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

by Jenny Bankhead

  “Oh! My head!” he said. He rolled over.

  “It’s Al!” Lorna shouted as she caught sight of Al’s sun-weathered features.

  Her shout pulled Al all the way back to consciousness. “What happened?” he moaned. “My head! It hurts!” He rubbed his scalp.

  “My broomstick knocked you out,” Lorna said.

  “You hit me on the head with a broomstick?” asked Al, just as Betty rushed towards Lorna with the long lace table-runner.

  Lorna did not bother to correct Al. For, no she had not hit him over the head. The broomstick had acted all on its own accord. But that was hard to explain to a person unfamiliar with magic. Instead, she whisked the lace out of Betty’s hands and knelt down next to Al.

  He was sitting up now, with one hand in his lap and the other rubbing the back of his head. She reached for one of his arms, and then the other. He did not fight back. It was easy for Lorna to wrap the table runner around his wrists.

  Al groaned and was squinting into the bright lights. “Oh, I’m seeing stars,” he complained.

  “You went down pretty hard,” Lorna said.

  “A trip to the infirmary might be in order,” Betty suggested. Then, as an afterthought, she said, “If you were an honest man, that is. But for a criminal like you? No. You have some explaining to do, mister. What do you think you’re doing, busting into the suite of two old women?”

  “Well, not old,” Lorna said. “Speak for yourself on that one, Betty. I’m middle-aged.” She finished wrapping Al’s wrists and looked at her work. Two loose ends hung down around his hands and looked all wrong. She picked up the loose ends and tied them into a pretty bow.

  “There,” she said, stepping back to examine her work. “Now that your arms are bound you can’t harm us.”

  “But what about his legs?” Betty asked. “You haven’t tied up his legs yet, have you? He could still run away.”

  As if Betty’s words had given him an idea, Al began to try to stand up. He glanced towards the open doorway.

  “Oh no you don’t!” Lorna said. She lifted a bare foot and used it to give Al a gentle nudge. He was already struggling to stand because his arms were tied, and Lorna’s soft kick knocked him to the ground again. “You’re not going anywhere,” she said.

  “Let’s tie his legs,” suggested Betty. She was already rummaging in her own suitcase for something to use, and after a moment she triumphantly extracted a colorful scarf.

  It was a Hermes, vintage silk number, also borrowed from Muriel. The pattern was gorgeous: golden ropes, silver anchors, royal blue diamonds and swirling purple and pink accents. It was a scarf meant to be worn on a cruise ship; the nautical theme and vibrant colors begged to be displayed seaside.

  Lorna almost felt bad about wrapping it around Al’s ankles, but she did it nonetheless. “A very undignified use for this designer accessory,” she mumbled.

  She did not think that Betty would hear her, but of course, Betty did. “I think that scarf would be proud to know the duty it is fulfilling—saving the day by binding up a criminal!”

  “Criminal!” scoffed Al. “I’m no criminal. Not anymore…”

  “You broke into our room!” Betty said. “I locked that door. You must have picked the lock. If that’s not criminal activity, I don’t know what is.”

  “You locked the door?” Lorna asked Betty. She felt guilty for blaming the situation on Betty. “I thought you may have forgotten.”

  “With a murderer on the loose?” said Betty. “Oh, no, no, no. I locked the door up tight.”

  “Good,” Lorna said. Her confidence in her friend was now completely restored. She finished tying the Hermes scarf around Al’s ankles and again used the loose ends to create a bow. After all, top and bottom should match, and he already had a bow around his hands.

  Betty turned her head toward where Al’s voice had come from. “You haven’t answered my question yet. Why were you breaking into our room?”

  Al clamped his lips together tightly and shook his head.

  “He’s not going to tell us,” Lorna said.

  “What should we do with him now?” Betty asked.

  “I think I have an idea,” Lorna said mysteriously.

  In fact, she had many ideas. An entire theory was beginning to form in her head. She felt a touch like how she imagined Einstein may have felt when coming up with his ideas about relativity (whatever that was).

  “Oh, no,” Al said. “What are you going to do with me? Please don’t hurt me.”

  “We’re going to let everyone on this ship know exactly what you’ve done,” Lorna said.

  In her mind she was solidifying her theory about the murder—all of the details were now falling into place. But she did not want to voice her theory in the privacy of the suite.

  No. That simply would not do.

  She wanted an audience.

  She was experiencing a moment of genius, and genius is best exposed in public, with an audience. Yes, she could voice her ideas in front of Betty and Al, but where would be the fun in that?

  “We must take him to the ballroom,” she said.

  Immediately, she began envisioning the scene. Was there time to change into the golden dress that Betty had borrowed from Muriel? Perhaps not, but that would be a magnificent dramatic touch.

  Al was squirming against his ties, and Lorna saw the lace loosen ominously. Given time, the athletic man would surely wriggle free. There was simply no time for a costume change. Her pink jammies would have to do.

  “We’ll gather up the crew and guests, and I’ll reveal my theory then,” Lorna said, pointing her index finger skyward. Her broomstick, thinking that her gesture was a command, zoomed up to the ceiling and began knocking on it, again and again.

  In the room directly above Betty and Lorna’s suite, the rapping sound stirred Raul from a deep drunken sleep. He opened his eyes, listened to the thump against his floorboards, cursed under his breath, and then drifted off to sleep again.

  Lorna positioned herself at Al’s feet, and Betty stood at his back with her arms on his shoulders.

  “We’ll just lift him up and cart him to the ballroom,” Lorna said.

  “Lift me up?” Al said. “I don’t think so. Let me go!” He violently squirmed back and forth, making it very hard for the women to maintain their grip.

  “Ready?” Lorna said, determined to see the scene in her mind come to life. She and Betty had to get Al to the ballroom. On the stage would be best. That would give everyone a good view. Perhaps spotlights could be arranged, and…

  “When I say heave-ho, we’ll lift him. Okay?” Lorna said.

  “On ‘heave,’ or on ‘ho?’” Betty asked.

  Lorna wasn’t sure. “Ho,” she guessed. As she said it, Betty strained against Al’s wriggling shoulders.

  “Not yet,” Lorna said.

  “But you said ‘ho!’” Betty protested.

  “You’ll never be able to lift me,” Al said, thrashing about.

  “Heave…Ho!” Lorna raised her voice to a higher octave with the final word and felt pleased when it came out sounding quite like a female lead in an opera. She tried to lift Al’s legs and saw Betty scrunch up her face as she struggled to lift Al’s shoulders.

  Nothing happened. Al, still wiggling around, remained heavily on the floor. The broomstick continued to hammer against the ceiling, now in a rhythmic beat. Lorna almost felt like dancing. She called out again. “Heave…Ho!” This time with more of a sing-song tone. And again. “Heave, ho! Heave, ho! Heave, ho!”

  No matter how hard the women tried, or how wonderfully musical Lorna’s instructions were, Al remained on the floor.

  “We need help,” Betty said, releasing her grip and wiping her brow.

  Lorna laughed. “I suppose we do. Know any good therapists in Tweed-upon-Slumber?”

  Betty laughed too. “Not that kind of help… I mean assistance, right now. In lifting Al.”

  “Just untie me!” Al shouted. “I’m not going to hurt
you! I’ll walk to the ballroom.”

  “Oh, why should we believe you?” Betty said. “You’re a liar and a cheat who picks locks. Your word isn’t worth two shillings.”

  Al had no comeback for this.

  Lorna jumped in. “Betty, do you think you can keep an eye on him. I mean, er…stay here with him while I go summon up some assistance?”

  The broomstick finally stopped hammering against the ceiling. The word “summon” had gotten its attention, and it thought that its services were needed. At once, it flew over to Lorna and hovered near her. It was in a very cooperative, helpful mood indeed.

  “Yes,” Betty said. “I’ll stay with him and make sure he doesn’t budge.”

  “I’ll be back in a jiffy,” Lorna promised.

  She ran into the hallway and looked left and then right. Where was it that Carol Anne and Earl said they were staying? She scratched her head, trying to remember. It took a moment, but the suite number finally came to her. She whispered under her breath. “That’s right. Suite sixteen. I remember…just like a sweet sixteen birthday party.”

  Lorna began hustling down the hallway towards room number sixteen. Her broomstick beat her to it and arrived a full three minutes before she did. It began knocking against the door urgently. By the time Lorna arrived, slightly out of breath, the door was just swinging open.

  Earl stood in the doorway, in shorts and no shirt. There was a T-shirt around his neck, and he was still pulling it on. His blond hair was an absolute mess. Lorna was sure he’d just woken up from sleep.

  “What’s going on?” he said in his southern drawl, looking about frantically. “Lorna, what’s wrong? Are we going down?” And then, “Is that broomstick…floating?”

  As soon as Earl looked to the broomstick, it dropped to the floor with a clattering sound and then lay there perfectly still, as if playing dead.

  “Floating?” Lorna gave a nervous laugh. “No, absolutely not.” Flying, yes, she thought to herself. But not floating. It only does that when it wants to relax on the river in a borrowed inner tube and soak up the sun.

  “Is the ship going down?!” Earl asked again.

  Carol Anne came to the doorway. Her hair was also sticking up on end. She was rubbing her eyes. “Earl? What is it? Why…Lorna! What are you doing here? Is something wrong?”

  Lorna motioned towards her room. “Al just broke into the suite I’m staying in with my friend Betty. I need help getting him to the ballroom, so that—”

  “Broke in!” Earl exclaimed. “What do you mean, he broke in?”

  “He picked the lock,” Lorna said.

  “Goodness gracious!” Carol Anne said, hugging herself and rubbing her hands against her upper arms. “This cruise is awful. First a murder, and now a burglary!”

  “I think they’re related,” Lorna said. “And if you’ll help Betty and me cart him to the ballroom, I’ll tell you how. Come on! We’ve got to hurry. I left Betty with him, and my Teneriffe lace is very delicate.”

  “Teneriffe lace?” Earl said in confusion.

  “I picked it up in Alicante,” Lorna said. “It’s a very unique pattern.”

  “And what’s that got to do with Al?” Earl asked.

  Carol Anne brushed past her husband, following Lorna who had already turned back towards her suite. “Come on, now, honey,” she said. “We’ve got to help her out.”

  “All right,” Earl grumbled. “But I don’t like the sound of this. Al was going to help me perfect my backhand tomorrow.”

  “Oh, will you forget about your backhand!” Carol Anne cried. “This is not the time.”

  Husband and wife jogged down the hallway after Lorna, who was moving swiftly towards her suite, fueled by concern over the durability of the hand-crafted lace. Behind the three, an ancient broomstick flew silently, ready to help in any way it could.

  Carol Anne and Earl proved to be the perfect assistants. Their dedication to tennis had gifted each with a great deal of upper body strength, and though they felt traitorous for lifting their revered coach and carting him off to the ballroom against his will, they did it.

  “Up on the stage!” Lorna directed once they arrived in the ballroom. She was barely hanging onto Al’s ankles. Her contact was more of a show than actual help because Carol Anne was actually doing all of the heavy lifting. Lorna finally gave up the show and let go altogether. “Get him up there… I’ll go summon the audience—I mean, witnesses.”

  She turned and headed for the exit, trailed by her broomstick which was once again triggered by her use of the word “summon.” Luckily, Carol Anne and Earl were too busy heaving Al up the flight of stairs to the stage to notice the flying broom.

  Lorna returned to the area of the ship that housed the guest suites. She took one side of the hallway while the broomstick took the other. Each knocked against doors, and when guests poked their sleepy heads out, the broom flattened itself against the ceiling so as to stay out of the line of sight, while Lorna explained.

  “Big news!” she said. “I know who killed Leon. Head to the ballroom, and you’ll learn all of the details!”

  Sleepy, bewildered guests began shuffling to the ballroom, and as Lorna and her broom headed to the staff quarters, she knew that she was about to have quite an audience.

  I hope I’ve got this right, she thought to herself. She was suddenly rife with doubts over the soundness of her logic. Had she put the puzzle pieces together correctly?

  If not, she was in for quite the embarrassment. Lorna severely disliked being embarrassed. It was her fourth least favorite thing in the world, right after lukewarm tea, bagels that had gone stale, and lumpy mashed potatoes.

  Chapter 15

  A n audience was now gathered a dozen deep around the ballroom stage. Betty, Earl, and Carol Anne stood on stage, surrounding Al. Whenever Al attempted to wriggle in one direction or another, Betty would wallop him with her cane, which she had brought along. Her knee often acted up in the evening hours, and it was almost midnight.

  Lorna entered the ballroom with the last of the crew that she’d just roused from bed. The crowd parted as she made her way to the stairs leading up to the stage.

  “Coming through!” she called out above the hubbub, whenever a gaggle of people failed to make way. “Pardon me!”

  She was very excited about her upcoming moment in the spotlight—figurative spotlight that is, for she had not managed to arrange for actual spotlights, given the short notice of the event as a whole.

  Miraculously, she had only a small smidgeon of regret over appearing in public in her PJs, and this was overshadowed by her excitement over revealing her clever solution to the puzzle of who killed Leon.

  She took front-and-center stage, just in front of the squirming Al and his surrounding captors.

  “Attention!” she called out, looking out over the crowd below. She spotted Captain Lou in the front row. A few feet from Lou stood Raul, looking very displeased at being pulled from bed. And there in the back, near the exit, stood Ana and Paula.

  All eyes were on Lorna.

  “Ladies and Gentlemen!” she shouted, “I have an announcement to make!”

  “We’re listening,” grumbled Raul. He held a hand to his ear. “No need to shout.”

  Indeed, he looked as though Lorna’s shrill voice was causing his hangover to intensify. Serves him right, thought Lorna.

  “Well, then, I’ll just…” Lorna lowered her voice, but then thought better of it. This is my moment, she thought. I don’t need to lower my voice just for Raul. When she continued, her voice was loud enough that it echoed off the gold gilded walls of the fancy ballroom.

  “As you all know…or maybe some of you don’t…there’s been a murder aboard the Mariasca.” A collective gasp went up from the crowd.

  “Why didn't someone tell us?” a disgruntled man, whom Lorna vaguely recognized as Tom McMillan, shouted.

  A voice that Lorna recognized as Charlie’s spoke up from somewhere that Lorna could not quite see. “
The authorities on the ship decided that it was best to keep the news private.”

  “Authorities? But you’re only the security guard,” Tom said.

  “That’s right, I am,” Charlie said.

  Lorna spotted Charlie now. He was hitching up his cargo shorts as he spoke, glaring at Tom. “And I made the decision to keep the news of the murder as quiet as possible. Do you have something to say about it?” He began moving through the crowd toward Tom.

  This silenced Tom, a man who reveled in healthy physical competition but had a real distaste for physical confrontations.

  “The news has been kept very hushed,” Lorna said, in an attempt to win back the attention of the crowd, “for the benefit of everyone aboard. We’ve been in enough of a nervous state due to the engine malfunction. However, now it is time for you to know the truth. Yes…there was a murder, but do not fear!”

  The eyes focused on her seemed unblinking, eager to hear the reason that they didn’t have to fear.

  Lorna continued, placing a hand on her chest as she spoke. “My extremely capable and dear friend Betty and I have solved the case. We have figured out what happened!”

  “We have?” asked Betty.

  Al used Betty’s distraction as an opening to thrash on the stage, like a fish out of water. He was able to move three feet before Betty caught sight of his movement and gave him a thwack with her cane.

  Lorna continued. “Leon Thomas was found dead this morning.” She hoped that it was before midnight and that her statement was accurate. It was actually two minutes past twelve, but no one called her out on this.

  “Who killed him?” Earl asked, from his place on the stage.

  “Yes, who?” seconded Carol Anne.

  Soon a chorus of “Who? Who? Who?” erupted from the crowd. Lorna felt as though she were standing before a flock of wide-eyed owls.

  “Let me start from the beginning,” Lorna said. “Just last night, we all gathered in this very room, for the Captain’s Ball. Does everyone remember this?”

  “Of course,” Lou said. If Lorna was correct, he sounded very nervous. His nerves made him defensive. “Stop being so dramatic. We were all there… how could we forget?”