A Witch On The High Seas - A Paranormal Cozy Mystery (Merryweather Mysteries Book 2)

by Jenny Bankhead

  He wore a white polo shirt like the rest of the crew. Instead of navy shorts, though, he was outfitted in quite skimpy red sport shorts. A bright red visor lined his forehead, controlling his wild mane of thick black hair. As he stretched his athletic body to get maximum height for his serve, he looked like David carved by Michelangelo: all rippling muscles and statuesque form.

  Lorna sighed wistfully.

  “From the sound of that sigh, it seems that God’s been working on quite a few masterpieces,” Betty said from her seat to Lorna’s right.

  “It does seem that way,” Lorna agreed with a smile. Somehow, Betty always knew what she was thinking. Yes, these seats will do just fine, she thought. Though with a view this good, she realized she might not read as much from her beloved magazines as she intended. Oh well, that can wait, she thought as she watched the attractive man wind up for another serve.

  Betty settled into her seat as well. She smiled as she noted her friend’s interest in what had to be the tennis courts. The sound of the thwack and pop from the racket and ball, and the occasional grunt from a player, gave it away.

  Though Tweed-upon-Slumber felt like a little slice of heaven to Betty most of the time, it was nice to be out among strangers.

  It’s been so long since I’ve been surrounded by new auras, she thought, sensing the activities around her. And such interesting people at that. It seemed that the cruise ship was full of people—from the guests to the staff—with markedly different spirits. Though professional and polite on the outside, she already sensed some brewing tension and animosity between the various passengers.

  It’s not very different from Tweed-upon-Slumber, Betty pondered as she leaned back and tilted her hat over her face. Her own village was full of the very same tensions and animosities. Ah well, people will be people, she decided. No matter where one goes, human drama will continue to play out. As the old bard Shakespeare would put it, “All the world’s a stage, and the people merely players.” Her hat provided a nice sense of relief from the steamy sun. And now, it’s time for this player to take a nap, she thought, before drifting off to sleep.

  Chapter 3

  Lorna was getting impatient for her friend to wake up. How can she sleep so soundly, with all of this hubbub going on around us? Lorna mused.

  The string quartet that was playing while the passengers boarded had ceased, and there was now salsa music ringing out from a bandstand by the pool. Passengers called out to each other from afar, usually with drinks in hand, as there was quite a bit of celebrating going on now that they’d finally pulled away from the port and were in open water.

  And the children! Lorna wasn’t positive, but she hypothesized that the children on this cruise ship were twice as loud as the children of Tweed-upon-Slumber.

  Lorna sipped the last of her beer while staring intently at her friend. Wake up, she thought to herself.

  As though she could hear Lorna’s thoughts—and sometimes Lorna was sure that Betty could—Betty pulled the hat up off of her face and grinned. “Waiting on me?” she asked knowingly.

  “You’ve been asleep for two hours,” quipped Lorna. “I’ve already been to the tiki bar once on my own and taken a walk around the entire deck. You’re missing it all.”

  “A drink does sound good,” Betty said. “What did you get?”

  “Beer,” answered Lorna, taking another long sip of the frothy amber liquid in her plastic cup. “It’s cold and refreshing.”

  “Cold?”

  “Icey cold.”

  “That’s not right,” Betty said. She was used to drinking her beer room temperature. That was how Ralph and Jackie Abrahms always served ales at the Golden Bough.

  “You’ll change your mind once you try it,” promised Lorna. “But before we head to the bar, I want to check out those tennis courts.”

  “I’m sure you do.” Betty grinned. Though she’d been sleeping soundly, she was sure that Lorna had spent much of the past two hours ogling the handsome tennis player they had noticed upon arrival to their chairs.

  “I think there’s a man there that teaches lessons,” Lorna said. She was now sure, after nearly two hours of observation, that the handsome man was a coach. There was a gaggle of women standing around him, and she’d watched the man giving out instructions to his flock of admirers.

  Lorna polished off her drink and set the empty cup at her feet. Almost as soon as she set it down, a crew member came by and whisked it away. It was like having servants!

  “Maybe it’s because I’ve already had a drink, but I’m thinking that a lesson might be fun,” she said maneuvering to the edge of the chair and then standing up. The chairs were low to the ground and so comfortable and cushy that they were quite hard to get out of.

  She’d never played tennis before, but then again, she’d never been on a cruise before, so this was a time for firsts.

  “That does sound fun,” Betty agreed.

  “Really? Oh good! I wasn’t sure you would want to try it out with me.” Lorna clapped her hands with excitement and then stooped down to gather her purse. She then offered her hands to Betty and helped her up.

  The tennis courts were spotless clay affairs. As soon as Lorna and Betty stepped within the netted off area, the coach paused what he was doing—a demonstration of a backhand swing, by the looks of it—and jogged over to greet them.

  “Hello there! Here for the group lesson?” he asked. And then, “I’m Al.” He held a racket in one hand, and he extended the other.

  When he shook Lorna’s hand, she noticed that his grip was quite firm. It must be from all of his practice with a racket, she thought as Al pumped her hand heartily up and down.

  “Al,” said Betty, as she received the same handshake right after Lorna. “You have quite a grip.”

  “Thanks?” said Al.

  “It reminds me of someone we just met…” said Betty. “Let me just think of who.”

  “Oh?” Al smiled.

  Up close, Lorna could tell that he was older than he looked from her viewpoint across the pool. She saw slight crow’s-feet near his eyes, and specs of gray in his hair. Now that she was standing next to him, she also saw that one of his biceps was covered in copious tattoos. There was also a tattoo on his forearm; it was of a ship’s anchor.

  Betty was now holding Al’s hand in both of her own. Lorna had no doubt that her psychic neighbor was doing a bit of divination by feel.

  When Betty finally released Al’s hand, she spoke. “Yes—that’s it. You have the very same handshake as the captain of this ship, Lou Gasparini.”

  Al raised his eyebrows. “Whew! You have quite a talent there, Mrs.…”

  “Wardenshire,” Betty supplied.

  “Mrs. Wardenshire. Very impressive that you picked that up just from my handshake alone. Yes, I’m Lou’s brother.”

  Betty nodded. This was no surprise to her.

  “You could take that trick on the road!” Al joked. “In fact, there’s a magic show onboard. You might consider asking for a guest slot.” He laughed as if it was all very funny.

  Oh, you have no idea, thought Lorna. The thought of herself and Betty up on the cruise ship’s stage was actually quite funny, and she couldn’t help releasing a short burst of laughter herself. Betty would wear her fabulous turban and take out her tarot cards, she imagined. I’d be up there brewing up a bubbling concoction in my cauldron. They wouldn’t quite know what hit them!

  Betty joined in the laughter. She was imagining the very same thing.

  When the three settled down, Al spoke up, still grinning. “Well, I’m right in the middle of my four o’clock lesson now, but the next session will be starting at the top of the hour. Until then, you’re welcome to pick up a racket and practice your swing over there.” He motioned to the court beside them.

  The courts looked sunny, hot, and very big.

  “It’s good to be stretched out and limber when your lesson begins. See you ladies soon!” With that, he jogged away.

 
“What do you think?” Lorna asked.

  “I don’t know that ‘warming up’ is on the docket for me,” Betty said, fanning herself with one jewel-studded hand. “I think I’m warm enough as it is.”

  “You’ve got that right,” Lorna agreed. “This shaded bench looks nice. How about we get off our feet until the lesson begins?”

  The long metal bench was positioned under the shade of a significantly large blue and white striped beach umbrella that Lorna judged to be about the size of her living room ceiling. It was so large that she imagined it could fit about two dozen people beneath it. However, when they first sat down, she and Betty were the only two enjoying its shade.

  They were soon joined by a sporty looking couple with matching haircuts. At first, it was hard to determine which was the wife and which was the husband. Corn-silk blond hair, ramrod straight and cut into helmets made it difficult to discern man from woman. But as soon as the couple started conversing, the differences became apparent.

  “We have all week for tennis lessons,” the woman whined in a high-pitched, reedy voice with a Texan lilt. “Why don’t we just relax tonight? Let’s get snockered at the tiki bar before dinner.”

  “And risk losing our edge?” the man asked in a baritone southern drawl. “You know that the McMillans are going to ask us to play doubles tomorrow morning. If I have to hear Tom gloat about winning one more time…”

  “Oh, you are so competitive! This is vacation, honey. Just let loose and have fun.”

  “I’ll have fun whooping Tom McMillan’s butt in doubles tomorrow morning. Until then, I want to focus on my game and improve my serve. That’s how they got us last time, you know. My serve was too weak.”

  “Your serve isn’t weak.”

  “It is too. I want to serve like Al does. Speed. Spin. I want to serve aces.” The man turned towards the courts, and in doing so caught sight of Lorna and Betty.

  Lorna realized she’d been staring as she eavesdropped, and did her best to divert her eyes quickly.

  The couple didn’t seem to mind her stare. They were used to drawing attention. The wife leaned across her husband’s pot belly and barrel chest and waved her fingers in Lorna’s direction.

  “Hello! I’m Carol Anne, and this is my husband, Earl. Are you here for the five o’clock?”

  “Yes…we’re both beginners.” Lorna motioned to Betty, who had gotten up off the bench and was sorting through a stack of rackets. “I don’t know if we’ll be able to keep up with you. It sounds like you’re serious players.”

  The two had caught her staring, so it was no use pretending that she hadn’t overheard their conversation. They were all sharing one umbrella, after all.

  “Well, before long you’ll be keeping up with us no problem,” the man, Earl, said. “Carol Anne and I were beginners last spring when we came aboard. Al worked his magic teaching us, and now we play in tournaments regularly back home at our country club.”

  “And where is home?” Lorna asked. She could tell already that they were Americans, and for some reason, though she’d only been abroad for less than a year, she felt as excited to see them as if they were long-lost relatives.

  “Texas,” Carol Anne said. “How about yourself? You sound like you’re from the US as well?”

  Lorna nodded. “Florida, originally. But since then, I’ve moved to the British countryside.”

  “Full time?” Earl said with bewilderment, as if he had no idea why one might do such a thing. “You brave, brave girl.”

  Lorna laughed. She didn’t know if “brave” was the right word for what she had done. Betty returned to the bench, holding a rather small racket.

  “I think that’s a kid’s size,” Lorna said, eyeing Betty’s choice.

  “This will do just fine,” Betty said, giving the stubby racket a swing. “Those other ones were too long and heavy. This feels much more like the pickleball rackets I’m used to.”

  “You play pickleball?” Lorna had never heard Betty speak of this before.

  “Of course! Once a year, during the Tweed Park Days Annual Pickleball Tournament. Doubles. Bumblethorn is my usual partner. We’ve won five years counting.”

  It seemed to Lorna that just when she thought she knew everything there was to know about her new community, something surprising would be unveiled. She wondered how Betty could manage to be so good at racket sports, considering that she was blind, but she didn’t want to offend her friend by asking. Instead, she turned back to the couple on the bench next to her.

  “Carol Anne, Earl, this is my dear friend Betty Wardenshire. And I don’t think I’ve introduced myself. I’m Lorna Merryweather.”

  Introductions were exchanged all around.

  “Carol Anne and Earl were saying that Al is a very good coach,” Lorna said to Betty. “We’re going to be expert players by the end of this lesson.” She watched as Betty took a few practice swings with the stubby racket. It sliced through the air. “I suppose for all I know you’re already an expert, so I should speak for myself.”

  “I’m not bad,” Betty said humbly, though she knew it was her own skill that had earned Bumblethorn and her the title of Pickleball Champions last July. Bill had spent nearly the entire game pointing out shapes in the clouds that he was spotting in the sky, and she’d had to instruct him at least fifty times to keep his eye on the ball. She herself couldn’t keep her “eye on the ball,” but she could sense the ball, and that proved to work out just as well.

  “Now, now,” Earl spoke up, holding up a hand. “I didn’t say ‘expert.’ I said intermediate. And it might take more than one lesson. If you give him a chance, Al will whip you into shape by the end of the week… But you’ll have to come to the lessons religiously. That’s what Carol Anne and I did.”

  “Religiously,” echoed Carol Anne, rolling her eyes. “Even when one of us would have rather been getting a massage or taking a mud bath.”

  Lorna liked the idea of being whipped into shape. She’d planned on spending the vacation lounging poolside, sipping margaritas, and munching on goodies, but being whipped into shape didn’t sound all that bad either.

  “Did he play professionally?” she asked, looking away from the blond Texans and out towards the courts.

  Al was now demonstrating how to spike the ball from a position close to the net. Because he was only half a court's distance away, instead of the full court, Lorna once again caught sight of his tattoos. “He has an awful lot of tattoos,” she said absentmindedly, mostly to herself.

  Earl laughed. “I don’t think he played professionally, but you never know with Al. He’s got a mysterious past, and he won’t go into much detail about it. You’re right about the tattoos—he’s covered in them. I saw him in the men’s locker room once, and—”

  “Don’t be a gossip,” Carol Anne interrupted.

  Lorna was disappointed. She found that she was curious about what Earl had seen in the men’s locker room. Ah well, she was not meant to know.

  “It’s not gossip. I’m just stating the facts,” Earl said.

  “He really is very guarded about his past,” Carol Anne said, leaning past her husband and lowering her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “Try asking him about his tattoos. See what he says.”

  “What will he say?” Betty asked.

  “We tried asking him,” Carol Anne said, patting Earl on the belly as she spoke. “He just said something vague about a misspent youth. Remember honey?”

  Earl nodded. “Who knows? Maybe he got them in prison. All I know is that the man is decidedly good at what he does, and he’s going to help me put some speed on my serve. Speed and spin, just like he does.” He looked down at his watch. “Carol Anne, it’s quarter to five. Let’s go warm up for a few before the lesson starts. Al likes us stretched and limber.”

  Carol Anne stood, grumbling something about how she’d rather be at happy hour. Earl smacked her shorts-covered bottom with the face of his racket, and she skipped a step and then started jogging out to the
empty courts.

  Lorna eyed the pile of rackets that Betty had been pawing through. Since it was now quarter of five, she realized she’d better go pick out one to play with before any more were claimed. There were a few more guests heading towards the tennis area. Al was running towards them, already smiling as he called out a greeting.

  The rackets were all in nice shape, either very lightly used or brand-spanking new. Because Lorna had no idea about characteristics of a racket, she made her choice by color alone. As she picked up a pretty turquoise and silver one that matched her bright turquoise tank top and silver bracelets, a voice yelling caused her to look up.

  “I asked for a towel an hour ago! Where have you been?”

  Just beyond the nets that separated the tennis courts from the pool, sitting in a chaise lounge, was a woman who was reaching for a towel as she yelled. She looked to be Spanish, and in her fifties. Her shining black hair was piled high on her head, and she wore oversized Jackie-O style sunglasses.

  The towel was being held out to her by a younger woman, who looked Spanish as well. The younger woman was slight, frail, and reminded Lorna of a frightened bird.

  The older woman in the big glasses snatched the towel away from the younger woman. “I don’t want your excuses! I’m tired of your excuses, Paula. If you’re not careful, this is the last vacation you’re going to be attending with me. You don’t know how lucky you are to even be here, do you?”

  The younger woman was almost bowing down, she was so hunched over. She said something that Lorna could not hear. Lorna was sure that it was something apologetic, judging by the body language.

  Despite the younger woman’s apologetic nature, the older woman continued yelling. “I don’t care! Do that on your own time. That’s not what I pay you for. Now hurry up and get my sparkling water! I want two slices of lime—and not those disgusting conventional limes either. I want organic.”

  Lorna had to agree there. Organic limes did have a much sweeter flavor. She watched the younger woman, Paula, scurry away.