“Oh!” came a shout from Harley. I’d lost sight of them from my hiding position but I knew it was her. “Oh, oh, ohhhhh!” The last scream was a protracted one.
I was too late! I should have told someone what I’d figured out earlier. And now Harley had been tossed overboard to be eaten by sharks or jellyfish or whatever they had out here.
Not on my watch.
I slipped off my heels, and then with a banshee scream I burst out from my hiding place, running toward Shaun Anderson with the velocity of a Mac truck. He let out a yelp and dived to the floor to get out of my way, not daring to touch me.
Just past him was my goal: a fire alarm. I couldn’t dive into the ocean after Harvey—that’s just what Edward and Shaun would want me to do—but I sure as heck could raise a ruckus and get her some help. I just prayed it wouldn’t be too late.
Sirens started blaring and emergency lighting flicked on all around us, casting a stark white brightness across everything and everyone.
I turned around to defend myself, daring Shaun Anderson to try and come after me now. He wouldn’t try and come after me now that he knew I was aware, would he? Surely not under the bright emergency lights.
Shaun Anderson clambered to his feet, his posture hunched and small and nervous. I glared at him, daring him to try and get me, daring him to try and throw me overboard. He didn’t. He couldn’t.
“A... Adrienne...”
“You think I’m that dumb, huh? You think I wouldn’t notice you creeping behind me? How much are they paying you, Shaun?”
He had his arms folded across his lower chest, like he was hugging himself.
“I get minimum wage, plus meals, and tips. And accommodation.” His voice was small and nervous and he was looking at me with fear in his eyes, like he thought I was crazy.
“You know that’s not what I meant!” With growing confidence, I walked toward him. “Why’d you do it? Money? Feeling like you’re part of something big?”
He shook his head.
“I just did what I was told.” He couldn’t meet my gaze and was staring down at the deck. “I didn’t think I was doing anything wrong!”
Unbelievable. Literally, unbelievable.
“Adrienne!”
Finally! It didn’t surprise me that Ethan was first on the scene. If there was a man more dedicated to his work on the ship, I’d yet to meet him.
“Ethan! Quick. I think Harley’s been thrown overboard! About a minute ago!”
“What!?” cried Ethan, his head whipping out to look at the black ocean, as if he’d be able to see. He quickly turned back to face me.
“What happened?”
Just then, the impossible happened.
At least it seemed impossible to me.
Edward and Harley Dane appeared, walking back toward us, Edward tapping his cane on the floor with each step. They both had concerned expressions on their faces.
“What’s going on?” asked Edward.
“Is there a fire? I can’t smell any smoke,” said Harley in puzzlement. She peered at us as if expecting smoke to be drifting out of our mouths.
“Oh... cornstalks!”
“Adrienne?” asked Harley with concern. “What’s wrong?”
“I thought there’d been an accident. I heard a scream, and I thought you’d... fallen.” I couldn’t say been pushed, or been tossed. Not in front of everyone.
“Oh, no. Did I scare you? I’m so sorry! There was a bat and it flew right in my face, and then when I put my hands up, I touched it, and...” she visibly shuddered. “I hate them. Flying rats.” She turned to glare at her husband. “I told you I didn’t want to go for a walk and now you know why! Look at all the trouble you’ve caused!”
“The doctor told me to walk every day,” said Edward sullenly.
“And I told you to do it in the morning! Not in the dark!”
“Adrienne?” said Ethan, gently taking my elbow. “Let’s get this alarm turned off and have a little chat inside.”
“Just let me get my shoes.”
Chapter 20
My legs felt like lead as I walked to Ethan’s office. I’d messed up before, but never like this. Well, not exactly like this anyway.
The only bright side was that Ethan was the first on the scene, and he had quickly disabled the fire alarms and never even sounded the man-overboard alarm. Someone less competent wouldn’t have been able to assess and react so quickly and who knows how much disruption I would have caused.
We sat down across from each other on the two opposing leather sofas. I didn’t want to meet his gaze, but I had no choice.
“What happened, Adrienne?” There was no hint of admonition in his voice. At least not yet. It was more confusion. Like he couldn’t believe what I’d done. I understood because I felt the same way.
“I... made a mistake.”
He had to put his hand over his mouth to cover a smile.
“Yeah. I’ll say.”
Thank goodness he’s not mad! It made it all a lot easier to deal with.
“It all made so much sense! I thought I had it figured out. But maybe I didn’t. Or maybe I was too early.”
I explained to Ethan that Edward had written a book featuring a man who killed his new wife on a cruise in order to get a big insurance payout.
“Right. But why did you think he was going to kill Harley?”
“Because of the gambling! He has gambling debts, I’m sure of it. That’s why he had a private line to the bookies. He must have an insurance policy on Harley and he plans to cash it in.”
“Okay. Did Harley tell you she felt she was in danger?”
“No. Because she doesn’t know she’s in danger!”
Ethan was quiet for a moment, while he thought. I could see he was thinking about everything I’d said, but wasn’t convinced I was right.
“But Edward has a life insurance policy on Harley?”
“I... guess so.”
“But you don’t know that for a fact?”
I shook my head. I didn’t, but didn’t all married couples have life insurance policies? I hadn’t yet reached that stage of my life, but it was an impression I’d certainly got from people I’d known.
“But it’s also the perfect motivation for killing Felicity. I know she spoke to Edward the night she died. She must have found out about the plot to kill Harley—her job was to investigate people—and that’s why Edward killed her. Do you see? He’s copied two of his plots and mashed them together!”
Ethan leaned back on the sofa, causing the leather to creak. “I agree—the motives certainly fit. If Felicity did discover such a plot, Edward would have every reason to want to kill her.”
I nodded along, waiting for the but. I didn’t have to wait long.
“But apart from him possibly having a gambling debt, there’s no evidence at all. Your thinking is good, but perhaps you got a little carried away? Edward certainly didn’t push her overboard tonight.”
“What about that pool boy? He was following me! I think he and Edward and the bookie in Vegas are all in cahoots.”
Ethan sucked in a breath before he spoke again. Now it was his turn to look embarrassed.
“I have a confession.”
He had a confession? I couldn’t imagine what it would be about.
“Yes?”
“I asked Shaun Anderson to watch you. After that call from the bookies, I was worried about you, Adrienne. I know we’re at sea, and the chances of him being able to do anything out here are slim, but there’s also the fact we still have a murderer at large too. I didn’t think it would do any harm to get you a little protection.”
“You asked him to follow me? Why didn’t you tell me?”
I wished I had Sam or Cece to consult with about this revelation. I wasn’t sure whether to be outraged or flattered by the fact he had hired a pool boy to keep watch on me.
“I didn’t want to worry you. I thought you might think me overprotective. But I am protective. It’s just t
he way I’m built. I didn’t want to worry you, so I asked him to be subtle about it. I guess Shaun doesn’t do subtle.”
I shook my head. “I guess not. It was because he was following me that I got really spooked. And then Harley screamed... I messed up.”
“Sounds like I share a portion of the blame then, too. I shouldn’t have asked Shaun to watch you without telling you. I’m sorry I did that. I really am.”
We both sat silently, reflecting on our mistakes. Did I have it completely wrong about Edward and Harley? Or did I just have the timing wrong? Edward would be on guard now though, even if he had planned on throwing Harley overboard, he wouldn’t be able to do it this trip. Perhaps I’d already saved her life, I thought to myself generously.
Ethan finally broke the silence.
“Are we still on for dinner?”
“Yeah. I think so. Speaking of which... I’m supposed to be in the diner!”
He shook his head with a laugh.
“We’re working you too hard, Adrienne. Good luck in the diner. I’ll call you later.”
I stood up and gave him a little wave. What a day it had been. And it wasn’t over yet.
Chapter 21
Hurrying over to the diner, I reflected on the fact that I still hadn’t got around to checking it. Greg had told me it looked great, so I was sure it was fine, but I still felt a bit guilty, a little neglectful in my duties.
But then I hadn’t had time.
This cruise had been non-stop and I kind of missed the ‘old days,’ as I thought of my first two cruises, where my only task had been to wander around the ship looking for people having a lovely time and take pictures of it all and post them online.
Maybe I should push for that job back, instead of going for the cruise director position.
When I got to the conference suite, I was pleased to hear Sam’s loud voice coming out of the lounge. She was addressing our crowd of amateur detectives and clearly had everything under control. Technically she was doing my job, but I needed all the help I could get at the moment.
When I entered the diner, I slipped in as quietly and unobtrusively as I could. I didn’t want everyone looking at me. No doubt everyone had heard that it was me that pulled the fire alarm, and now the rumors would be swirling. I wondered what the current story was that people were running with. Was it that I had been hallucinating? That I’d lost my mind? That someone had been pushed overboard but no one knew who it was?
I was greeted by a waft of some delicious smelling cooking. Greg and the catering team were supposed to provide a meal for the guests during this scene and it was clear they’d whipped up something scrumptious. The aroma was of a meat and tomato sauce that reminded me of my grandma’s bolognese, but a little heavier on the spices. They were hearty, comforting scents and I was pretty sure I could detect coriander, cumin, and nutmeg underneath the dominant tomato and meat.
It didn’t just remind me of my grandma though; there was another memory too. A nagging one, at the back of my mind. I felt like I’d smelled this exact sauce before but couldn’t quite put my finger on when.
Grandma hadn’t made it.
It didn’t smell like any of the swill they served up at college.
But still, the memory of it hovered just out of reach.
I slipped into one of the diner booths near the door. It had maroon vinyl seating and a large plastic covered table in the middle with a checkered red and white tablecloth. On the right-hand side of the booth, attached to the wall, was an old mini-jukebox designed to play music for just this booth.
Above the jukebox was a poster.
I stared at it.
It was the one Greg had told me about. A young, carefree couple in a red convertible driving through a desert in the Southwest. In the background was a blazing red sun, numerous cacti and a road so long and empty it positively screamed freedom.
It was a great poster.
One I knew I’d seen it before.
A year ago, on a road trip, I had stopped in a diner. It wasn’t a happy memory though. Shortly after I’d had one of the worst experiences of my life: a kidnapping.
But the diner I’d stopped in then reminded me uncannily of this room. The poster was exactly the same as the one that I’d stared at then. It was barely more than a year ago, but it felt like a lifetime. I’d been a different person then. Younger, more innocent, more trusting of the world.
Until the incident.
Suppressing a shudder, I looked around the rest of the room. At the front was a fake counter with barstools in front of it, and behind the counter was Greg. My mouth dropped open. Greg had his costume on all right, but there was one part I couldn’t stop staring at.
His hat.
He was wearing an oversized white paper hat, almost double the height of a normal chef’s hat. I’d only ever seen one like it once before. And that was in the same diner as the poster, and just before I was...
I squeezed my hands into fists, staring around the room, looking for a sign that someone was just messing with me. A practical joke that was neither practical (it took a lot of effort to prepare a room like this nor a joke, certainly not from my perspective. It was a reminder of what had happened. Or a threat.
It could happen again.
Finally, Sam stopped her speech, and the guests began to talk among themselves as they inspected their clue cards and the room. I realized I hadn’t heard a word my friend had said to the assembled guests, so focused had I been on the set that had been created here and my memories.
“Dinner’s ready!” shouted Greg from behind the counter.
This evening the guests had the chance to enjoy a special meal in here. Of course they would still be able to go to the International Buffet, or one of the other ship-board restaurants if they wanted to, but the idea was to have a fun communal dinner.
Apart from the booths, the center of the room was filled with a long trestle table with seats for two dozen guests, along with booths and the counter at the front of the room too.
“What is it?” shouted a cheerful sounding man. The whole room was in fact gently buzzing with happy conversation.
Greg grinned out at his audience and puffed up his chest before he spoke, a look of pride on his face.
“This is the finest, the best, the most delicious and enticing—”
“Get on with it!” shouted a woman, drawing a round of laughter.
“Okay, okay,” said Greg. “This is the most fantastic Cincinnati chili in the entire Gulf of Mexico!”
There were appropriate oohs and aah from the audience. But not from me.
Cincinnati chili? It couldn’t be a coincidence. It just couldn’t. That was the exact same dish that had been the ‘meal of the day’ in that diner one year past.
Who would even have thought of such a thing? Mexican chili or Tex-Mex chili, sure. But Cincinnati chili? On a ship out of New Orleans, with a Mexican theme?
It didn’t make any sense. Unless there was a reason for it.
Cincinnati chili wasn’t even chili, not really. It was served over spaghetti noodles for goodness sake!
I needed to talk to someone. Something was going on and it was getting out of hand.
I stared over at Greg, who had now placed a giant vat of the Cincinnati chili up on the counter, and next to it a big container of noodles. Alongside, there was a big container of grated cheese, as well as one full of onions and another with beans.
I was breathing fast. The air in the ‘diner’ was stifling. I couldn’t get enough oxygen.
The guests seemed to get noisier and noisier, laughing and joking with each other. Greg’s ladle on the side of the chili pot banged far too loud as he dished out food.
Everyone was moving too fast. Talking too loud. The room was too hot. The boat seemed to be rocking more than usual; it was making me queasy and my head spin.
I couldn’t focus on anything.
I couldn’t breathe.
On the bench-seat opposite me, on the other
side of the booth, was a newspaper. I stared at it, trying to steady my vision. There was something wrong with the newspaper. I could feel cold sweat beading on my forehead as I leaned over to pick it up. I had to see it. I had to look at it.
I dropped the paper onto the booth table and I felt like I still wasn’t getting enough air. I was panting now.
I looked at the newspaper, focusing on the headlines. The front page was about politics. Local politics. Not local to New Orleans, or the Gulf of Mexico. Local to Arizona. I shook my head. How’d that get here? Then I saw the date.
That newspaper wasn’t from today.
Breathe, Adrienne. Breathe. You’re not getting enough air. Breathe faster.
It was from last year. When I’d been in that diner, in New Mexico. That didn’t make any sense. It couldn’t be here. It just couldn’t.
I panted faster, trying to get enough oxygen. I went to stand up. I needed help. I wanted to call over to Sam but I didn’t have enough breath, I couldn’t. My left arm began to feel numb.
Leaning on the plastic booth table, I took a step forward, and then my legs gave out and I fell over.
Poisoned! I’d been poisoned!
Someone noticed me fall and gasped, but I couldn’t see who it was. My peripheral vision seemed to fade and all I could focus on was the poster above me, of the car driving through the open roads of the Southwest. It stared down at me, mocking. All I could do was breathe, and breathe, and breathe.
“Adrienne! Addy!”
Someone squeezed my shoulder, and then a moment later they had hands under my arms, lifting me up. I couldn’t focus on anything. My legs and arms were numb now.
“Help me get her out of here,” said that same someone.
Still breathing fast, I was dragged out of the diner to the lounge next door, and unceremoniously dumped into an armchair. They didn’t seem to notice I’d been poisoned.
“I… can’t… breathe…” I said between pants. “Poison…”
“Yes, you can. You are breathing. You’re not poisoned.”
“I... can’t feel... my legs. I’m… poisoned…”
“Adrienne!” There was a stinging slap across my cheeks and I immediately felt outraged. But I couldn’t do anything about it. I was poisoned—now I was being slapped.
Cruise Chaos Page 14