“Her…Her hat.”
“Can you get to the point sometime this century?”
“Dr. Innsbrook said that Charlegne didn’t w-wear a hat while she died.”
“Yes, I saw the burns on her face.”
“Well, when I-I found her body, her hat covered her face. I-I’m the one who…who took it off to see who it was.”
“Again, immaterial.” His eyes said: Just keep digging that hole, son.
“Her d-diamond ring—”
“We already went through that. Don’t repeat yourself.”
“N-No…I meant her ring was on her left hand, and she played with it using her right. She’s right-handed.”
“So are billions of people.”
“But her coffee sat on a table to her left.”
“This is getting ridiculous.”
“A-And finally there was D-Dr. Innsbrook’s latest finding…”
The captain pounced on that one. “Doctor?”
Dr. Innsbrook’s expression should have been the cover of a magazine called If Looks Could Kill. “She was drugged unconscious when she died. I guessed too many sleeping pills. Maybe something like Rohypnol, but don’t quote me on that.”
“So are you suggesting, son, that someone drugged Charlegne? Are you saying that Kane put something in her coffee?”
Li shook his head. “No! David didn’t do anything to the coffee. I…I tested it. Nothing but black coffee.”
“Are you certain of that?”
“I’m still awake, aren’t I?”
The ship’s medic snorted. “It was clear to me, Captain, that Charlegne simply took too many sleeping pills this morning to catch up on lost sleep, forgot her sunscreen because the pills muddled her thoughts, went to the Sunbathing Deck, and fell asleep. Simple as that.”
Captain Crayle flashed a dagger-like smile. “You see, son? It was an accident. It must have been an ugly shock to your system, but nothing sinister happened.”
Li wrung his fingers together and focused on a slight scuff on the desktop.
“Unless, of course, you came up with different theory, son…”
It took every reserve of nerves Li had not to quail before the Captain’s iron glare.
“I-I think she was murdered.”
The captain and the doctor roared with laughter, pounding on the desk with their hands and crying from the sudden pain in their sides.
Rosemary cast a nervous glance at the gilded clock on the nightstand and tried to slip back into the pages of her romance novel. Eleven o’clock already. Where was Martin? He disappeared not long after dinner. He didn’t give her a single clue where he went. She struggled to continue reading. Her eyes caught only a few words at a time before flicking up at the door and staring at it. The story was nothing but gibberish now.
She heard voices pass her door—drunk, indistinct. She locked her sights on the doorknob, ready to catch even the tiniest of turns. She didn’t really care for Martin when he was drunk, but Martin drunk in her cabin was better than Martin anywhere else.
Oh God…What if he’s with—? No, he couldn’t be!
A lazy laugh from the passageway seemed to validate all her worst fears. It was feminine, light, slurred on the edges—more of a giggle than a laugh. Her mind taunted her with the image of Charlegne’s little titters, the muscles pulling along her neck, and how easy it was to stop the machinery of a human throat.
The drunken murmurs faded. This did nothing to ease her tightly wound nerves. The clock clicked to eleven-oh-two. Rosemary dug her fingernails into the book cover and tried to get interested again in the kidnapping of Geraldine’s infant son.
Love Child didn’t distract her like she hoped. At times, it was downright painful. Like when Geraldine and Markus met on a bus tour of English gardens and spent the night in their hotel conceiving a beautiful—
Rosemary jerked her head upwards again. Like a cat, she sensed footsteps in the passageway. There were no intoxicated mutterings this time. She felt in her bone marrow that Martin returned to her. It had to be Martin. Martin would never leave her without telling her where he was.
What if he’s with her? No, he couldn’t be. Marty wouldn’t…He couldn’t…
She remembered the way his pupils dilated.
Once upon a time, they did that for her.
Lord, please don’t let that bitch take Marty away from me!
Rosemary mushed away the sudden tears with the heel of her hand. As such, she missed the nearly imperceptible turn of the doorknob. The door inched open. Martin Hale slid into the cabin.
“Marty…Oh Marty! I’ve just been insane with—”
She stopped. She inspected her husband. He wasn’t drunk, but his smooth, slightly sunburned face looked thirty years older than it should have.
“Marty, dear…What—?”
“Rosie…I have something to tell you.”
It came. It finally came. She was shocked that her immediate impulse was sadness, not fury. Anger came easily to her. She had no explanation to why she reacted with mute terror, replaying the audio loop of her husband’s planned announcement in her thrashing brain. He loved Charlegne. He would divorce Rosemary. She wondered how it would feel to suffer irreparable damage to her still broken heart. He loved Charlegne—
No! He didn’t say “We need to talk!” That’s what all the bastards say when they’re going to ruin your life! He didn’t say anything yet! He didn’t say “We need to talk,” so it can’t be that bad! Don’t break the rules, Marty!
“What is it, honey?”
“I…I went down to the infirmary…”
All her feminine alarms flared. Doctors were bad. Rosemary hated them. She and her husband planned to use this cruise as an escape from doctors and hospitals and one depressing diagnosis. So far, it had been a failure from conception.
Conception—that was the worst word she could have chosen.
“W-Why?”
It couldn’t have been the same diagnosis as hers, the one where her gynecologist said it was physically impossible for her to conceive a child.
Rosemary had cried through the whole spring season after that.
“Rosie…Charlegne’s dead.”
No reaction. Not even a slight gasp.
Then Love Child tumbled out of her hands and onto the floor.
“You have to admit that it’s pretty hard to believe, Li,” Travis said while he closed up the Temptations bar. “And I thought we weren’t talking to each other? Or does that rule always break at midnight, Cinderella?”
“I wanted to show you that I wasn’t lying before.” Li crossed his arms and directed a stony glare at his friend. “Your imagination worries me.”
“I don’t think I’m the one with the wild imagination.”
“I know it sounds a little crazy, but—”
“Oh, it sounds more than just a little crazy, Li. I mean, how can anyone murder Charlegne Jackson with sunstroke?” Travis tossed a rag at his friend’s face. “Sorry to be the evil stepbrother, Cinderella, but I need you to help me wipe down the tables in the lounge.”
“How come?”
“Aw, come on, Li. Just do this for me.”
“If I’m going to survive a night of Cinderella cracks, I’d like to know why I have to help you clean.”
“Oh, fine. I’m just in a rotten mood.” He began scrubbing his bottled-up anger into the first tabletop. “Mr. Brent the Bastard kicked up one of his famous fits about all the tables being—let me see if I can get all his words in—‘scuffed, dingy, tasteless pieces of bloated donkey crap.’ Sprinkle in some random swear words and add a hiccup or two and you get the idea. Anyway, his complaints wouldn’t stop until the bosses gave the orders for me to scrub down every last table at closing.”
“Just the tops?”
“Tops and bases. He’s a thorough son of a bitch.”
“And how clean are we supposed to make these spotless pieces of art?”
Travis grinned at Li’s sarcasm. “Until the on
ly stain is Mr. Brent’s reflection when he looks at them. Let’s hope these babies don’t collapse in terror when he does.”
Li glanced at the sheen of the thirty-odd black laminate tabletops and the sparkle of the chrome bases. He groaned at the wasted effort.
“This makes me wonder what on Earth his job could be. I can’t think of anyone who’d want to hire him.”
“He’s a corporate attorney. His clientele includes some of the biggest scum-sucking bastards of our time. He gloated about them sometime between his second and third bottle of Scotch.”
“A corporate attorney…I guess that makes sense. He does love to argue.”
“Arguing is just a euphemism for what he does. And scum can always recognize one of their own.” Travis squatted and scrubbed the mirror finish of one of the bases, as if trying to buff out his own reflection. “It’s just like crazies on the street. They seem to flock together. Maybe you can join them, Li, with this brilliant murder theory of yours.”
Li whacked his friend on the butt with his rag.
“Hey! If you just wanted to come onto me—!”
“Don’t flatter yourself, Travis. That’s what you get for calling me crazy. And for whipping me with your towel every chance you get.”
“I guess I deserve that. But come on, Li! You have to admit this whole Charlegne plus murder thing sounds like something a person would scrawl on a loony bin bathroom wall. It’s just impossible!”
“Tricky yes, but not impossible.”
“Are you going to abuse me and my drowsiness by giving me some long, complicated lecture a la Dr. Innsbrook?”
“Keep this up and I might.”
“That is probably the nastiest threat you have ever made to me. But go on and tell me your genius theory already. Why do you think someone murdered Charlegne?”
Li repeated—this time without stammering—the conversation he had with the doctor and captain.
Travis stopped polishing his umpteenth table. “So all you have is a list of negligent behavior on Charlegne’s part? And somehow this equals an evil mastermind with a flair for accidents?”
Li felt his confidence slip a notch. “Well, it’s just that—”
“I think someone else stayed in the sun too long. Dial back on your imagination, Li.”
“I didn’t make any of it up!”
“I don’t recall suggesting that.” Travis counted off the remaining tables on his fingers. “Look, buddy, I never said you invented all this stuff, but I think you strung it all together in your hyperactive imagination and created a plot that isn’t there. You had an ugly shock. Finding a body on the anniversary of your father’s nasty death is enough to unravel anyone. After a good night of total unconsciousness, you’ll see that everything you thought is just ridiculous. I’m sorry.”
Li examined his reflection in the chrome base he buffed. Hard wrinkles of exhaustion dug into his skin. Could he really have imagined all this nonsense after all? The ring of his slack, tired mouth reminded him of the golden band and its molecule of a diamond on Charlegne’s hand.
“Someone moved the body.”
Travis’s head bobbed up over a tabletop. “What was that, Li?”
“Someone moved Charlegne’s body.”
“Oh yeah? Where’s your proof?”
“She sat in the wrong chair. David knew Charlegne’s habits and would have set the coffee to her right, because she was right-handed. But when we found her, the coffee sat on her left. There’s only one answer: Someone moved her body one seat to the right. Dr. Innsbrook thinks Charlegne took several sleeping pills this morning and fell asleep. She would never notice the move.”
“Why would someone move her?”
“I…I don’t know.”
A smug curl twisted Travis’s lips. “I have a smarter answer.”
“Oh, I can’t wait to hear this.”
“Charlegne moved herself.” He cut off Li’s protest. “You know I’m right. She got up herself and left the deck to do something. Maybe take a shower, which is why there was no sunscreen on her skin. She felt tired, so she took a few pills. She went back on deck. Unfortunately, the drug muddled her brain, and she left her bottle of sunscreen in her cabin. She sat in the wrong chair, which is an easy mistake since all the chairs share tables and the pills confused her. See? Pure accident.”
“Sorry, Perry Mason, but there’s a hole in your theory.”
Travis stood, balled up his rag, threw it on the table, and locked his hands on his hips. “Oh yeah, smarty? Lay it on me! I’ll plug it up cleaner than you ever could.”
“You said Charlegne simply left the sunscreen in her cabin. But I went to her stateroom today. There was no bottle of sunscreen anywhere. Her assistant even worried about misplacing a bottle that Charlegne ‘never sunbathed without,’ and I have a suspicion that it was sunscreen. It just disappeared.”
“Ha! That’s all you have? I can putty that up no problem. I’ll change my theory a little. Charlegne did take sunscreen with her, just like you said a former model would do. She falls asleep from the pills, and someone comes along and throws the bottle into the sea.”
Li tossed his own rag on the table he just cleaned. “So you agree it’s a murder!”
“Oh shut up, Li. It was probably a dumb prank. It didn’t kill her. The sun did. You can’t murder someone with the sun.”
“I think someone could.”
“Oh, I can’t wait to hear this theory. It’ll be the best sleep aid I’ll ever have.”
Li restrained his temper. “Look, if we can accept the fact that you can die from sunstroke, we should be able, without too much fantasy…” Travis smirked at that. “…to accept that someone can murder with sunstroke. It’s as simple as abandoning someone in a sunny location without any protection. The sun will affect them.”
“So?”
“So taking away a bottle of sunscreen is definitely taking away protection.”
“Again, this is just a theory. I still say it was a stupid prank.”
“But who would prank her like that?”
Travis picked up his rag and twisted it. “Definitely not one of the crew. That would mean immediate firing. None of us can live without this gig. So it had to be a passenger.”
Li pulled his sleepy face into a grimace. “I really hate to admit it, Travis, but I think you might be right about that.”
“Say it again, buddy. I don’t think you sounded quite reluctant enough.”
“Okay, fine. You win. A passenger came along and stole Charlegne’s sunscreen.”
His brain added: But I still feel like it’s a murder.
“Well, thank you, Li. I’m positively bubbling with repressed joy right now. I would probably float to the ceiling if my shoes didn’t weigh several tons. Let’s do these last six tables before I start snoring.”
They concluded the cleanup, locked the lounge, and prepared to pass out in their bunks.
“You know that guy you saw in the restaurant on the island,” Li asked as they bundled into the elevator.
“Short Fuse or Chain Smoker?”
“The smoker. What did he look like?”
Travis crinkled up his face with the rigors of memory. “Um…balding…dark hair, graying at the temples…sweats a lot…wears a suit that costs more than a neighborhood in L.A…shiny shoes that Paulie would drool over. Why?”
Li’s own memory awoke. “Doesn’t he work with Charlegne? I’ve seen them together.”
“I think the proper preposition you want is ‘for.’ They were all her servants. They worked for her. No one worked with her.”
“Grammar aside, who is he?”
“He’s Steven something. He’s Charlegne’s business manager.”
Li sewed his eyebrows together in a taut frown.
Her business manager?
CHAPTER 15
Witnesses
Crap crap crap crap CRAP!
Li overslept. The strain of yesterday had knocked him unconscious as soon as he plopped on
his mattress. When his eyes finally pried open, it was ten to seven. Li vaulted out of bed, tripped over his shoes, limped to the bathroom, tumbled into his clothes, and threw himself out of his quarters with his shirt untucked and a terminal case of bedhead. He didn’t care if he looked bad. If he was late to work, Paul would add to the ugly bruises ballooning across his face. Then fire him. It was enough to make the good eye wince.
Of all the days to be late for work! I might as well throw myself off the ship and save Paul the trouble!
Li bolted out of the elevator, hoping to squeak into the dining room before too many passengers settled for breakfast. He caught a glimpse of the scarlet neon letters advertising Temptations. A lopsided grin of triumph brightened his face. Almost there. He was literally a heartbeat away. He would slink into the dining room with all the liquid agility of a cat.
He should have remembered his rotten luck.
Daphne Cole, her relentless voice rising even under the puzzle of purses, carry-ons, and camera bags she carried, bustled towards the dining room. Every trace of Li’s feline dexterity deserted him, and the two collided. Li heard something rip and thought a torn work shirt at this stage would be just the right epitaph in the tombstone of his cruise line career.
“I’m so sorry, ma’am! Here let me help you up.”
“Oh, it’s okay! Not a scratch! I wasn’t paying attention where I was going. You’re not hurt, are you?” She straightened her blouse and inspected his face. “Oh! You’re the adorable waiter who served us yesterday!”
Li felt his cheeks prickle with heat. He didn’t feel particularly “adorable” with a shiner darkening and swelling around one eye like an eye patch.
“Um…right…that’s me.” The memory of the cold, steel gleam of hate in her husband’s drill bit eyes made Li cramp with fear. “Let me help you, ma’am.”
“You’re so sweet! Most young men would just run off and let me deal with it. Isn’t that just disgusting?”
“Yes, it’s horrible, Mrs.—?”
“Cole. Daphne Cole.” She collected her things from Li and let out a soft moan. She lifted an issue of Vogue magazine, a ragged tear splitting a model’s face on the front cover. “Oh rats! I hoped to have Charlegne sign this while I was here.”
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