Ryan hunkered down against the seat back, crossing his arms and lowering his voice. “Okay, so like, a bunch of people have died on board this boat. It’s practically cursed, man. But supposably a man who committed suicide back in the eighties was staying in room thirteen.”
“You just said ‘supposably.’”
“Yeah, because nobody knows for sure. We can’t find any hard records about it, because of maritime law, or something.”
Leo pinched the bridge of his nose and rubbed it like it hurt him. “That is definitely not the reason you can’t find records.”
Defensively, Ryan said, “Look, man—we’ve got records on nine different ghosts. We’ve already reached two or three of them with our equipment, and there must be at least a dozen more on board. Just because we don’t have all the details on this one suicide, that doesn’t mean he isn’t there.”
“Your logic is flawless.”
“I’m pretty good at logic.”
“Oh, for fuck’s sake.…”
“Leo, stop it. Now, Ryan, do you know the name of the man who died in our suite?”
“It’s Ted. Or Fred. Or maybe Alexander.”
“You’re covering quite a spread there, kid.” Leo looked around for the waiter and didn’t see him.
“The art of investigation is a little imprecise, sometimes. As you well know, sir. Unless you’re new to investigating…”
“Listen here, you—”
“Leo.”
The waiter hovered into his peripheral vision, a tray full of food balanced on one hand and a pitcher of water in the other. Leo focused on the food. He took a deep breath and let it out slow. “I was a cop in New York for longer than you’ve been alive. Now I’m retired from that, and I do this, instead.”
“We do this.” Wanda beamed.
“We do this.” He collected his roll of silverware from the napkin and dropped the cloth into his lap. “Now, if you’ll excuse us, I believe our breakfast is arriving.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. Ryan, honey—have you eaten yet?”
“No, ma’am, I was just going to hit the breakfast bar.”
“Of course you were. Enjoy your salmonella, kid.”
Ryan frowned. “I don’t think there’s any fish on the bar. Not for breakfast.”
Wanda smushed her lips together. She collected herself and said, “Go on and make yourself a plate, then pull up a seat. We’d love to have you join us.”
“Thank you, ma’am—if it’s all right with you, sir,” he said, but did not wait for confirmation. “I’d love the opportunity to learn from your experience.” Then he darted off for the bar, Wanda’s eyes on his backside all the way.
The waiter delivered the food, and while he was there, he offered to refresh the coffee and mimosas. Leo added a boilermaker to his order, because screw it. It was that kind of day already. “Why,” he half asked, half accused. “Why would you do that.”
“Oh, come on. Give him a break. He’s sweet.”
“This is our honeymoon, and he’s young enough to be your…”
“Watch it, dear.”
“… your son. But only barely. Maybe … your prom baby.”
“Better.” She smiled.
“But he’s about as dumb as a garden gnome.”
“He could learn a lot from you.”
“That’s not why you invited him to breakfast.”
“No,” she agreed. “He’s easy on the eyes, and so damn eager. It’s adorable.”
“It’s shameful, you acting like this. On our honeymoon.”
“Our real honeymoon was two years ago—and it was the greatest week of my life, in the greatest city in the world…” she said dreamily. “But I’m not dead, and I can look. You look, all the time.”
“I do not.”
“What about that cruise director? Leggy blonde, with the Gone With the Wind accent?”
He shoveled a mouthful of omelet into his face to buy himself time. It didn’t buy him long enough. She still expected an answer. “Caitlyn somebody. Nice girl.”
“You flirted with her. Shamelessly. Speaking of shame.”
“I was trying to get us the upgrade, and it worked, didn’t it…?”
“That was very nice of her, to humor a dirty old man.”
“It was nice of you to go along with the story. You really sold it like a champ—just two happy newlyweds … who’d never been able to take a proper honeymoon … and it would sure mean the world to us if we could have that suite. You had her hook, line, and sinker. You’d have made one hell of a DEA agent. Or a grifter.”
“You think so?”
He nodded vigorously. “You’re great at everything you try, and you’re the love of my life, and I will remain faithful to you until my dying breath.”
“Good.” She leaned over and took one of his cheeks in hand, then lovingly kissed the other. “Now, be nice. He’s coming back.”
Leo mumbled something unintelligible, but he accepted the smooch—and then he accepted the boilermaker, which arrived right on cue.
Ryan dropped his plate onto the table and turned the chair around so it faced the right direction. He sat down and unrolled his silverware. “Thank you so much for being so cool about all this. Man, I hate to think if we’d had the right key … holy shit, man. I could be the newest ghost on board the Natchez!”
“The cruise ain’t over yet,” Leo muttered. Upon receipt of Wanda’s withering warning smirk, he added, “But … I’m glad no one was hurt.”
“Me too, man. Me too. This boat’s afterlife is getting pretty crowded.”
After a round or two of chitchat and enough breakfast (and booze) to wake everyone up, Ryan asked for a few specifics about their case. Leo had already told Wanda that this wasn’t a secret mission, and she was ready to share.
“There was a lounge singer named Misty Sighs,” she began, as if she was setting up an episode of Dateline.
“Her name was Amanda Simpson,” Leo corrected.
“Her stage name was Misty Sighs. She’d been on board for several months, singing backup for other acts—and she finally got a chance at the front microphone just six weeks ago. She was a big hit with the passengers, and she was terribly excited about the gig. She told her sister that this might be her big break.”
Ryan stopped eating and leaned forward on his elbows. “And then…?”
“And then, tragically, one morning she was found dead on the texas deck. It was wet, and she’d slipped. Hit her head. Open-and-shut case, except for the insurance company’s payout to her family.”
Leo explained, “They’re trying to decide how little they can get away with. If the fall was caused by the boat or somebody on it, then the family can sue for a bundle. If it was Misty’s own fault, it won’t do them any good to try … if anyone even wants to bother.”
“I thought you were on your honeymoon?”
Leo took a finishing gulp of his drink, then waved the glass in the direction of their waiter. One more, he signaled with a finger. “Second honeymoon.”
“Oh … got it.” He held his orange juice aloft. “Well, I say you should take as many honeymoons as you can get!”
Wanda held her second mimosa aloft and said, “I’ll toast to that!”
3.
After breakfast, Leo and Wanda got to work. Or Leo got to work, the moment he saw the cruise director, Caitlyn Beaumont. She was reading from a clipboard and checking her phone for messages. She fretted prettily and probably swore with asterisks as she texted somebody back. (She struck Leo as the kind of girl who didn’t put any vowels in her four-letter words, just in case the Good Lord was watching.)
The clipboard made a lousy texting platform, and she dropped it with a clatter.
Leo picked it up with a smile and handed it back.
She jumped, collected the clipboard, and tried not to look at his horns. He didn’t take it personally. Everybody tried not to look, and if she wanted to not look, she was welcome to. “Oh! Um, thank you.”
“Looks like you’re having a busy morning.” Wanda eyed the crates.
“Not the good kind, I’m afraid. Someone left this delivery on the deck, but I can’t find anyone to move it, or anyplace else to put it.” She sighed, tossed her hair prettily, and summoned her best professional Zen. “But that’s not important. What can I do for you two today? I hope the honeymoon suite is up to snuff.”
Leo assured her, “It’s perfect, just perfect. Except for the unexpected visitors this morning, but that was nothing we couldn’t handle.”
“Unexpected visitors?” She frowned, and her frown said that this was definitely a problem, and it definitely needed addressing. “Sir, are you being harassed? Is it because of … of…” She used her cell phone to gesture at the sides of his head.
Wanda sighed. “No, Ms. Beaumont. Nothing like that. Everyone has been very pleasant, and no one has pointed out that my dear husband has those enormous horns above his ears.”
“They’re not that big,” he insisted, not quite blushing beneath the light hue of his exposed forehead. He’d forgotten his hat. It was probably just a hint of sunburn.
“They’re a good size,” Wanda persisted. Then with a wicked grin, she added, “I like to grab ’em when I ride his face.”
Caitlyn’s face went the color of beets. “I’m sure … I mean…”
“Please forgive my wife—she thinks she’s funny. Listen,” he added as fast as he could. “We’re pulling together a file for the Misty Sighs case, and I wanted to ask you a couple of follow-up questions.”
“Oh. All right, I guess that would be … that’s fine.”
“Good, good.” He pulled out a notebook and a pen. He checked the last page of notes and dove right in. “We’ve got the facts from the insurance statement, but there were a few things they couldn’t tell us. For example, was Misty suffering from any medical conditions?”
“Not that I’m aware of.”
“Any recent injuries, fits, or seizures?”
“If she did, she didn’t tell anybody,” she said carefully.
Wanda wanted to take it in a different direction. She leaned forward and asked softly, conspiratorially: “Was there any tension between her and the other girls in the show?”
“Probably. She wasn’t the world’s most reliable coworker. Or employee.” Caitlyn rolled her eyes a little. “She was young and pretty, and as far as she knew, that was all she needed to get by. She had a bad habit of missing shifts, and a worse habit of doing a crappy job when she did show up. But she was popular with the guests, and she had a friend in one of the pilots. Kitty kept asking me to cut her slack.”
“Kitty?”
“Kitty Strobe. She’s a junior pilot. Kind of new here. I don’t know her very well … I don’t think anybody does—she’s not the outgoing type. But she got along good with Misty. She’s working a shift right now, but she’ll be out and about this evening. But um…” She twisted her lips like she had something distasteful to say.
“What is it?” he asked.
“Kitty’s kind of funny about … people like you.”
Leo barked a little laugh. “Don’t worry, I’m used to it.”
“I just hate the idea of anyone being rude.”
“He’s used to that, too.” Wanda cocked her head. “Miss Beaumont, did Misty have a boyfriend?”
“Um … I’m not sure if she—”
“Girlfriend?”
“No, I don’t mean it like that,” Caitlyn said. “Of course she got phone numbers and love notes, but I think she had something going on with Benny Criggs.”
A sturdy, middle-aged black woman was walking briskly past—but she paused and touched Leo on the arm. “I’m sorry, but are you asking about Misty?”
Caitlyn nodded and said, “These are the investigators from the insurance company. Mr. and Mrs. Storgman, this is JoHanna Potts. She’s our head clerk.”
She swung her head from side to side, like the whole thing was just a terrible goddamn shame. “I hope that family doesn’t come after us. It’s nobody’s fault. Just a freak accident, is all.”
Wanda nodded. “It certainly sounds like it. Did you know Misty?”
“I don’t often get to know the entertainers. They come and go, and I have other business to attend. But I did notice her. Mostly because of that boy, Benny Criggs. She wasn’t dating him.”
Caitlyn put her phone in a pocket and tucked the clipboard under her arm. “I thought they were an item.”
“Only in his dreams. He followed that girl around like a puppy.” JoHanna shook her head, and shook it hard. “It was weird.”
Wanda was visibly delighted by this hint of the sinister. “Where is he now?”
Caitlyn supplied, “I think he quit, the day Misty died.”
Leo nodded along to his notes and looked up again. “Miss Beaumont, I don’t suppose you have any contact information for this kid’s family, or a fixed address other than the boat?”
“He came here from Louisville, but I don’t know if he went back there. I’ll look up the address for you, if you’ll give me a little time. I think he had a roommate.”
“Take all the time you need, sweetheart.” Then to JoHanna he said, “Thank you, Ms. Potts. I’ll make a few phone calls and see if I can’t track him down.”
“You don’t think he had something to do with her death?”
“Nah, probably not. But it’s our job to be thorough.”
Wanda more or less agreed. “Assuming it was an accident … the more details we can fill in, the better. Thank you both so much for your time.” She flashed Caitlyn a thousand-watt smile and put her arm on Leo’s waist. “Come on, dear. Let’s go make those phone calls.”
Leo let her lead him away, but over his shoulder he said, “I’ll look you up again later, about that address. Or you could look me up. We’re in—”
“The honeymoon suite. Yes, sir, I remember.”
Within an hour, Caitlyn had slipped contact information for Benny Criggs under the door of room thirteen, where Wanda and Leo didn’t immediately notice it. They were too busy peeling off some of Wanda’s second-honeymoon lingerie and giggling like high schoolers.
“Again? Really? I didn’t see any blue pills in your luggage…”
“You’re the one who started this round. And who needs pills when you’re wearing that?” Something black and lacy shot across the room like a rubber band.
They found the slip of paper about thirty minutes later.
Wanda took a shower, and Leo sat around to make those phone calls at last. Before long, he learned that Benjamin Andrew Criggs had indeed gotten off the boat when Misty died. Last the roommate heard, he’d gotten a job in a bar, somewhere close to Vicksburg—a place called Lamar’s.
Leo thanked the former roommate and hung up. To Wanda he said, “It’s not too far off the river, so he might be close enough to ask in person.”
She emerged from the bathroom with her hair in a towel. “So he’s still nearby? That’s interesting.”
“Not really. If—for the sake of argument—he had anything to do with her death, he probably would’ve run farther.”
“One would think. But…” She gave Leo a few seconds to shut her down. When he didn’t, she kept going. “If it wasn’t an accident … he might stick around and watch, to see if there’s any suspicion.”
“Eh. I doubt it.”
“Can we look into him as a suspect?”
Leo closed his notebook and put his phone in his pocket. “We’ll check him out for a person of interest, as a matter of due diligence. But first, we’ll finish our insurance company homework. We still need to take some measurements and get some pictures.”
4.
All the photos, measurements, and report-taking were eventually squared away, so Leo and Wanda retreated to a pair of lounge chairs on the boiler deck. Wanda wore an oversized hat and idly read a paperback. Leo had one beer and started snoring.
Meanwhile, the sky went orange across the river
, fading to lavender from west to east. Most of the happy, lazy passengers on deck retreated to their rooms for a more formal nap than the one Leo enjoyed, or else they wandered into the Grand Saloon for some cooler air to go along with the evening meal.
Wanda wanted to join them. She nudged Leo awake with her book, then tweaked the newsboy cap he’d pulled down low across his eyes. “Wake up, sleepyhead.”
He didn’t raise his eyes or move the hat. “Why?”
“Because I’m getting hungry. Also, there’s a magic show inside. I’d like to see it.”
But Wanda’s timing was off. Supper service didn’t begin for another half hour, and the show would start another thirty minutes after that.
“Got any other ideas?” Leo asked her, thinking fondly of his Leo-shaped dent in the lounge chair.
Her eyes narrowed, and the corner of her mouth tipped up. “Well, over there—isn’t that Kitty Strobe?”
He squinted in the direction where she pointed. “Yeah, that’s her. Junior pilot, right?”
They’d looked her up in the staff book. She was a petite, intense-looking woman no older than Caitlyn. Her hair was light brown—almost ginger—and she wore dark sunglasses that were big enough to make her face look tiny. She strolled at a hasty pace along the boiler deck. She moved like a woman who had someplace to be, but that didn’t stop Leo from getting in her way.
“Excuse me, Miss Strobe?”
She did a double take and stopped. “I’m sorry, yes?” The corner of her nose rose in an understated—but quite revolted—sneer, lifting the edge of her lip as she eyed Leo’s horns. She stepped back as far away from him as she could, planting herself against the wall.
“Didn’t mean to startle you,” he said with a coolly apologetic bob of his head. He introduced himself and Wanda but didn’t try to shake the pilot’s hand. “We’re working on behalf of the Natchez’s insurance company, looking into the death of Misty Sighs.”
Her eyebrows lifted above the rim of the sunglasses. “Oh my. Yes. Misty … that was…” She hugged herself, tugging at the sweater she wore over a long-sleeved blouse. “Awful. It was just awful.”
Mississippi Roll_A Wild Cards Novel Page 16