Sunny Side Up

by Daniel Stallings

  “I wonder why you would think that.”

  “I noticed the way you looked at her at dinner. And Charlegne didn’t stay in her cabin the first night. She slept with someone in Cabin V5. Could that be yours?”

  Steven kept his smile solid. He didn’t reply for several seconds, his eyes roving over Li, measuring, calculating, drawing up a final analysis. “You’re an astute young man. Are you a law student paying his way through college?”

  Li blushed at the idea. “I don’t really know what I want to do.”

  “You clearly have a brain stashed in that skull. Who are you? Why are you interested in Charlegne?”

  “I delivered tea to her that night.”

  The sad gray eyes started to narrow. “And this warrants an investigation about her companions?”

  Li strode forward, keeping his eyes level with Steven’s. “My boss accused me of having sex with her, which is against ship policy. They didn’t have any proof, but the allegations were enough to bruise my reputation. And I’ve been fired for saving a customer’s life.”

  “I’m not a lawyer, son. I can’t keep them from firing you.”

  “I was looking for a character witness, and since Charlegne died…” His eyes scanned the collection of blown-up photos, clothes, and accessories displayed around the room. “…the next best bet was the man who slept with her.” The eyes returned to the business manager. “Obviously, it’s too late.”

  “Then the discussion is closed.” Steven turned back to his appraisal of the silver dress, his smile fading.

  “I’m here to find out why Charlegne died.”

  Steven watched Li out of the corner of his gunmetal eyes. “She died from—”

  “I know how she died.” Li stood next to Steven and studied the dress. It was the same one she wore during her last dinner. “I found her body. I want to know why she died. And who helped her along, so to speak.”

  The implication did not cause even a flicker on Steven’s face, but his wide, respectable shoulders tensed. His gaze froze on the puddle of silver pouring from the wall. “You see that dress? That was the last gown she ever wore. And that’s how I’ll always remember her.” He turned to Li, his mouth pinched into a grim thread. “I think you’re better off worrying about living than caring about those who died. Accidents happen. It’s better to forget and move on.” The dress attracted his attention again. “Charlegne could never do that.”

  “Some accidents are meant to happen.”

  Another sidelong glance through half-shuttered eyes.

  Li tilted his head to study Steven’s face. “I think you feel that, Mr. Danforth. Maybe the sunstroke was an accident, but something doesn’t rest well. Charlegne wasn’t supposed to die this way. And I think you wondered whether…she meant it to happen.”

  The response was clipped, cold. “You think too much.”

  “Did she ever hint to you that she wanted to kill herself?”

  Steven’s jaw seemed set with steel.

  “Did she talk about meeting someone that morning?”

  The steel traveled to his eyes.

  “Why did she cry before dinner the first night?”

  “I have no idea where you gather your information,” he said at last, his tone rigid like the surface of an old bell, “but I’m getting very suspicious about you. I suggest—”

  Li cut him off. “Her makeup was too perfect. She applied it with extreme care, especially around the eyes. There was nothing easy or natural about it. It was too studied and exact. She was trying to cover up something.”

  Steven took in a large breath through his nose and released it just as heavily. He fumbled in his suit jacket pocket and pulled out a pack of cigarettes. “Is there nothing that escapes you?”

  “Did you love her?”

  Steven jostled a single cigarette in and out and in and out of the box, caught in the throes of indecision. “Not now that she’s dead. And she never loved me. She just used me for stress relief. She loved someone else.”

  “Dustin?”

  Was that a glimmer of surprise in his face? It was coolly suppressed. Steven turned away and ambled past the jewelry display, still jostling his cigarette. He treated the boy like a voice in his head. “You don’t miss much. How did you learn about him?”

  Li became the man’s shadow, drawing his gaze down into the glass coffin strewn with diamonds. He noticed that Charlegne’s engagement ring was not included in this collection. “I talked to Rosemary Hale.”

  “That could be dangerous. Rosie is an unstable woman.” He drew his fingers along the corner of the glass box. “Charlegne was too. Oh sure, she was beautiful…” There were echoes behind that word. “…but beauty and stability are often enemies. Dustin’s suicide destroyed her.”

  “You were there when it happened?”

  “No. I was hired years later, after La Charlegne became a luxury brand. But I knew about him. Everyone at the label knew what happened. It was the only way you could handle Lena when she got in one of her moods.”

  He calls her Lena, Li thought. Just like Dustin did.

  Steven’s shoulders drooped and puffy bags sagged against his eyes. “She became suicidal these last few years. I think she believed if she tried to kill herself, she’d be closer to seeing Dustin again. They became vision quests for her, near-death experiences where she could see his face. It was always pills. Created some very nasty scenes for us at the most awkward times.” He slammed the cigarette back in the box and shoved it all into the pocket of his slacks. “She once tried to kill herself during an editorial shoot for Marie Claire. Luckily, one of the lighting guys recognized the symptoms and saved her. She later had him fired.”

  “Do you think she wanted to kill herself on the cruise?”

  Steven smoothed back his thinning hair. “It’s always the same pattern. She’d start by drinking too much alone, thinking about death and the past. When she was sufficiently smashed, she’d do something impulsive. Sex. Gambling. Maybe vandalism. Something reckless that would take the edge off her suffering. When that failed, she’d usually turn to pills.”

  “Did she try that the night before she died?”

  “Why do you care?”

  “Because she did everything in her pattern. I wondered if she finished it.”

  “Oh, she tried.” A grim look of satisfaction creased his face. “Problem was she slept with me. I knew to keep an eye on her. I heard her get out of bed and stumble to the bathroom.” A tight smile pursed his lips. “I flung myself out of bed and caught her with the bottle of pills she brought with her. Her face…” The lines softened around his eyes. “She looked like a scared little girl. Almost begging me to let her die. I grabbed the bottle and made her watch as I flushed the pills down the toilet. I escorted her into the bedroom. She said she wanted to order tea. I told her I wasn’t going to give her another chance to kill herself. She said she just needed something to help her sleep. So I ordered the tea and watched her every move. She got through the night alive because of me.”

  “And the next morning?”

  “She was gone before I woke up. But I didn’t worry. If someone stopped her or saved her, she usually rested easy for a little while. She never tried again immediately.”

  Except this time, she might have.

  Li let his gaze rest on the far wall, where an enlarged print of Charlegne, swathed in a white ball gown, stood among a stark set ideal for Samuel Beckett’s Waiting for Godot.

  Waiting…she waited for her memories to die…a life in limbo…

  Steven followed his scrutiny. “The infamous Vogue shoot. Lena always carried a copy of that issue. It kept the pain alive. I asked her about it before dinner the first night. She evaded my questions, like always. She hated questions.”

  “You saw her crying?”

  “No. She was putting on her makeup when I came in. But I knew she had been crying. Her eyes were red and swollen.”

  “Do you know why she cried?”

  “Nope.”r />
  “Do you have any idea what would make her cry?”

  “Dustin, of course. That was the only thing she spared any tears over. Priscilla must have reminded her of him.”

  “What do you think she said to Charlegne?”

  Steven allowed a very un-lawyerlike shrug to lift his shoulders. “You got me. Could be anything.”

  The brittle drumroll of stiletto heels. Priscilla Reilly, encased head-to-toe in glittery black like a dew-sparkled spider, descended on them. Her heels pounded on the floor like the boots of a general. Her eyes, golden as a hawk’s, peered down at the boy.

  “You lost your chance to be a part of this,” she snapped, a thin glaze of ice to her words. “There are no second chances in business. Get out.”

  Li ignored her command. “What was the last thing you discussed with Charlegne before dinner?”

  “I am not answering anything. Get out now.”

  “Because whatever you said to her made her cry.”

  “I don’t care. I want you out of my—”

  “Answer the damn question, Priscilla.” Steven’s voice cut through the ice wall. His eyes gleamed like new silver bullets aimed at a werewolf’s heart.

  Priscilla glared at her business manager, her yellow eyes sharp against all the black. “You work for me now, Steven. I suggest you keep your—”

  “You think so, Ratface? Because I just entered a deal with Rosie Hale about taking over for her old business manager.”

  Priscilla’s neck burned scarlet. Her lips, daubed with lipstick the color of drying blood, crimped into a snarl. “You traitorous son of a bitch. If anyone is a rat, it’s you! You think you’re jumping a sinking ship, aren’t you? You should know that Charlegne only kept you around because she liked the way you screwed her brains out!”

  “Sorry I can’t give the same service to you. Maybe you can have Sebastian do it.”

  Li felt like he was trapped on an episode of Jerry Springer.

  Priscilla growled, a panther ready to strike. “I will bury you, Steven. You’ve just pissed away any future for your career. You’ll be ruined. That’ll teach you to burn your bridges.”

  She froze, her hawk eyes doubling in size. She remembered something. Her hands, once clenched into fists, started to fuss with her outfit, old habits from the old Priscilla. She slipped into her thoughts, unaware of the men standing near her watching her every move.

  “Bridges,” she muttered. “She was in one of her moods. Erratic. Impossible. Irrational. She wanted to cut off all ties to Harper’s Bazaar, to every magazine and store in existence. I told her…I told her we shouldn’t burn any bridges. Those were my exact words. Burn bridges. Then she screamed at me to get out and leave her alone.” Her eyes started to focus again. “I don’t see why that would make her cry.”

  Li did. “Didn’t her fiancé commit suicide by jumping off a bridge?”

  The Lady in Black stumbled onto the Seaview Deck. She pulled her black caftan tighter around her body, huddling under her hood from the saltspeckled breeze. Her steps were uneven. She clung to the wet railing for guidance. The night was an absolute black, the sea a lost noise.

  The sunglasses pressed over her eyes didn’t help.

  Her hand blundered over something warm and firm. Fingers. She stopped. The turtleneck pulled over her mouth muffled her words.

  “I did it.”

  “Good.”

  “I had to change to meet you.”

  “So I see.”

  “Are we done?”

  “Almost.”

  “You promised.”

  “Yes, yes…This won’t take long. I promise.”

  The roar of the waves didn’t seem so far away now.

  Li lingered in the gallery, scanning every dress, jewel, and picture for the truth behind Charlegne’s character. Facts tumbled in his head, falling into a strange, cosmic order.

  Her favorite color was white.

  All her clothing choices were practical for what she had to do.

  She disliked gaudiness and excess, preferring to keep things simple and straightforward.

  She followed very rigorous routines.

  She scheduled events sometimes years in advance.

  Li wandered out of the room just as the mourners, a long, black-clad pilgrimage, filed in for the memorial. He couldn’t help but wonder how many crocodiles cried among them. He shifted his sights from the people to the picture prominently displayed in the window. Charlegne was immortalized here.

  “Heard through several stewards, waiters, and one wasted maître d’ that I’ve got to say good-bye to my excursion buddy.”

  Travis stood behind Li. Although he didn’t reek of apology, his jaw was set a little too firmly and his eyes shone from more than just the light streaming from the gallery.

  Li jammed his hands into his pockets, hunched his shoulders, and kicked at invisible dust on the floor. “Yeah…Paul’s dream came true.”

  “His dream was murder. What did he get you for?”

  “I gave Mr. Brent the Heimlich when he was choking on his food.”

  Travis winced. “That’s a really sour finish, but at least it wasn’t…” He let his words wilt.

  “Oh, that came into it too. Pretty much every time I sneezed was used as an excuse at that point.”

  Travis gripped Li’s shoulder. “Look, things got really ugly between us last night and, well, I gave it some thought.” He used his free hand to rub the back of his neck. “Actually, it was when I realized I had no one to vent to anymore. That bugged me. I mean, you always listen to my crazy stories about these drunk rich people and the things they say. It helps take the frustration out of my job. And when I had no one to bitch to, all the frustration sort of…plugged up. I felt like I was going to crack.” He stuffed his hands into his pockets. “I guess I have a better idea of how you felt most of the time, and why you always had to talk about your dad. If you didn’t, you would explode, right?”

  Li rocked on his feet. “Yeah, it felt like that. His death killed me on the inside. So I talked about him. It was like releasing a bit of air from an over-inflated balloon. It eased the tension, made it more bearable. If I didn’t share, I would have been in a nuthouse by now.” He attempted a smile. “I swallow enough of my grief as it is.”

  “So can we be bitching buddies again?”

  Li’s smile strengthened. “Why? You’ve got another drunk customer story?”

  Travis waggled his eyebrows and grinned. “Is my desperation that transparent?”

  “So who is it this time? Mr. Brent?”

  Travis rolled his eyes. “God help me if it was. No. This time it was some big woman named Mrs. Anderson. Looks like a contender for an Olympic weightlifting event. She was in one hell of a rage about something that happened at the Southern End Pub on the Lido Deck.”

  “Be thankful it wasn’t Temptations.”

  “I know, right? She would have crushed me to sawdust with her pinky. Anyway, while Mrs. Anderson drained whisky in the Southern End, some widow barged in, strode to the bar, pushed past Mrs. Anderson, and demanded two brandy shots. She downed them and bolted out of the bar. Mrs. Anderson was inconsolable about the lack of manners in some people.”

  Li’s forehead wrinkled with concentration. “How did she know this woman was a widow?”

  “She wore a ‘disgusting amount of black,’ as Mrs. Anderson put it. Black shoes, black pants, black turtleneck, black gloves, black sunglasses, black scarf around her head. Even wrapped herself in some weird hooded robe thing that made her look like a Druid or a nun or something. That’s how the not-so-sober Anderson phrased it.”

  “A widow…”

  Li turned back to Charlegne’s beauty shot in the window. He stretched out a hand and grazed the cool glass with his fingers. He stared into the expressive eyes of the woman frozen in the image and recalled the dead, dilated stare of the body on the Sunbathing Deck.

  Who did this to you?

  And suddenly, he knew. Just like that,
no fanfare.

  “Oh shit, Li! RUN!”

  The urgency quivering in Travis’s voice snapped him back to reality. Li wheeled around in time to see the bull barrel toward him. Aaron Brent was mean drunk. Head lowered, nostrils flared, he pounded towards Li with a hard, furious blaze burning in his bloodshot eyes. With his meaty paws, he flung people out of his path.

  Travis bolted. “Get the hell out of here, Li! I think he’s going to kill you!”

  Li reacted too late.

  Aaron slammed into him like a bullet train, crashing against the gallery window hard enough to make the glass tremble. Several guests started to shout and paw at the livid man, but Aaron already had his hands clamped on Li’s throat. Blood swelled in Li’s face, and his pleas drowned in a strangled hiss.

  “What did you do with her?” Aaron howled. “Where’s Sally?”

  His hands smothered any of Li’s answers.

  “I know you hid her somewhere! You stole her from me! She begged me to take her on this cruise, but she always ran off! She tried to escape! I know she met you last night! Where is she, you son of a bitch?”

  In his darkening thoughts, Li couldn’t help but question why Sally would marry this man at all.

  Because someone bullied her into it, a little voice whispered.

  “Answer me, you little shit!”

  Li’s last words clawed out of his throat. “You stole Charlegne’s sunscreen.”

  CHAPTER 22

  Answers

  “Whoever your guardian angel is,” David said, “he’s working overtime. You’re so lucky we got him off your throat, Li.”

  Li caressed the blue-black handprints branded on his neck. A few splinters of pain. The sea breeze and the hot tea helped.

  “And spending the night in Doc’s infirmary couldn’t have been pleasant. Especially with Charlegne’s body there.”

  Li made the effort to nod. From his seat in a lounge chair near the railing, he could watch the bustle in the Port of Long Beach. The ship was home. Passengers were preparing to disembark. Seagulls wheeled overhead like out-of-control kites.