Cruise Ship Cozy Mysteries 10 - Bed and Breakfast and Cruises

by A. R. Winters

  “Sorry to hear that. Perhaps I’ll mention it to the chefs and see what can be done…”

  “I’d appreciate it. I’m Heidi Webster, by the way. Call me Heidi. Or Heidi-Hi if you like.”

  I didn’t know why I’d like to call her Heidi-Hi, so I decided I wouldn’t.

  “Addison, and this is Sam, social media and customer liaison respectively.”

  “A pleasure. Now if you’ll excuse me I’m going to see what kind of breakfast I can put together.”

  When she was gone, Sam and I turned to consult with each other.

  “So, they eat pudding at breakfast?” asked Sam with apparent consternation.

  “Yes, she said black and white. What do you think they are?”

  “Chocolate and…” Sam tapped her chin thoughtfully while she thought. “…white chocolate?”

  “Could be. Sounds a bit strange though. And what about that soda bread?”

  “Yuck,” declared Sam with a definitive shake of her head. “I like my soda in a cup, with ice, and a straw. Not in my bread.”

  “Maybe it’s like a donut,” I suggested.

  “Then they should just say donut.”

  “Right. Well let’s see what we’ve got on this English breakfast anyway.”

  We took a warmed plate from the stack at the end of the buffet line and made our way down the series of silver serving containers, taking a little of each as we went.

  “Bacon,” I said with a nod, recognizing the first item. “And look, fried eggs next. Sunny side up.”

  “It all looks good to me so far,” said Sam, filling up her own plate.

  “And then look, some vegetables! We’ve got mushrooms, and then tomatoes. Wait, hold on, two kinds of tomatoes. Fresh, and tinned.”

  “How thoughtful,” said Sam. “Though I don’t know why you’d have tinned when you can have fresh.”

  “It’s because of the taste,” said a nosy woman who was just behind Sam. “They taste different. Some people like ‘em tinned, some like ‘em fresh. A good B&B will always offer both.”

  “I see, thank you,” said Sam.

  The nosy woman turned to the woman behind her. “It’s all different this year, isn’t it?

  “Oh, yes, nothing like doing it Geraldine’s way, is it? I must say, I’m rather enjoying myself.”

  It made me pleased to hear that they were having a nice time. It sounded like Bernice had made a good choice in booking a cruise ship instead of rotating to another B&B.

  “Now, what’s next.” I lifted the lid of the next tureen. “It says… fried bread. And that’s what it looks like, too.”

  “They fried the bread? Why would they do that? Are they trying to make us fat?” asked Sam. It was a rhetorical question and she quickly took a triangle-cut slice for herself.

  “Look! This next one says Scottish Haggis.” I peered at the foodstuff. The container was filled with what looked to be some kind of ground meat with lighter colored parts in it. I tentatively spooned some onto my plate.

  “And then there’s your pudding!” said Sam, excitedly.

  Sure enough, the next tureen was labeled, Scottish White Pudding and Black Pudding.

  I lifted the lid to reveal not pudding. At least not pudding as I knew it. This was not a sweet gloopy dessert. It looked like sliced up pieces of sausage, because it turns out, that’s exactly what pudding seemed to mean in Scotland. Or perhaps our chefs had got it wrong, I mused.

  Using the provided tongs I took a piece of each of them.

  “And finally… baked beans?”

  “What is this, a barbecue?” asked Sam derisively.

  I lifted the lid, and sure enough, it was full of baked beans. “When in Rome…” I spooned a few onto my plate.

  When I got to the end of the line of hot foods there was a small cluster of people crowded around a toaster, waiting their turn.

  “…it will be interesting to see what the vendors have for us…”

  “…a change is as good as a rest, but this is better than a rest! It’s a change and a rest…”

  “…was such a shame what she did to Alex! After all he’d done…”

  Sam nudged me. “Come on. We don’t need toast, our bread’s already been fried instead.”

  “Don’t forget your tea, love,” said a friendly looking older lady who had curlers in her hair and was still wearing a tightly fastened bathrobe and slippers.

  “My tea?”

  “Yes dear. In the urn at the end. Good and strong. You can stand in a spoon up in it, so you can.”

  “That sounds… great?”

  She nodded that I had given the correct response.

  “Enjoy your breakfast, love.” The woman shuffled off, clutching her plate in one hand and a steaming mug in the other.

  Doing as was recommended, I walked around the toaster-crowd to the large tea urn. In front of it was a big stack of mugs. I put my plate down for a minute, and poured some dark brown liquid into my mug. I stared at it. The older woman’s mug hadn’t been quiet this color.

  “Milk’s there, dear,” said a familiar Irish voice. It was Heidi, back again, clutching a mug of her own ready to be filled.

  “Milk?”

  “For your tea, dear. Let me do it.”

  Heidi took my mug from my hands and reached for a ceramic milk jug that was closer to her than me. She poured a big slosh of milk into my mug before handing it back to me.

  “Enjoy!”

  After picking my plate back up again, I looked around for Sam, and saw that she had already seated herself at the back of the section. I quickly walked over to join her, putting my heavy plate down with a thump.

  “You forgot your tea,” I told her.

  She just laughed and shook her head.

  We dove into our meals, and quickly got stuck in.

  “This Travis isn’t bad,” said Sam.

  “Haggis,” I corrected. “The pudding’s nice too. They should call it sausage though. That would be less confusing.”

  “The fried bread was right at least. It’s bread, and it’s fried. And it’s good.”

  Experimentally I tried some of the fried bread with some egg. She was right, it was good, but I could just feel the calories excitedly jumping into my body, ready to set up new fat deposits, with every mouthful.

  In less than ten minutes we’d cleaned our plates and I found myself feeling a lot fuller, and a lot more satisfied, than I’d expected. I leaned back in my chair and gulped down some of the tea. It was rather bitter, but that seemed to feel right after all the greasy food I’d just eaten.

  “Umm, Addi?” said Sam tentatively.

  “What?”

  Sam was staring at her phone.

  “I’ve been looking this stuff up. Do you want to know what haggis made of?”

  “For my article? Sure.”

  “Yeah… for your article. Anyway, according to the Internet, haggis is made from sheep.”

  “Sheep?” I asked, somewhat surprised. “Don’t they call that mutton? Or lamb?”

  “I guess. Anyway, more specifically, it says it’s made from sheep’s pluck.”

  I took another gulp of tea while I tried to figure out what Sam had said. Pluck didn’t mean anything to me in this context.

  “What’s that? Sheep don’t exactly have feathers.”

  “Umm, it’s sheep’s heart, liver and lungs.”

  “Oh. Oh, wow. So that’s haggis, huh?”

  “That and oatmeal and onions and stuff. Oh, and boiled sheep’s stomach.”

  I stared down at my empty plate. I probably wouldn’t have eaten it if I’d known what it was. But it was all gone now…

  “Do you want to know what’s in the black pudding?” asked Sam, looking up at me again.

  “Maybe not?” I said nervously.

  “Do you know why it’s black?” asked Sam with a mischievous grin. She clearly did, having just looked it up on her phone.

  “Chocolate? Coffee?” I guessed hopefully.

  �
�Guess again.”

  I couldn’t think of any other dark foods. “Umm, dirt?”

  “Nope. It’s blood.”

  “Blood? What does that mean? Tell me it means something different, like pluck did.”

  Sam shook her head. “Nope. It’s also called blood sausage. And it’s made from blood.”

  “Why can’t they just eat normal things for breakfast?” I complained.

  “What’s done is done,” said Sam happily. “Want to get some more?”

  I shook my head. “Nope, I’m absolutely full. And I’m not sure I trust the rest of it anymore either. Who’s to say the tomatoes aren’t made from brains and the fried eggs from fried eyeballs.”

  Sam shook her head at me in amusement. “Guess what that tea you’re drinking’s made from.”

  I glared at her.

  “It’s made from tea leaves… isn’t it?”

  “Ha! Had you worried for a minute, didn’t I?”

  “Nope.” Though I had, just for the smallest moment, worried that the tea actually was made from something other than the obvious.

  “What’s next on the agenda?”

  “The B&B people are supposed to register for their various sessions and do some mingling. I’m going to go and take some pictures.”

  “Well that should be fun.” The way Sam said it indicated that she didn’t think it would fun at all.

  “It’ll give us a chance to meet some more people at least.”

  ”Do we want to meet more people?”

  I shrugged.

  “Why not? Come on, let’s get there early.”

  Rising to our feet, Sam and I left the strange breakfast and began to make our way to the Conference Suite where most of the B&B events would be held.

  It was just the start of another long day.

  Chapter 5

  After our exceedingly filling breakfast, Sam and I waddled out of the dining facility and slowly began making our way toward the Conference Suite where the B&B events were about to get under way. First up: Introductions and event signups!

  “Let’s go this way,” said Sam, indicating that we should walk past the Lagoon Pool area.

  “Oh that’s a good idea, let’s get some fresh air. I’m stuffed.”

  “Yeah… fresh air…” but Sam didn’t really seem to be talking to me.

  As soon as we were outside I realized why she was so keen on this particular route.

  Standing in front of the large Lagoon Pool, complete with fake beach, was the object of Sam’s interest. Dressed only in a pair of wonderfully fitting swimming shorts, was the ship’s new personal trainer and water aerobics instructor.

  “Everybody! Put your hands up like this!”

  We stopped to watch for a moment while the young teacher tried to whip his buoyant and mostly much older students into shape.

  “You should sign up for one of his classes.”

  “Do you think so? I bet he could teach me a thing or two…”

  I nudged her. “Come on. It’s rude to stare and we’ve got things to do. “

  “I’m not staring, I’m trying to learn water aerobics.” Sam unconvincingly swung her hands into the air in the same manner of the occupants of the pool.

  “You need to get wet to do that. Come on.”

  With a final wistful glance Sam trailed behind me as we headed across the Lagoon Pool area before re-entering the ship and taking an elevator down to the Conference Suite.

  When we got there, the air was filled with the busy hum of activity, and there seemed to be quite a crowd gathered in the lobby area. Sam and I hovered near the back of the lobby as we tried to get a feel for what was going on.

  I looked around to see what was happening, and rapidly came to the conclusion that almost everyone was waiting to get inside one of the smaller rooms that was booked out for the conference goers.

  I nudged Sam. “Why are they all waiting to go in there?”

  Of course she had no more idea than I did. Luckily a nearby lady with rather astute hearing came to our rescue.

  “We’re waiting to get in to register for the different sessions. The signup sheets are in there.” She nodded her head toward the room they were waiting to enter.

  “I see, it’s a shame the signup sheets aren’t in one of the larger rooms,” I said with a frown. “But these days most of these events are managed mostly online. Can’t you register for the sessions using your smartphones?”

  The woman, who had a blonde bob-cut and appeared to be in her early thirties nodded. She held up her own phone and pointed at it.

  “Yep. That’s what I did. But most of these B&B people are a bit… how can I put it… old? Older anyway. And they don’t trust the technology. Even if the app tells them they’ve registered successfully, they still like to see their name down on a piece of paper. So that’s what they’re all queuing for. It seems like such a waste of effort.”

  “It does, doesn’t it?”

  “Yes. And this lovely young man called Jake went to so much trouble to set up all the online registrations. He was emailing us all for weeks, letting us know how easy it would be. But are any of them using it? Nope.”

  I felt myself being squashed forward as more people piled in behind us. More and more B&B Association members were arriving, and pressing forward to get to the signup sheets. We were now firmly ensconced in the line — the queue as the lady had put it.

  “Can I get a picture of you using the app? Maybe if I send it out on social media it’ll encourage a few other people to use it. It might help a bit.”

  She gave me a skeptical look.

  “Oh, it’s my job,” I explained. “I run the ship’s social media.” I offered her my hand. “Addison James.”

  “Louise Settles.” She shook my hand gently and politely. “I have a B&B in the… oh you wouldn’t know. In England.”

  What did she mean I wouldn’t know?

  “Which part?”

  “The Cotswolds. Do you know it?”

  “Oh, I know of it,” I said airily. I actually remembered it from the day before, when Geraldine had bragged that she had the best daffodils in the area or some other such nonsense. “I’ve yet to visit myself though.”

  “What’s the hold up?” said a loud voice behind us.

  Someone much farther forward decided to provide the answer. “There’s not enough room in there! And there’s only one signup station!” shouted a man from the front of the lobby, just before the line entered the actual room with the single, solitary signup table.

  “Last year there were six signup sheets!” yelled the person at the back.

  “I know! We’re supposed to use the Internet apparently!”

  “The Internet!?” yelled someone else in disbelief, for whom the last twenty years apparently had yet to occur.

  “See what I mean?” said Louise in a low voice. “They really don’t like the new technology. They all want to stay stuck in the past. I feel sorry for Jake.”

  “Who is Jake?”

  “I don’t know him, but he’s emailed us so much recently I feel like I do. He runs a software company. He develops stuff for B&Bs and small hotels, but I don’t think he’s had much luck with our lot yet. It looks good to me though.”

  “Nope, it’s no good. No good at all,” said a woman who spoke at a volume that indicated we were a lot farther away from her than we were.

  I smiled politely at the newcomer to our conversation. After a brief flash of familiarity, I realized it was the same woman who’d still been dressed in her robe with rollers in her hair. She had changed into corduroy trousers and a checkered shirt, and her hair was now showing off the wavy curls she’d been aiming for earlier.

  She looked to be in her early fifties, and had chestnut brown hair the exact same color as her eyes. I would have wagered she was a horse-woman too, not that there was any sign of the related gear here on the ship. I could certainly imagine her galloping across English meadows on a horse the same color as her hair though.


  “You’ve used his software, I take it?”

  She shook her head. “Oh no, wouldn’t risk it. Paper and pen. Telephone and letter. That’s how you run a real B&B.” She stuck out a strong looking hand. “Anthea Robinson.”

  I shook it delicately and told her my own name.

  “I’m afraid I don’t know much about B&Bs. What’s a real one?”

  “A bed and breakfast and that’s your lot. Hot water on tap if you need it.” She said this rather contemptuously, as if you really shouldn’t need anything as extravagant as water that had actually been heated for you. “Bookings made by letter or telephone and regular customers. Most of mine have been coming thirty years!”

  “Oh, wow. It must be nice seeing the same faces every year.”

  “It is, it’s a privilege. A privilege that a lot of people don’t seem to appreciate.” She glanced at Lousie quickly, but didn’t say that she was an example out loud. Her body language was enough. “With these internet bookings you don’t know who you’re getting and if you’ll ever see them again. I tried it once. Young couple came, and after they arrived they said they’d changed their mind! Of course I wasn’t standing for that, and after a stern talking to they went to the room they’d booked.”

  I nodded understandingly, but the nod was a lie. I knew that I would definitely try and pull a runner if I accidentally booked a room in her B&B.

  “It’s interesting how ideas about customer service change over time, isn’t it?” said Louise to me, ignoring Anthea.

  “I suppose so. Swan has very strict rules about how we’re supposed to treat all of our guests. Customer service is very important., isn’t it Sam?”

  I turned to my friend but realized that not only was she not there, but from the mystified look on Louise’s face she must have disappeared some time ago. I shrugged it off.

  “Well this never happened when Geraldine was in charge,” said Anthea, waving her hands at the crowd of people around us. “Ship as big as a village, and we’re all crammed in here like sardines waiting to write our name on the only sign-up sheet in the place. I knew Bernice was a mistake.”

  “If people used the app, there wouldn’t be a line,” said Louise.

  Anthea stared at her as if Louise had just suggested the signup sheets be kept on the moon.