Braam let out a scoff of annoyance.
“He was not especially cooperative,” he said. “In fact, I am pretty sure there is something he is not telling me. Do you have any idea what it might be?”
London’s brain clicked away as she tried to think of an answer to that question.
Maybe something to do with the Van Gogh painting? she wondered, remembering Cyrus’s strange behavior after he’d stood staring at it. But she couldn’t imagine what possible connection there could be between that painting and Dekker’s murder.
“I don’t know,” London said. “But I think he might have had an entirely different matter on his mind.”
“Can you think of anything else I should know?”
London shook her head no.
Braam stood up from the table and spoke again with a note of irony.
“Well, then, I suppose that brings this charming little visit to an end. You are an interesting woman, London Rose. Perhaps too interesting, one might even say. If you are deceiving me in any way, you can be sure I will find you out. You won’t get away with anything. Meanwhile, I will thank you to keep your nose out of my investigation from now on.”
With a tip of his cap, he strode on out of the lounge.
Is that all he’s got to say to me? London wondered as she watched him leave. While she hadn’t exactly expected him to take her into custody, she’d thought he’d at least insist that she stay aboard the ship.
As London mulled over Braam’s parting words, she noticed that Amy seemed to have recovered from her grief at the loss of her fennec fox and was now giving Elsie a hand with drink orders. As she delivered drinks to a table and chatted with the customers, Amy glanced over her shoulder at London. The customers, too, were giving London skeptical looks.
She’s spreading gossip again, London thought with a sigh.
It was bad enough that she hadn’t fully succeeded in shaking off Hoofdinspecteur Braam’s suspicions that she might be the killer. There just didn’t seem to be any way to get Amy to stop raising doubts aboard the Nachtmusik.
Certain that confronting Amy all over again would be a waste of time, London decided to focus on solving the murder case and clearing her name.
Of course, she knew the hoofdinspecteur would not approve. She remembered what he had said just now.
“I will thank you to keep your nose out of my investigation from now on.”
But she realized …
It wasn’t exactly an order.
Surely Braam wasn’t naive enough to think she was going to stop looking for the truth in order to earn his “thanks.”
In fact, he probably expected her to do exactly what she was determined to do right now—leave the ship and head back into Amsterdam and leave no stone unturned until the real murderer was caught.
Which surely means that he’ll be watching me. Or some of his men will.
Regardless, she figured she’d better get going before something else happened to hold her up.
But as London hurried toward the exit from the lounge, she heard a sound that made her stop in her tracks.
I guess I’d better find out about that first, she told herself reluctantly.
CHAPTER TWENTY SIX
For a moment, London stood frozen in place, torn between her desire to get off the ship and her reaction to the sound that had stopped her in her tracks.
It was music. It sounded to her like Bach, and it was coming from behind the closed door to the library.
Emil is in there, she realized.
She hadn’t even seen the historian around at all today. Was he hiding in the ship’s library? It was, of course, his domain, but it was supposed to be open to the passengers and crew. Not that there were likely to be a lot of patrons today, with most passengers ashore enjoying Amsterdam. But sooner or later someone was going to want information or a novel or a video.
Of course, Emil’s behavior had been very strange lately. And so had Amy’s.
She remembered Amy’s recent words.
“Emil is positively obsessed with me. He just won’t leave me alone.”
It seemed high time for her to get to the bottom of whatever was going on between the historian and the concierge.
But do I really want to know? she asked herself.
And did she really want to fix the situation right now, when she had so much else to do?
London sighed. As social director, any discord on the ship seemed to always fall within her realm of responsibilities. She decided she needed to tend to this one as promptly as possible—certainly before she ventured ashore again.
Besides, it should only take a few minutes, London thought.
Or so she hoped.
When she rapped on the door, she received a startling reply.
“Go away.”
It was Emil’s voice, all right. But it was not the sort of greeting she would expect from him.
She tried turning the knob, but the door was locked.
“Emil, it’s London,” she said.
“Oh,” she heard Emil say, speaking less sharply now. “By all means, come on in.”
London tapped her foot impatiently.
“The door is locked,” she said.
“You have a key, don’t you?”
London stood staring at the door for a moment.
What’s the matter with that man? she wondered.
Couldn’t he be bothered to walk over to the door and open it?
London didn’t have any choice except to use her master key to let herself into the library.
Sure enough, Emil was sitting with his feet up on a long table, gazing raptly at the large blue and white plaque, which was perched nearby on an easel. He was humming along to the music.
“Emil, what are you doing?” London asked.
“What do you think I’m doing?” Emil said. “I’m savoring this wonderful acquisition, accompanied by a most appropriate choice in music—Bach’s complete Brandenburg Concertos.”
As he waved his finger as if conducting the music, London stood glaring at him.
“Emil, how long have you been sitting here?”
“Just during the last hour or so, I suppose,” he said. “First I made sure that everyone who was interested had a chance to come around and admire this exquisite object. Then I figured I deserved some time alone with it.”
“Are you planning to sit here like this for the rest of the day?”
“Would it be so bad if I did?” Emil said.
“Yes, actually, it would be,” London said. “The library is supposed to be available to passengers. In fact, you’re supposed to be available to passengers.”
London walked over to the door and opened it.
“What are you doing?” Emil asked with a note of alarm.
“I’m doing what you should do,” London said. “I’m opening the library to the public.”
“Please don’t do that,” Emil said. “At least not today.”
“Why not?”
Emil was silent for a moment.
“Well, if you must know,” he said, “I’m avoiding Amy.”
“Really?” London said with a scoff. “Why?”
“I would really rather not get into all that.”
London planted herself in the open doorframe.
“I’m not moving from this spot until you do,” she replied firmly.
Of course, the truth was that London was anxious to get away from here as quickly as possible. She only hoped that Emil wouldn’t call her bluff.
Emil let out a groan of despair.
“All right, I will tell you,” Emil said. “But please close the door first.”
London closed the door. She crossed her arms and stood staring at Emil.
“Well?” she said.
Emil shook his head miserably.
“London, there is something wrong with that woman—Amy, I mean. Perhaps you were not aware that she and I had a bit of a … well, a workplace romance, I suppose is one way to put it. V
ery briefly.”
Oh, yes, I was aware, London thought ironically.
Like Amy, Emil seemed intent on forgetting how London had caught them together right here in the library.
“Well, it all happened so quickly,” Emil said. “It was much too impulsive on my part. I really was not thinking through the consequences. And in my infatuated state, I overlooked the woman’s character flaws. I had not realized that she’s actually rather a … well, to put it bluntly, a cold fish. And I, of course, am a rather hot-blooded and impetuous male specimen, if I do say so myself.”
London choked back the laughter that threatened to break out.
Hot-blooded? Emil?
“Anyway,” Emil continued, “I realized very quickly that I had made a dreadful mistake—in fact, that both of us had made a mistake. I told her so, but she did not take it well. She has been following me everywhere—or almost everywhere. As long as people kept coming into the library to look at the Delfts Blauw, she at least left me alone in here. But now that the passengers’ interest is quenched, so to speak, I just know she will descend upon me at any moment—that is, if I leave that door open.”
Emil shrugged slightly.
“That is why I have shut myself in here,” he said. “Do not worry, though. Amy is not a very tenacious and determined creature, let alone a passionate one. Her focus is very limited, and her concentration span is just about nil. Soon she will tire of pestering me if I just keep ignoring her. She will turn her attentions toward a different fellow—someone more appropriately bland and unexceptional, one can hope. You do understand my, er, predicament, eh, London?”
Again, London fought back a sputter of laughter.
“Oh, I understand perfectly, Emil,” she said. “Thanks for being so open and honest with me.”
Without another word, she turned and walked out of the library and shut the door behind her. She walked straight across the Amadeus Lounge, where she found Amy hovering over a table. She didn’t seem to be serving drinks. Instead, she was talking to the customers with what seemed to be gleeful animation.
More gossip, London realized.
For once she was glad not to find Amy trying to do anything useful.
London grabbed her colleague by the elbow.
“Come with me,” London said.
Amy blushed as London dragged her away from the table.
“Oh, London, I hope you didn’t think I was talking about you just now. Whatever is going on between you and the law is your own business, and I respect that. Truly I do.”
Hah, London thought.
“But where are we going?” Amy asked as London hauled her out of the lounge.
“To the library,” London said.
Amy sputtered, “But—but—isn’t Emil in there?”
Exactly, London thought.
She unlocked the door and opened it and shoved Amy inside.
The concierge and the historian stared at each other with mouths agape.
London waved her finger at both of them.
“The two of you have got some issues to sort out,” she said. “And you’re going to do it right now.”
“I don’t understand,” Amy said.
“What do you mean?” Emil asked.
“Amy, tell me something,” London said, pointing at Emil. “Does this man strike you as a hot-blooded and impetuous male specimen?”
“Hardly,” Amy said, obviously surprised by the question.
“And Emil,” London added, pointing at Amy, “does this woman strike you as a cheerful and spontaneous free spirit?”
“Anything but,” Emil said.
“And which of you is trying to break off this little workplace romance of yours?” London demanded.
“I am,” Emil and Amy said in perfect unison.
Then they stared at each other with surprise.
London put her hands on her hips and glared at them.
“Whatever is going on between you two, it has got to stop. I’m leaving the two of you together—and I don’t want to see either of your faces until you’ve worked this out and are ready to behave like adults and dependable staff members. And if you don’t … well, so help me, I’ll find some way to lock you up or even handcuff you together until you do. Is that understood?”
Emil and Amy nodded in mute astonishment.
“Good,” London said. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got to clear myself of suspicion of murder.”
London left the library and shut the door behind her. She stood outside listening for a moment. Soon she heard voices inside the library—quietly at first, then growing louder. She sensed that a full-scale argument was about to break out.
Good, London thought. That’s just what they need to clear the air.
And now she finally had a chance to go ashore and start investigating in earnest. She brushed her hands with satisfaction and headed into the reception area. But before she got to the gangplank, her phone rang.
Her heard jumped up in her throat as she saw who had texted her.
It was none other than Jeremy Lapham, the CEO of Epoch World Cruise Lines.
And the text read:
Video chat. Right now.
CHAPTER TWENTY SEVEN
London wasn’t surprised to hear from Jeremy Lapham. Just last night Captain Hays had told her to be prepared for this.
“Don’t be surprised if he wants to talk to you in the near future.”
And Lapham’s message said, “right now.”
The moment of reckoning had come.
She turned back into the Amadeus Lounge and hurried toward an isolated table in a corner of the big room. As she walked, she couldn’t help but wonder if this meant the end of the tour … or at least the end of her job.
Anxiously, she opened up her video chat app on her cellphone.
In moments, Mr. Lapham made his usual enigmatic appearance. His webcam was tilted so London couldn’t see his eyes or even most of his face—just his neck and his cleft chin and a pair of thin lips. But she had a clear view of his elegantly patterned velvet smoking jacket and an extremely fluffy black and white cat that lay comfortably in the man’s lap.
She could actually hear the creature purring contentedly as Mr. Lapham scratched it under its chin.
But Lapham’s first words sounded anything but contented.
“London, I want to talk with you about possibly ending the tour.”
“Oh, no,” London gasped as she collapsed into a chair at the table.
“I’m afraid that I’m getting rather mixed messages from Alex, my new astrologer. I was rather unsettled by his most recent reading, which was shockingly pessimistic. I suppose I’d hoped he was wrong. Alas, judging by the events of yesterday, it sounds like he has proven to be more than correct.”
London wasn’t completely surprised at the idea of Mr. Lapham consulting an astrologer. As odd as it had seemed to her, he’d done the same thing in the past.
“Are you sure?” she said. “The passengers have been thrilled with your discounts and vouchers. In fact, most of them are out enjoying another day in Amsterdam.”
“I’m pleased to hear that,” the CEO’s voice softened as he continued. “But what about this latest unpleasant setback? Captain Hays has been updating me regularly. You don’t need to tell me the whole story. Just please put my mind at ease about one thing. Tell me you have not been killing all these people.”
“I haven’t killed anyone,” London said, oddly relieved to be telling him the truth about that.
“Very good,” Mr. Lapham. “I haven’t achieved my success in the business world without being an excellent judge of character. And I sense that you’ve got very good character indeed. I know I can take you at your word.”
“Thank you,” London said, her throat catching a little with gratitude.
“And you’re quite sure that nobody else aboard the Nachtmusik is killing people either?”
London swallowed hard. She wished she could simply say “yes” with com
plete confidence. But Cyrus Bannister’s peculiar behavior yesterday at the Rijksmuseum was still worrying her. And judging by what Hoofdinspecteur Braam had told her just now, Cyrus was still on his suspects list—along with London herself, of course.
“I don’t know,” London admitted. “I hope not.”
“Well, the truth will come out, I suppose,” Mr. Lapham said with a sigh. “I assume that Bob Turner is hot on the trail of the culprit.”
London felt momentarily stymied.
It had actually been Mr. Lapham’s idea Bob Turner to help with the boat’s security. As far as London knew, nobody had ever told Mr. Lapham that Bob Turner was a pretty poor excuse for a detective. Certainly nobody had revealed to him that London had actually solved all of the murders. She had been glad to let Bob claim all the credit for that, so the CEO still believed that his security man was a crack crime fighter.
London tried to choose her words carefully.
“Mr. Lapham, I’m afraid Bob Turner is … well, under the weather.”
“Is he now? What has he come down with? Typhoid? Yellow Fever? Smallpox?”
“Um, I think he has a cold,” London said.
“A cold!” Mr. Lapham said with a scoff. “Where is he right now?”
“In his stateroom, sir. I … I think he’s worried about spreading whatever it is he’s got around the boat.”
“So he’s self-quarantined with the sniffles while a murderer is at large?” Mr. Lapham said. “That’s preposterous. I expect you to pay him a visit and tell him under no uncertain terms that he’d better come out of his shell. He needs to get back to work.”
“Yes, sir.”
“And now …”
She sensed that Mr. Lapham was hesitating.
“London, I’m sure you’re aware that the future of the entire Epoch World Cruise Lines is in rather serious jeopardy. My company was faltering even before the Nachtmusik began its cruise. My hope had been that European river tours would prove to be more profitable that ocean cruises. Alas, I hadn’t reckoned on a murder happening every several days.”
“I’m sure you hadn’t sir,” London said.
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