Mystral Murder (Julie O'Hara Mystery Series)

by Hanson, Lee

  “If you don’t mind Mr. Garrett, we’d like to ask you a few questions about last night. Ms. O’Hara has already caught us up on some of her movements after dinner. Can you tell us where you went after the Captain’s Table?”

  “Sure. I went with everybody else to the Top Hat.”

  “And what time did you leave?”

  “I don’t know what time it was,” Joe said, looking at the floor.

  “Do you remember who you left with?”

  “No, damn it, I don’t. You know where I just came from. I don’t remember anything after going to the Top Hat.”

  “Where did you sleep last night, Mr. Garrett?”

  Julie interrupted; she didn’t like the way this interview was going.

  “He slept here, Officer Williams. I can testify to that.”

  “I’m afraid you can only place him here at five this morning, Ms. O’Hara. That’s when Miguel, your cabin steward, says you came back.”

  Joe turned to her, puzzled. “You weren’t here?”

  “I was angry,” said Julie. “I slept on a chaise by the spa. It doesn’t matter now.”

  “I’m afraid it does matter, Ms. O’Hara,” Clyde Williams said, looking at Julie with sympathy. “We have a three-hundred-sixty degree camera in the Top Hat. Mr. Garrett and Adrienne Paradis were the last guests to leave the club shortly after two o’clock and, as far as we know, that was the last time she was seen on this ship.

  “So my question, Mr. Garrett, is: What happened between two and five?”

  * * * * *

  CHAPTER 13

  A longer question and answer period with Clyde Williams, sans the muscle, followed in the Mystral’s security office. The parrying back and forth produced no results, and finally Williams got down to his real concern.

  “Mr. Garrett. We do not suspect you of foul play. We are aware that you, like Ms. O’Hara, only met Adrienne Paradis last night. We think that possibly there was an accident. If such is the case, it is unwise to attempt to cover it up. We know from the Top Hat video that both of you were feeling the physical effects of alcohol. The waiter said your conversation just before you left was disjointed and nonsensical.

  “We also feel that Ms. Paradis must have fallen overboard from the top deck, Deck 12, the same deck as the Top Hat club. Had the fall occurred on a lower deck, there is a much greater chance that it would have been caught on camera.

  “It’s not at all uncommon for passengers to stand at the ship’s railing and look at the moonlight after a night of drinking and dancing, Mr. Garrett. Is that what happened?”

  “Look, Officer Williams, I admit I was blotto last night. If anyone was in danger of accidentally falling overboard, it was me. But I honestly don’t recall being anywhere out on deck, with or without Adrienne Paradis. I might remember more in a day or two; I’ll certainly try. That poor woman; what are the chances of finding her?”

  The former military man sighed, releasing his previous idea of Joe’s involvement.

  “Call me Clyde. The odds aren’t good, Joe.”

  “You mentioned cameras, Clyde. How is it the ship has a three-hundred-sixty-degree camera in the Top Hat and none on the railings?”

  “We’ve got those in the public areas and on the lower decks. On top, we have panning cameras hanging from each bridge wing to survey our flanks, port and starboard. Her fall isn’t on the video from the wing-mounted cameras; they could have just missed her. It was also quite cloudy and dark.”

  Julie was pensive, looking at Clyde. Joe knew that look.

  “What? What are you thinking?”

  “A couple of things don’t add up. I got the impression that Adrienne was very familiar with this ship; that she’d been on this cruise before. Is that right?”

  “Yes, she sailed with us a number of times,” Williams said. “She certainly knew her way around the ship…but when one is drunk…”

  “That’s just it,” Julie said, “I’m trying to figure out how Adrienne got drunk. When the waiter at dinner attempted to refill her wineglass – it was the Cabernet, I believe – she put her hand over the top of her glass and shook her head. I’m not sure that she even finished that first glass. She acted like she didn’t like it.

  “When we got to the Top Hat everybody ordered a drink, but Adrienne was more interested in dancing. She did end up with one cocktail while I was there. But then she left.

  “I was surprised to hear that she came back. Did she drink more then?”

  “No, we don’t think so. She only charged one drink, a Margarita. But keep in mind, Adrienne Paradis was a small woman.”

  “There is another possibility,” Joe said.

  “A rufie,” Julie said.

  “What?” Williams asked.

  “Rohypnol,” Julie said. “The date rape drug. Or scopolamine; it could easily be scopolamine, since it’s prescribed in small doses for seasickness. They must stock it in the Medical Center. Did you say the bartender in the Top Hat overheard ‘disjointed’ conversation between Joe and Adrienne?”

  Clyde Williams was leaning forward now, looking at Julie and Joe with new regard.

  “Yes. Gabe Rossi. He said they were talking ‘ragtime’. I asked him what he meant by that, and he said they were drunk and they weren’t making sense. I see what you mean. While Joe could have gotten to that state on a whole day’s worth of drinking, you don’t think Adrienne Paradis could have gotten there on two drinks or less.”

  “It’s hard to imagine, but you made a valid point. She was a small person.’

  “Listen,” Joe said thoughtfully. “I’m a private investigator and Julie is a body language expert. Why not let us help with the investigation, at least for the next few days?”

  Julie nodded. “That’s a good idea, Clyde. Joe and I barely knew Adrienne. We had nothing to do with her disappearance, and we have a social connection with all the people surrounding her last night who might actually have had a motive to see her gone.”

  “I sure wouldn’t mind narrowing the field,” Williams said.

  * * * * *

  CHAPTER 14

  The full-length mirror on the bathroom door was too fogged with steam to see and needed to be wiped with a towel. It seemed like someone else standing there, looking back…

  I wasn’t going to kill her, you know, but a person can only take so much.

  It was her fault. She brought it on herself. Some people think they can do whatever they want to other people, but she went too far.

  I’m not worried about Julie O’Hara. She couldn’t have seen me; it was pitch black out there and I stayed in the shadows. I think I handled the Security officers well, too. When they came asking questions, I shook my head and looked sad.

  I’m glad she’s gone; she was a bitch.

  Careful, don’t think like that; it will show! You can get through this if you pretend it never happened. Pretend that someone else did it. Say it!

  “It was someone else… someone else…”

  * * * * *

  CHAPTER 15

  The Mystral departed beautiful Port Charlotte Amalie in St. Thomas promptly at seven that evening. At eight, there was a public statement on the ship’s intercom:

  “ATTENTION. This is your Captain, Andrew Collier, speaking. I have an important announcement: This morning a thirty-eight year old American citizen, Adrienne Paradis-Simpson, was reported missing by her husband. When this passenger failed to meet her scheduled St. Thomas tour group, our crew and our security staff proceeded to conduct a thorough search of the ship. I’m sorry to report that we have been unable to locate this guest.

  “Adrienne Paradis-Simpson was last seen in the early hours of this morning, did not return to her cabin and is officially declared to be missing. In the case of a probable MOB, or man-overboard, there are established procedures. First, marine regulations and protocol require that the United States Coast Guard and law enforcement authorities be contacted. That has been done. Second, the Mystral is cooperating in a full-scale searc
h and rescue effort by modifying our itinerary and retracing our route.

  “We apologize for having to cancel our scheduled port of Philipsburg, St. Maarten, but time is of the essence and the extra day at sea will allow us to search the transit area through the night and tomorrow. There will be extra lights during the night and we will be deploying our search and rescue craft.

  “Please be assured that the crew is at your service and all on-board activities will still be available for your enjoyment. We will arrive, as scheduled, in Port Canaveral, Florida, at six o’clock Saturday morning. Thank you and good evening.”

  ***

  Throughout the night, whether it was in the casino, the lounges, the theatre, or anywhere else people gathered, the conversation was predictable:

  “Didn’t I tell you a woman jumped? She must have been very depressed.”

  “I heard she owned an international travel agency. She was rich. What did she have to be depressed about?”

  Some passengers thought it must have been an accident:

  “It was really wet on the deck last night, did you notice? I think she probably slipped and went over.”

  “You’re right. I bet she did slip. Someone said she was drunk, too.”

  And then there were those who always thought the worst:

  “You wait and see. Someone pushed her. Was she married?”

  “Yeah, a young guy, a ball player.”

  “He did it. Wait and see. It’s always the husband.”

  ***

  At midnight, Joe was standing on their balcony. Like so many other passengers on the Mystral, he was captured by the drama of the search swirling around the ship. With admirable efficiency, the life-jacketed crew had dropped flame floats and beacons. Rescue boats had been launched from port and starboard, with at least one crew member in a full immersion suit. A US Coast Guard MH-60 helicopter circled above, its powerful searchlights scanning the water.

  Joe stepped back in. “Julie, come look at this.”

  She went out with him and they stood at the rail. “Can you believe this?” he asked. “A gigantic ship and four-thousand people, all stopped to search for one person?”

  But Julie wasn’t impressed, she was frightened. The trolling searchlight spotlighted a shark fin here and there, and was immediately devoured by darkness. No matter how she tried not to focus on that, there was a blackness out there that swallowed everything beyond the Mystral. Her latent fear of the sea came roaring back and Julie backed away from the railing, which suddenly seemed like the edge of a cliff.

  For a moment, it had felt like Adrienne was standing there with her.

  “I’m going to bed.” Julie shivered and quickly ducked inside.

  * * * * *

  CHAPTER 16

  Adrienne was no longer in a physical body, but was an amorphous presence in a void where infinite dots of light were coalescing and taking shape. The shapes were coming and going, evolving in a way that Adrienne found intensely desirable.

  Oh, how she wanted to go with them! She was composed of the same dots of light…but unlike the others, she was not changing and moving on.

  She was paused as “Adrienne”, a person who had been pushed out of her life too soon, abandoned like a small child at a stopover on a highway. She had not matured…her relationships hadn’t reconciled…and her death was unjustified. Worse, she found herself tied to the place of her untimely death.

  But fate had provided a surrogate who could help her. Adrienne’s last powerful, random thought had reached Julie O’Hara, who was nearby in a receptive, hypnotic state. Julie had felt Adrienne’s terror, had viscerally connected with her at that moment.

  Adrienne could move freely above the ship or within it, but not away from it…and she did that, watching all that went on, particularly her surrogate…who had the power to set her back on her path.

  For now, she would wait…in a cocoon with a ship named Mystral.

  * * * * *

  W E D N E S D A Y

  ~

  CHAPTER 17

  It was nine-thirty in the morning, and Julie and Joe had gotten breakfast trays in the Horizons cafeteria and taken them outside to one of the empty tables near the pool bar, which didn’t open until eleven. The summer sky was a clear powder-blue and a freshening salt-sea breeze ruffled the umbrella over their table. Julie tilted her face up to the sun. She closed her eyes, took a deep breath and smiled. Their paper napkins began to lift in the breeze and Joe gulped down his orange juice and set the empty glass on the napkins.

  Their ship was cruising toward its home port - Port Canaveral, Florida - but very slowly. As usual, the Mystral’s stabilizers kept the giant liner on an even keel, though a US Coast Guard cutter on the port side could be seen riding fairly large swells. The ship’s own rescue craft were still combing the route as well, despite scuttlebutt that there was “zero chance of finding the MOB” at this point in the search.

  Julie and Joe had been talking about home. They shared office space in Joe’s refurbished family home on Lake Eola, in Downtown Orlando, and they had spent the prior hour on their cell phones, checking in with their respective secretaries. Julie was especially concerned about her cat, Sol, an oversized Bengal who couldn’t be let out because he scared the neighbors, who invariably thought Sol was an escapee from a zoo. Julie’s secretary, Luz Romero, was staying at Julie’s lakefront condo, looking after him.

  “So how’s Sol?” Joe asked.

  “Aside from tossing around my pens and pencils on a daily basis, he’s fine.”

  Julie kept them in a plastic mug on her living room desk.

  “Merlin. The cat does that all the time. Why don’t you just put them in a drawer? Then you wouldn’t have to play pick-up-sticks every time you come home.”

  “It keeps him busy. Can you imagine what he might get into otherwise? I have to pick my battles with him,” Julie said. “Did you talk to Janet?”

  Janet Hawkins was Joe’s investigative secretary.

  “Yeah, I did. I asked her to get me as much info as possible on Michelle Sinclair. But what’s your interest in the doctor?”

  “I don’t know, call it a hunch. I couldn’t help studying her; there’s an underlying, unreadable quality about Michelle Sinclair. She told Alice Kent she was from a small town in Maine. I think she said ‘Heraville’. She looks as if she might be French, that’s why I suggested Janet check out northern Maine near the Canadian border. We can chat up the Byrnes and Dale Simpson, but Dr. Sinclair is another matter. My gut tells me she had a problem with Adrienne. Also, I think she’s involved with Captain Collier. When he turned toward her, I caught him preening a bit, straightening his cuffs. She tilted her head away from him, too.”

  “I get the cuff straightening. But she tilted away from him?”

  “It was unconsciously sexual; she was exposing her neck to him. It’s more obvious when a woman swings her hair over.”

  “Ah, yes.”

  “Don’t get me wrong, neither of them was doing anything obvious. At first, I assumed it was just subtle flirting, but they were sitting a shade too close throughout the meal. Everyone has a personal zone reserved just for loved ones, you know? That’s what I’m talking about. When someone ‘crowds’ you, when you feel like that, it’s because someone is violating that private space. In my opinion, Michelle Sinclair was inside Andrew Collier’s personal zone. As I said, nothing about it was obvious. I don’t think passengers on a short cruise would pick up on it, but crew members might.

  “And that means a frequent cruiser like Adrienne might have, too. What do you think the cruise line’s policy is on a relationship like that? Could that have been a problem?”

  “Good thought, Merlin. I’ll call Janet. HCL must publish employment policies.”

  “I know Michelle had an intense dislike for Adrienne, Joe. Her expression changed the moment Captain Collier introduced Adrienne to the other diners, and even more so when Adrienne stood up to pitch herself and her agency. Of course, everyone t
hought that was presumptuous. Nobody else stood up when they were introduced, not even moi.”

  Joe laughed. “Right. If anyone should have taken a bow, it was you.”

  Julie grinned. “No, I’m serious. When Adrienne stood up, Michelle Sinclair turned and pulled her head back a bit; she also looked down her nose. They were barely noticeable, micro-expressions, but you know how I’m always examining everyone. I don’t think anyone else noticed it.”

  “Bien sur,” Joe said, “of course, my all-knowing-one.”

  “Touché. If I’m so smart, how come we’re not in Paris?”

  ***

  The ship’s Medical Center had just opened its doors to the patients waiting outside. Doctors and nurses alike groaned as the crowd, sniffling and coughing, played musical chairs in the tiny waiting room, an inconsiderate display that left a woman standing with a cast on her leg.

  “Here, please sit down,” Michelle said, pulling a chair from behind the reception desk. “How are you feeling today?”

  “I’m doing okay, Dr. Sinclair,” the older woman said, “but I need some more of that medicine. My ankle’s hurting.”

  “I’ll get that for you right now. Did you bring the prescription?”

  The woman handed her the script and Michelle headed into the pharmacy to get the medicine.

  She was humming as she searched through the shelves. Dion Jimenez - a newly hired young doctor on his first cruise - was ogling her bare legs in her trademark white sling-back heels, when she suddenly turned around and caught him. “Yes, Dr. Jimenez? Are you looking for something?”

  “Oh, no. Sorry. I heard you humming…just wondering why you sound so happy this morning? Seeing how busy we are and all.”

  Michelle grabbed the package of medicine and said, “The day goes by faster when you’re busy, don’t you think?”