like to dance?”

  Well, that got his attention. And his wife’s. Before she had a chance to protest, though, he hopped out of the chair and led me out to the middle of the floor. He wasn’t the best dancer. We moved left and right in an uninspired box step the entire time.

  After two songs of the plodding shuffle, I’d had my fill. That and the lecherous rascal’s hand kept drifting closer and closer to my derrière. I steered us over to his table before he managed a full-on tush grab.

  “Ma’am.” I tapped his wife on the shoulder. “Could I ask you to step in for me? I’m starting to droop, and I believe your husband is about to get his s
econd wind.”

  “Oh, all right.” She got up grudgingly, while he shot me a thankful look. But her sour expression melted away as he cooed a sweet something in her ear and drew her in close. The awkward box step disappeared, and they simply swayed to the music.

  My matchmaking done, I excused myself. I wasn’t ready to head to my room yet, so I went to stroll on the top deck. I didn’t have much to pack anyway—only my laptop and the stuff from my carry-on bag. One of the benefits of wearing borrowed clothes on a vacation. Well … the only benefit.

  I flat-out refused to think about the fact that I had no home to return to.

  Nope. I would focus on the few hours I had left amongst salty waves and sea wind so warm and thick you could swim in it. I parked myself against a rail and drank it all in.

  The thinnest film of fuchsia clung to the water on the horizon, setting the sky above it on fire. I’d miss these ocean sunsets. I pulled my hair into a ponytail to keep it from whipping into my face. I wouldn’t miss these frizzies.

  There was a commotion behind me a little farther down the deck. A couple who was leaving dinner dropped to one of the padded chairs that lined the walkway in a frenzied, amorous embrace. They were all over each other, arms and legs flying like some randy, drunken octopus.

  I felt like yelling, “Get a room!” before I took a closer look. Said room was straight across the hall from mine.

  “Ooh!” Tammi popped up for air and motioned to the brilliant array of colors behind her. “The sunset, Lance.”

  “Mmph,” he mumbled.

  “Let’s get a picture.” She reached her phone out to snap a selfie and Lance paused long enough to paste a goofy smile on his face.

  Click.

  Tammi flipped her phone around to see the picture and scowled.

  “Oof. Take it again. That one’s ruined. Piper was photobombing the background.” She shot me a dirty look as if I’d done it on purpose. She handed Lance the phone, and he stuck his arm out.

  Oh, I’d show them photobombing. I made a most unladylike hand gesture.

  “Stop it, Piper,” she whined.

  “What?” That ungrateful pile of poo. I marched over to read her the riot act. Both she and Lance cowered into the cushions on the chair. That was exactly what they were. Cowards.

  Tammi clung to her victim narrative like it was a security blanket rather than deal with her kleptomania head-on and seek recovery.

  And Lance hadn’t even been able to bring himself to break up with me face-to-face. The man had a backbone of playdough, and not the old, crusty kind. Smooshy as a brand new can.

  I could sit here and pitch a hissy fit like one of my spoiled brides until they admitted I’d helped put Preston behind bars. And thanked me.

  But even if I forced those words out of their mouths, I could never force a change in their hearts. That was beyond my mortal ability, and much as I’d love an answer to the Why no unicorns? question, I was pretty dang glad I wasn’t God. And I certainly didn’t relish the thought of being Lance or Tammi’s personal Holy Ghost.

  Live and let live.

  “Hey, guys?” I drew a steeling breath.

  They both shrank farther back, as if bracing for physical blows.

  “Would you like me to take your picture?” I gestured to the rail where they could capture the perfect shot.

  “So you can push us over?” Tammi muttered.

  “I’m not going to do that.”

  “Or throw my phone in the ocean?” She narrowed her eyes.

  “Not going to do that either.” Although it was tempting.

  “Well … okaaay.” Tammi dragged Lance over to the railing, keeping one distrustful eye on me. They pasted thousand watt smiles on their faces while I clicked away, not bothering to check if their eyes were open or not.

  “Thanks,” muttered Lance.

  “You’re welcome,” I said, but what I was really saying was, “I forgive you.”

  I ran by the info desk and left a note to let Jenna know I’d grab the rest of the new décor out of the hold in the morning, before we disembarked. Partly so she wouldn’t forget to leave the key out. Partly because I didn’t want Silas to think I was going to renege on my project.

  It occurred to me that I needn’t give a hoot about what any member of the Goode-Tripp family thought of me. It wasn’t like I would see them after tomorrow.

  Sadness bubbled up at the thought.

  It wasn’t like I’d be able to afford another vacation anytime soon with no job. And nowhere to live. And no clothes. And … and …

  I squelched the rising panic. Focus on what you can control, Piper. Right now, that meant giving the Goode-Tripps a room they could be proud of.

  I was taping the note to the laptop screen when Jenna herself walked in.

  “Hey, Piper,” she said.

  “Oh, hey. I was leaving you a note to let you know that I’d finish putting together the lobby in the morning. I know it will be hectic for you when we’ve docked, and I’m sorry to cut it so close, but I want to make sure everything’s thoroughly dry.”

  “Thanks.” She gestured at the work I’d already done—the soothing, neutral shades with pops of blue, reminiscent of the ocean. “We all love it. It’s so beachy. It makes you feel like you’re about to dip your toes in the sand.”

  Which was what I’d hoped for. I did wonder who “we” was. For some reason, Silas’s opinion mattered to me. I told myself that it was simply because he was technically the one I’d made the bargain with. I wanted to make sure that I earned my pet parakeet fair and square.

  “I should probably get to bed,” I said.

  “Sleep tight. The waves might be a little rough with the storm tonight.”

  “Thanks for the warning.” I pulled out a Dramamine and swallowed it then and there.

  Jenna peeled the note off her laptop and tossed it on the desk. She opened the computer and began clicking away, her brow furrowed in concentration. It was an expression I now recognized as her studying face. Maybe she’d work up the gumption to tell her family about her secret aspirations. I certainly hoped so.

  I was glad I’d worked up the gumption to forgive Lance and Tammi.

  As I surveyed my handiwork one last time, a nagging sensation hit me again. I was forgetting something. Something important.

  But try as I might, I couldn’t remember what it was. And with the Dramamine already kicking in, it was pointless to tax my brain.

  Chapter Thirty-One

  “Whuh? Huh?” I jolted awake at 3:30 a.m., the boat rocking like a hobby horse.

  Elton was bobbing to and fro on his perch by the air vent, picking at the closure with his beak. I was pretty sure that was how he’d escaped a few days ago.

  I fluffed my pillow twice and rearranged my head this way and that. Ehh, it was hopeless. I was wide awake.

  It was a terrible idea to stay here in the room, ticking away the hours until breakfast. It gave me too much time to ponder all the “What now?” questions looming over my existence back in Atlanta. Stewing would only make it worse.

  I jotted down a list of the projects I needed to grab out of the cargo hold. It really was a bummer that I wouldn’t be able to see everyone’s reaction to the completed makeover.

  That was always one of my favorite parts of wedding planning—seeing the bride as I surprised her with something that was on her dream list. Those first few moments while she took in the unexpected details, like last April when I tracked down Janae Roberts’s mother’s veil.

  Her mother had been fighting an aggressive breast cancer for years, and it had spread to her lungs. It was unlikely that she’d make it until the end of the summer, much less the slated winter ceremony. So they quietly tied the knot, family only, in Janae’s childhood home. She’d used the last blooms of their big magnolia as her bouquet while her mother reclined on the couch, unable to even lift her torso off the cushions at that point. The look on both of their faces when she came into the room wearing the veil …
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  That decided it. I threw on a pair of shorts and a tank top. I would finish that lobby area before dawn. This cruise ship meant so much to Cappy and Silas and Jenna. It was their husband and father’s legacy. The least I could do was transform the first place that people saw when they came onboard into a welcoming oasis rather than an outdated business office.

  Besides, it would help me spend the last few hours I had on the boat focusing on something other than the anxiety over returning to a husk of my former life.

  When I got to the cargo hold, someone had neatly organized a stack of new supplies from our stop in the Bahamas near the entrance. I made my way around it to the area where all the abandoned stuff was kept. The randomness alone was fun. A pile of heart-shaped Valentine boxes tucked behind an oversized birdcage. A giant crate of beautiful sea glass next to three twenty pound bags of grass seed. What I could have done with some of this stuff in Bipsy Addington’s hipster baroque nuptials. (How I managed to convince seven Georgia State frat guys to wear man-scarves instead of ties as they escorted bridesmaids down an aisle carpeted with live moss imported from Oregon, I still wasn’t sure.)

  All of my creations had dried, and I set them in a row, thinking about the space and what should go where. Some of the stuff I’d already taken up. Hmm.

  The lamp had turned out perfect. I’d also shredded some of the lost-and-found clothes, turning the strips of fabric into pom-pom pillows. I’d even pieced together enough copper to cover a vase—just barely—but it would warm the room up nicely.

  And my pièce de résistance. A ship’s wheel straight off some schooner of yore. The wood was weathered and battered to a soft, ash grey sheen. I wasn’t going to change a thing on it, but I wanted to hang it on the wall above Jenna’s desk.

  Eclectic and unique, homey with a touch of whimsy. I’d captured the spirit of the S.S. Escape quite well, if I did say so myself.

  I grabbed a few items and shuttled my first load up the stairs, not crossing paths with a single soul. The night crew was probably on the bridge or in the galley. I made several trips, and by the time I gathered my final load in the hold, it was nearing dawn.