Mystral Murder (Julie O'Hara Mystery Series)

by Hanson, Lee

  “But it feels like the ship is level.”

  “It’s not. The rolling is limited by the ship’s size and its stabilizers, plus we’ve got our ‘sea legs’…we’re used to it, so it seems like we’re not moving.”

  Joe stood up. “C’mon, let’s go give it a try!”

  After a few minutes in the pitching and swirling water, they climbed out, exhausted and counting themselves lucky that neither of them had been slammed into the sides of the pool.

  “No wonder nobody was in there!” Julie said, drying her hair with a towel.

  An older, gray-haired couple laughed heartily and called out to them. “We were wondering if anyone would be brave enough to go in the water!”

  “They should cover it up,” Julie called back. “Someone’s liable to get hurt and sue them.”

  With that they laughed even harder.

  “Are you kidding?” the man said. “I guess you didn’t read the fine print. We signed away all our rights when we got on this ship. They’re not liable for anything.”

  “That’s right,” the woman said. “I fell and broke my left wrist on the first day of a Mediterranean cruise. It was totally the ship’s fault; it was a dark and slippery interior gangway. They ruined my vacation! I wanted to sue them, but no attorney would touch it.”

  The couple was getting up, preparing to leave. The woman held up her left hand. “See? I still can’t close this hand; never will be able to, they say.”

  “Oh, I’m sorry,” Julie said. “But you’ve forgiven them?”

  “Oh, we do love cruising…all the wonderful food and being waited on, hand and foot. You just have to make sure you have plenty of insurance…and be careful!”

  “Well, thanks for the advice,” Julie called out to them, waving goodbye.

  She turned back to Joe.

  “These cruise ships remind me of something I read - I can’t remember where it was - something about ‘those who don’t have the law are a law unto themselves’.”

  Just then she saw Valerie Gilman passing by the pool bar, clipboard in hand. She was about five-two, tan with short, curly blonde hair and blue eyes.

  “Val! Wait up!” Julie called, wrapping her towel around her waist.

  “I’m glad I caught you. Will my interview be rescheduled for tomorrow?”

  “Oh, gee. I’m sorry, Julie, but, um, no. It was a space issue and, um…”

  Julie cocked her head and stared at her. Val was a bad liar and both of them knew it.

  Val frowned and sighed. “Oh, you know what the problem is, Julie. The Conde Nast article was supposed to be good PR for the Mystral, for cruising, in general. They can’t let it go forward now. I’m really sorry.”

  Julie put her hand on Val’s arm. “Don’t worry about it. I really don’t mind at all.”

  Val brightened right away. “Oh, I’m so glad! I’m a fan, you know.”

  “Yes. Your husband told me you bought my book. Listen, I’d like to talk to you about something. Are you busy now?”

  “I am,” she said, holding out the clipboard. “I’m hosting Bingo, from two to four o’clock in the Caribe Theatre.”

  “How about I meet you there at four?”

  “Okay. Sure, I’ll see you then.”

  “See you then,” Julie said, turning back to Joe.

  “How’d it go?” he asked. “Did the guilt-trip work?”

  “Like a charm...”

  * * * * *

  CHAPTER 29

  Joe stood at a wooden dais in the front of the room, grateful for something to stand behind and lean on. No matter how many times he would say this, it was always uncomfortable.

  “Hi. I’m Joe, and I’m an alcoholic.”

  “Hi, Joe!” Twenty people in Conference Room A acknowledged him.

  Five of the AA members were women and the rest were men. Tom, the big, uniformed crew member who led the group, presided from the back row on the right.

  Joe, as a private investigator, was scanning everyone at this meeting with a new eye. Most of them seemed to be passengers, but he noted that two of the men - back row on the left - wore the Mystral’s tan uniform pants and shoes, albeit with non-uniform shirts. They were strong-looking guys with weathered faces, taller than the many Filipino waiters and cabin stewards. He made another quick guess: Skilled seamen.

  Tom, apparently noticing Joe’s pause, gave him an encouraging nod from the back row. All the same, Joe appreciated it. It was never easy to bare your soul to strangers, and it was no easier this time. Like every addict, Joe had never believed other people when they suggested he was an alcoholic. It never hit home until he said it himself.

  “I started drinking in High School and by the time I got to college it was a daily thing. But I kind of kept it in control, you know? My roommate, Sherman, and I were football heroes. We went to a state university and it was one big party.” Joe shrugged. “Beats me how I graduated!”

  Everyone smiled and laughed at that.

  “Sherman and I had hopes of joining the FBI. Sherman made it, but I didn’t. Of course, that made me feel worse, so I drank some more and eventually, I was such a mess I ended up in rehab…twice.

  “My Dad’s the one who came to my rescue. He’d been in the Navy, and he thought military life would straighten me out. So, as soon as I got out of rehab the second time, I enlisted. And you know what? It worked. I never drank while I was at sea, and I never touched a drop for another sixteen years. Not until three days ago.”

  Joe looked down and swallowed. He felt like he was back to square one.

  “I got stinking drunk three days ago, my first day on the Mystral, and my first day on a cruise ship.” He laughed, a short, disgusted laugh, devoid of mirth. “I’m at sea again, but what a difference! In the Navy, everything was in order, controlled, you know? But here…it seemed like everyone was having a party…I saw that and I wanted to party, too.”

  One of the crewmen made strong eye contact with Joe and nodded.

  “Anyway, with God’s help and AA, I’m sober again, one day at a time. I just wanted to say thanks to Tom and everybody else here.”

  Everyone clapped as Joe took a seat, an outside one next to the balding seaman.

  “I know how you feel, mate. I have to look at it every day,” he whispered.

  “You work on the ship?” Joe whispered back.

  “Yeah, I’m a mechanic. Name’s Al.”

  They shook hands and were quiet for the rest of the meeting, giving the speakers the support they deserved. When the meeting was over, they were walking down the corridor toward the elevator. “They ever do tours of the engine room, Al?”

  “They used to, not anymore.”

  “Damn! I would’ve liked that. Have you got time for a cup of coffee?”

  “Well, see…the thing is, Joe…they don’t exactly encourage the crew to mix with the passengers…except the officers, of course. Oh, what the hell, I’m off duty ‘til twenty-three hundred…eleven o’clock that is.”

  Joe grinned, amused at Al’s automatic use of military time. “Hey, you can take a guy out of the Navy, but you can’t take the Navy out of the guy.”

  “You said it, mate,” Al laughed. “There’s a coffee shop this end of the Promenade.”

  They got off on Deck 5, where the shops were bustling with Mystral shoppers. Joe followed him into a Starbucks; they ordered two coffees and took a seat in the rear of the store.

  “Would you rather take these outside where there are less people?” Joe asked.

  “Nah. This is the best place, no crew around here at all.”

  Joe looked over at the three baristas serving up coffee.

  “They ain’t crew, ain’t staff, either,” Al said. “They’re concessionaires. The shops, the Spa, the Photo Gallery, even the Medical Center, they don’t work for HCL.”

  “So how do you like working on a cruise ship?”

  Al took a sip of his coffee and smiled. “I like it. I’ve got a good cabin-mate; he’s an older guy, like
me. We go to the Crew Bar sometimes and hang out when the weather’s nice. I get to travel all over and the pay’s good.

  “Captain Collier runs a tight ship, and the engine room is bright and clean as a whistle. Mostly it’s light duty, too. Like tonight, I’m watch-keeper. I’ll do a ‘funnel to tunnel’ inspection, all the levels from the top of the ship to the bottom, checking for leaks or noises, anything that might get by the monitors. The only thing is, it’s bloody hot. ”

  Joe’s eyes widened. “No air conditioning?”

  “Nope. Hot as hell. The only place with AC is the control room; got to keep that cool on account of the computers and stuff.”

  “Whoa, I don’t envy you that part.”

  “Hey, between you and me, there are a lot worse jobs on cruise ships.”

  “You mean like the cabin stewards? It seems like they never sleep!”

  “Yeah, they work a lot of hours, even when we’re in port, but at least they get tips. The ones I feel sorry for are the ones who do all the cleaning and polishing, especially the galley workers. Peeling, cooking and dishwashing to all hours. Can you imagine working sixteen hours a day for months?”

  “You’re kidding.”

  “Nope. That’s the deal unless they’re sick, and then they don’t get hired again.”

  He looked around and lowered his voice. “Listen, they register these ships in places like Panama and Liberia where there ain’t many laws. They hire workers from third-world countries who barely speak English, put four in a cabin and pay ‘em a pittance.”

  “That’s terrible!”

  “Not if you’re in their shoes, it ain’t. It’s a lot worse where they live. At least here they get clean quarters, good food and a little money to send home. Nah, they’re grateful for the jobs. It’s the ones who mix with the passengers who get upset every once in a while. Like you said, Joe, sometimes they want to join the party. That’s why I’m happy to stay below.”

  Joe shook his head. “Some party, where a woman does a swan dive off the top deck.”

  “She didn’t do no swan dive, Joe.”

  Joe leaned in, “What do you mean?”

  “She had help.”

  * * * * *

  CHAPTER 30

  At four o’clock Julie was sitting way in the back of the crowd in the big Caribe Theatre. She’d looked up and noted that the balconies were empty, but that was hardly the case on the main floor. The comfortable seats, which sloped gradually downward toward the stage in a wide semicircle, were nearly all filled with folks who had come to play Bingo.

  It’s the weather, Julie thought, remembering the sprinkles of rain that had started around two-thirty when she and Joe left the pool area.

  Onstage, Val Gilman was calling out the last numbers of the game. An eager, young male assistant reached into a blower of spinning, numbered balls. With the wide-eyes and open-mouthed excitement of a mime, he retrieved one and handed it to Val.

  “Could this be it? Could this be our big winner today?” Val said, drawing out the suspense. The players hunched over their Bingo cards, the old hands playing several at a time spread out on small cocktail tables.

  Everyone was so silent and concentrated you could hear dust falling.

  “B - Sixteen!”

  “BINGO!” yelled a woman near the stage, waving her arms in the air.

  “And we have a winner right here!” Val said. “C’mon up!”

  Half of the passengers smiled and clapped, while the other half, disappointed, gathered their belongings and made their way up the aisles and out of the theatre.

  “I almost had that!” a heavy-set man said to his wife as he trudged up the aisle.

  “Ten cards. Ten effing cards,” she said. “That’s it, Frank. And I’m telling you, stay the hell out of the Casino.”

  Good luck with that, Julie thought.

  Val Gilman was squinting and looking up at Julie, so Julie waved at her. She smiled, waving back. A few minutes later, she came and sat next to her.

  “Hi! I hear it’s raining quite hard. Did you and Joe get caught in it?”

  “Hi. No, it just started when we left, about an hour and a half ago. Do you do this every day? The Bingo? They seem to love it.”

  “We have Bingo four days out of seven, but I’m not always here, thank God.”

  “I don’t know how you manage everything, with events and stage shows and auctions and all. I can’t imagine how you do it.”

  “With a lot of help! Let’s see,” she said, counting off on her fingers, “there’s the musical director and the choreographer, then there’re fitness, dance and golf instructors, counselors who handle activities for the kids, and then so many people who work under them. Onboard Entertainment is huge.”

  “Then you answer directly to Captain Collier?”

  “No. The hotman is my boss.” She saw Julie’s puzzled expression and added, “That’s short for the Hotel Manager, Bob Sanchez. Of course, he answers to the Captain. It’s easier to understand if you see the ship as having two main employee divisions: The officers and crew that physically run the vessel, and everybody else. The hotman runs everybody else. ”

  Even though she was sitting only one seat away from Julie, Val was so bubbly and expressive that she used her hands to illustrate one group on one side, and one on the other. This was the second occasion on which Julie had observed Val’s expansive gestures. Completely in sync with her speech, they confirmed two important things about the Cruise Director.

  The first was that Val Gilman was an excellent teacher and a persuasive person. From her corporate training days, Julie knew that employees who could mentally connect large gestures to spoken words were far more likely to retain and ‘buy into’ information. Conversely, because Val’s body language and speech were so naturally intertwined, it was tough for her to lie convincingly.

  “Val, in your position you must know everything that’s going on aboard the Mystral. What do you know about Adrienne Paradis?”

  Just as Julie thought, the direct question left Val speechless and blinking. Before she could cement her “no comment” thought by voicing it, Julie persevered.

  “Look, I know you can’t volunteer any information on this, Val. I don’t expect you to. I also know that you are a good person who wouldn’t want to see a woman’s death brushed aside like crumbs on a table, no matter what kind of a person she was. All I want to do is tell you what I already know. You can simply nod. If you do wish to tell me anything, I swear to keep it confidential.”

  When the Cruise Director said nothing, Julie took it as permission to continue.

  “I applaud the Captain, the crew and Security for their exhaustive search effort. But after the most cursory of internal investigations, they are declaring this a suicide. Val, you and I both know that Adrienne Paradis didn’t jump overboard. She wasn’t the type, not by a stretch. And I know from looking up the statistics, that falling from a cruise ship is a rarity, and more apt to happen from a private balcony.

  “Okay, so here’s what I know from observing Adrienne, and excuse me for being blunt, but my time to help with this travesty of an investigation is short. Adrienne was flirtatious, but she wasn’t ‘easy’. She confined her extramarital activities to one person…Gill Byrne.”

  No argument. Val looked down, looked back up and gave a slight nod.

  Yes! I knew it.

  “That makes him almost as suspect as her husband, don’t you agree?”

  Another nod.

  Julie looked away, pondering the situation, and then looked back.

  “Here’s something you may not know. I was with Adrienne most of that night, and I don’t think she was ‘drunk’.” Julie consciously mirrored Val’s expressive body language, using her hands to illustrate the quote marks.

  “At dinner, Adrienne put her hand over her wine glass - like this - when the waiter attempted to fill it. It was half-full, Val. Later, at the Top Hat, she ordered only one cocktail, a Margarita. So, how did she get so wasted?
Did you ever see her like that before?”

  Head shake.

  “So, the way I see it, someone slipped her rohypnol or scopolamine.”

  The Cruise Director was quiet, thoughtful.

  “Val, is there anything you can add to this?”

  “Perhaps,” she sighed. “I have to talk it over with my husband. You have to understand, Julie. There are people who can’t wait to take over any job on the Mystral, especially Paul’s or mine. We aren’t crew on this side; maritime law doesn’t protect us. You stay silent or get fired. That’s why most staff workers never complain about anything…ever.”

  “I understand; I promise to keep anything you tell me strictly confidential. I just need more information, Val. No one can solve a puzzle with half the pieces missing! We want to help, but Joe and I are running out of time. We’ll be back in Port Canaveral soon and everyone is going to get off this ship and any semblance of an investigation will be over. No one’s going to care what happened to that poor woman.”

  “You’re right.” She looked at her watch. “I’ll call you in an hour.”

  * * * * *

  CHAPTER 31

  Joe was waiting for her on the couch in their stateroom, his feet propped up on the coffee table; he was reading the Bulletin. Beyond him, rain pelted the glass balcony doors that separated them from the howling, gray seascape. Julie hurried past him and reached up to draw the drapes, to shut out the disturbing view.

  “Well, hello to you, too,” he said, tossing the Bulletin on the table. He got up and wrapped his arms around her and kissed her.

  “I’m sorry, honey. I can’t look at that; it’s scares the hell out of me.”

  “I know it does. Don’t worry. When it comes to rough weather, the big ships are the safest.”

  “That’s what they said about the Titanic.”

  “That was an iceberg. We’re not likely to hit one in the Caribbean,” he laughed.

  “Don’t laugh! There’re thousands of little islands in the Caribbean. The Costa Concordia hit an island off the coast of Italy.”