Cruise Ship Cozy Mysteries 06 - Cruise Millions

by A. R. Winters

  “Hey,” I said to Cece.

  “Paul Parker was amazing, wasn’t he?”

  “I was amazed,” I said as honestly as I could. The depths of his arrogance had been amazing, sure, but I knew that wasn’t what Cece meant.

  “Why was that woman talking to the Spider? Isn’t nobody supposed to know who they are?”

  “I don’t know,” I said shaking my head. “Maybe she figured it out?”

  Cece folded her arms in front of her chest. “Can’t we have her kicked out, or something?”

  “Probably not just for that. Are you going to practice your pitch with your table?” I nodded down at the hemp bag that Cece was carrying. Inside, I could see the tops of several bottles of her cleaning product.

  “Yeah, I guess so. I’d rather be pitching to the real Spiders, you know? Now I’m going to have to listen to everyone else’s garbage pitch as well though, aren’t I?”

  “That’s what you signed up for,” I said with a laugh. “I’m going to wander around and take a few more pictures. Good luck with your practice pitches.”

  I left Cece to join her group at her table. Most of the participants were beginning to settle down after the frenetic energy that Paul Parker had brought with him. Thankfully, the thumping music had been turned down a few notches as well. It would have been hard for them to practice their pitches otherwise.

  As I wandered around, I saw a man carrying what looked to be an inflatable version of male genitalia, about the size of a large backpack, over his head. I stopped and stared, trying to figure out whether he really was holding what it looked like he was holding, or whether it was an unfortunate coincidence. I wasn’t the only one. Several other people did double-takes.

  When I managed to draw my gaze away from the unfortunate object, I examined the man who was holding it aloft. He was a pudgy man, probably in his mid-thirties, dressed in a Hawaiian shirt, billowy sky-blue shorts, white socks, and brown sandals. Sweat glistened on his forehead as he maneuvered through the room carrying his inflatable monstrosity. He seemed to be looking for a table to join.

  My attention was drawn away from the man with the inflatable when a tapping sound came from the speakers, and I glanced toward the stage. Lesley Stein was standing up there, checking the microphone. That got my attention because she wasn’t supposed to be up there. None of the contestants were.

  “Hello?” she said, staring out at the crowd. Most of the contestants had turned to look up at her, wondering what she was doing. “May I have your attention, please?”

  The crowd quieted down, and she got the attention she desired. At least in the short term.

  “Paul Parker told us to introduce ourselves to our tables and practice our pitches, right?”

  The crowd nodded and murmured in uncertain agreement with her. There wasn’t supposed to be another speaker now; it wasn’t on the schedule.

  “If there’s one thing I’ve learned in life, it’s that you’ve got to seize the day. That’s why I’m here. That’s why I’m on the cruise. And that’s why I’m on the stage right now. My name is Lesley Stein, and I’m going to win this competition!” Her voice rose with confidence as she spoke, each word louder than the one before it, until she was shouting by the end of her little speech.

  The crowd responded with a few halfhearted shouts of “Sit down!” and “Get off the stage!” Most people were just confused by the spectacle and watched politely, wondering what she was trying to do.

  Suddenly, Paul Parker was back, sprinting across the stage and making another giant leap before landing next to Lesley. “May I?” he asked, taking the microphone from her hands before she could respond. He stared out at the crowd, a big grin on his face.

  “This is what I’m talking about! She’s here to claim her million, and she’s letting you all know it! You all could learn a lot from her pep and sass! Carry on!” Paul handed the microphone back to a delighted Lesley, and as fast as he had arrived again, he sprinted off the side of the stage.

  Lesley took a step back and stared out at the audience. She looked more relaxed—but emboldened now.

  “He’s right. I’m here to claim my million. And that’s just what I’m going to do today. Some of you here are, I’m afraid to say, losers. In fact, everyone here is except one person—only one of us will win the competition. And I think I know who that’ll be.” She paused for a self-indulgent chuckle.

  A few of the audience members joined in, though at least half of them seemed to be annoyed by her now. But Lesley didn’t care.

  “I mean, I saw one poor woman, who—get this—invented a coffee cup that lets your servants know when it’s nearly empty. What a worthless invention! Am I right, or am I right?” The audience tittered in response.

  Lesley began to pace up and down the stage, getting into her stride. “And then there’s the most unoriginal idea I’ve ever seen—a so-called natural cleaning product that smells like lemons. What are there, a thousand products like that already? No. My mistake. A million. That person certainly won’t be claiming their million, will they?”

  There was more laughter from the audience, and I looked for Cece. She was standing near the stage now, and she was visibly shaking with rage.

  I’d like to say that I hoped she wouldn’t storm onto the stage and cause a scene, but secretly I was hoping that she would. Lesley seemed to think she was doing some kind of comedy routine, though from my perspective it was nasty rather than funny.

  “And do I even need to say anything about the man with the inflatable travel pillow that looks like… Well, I don’t think I can even say what it looks like… Let’s not make some mo-ney, right?” The twisting of Paul Parker’s slogan earned her more laughs than her earlier jibes.

  It turns out that Cece wasn’t the one I should have been worried about. Before Lesley could go on to attack anyone else, Helen Johannsen, the coffee mug woman, had climbed up onto the stage.

  “Remove yourself from this stage!” shouted Helen, the microphone picking up her voice and blasting it across the speakers.

  “I will not! I haven’t even started my pitch yet.” Lesley looked out to the audience, who was now riveted by the show. “This, by the way, is the coffee mug woman—”

  Lesley didn’t get to finish whatever it was she was hoping to achieve on the stage because Helen snatched the microphone out of her hand, tossed it to the side, and then leaned in to slap Lesley across the face. Fortunately—or perhaps unfortunately depending on your point of view—Lesley was quick on her feet, and she managed to jump back in time before the open palm could connect with her cheek.

  Stunned by the sudden turn of events, I was slow to react. But Sam wasn’t. Before either of the women could attack each other again, she was there, up on stage and jumping between them, forcing them apart with her outstretched arms.

  “Stop it! Both of you! You’re acting like children.”

  “Am not!” They both shouted in unison. I had to stifle a laugh.

  “She started it!” said Helen, pointing a finger at Lesley.

  “Both of you, off the stage now. Your moment of fame is over.”

  The women, still boiling mad, climbed down off the stage and headed back to their assigned tables.

  After Sam sent the children back to their respective corners, I thought the drama would be over. But we should have been so lucky.

  On her way back to her table, Lesley reached over and grabbed the pudgy Hawaiian-shirt-wearing man’s naughty inflatable. The man stared up at her, mouth agape and wide-eyed in shock.

  I hurried toward Lesley but I was too late. She had already lunged at Helen, swinging the inflatable and smacking the older woman on the head with it.

  Thwap, thwap, thwap!

  Once, twice, three times, she managed to bop Helen. After the third hit, the older lady had enough. She snatched the inflatable out of Lesley’s hands and flung it as hard as she could at her rival.

  Unfortunately, Helen wasn’t much of a thrower; she probably had staff
for that. Instead of crashing into Lesley, the inflatable sailed up into the air, where a stray gust of wind caught it.

  Everyone turned to look up as the inflatable was carried by the wind, floating through the air, over the tables, over the ship’s railing, and then began its slow descent toward the ocean.

  The pudgy man had already been on his feet and was hurrying as fast as his thick legs could carry him toward the railing. He hopped up with surprising agility onto the second rail, and he leaned out over the side as if he could catch it.

  “Uh… uh… uh!” he started to shout as he began to lose his balance. He stuck his arms out to the side, spinning them around as he tried to stabilize himself. But it was to no avail. He was going to topple into the ocean.

  But not if I could help it!

  I made it to the railing just in time, grabbing the back of his Hawaiian shirt and yanking him toward the deck.

  “My pillow!” he screeched over the side of the ship.

  For a moment, I thought he was going to dive overboard after it.

  Instead, he stared down at the ocean while I held tightly onto the back of his shirt to stop him from falling over.

  “It’s going to be one of those cruises, isn’t it?” I muttered under my breath.

  Chapter Five

  I still grasped the back of the man’s shirt as we both peered down at the ocean below.

  “So… a travel pillow, huh?” I said to him. I could kind of see it, if I squinted.

  He finally drew his eyes away from the ocean and looked at me with watery eyes. “Yes. The finest inflatable pillow there is. You could take it with you to any hotel in the world. It fits every size bed there is.” He shook his head to himself. “What am I going to do now?”

  “Was that your only one?”

  “The only prototype.” He lowered himself from the railing back onto the deck. Remembering his manners, he introduced himself. “I’m Milton McPherson, not that it matters now. How can I win without my travel pillow?”

  “Adrienne James, the ship’s social media manager. Can’t you make another one? You might be able to find materials in the gift shop or something. Maybe you could stitch together a new prototype?”

  He cocked his head at me, narrowing his eyes. “Do you think I could?”

  “It’s worth a try, isn’t it?”

  “Thank you. I think I’ll go now.”

  The man shuffled away, his shoulders hunched and his head bowed. Poor guy, I thought. But maybe it was better he had his hopes dashed now—there was no way he was going to win with that ridiculous inflatable. Not if the Spiders were even half-competent investors.

  Clenching my teeth in nervous anticipation, I spun around to inspect the aftermath of the fight.

  Samantha was still dealing with the fallout from the morning’s fireworks. She stood stoically, an almost-bored expression on her face while Helen yelled her complaints about Lesley. Behind Sam, Lesley was using my friend as a shield, standing with her arms crossed and a smarmy look on her face.

  I was about to try and assist Sam with the ladies when a welcome sight came into view: Ethan Lee was walking up the deck, toward us, with a determined expression on his face. Figuring Sam would be okay for a few more moments, I left her to it and joined Ethan.

  “What’s going on?” he asked.

  “They’re crazy. All of them. That’s what’s going on.”

  “Anything I can do?”

  “Yeah. That lady over there, Lesley.” I nodded in her direction. “She just caused a massive scene. She upset that other lady, Helen, as well as Cece. Then, because of her antics, another contestant—Milton McPherson—lost his product overboard. It’s probably floating about half a mile behind the ship in the ocean.”

  Ethan ran his eyes over the tables still filled with participants eagerly pitching to each other, as well as Lesley and Helen. He didn’t seem surprised by the morning’s events. After the last few cruises we had, I wasn’t either.

  “Can you get Lesley out of here?” I asked. “She’s caused a lot of problems already. Maybe put some fear into her? Since that guy’s product was lost, maybe you could threaten to lock her up or throw her overboard or something? Get her to calm down for the rest of the cruise before someone gets hurt.”

  Ethan had an amused smile on his lips. “As much as I’d like to threaten to throw her overboard, that’s not allowed. I can put on an intimidating voice for her though. Try and talk some sense into her so she doesn’t act out again. It’s worth a shot.”

  I squeezed Ethan’s upper arm and rubbed it with my hand, idly feeling his bicep. “I guess that’ll have to do.”

  We walked over toward Sam together, a stern, we’ll-brook-no-nonsense expression on each of our faces.

  “…ban her from the contest! Ban her from the ship! Throw her out in Mexico! I want her off, off, off!”

  “You take Lesley away, and I’ll try and talk to Helen and calm her down,” I said in Ethan’s ear so the women couldn’t hear us.

  Ethan marched over to Lesley, his shoulders squared, his uniform gleaming in the morning sunlight, and with an air of someone most definitely not to be messed with. I could see Lesley’s swagger fading as he approached.

  While Ethan dealt with Lesley, I interrupted a grateful Sam by approaching Helen with a customer service smile on my lips. Sam stepped back, obviously pleased at the relief from Helen’s diatribe, and turned away to focus on a nearby table of contestants practicing their product pitches.

  “Helen, the chief security officer and the first officer,” I said with as much dramatic importance as I could manage, not pointing out that they were one and the same person, “are going to be having very serious words with Lesley. The senior management will be making sure that nothing like this happens again.”

  Hoping my timing was right, I turned to watch Ethan. Helen did the same. Sure enough, he was leading Lesley away, holding her by the arm.

  “There, you see?” I said reassuringly. “She’s being threatened with the brig right now.”

  “Threatened?” Helen made a wordless, furious noise. “It should be more than a threat. She should be locked up ‘til we get to port and then kicked off the ship. Or maybe cast away first. Are there any islands around here we could drop her off on?”

  I laughed at her little joke. But as it turned out, she wasn’t joking. She was noticeably annoyed at my laughter.

  “Helen, unfortunately, even at sea, there are laws we have to follow. We can’t make people walk the plank—no matter how inappropriately they behave. We’ll have to settle for the security team doing their job for now.”

  Helen nodded in grudging acceptance, though it was obvious she was not at all happy. She reached out and took me by both arms.

  “It is important that this Lesley woman be dealt with in the most serious manner—”

  Lesley’s grip on my arms was surprisingly strong, and it caused me great annoyance. Not just because I didn’t want her touching me, but because of what she caused me to miss.

  While she harped on about Lesley, a man standing in one of the doorways that led to the interior of the ship caught my eye. The bright rays of the sun obliterated the doorway’s shadow and lit him in stark profile. He was familiar, indeed.

  When I first saw him several cruises back, he had a french cut beard and was wearing a male housekeeper’s uniform—both of which I’d learned were disguises. Now, the beard and his hair were gone, as was the uniform, and he was dressed like a tourist. It was the Fake Housekeeper. The guy I suspected was connected in some way to my kidnapping.

  “We’ll do what we can—gotta go!” I said in a rapid-fire tirade of words. I pulled my arms away from Helen’s grip, but she’d locked onto me like her hand was a steel vise.

  “No, you don’t!” said Helen. “We’re not finished yet. Now, Lesley…”

  I stared over Helen’s shoulder in a panic as the man turned away from the spectacle of the event and disappeared inside the ship.

  My cha
nce was gone. Helen Johannsen had snatched it from me.

  “…and I want to know where the complaint forms are. I fully intend to write an extensive written complaint, which I will be handing personally to the captain at my VIP dinner tonight. I’ll also be sending a copy to the head office as soon as I can locate a postbox.”

  “Sam?” I called. She had been intently focused on watching a table of contestants practicing their pitches. “Can you get Helen a complaint form?”

  “Sure thing! Ma’am? If you’d like to come with me…”

  Helen finally released me from her stranglehold, and she was back to focusing on Sam. “Two complaint forms.”

  “Of course,” said Sam in her customer service voice.

  “Hey, do you guys need any help?”

  It was Shaun Anderson, the pool boy who never seemed to want to leave Sam alone.

  “Oh, I think we’re all set now. Thanks.”

  “Goodbye, Shaun,” said Sam as she walked away with Helen. She hadn’t even said hello to him before he got his farewell.

  Like a sad puppy, he watched as she left.

  “She’s working,” I told him sympathetically.

  “I know, I know,” he said as he began to walk away. He’d obviously heard about the commotion and rushed over here to help, but he’d arrived far too late to be of any assistance.

  Sam and Ethan were gone and I looked around for Cece. I spotted her sitting at one of the tables with the other contestants, intensely discussing someone’s practice product pitch.

  The rest of the contestants had all settled down at their tables, having friendly chats or working on pitches. Almost every table was covered in a myriad of weird or strange bottles, potions, devices, or unidentifiable objects.

  Milton was sitting dejectedly at one of them, a very noticeable absence of anything in front of him. A few people only had brochures or leaflets instead of a physical product—presumably they were trying to pitch some kind of service.

  With most of the action seeming to have abated for now, I strolled around and snapped a few more pictures. I noticed Lesley’s bright pink bag, still sitting on the table she had been assigned to. She must have left it there when Ethan took her away.