Peggy Dulle - Liza Wilcox 03 - Secrets at Sea

by Peggy Dulle

  He nodded and followed me. The handcuffs were no longer attached to the bed and the door between our suite and Carmelita’s was shut.

  I changed into black slacks and a red blouse, then sat on the bed.

  “You trust me to stay safe without you watching me?” I said, as Tom opened the bathroom door.

  Tom frowned. “Are you planning on taking off again?”

  “Maybe.” I crossed my arms over my chest.

  “I can borrow Brian’s cuffs again.” He smiled.

  “You just try it, Tom Owens,” I scowled.

  He chuckled and went into the bathroom. I took out the information Justin had sent me and went through it again. Maybe we had missed something. But there just wasn’t anything new in them.

  Tom came out a few minutes later. “I see you’re still here.”

  I shrugged.

  “Let’s not start this evening mad at each other, okay?” He sat on the bed next to me.

  “You promise never to allow anyone to cuff me to a bed again and I won’t go anywhere without telling you.”

  “I promise.” Tom stuck his hand out and I shook it.

  “Okay, let’s go and eat.”

  Jack and Emily didn’t show up for dinner so Tom and I had the table to ourselves.

  Kenneth, our server, handed me a menu and a note.

  “What’s this?” I asked.

  “A gentleman left it for you.”

  “The man who usually sits with us?” Tom asked.

  “No, an older gentleman. He said he was a friend and wouldn’t be able to join you this evening, as he intended.”

  I opened the note.

  Bobby,

  I need you to stop looking into Adam, Betsy, and Inga’s deaths. Just enjoy the cruise the way your mom and I used to every year.

  Love,

  Dad

  I set the note down and picked up the menu. I selected the Caesar salad, tomato bisque soup, and thick New York Steak smothered in marinated mushrooms, mashed potatoes, and carrots. Tom ordered some chicken thing, a green salad, and a fruit plate.

  When Kenneth left, I handed the note to Tom.

  He read the note and asked, “Are you okay?”

  “Sure.” I shrugged and took a sip of my Diet Coke.

  “You don’t think it’s really from your dad?”

  “No.” I shook my head. “My dad wouldn’t sign the note that way.”

  “No?”

  “He always signed his notes the same, whether it was to me, my mom, or a delivery boy.”

  “What did he say?”

  I smiled, remembering the many times my teachers had commented on my dad’s notes. “It always said, ‘Save the planet or die with it,’ and he wouldn’t have written Dad, he would have signed it William. My dad stopped letting me call him Dad when I was eighteen years old.”

  “Why?” Tom asked.

  “He said I was an adult and didn’t need a dad anymore. He’d rather be my friend.”

  “Everyone needs a dad,” Tom insisted.

  “Yeah, well, after I spent two years arguing with him, I finally gave up.”

  “Your dad sounds like a very interesting man.”

  “He was that.” I laughed.

  “I really don’t know much about him, Liza. Tell me about him.”

  Kenneth arrived with our salads. After he set them down and left, I continued, “He was a lawyer but hated it.”

  “Now, that I can understand. They stand in the way of justice most of the time.”

  “That was his take, too. He thought they got in the way of people doing the right thing.”

  “You’re talking about the environment?”

  “Yes. He felt if people just treated the earth like their houses, we wouldn’t need lawyers to argue the rights of companies versus those of animals and people. Nobody’s going to throw trash or pollute the air in their home.” I took a bite of my Caesar salad. It was quite good, not as fishy as some I’ve had before.

  “That’s not totally true; I’ve seen many houses that were worse than a toxic waste dump.”

  “My dad would agree, but he said it’s their right to pollute their own house, just not a house shared with other people.”

  “What about your mom?”

  “She was more fanatic than my dad. Mom used to say on a scale of one to ten in worrying about the planet, Dad was a ten and she was a twenty. We had six trashcans on the side of our house: one each for paper, plastic, cans, bottles, compost, and garbage.”

  “Recycling is always a good idea,” Tom said.

  “It was more than that. If I got a birthday card, Mom would leave it on the mantle for exactly two weeks and then she’d cut off the picture from the front and put it in a drawer. She’d use it again as the front cover for another card. The back she put in the scrap paper drawer and wrote lists and notes on it. Nothing in my house ever was new unless it came from the outside.”

  “Sounds like you’re not much of an environmentalist, Liza.”

  “You’d think I would be, but I love to throw cans into my garbage and buy new cards for every occasion.”

  “What about Jordon — is she like your parents or you?”

  We had to stop our conversation again when Kenneth arrived to take away our salads and give me my soup. This conversation would have been easier after dinner.

  When he left, I continued, “Jordan disappointed my parents, too. First she became an attorney, and second she decided to work for the District Attorney’s office rather than the defense. I’m not sure my parents ever fully accepted her career choice. They kept saying she’d grow out of it.”

  “They must have liked that you became a teacher, like your mom, right?”

  “Oh yeah, teachers are an acceptable choice, but,” I pointed to him, “they wouldn’t have liked you at all.”

  Tom pulled his head back and frowned. “Why not?”

  “You’re a cop. They never spoke highly of any law enforcement agency.”

  “Is that why every time you go to a new city, you assume the police are corrupt?” Tom asked, then took a bite of his fruit plate that Kenneth had slipped in front of him.

  I laughed. “Probably, but I’ve been right both times, so maybe my dad’s right.”

  “There is corruption everywhere and no police force is immune to it.”

  “Now you sound like my dad.”

  “No, just being realistic. When you make the kind of money I do, it’s easy to get tempted by a big payoff from someone. I’ve seen it happen. But we’re all not corruptible.” He smiled.

  I touched his arm. “I think my dad would have changed his opinion if he’d ever gotten the chance to meet you.”

  Tom smile broadened. “That’s big praise coming from the cop hater’s daughter.”

  “Oh, he didn’t hate them; he just thought they were all dishonest.”

  “Did he and your mom participate in environmental rallies?” Tom asked.

  “Every one of them. I held my first ‘Earth First’ sign when I was two. My dad would bundle us into his plane and fly us to the rally. We’d stay a few days with the locals and then fly home. I probably clocked over a million miles before I was ten years old.”

  “That’s a lot of rallies.”

  “Sometimes we’d go just for a meeting or a court session. Actually, I’ve probably spent more hours in a courtroom then you have, Tom.”

  “They always took you and your sister with them?”

  “Dad always did, especially since mom was working.”

  “Didn’t you miss a lot of school?”

  “Yes, we did. Several times the school districts sent letters to my parents complaining about the number of absences Jordan and I had. But my dad made us read everyday and keep up our studies, and he said that sometimes the school of life was better than sitting in a classroom.”

  “And your mom was okay with that?” Tom asked.

  “She agreed with Dad.” I swirled my soup around in my bowl, not feeling like eat
ing it. Talking about my parents was seriously affecting my appetite.

  “That surprises me. She was a teacher and didn’t see the value of a child being in school?”

  “My mom was conflicted.” I laughed. “So she always sent a huge stack of work for us to do while we were gone and later, when we were in high school, we had to write reports on what environmental issue was at stake, the issues, and the arguments from both sides.”

  “That’s more work than actually going to high school.”

  “It was. When I went to college, I stopped going with Dad and I was a little bored. It was so much less work than I was used to.”

  “You must have met some interesting people during your trips.”

  “Oh yes. Some people take their passion for the environment and turn it into an obsession.”

  “But not your parents?” Tom asked

  “No, they never took it to that stage. I remember one time we were at a rally in Parsonville, North Carolina where a company was dumping waste into a river. They’d paid off the EPA inspectors and got a clean report saying their waste wasn’t toxic. But the fish were still dying in the river.”

  “What happened?”

  “Several of the locals wanted to go and bomb the company.”

  Tom spit out the strawberry he’d just put in his mouth.

  “What?” I asked.

  “You say, ‘bomb the company’, like it’s an everyday sentence for you.”

  I shrugged. “The environmentalists were always threatening to blow something up, set it on fire, or otherwise destroy it. I heard that all the time during meetings and rallies. Some people just get frustrated with the system and want to take the issues into their own hands. I could certainly understand how the people felt — we’d see the fish, dead and floating in the water. We knew where the waste came from, but there wasn’t any way to stop them.”

  “Environmental terrorists are still terrorists,” Tom said.

  “The first revolutionaries who fought for this country were terrorists, Tom. Sometimes, somebody has to take a stand. And sometimes nobody listens without some noise.”

  Tom frowned. “And your parents? How did they feel about it?”

  “My parents were always the voice of reason during those meetings, especially my mom. She was all about fixing the problem legally, because she said if we stooped down that low we were wallowing in the mud with our opponents.”

  “And your dad?”

  “He listened to my mom.”

  Kenneth arrived with our main courses. My New York steak was covered in marinated mushrooms. Tom had ordered some chicken thing. It looked good but not as good as my choice.

  Tom smiled as I took my bite and sighed.

  “What?” I asked.

  “Did your parents eat meat?”

  “Oh, no.” I shook my head. “They were strict vegans.”

  “You, honey, you’re definitely a carnivore.”

  I chuckled. “I think it’s because I spent the first eighteen years of my life as a vegetarian. I had my first hamburger when I went away to college.”

  “Well, you’ve made up for it. I think I’ve seen you consume more meat than an average person does in a lifetime, just in the few short months I’ve known you.”

  “No way.” I shook my head, cutting another piece of steak. “I haven’t even begun to catch up.”

  We finished dinner and I ordered my chocolate melting cake. I fed it to myself; it wasn’t quite as good as having someone else do it, but it was still delicious.

  After dinner, Tom sang a few songs in the karaoke bar and we turned in. Tomorrow we’d be in Mazatlan and we were going on a shopping, lunch, and beach excursion.

  We were awakened several hours later by someone pounding and screaming at our door!

  “What the hell is that?” Tom shot up in bed.

  “Someone’s at the door.” I wrapped my bathrobe around me.

  Tom did the same and went to the door and opened it.

  Leslie Mitchell stood there. She was dressed in tan Capris, a black tank top, and tennis shoes. It was strange attire for two o’clock in the morning. Her face looked haggard, with puffy red eyes and tear-stained cheeks.

  “Carmelita said you can help me!” she said, as she fell into Tom’s arms.

  Chapter 28

  I helped Tom bring her into the room. We set her on the couch.

  “What’s the matter, Mrs. Mitchell?” I asked.

  She grabbed her face in her hands and sobbed.

  Tom sat down next to her and looked at me.

  “Leslie!” I shouted.

  She looked up.

  “What’s the matter?” I asked.

  “Melvin’s dead.”

  “What?” Tom and I said together.

  She nodded.

  Tom stood. “How did he die?”

  “We ate in a little café in Puerto Vallarta. We always eat there. It’s a tradition. We both order the fish tacos, but I ate fish for dinner last night and didn’t want it again for lunch. Melvin loves fish and he especially loves fish tacos.”

  “Okay, what happened?” Tom interrupted, trying to get her to the point.

  “He got terribly sick.”

  “In Puerto Vallarta?” I asked.

  She looked at me. “No, not until we got back to the ship. We called the ship’s doctor, but Melvin got worse and worse and finally lost consciousness. He stopped breathing.” She gasped and dropped her head to her hands.

  “Where’s his body?” Tom asked.

  “In the ship’s infirmary. They’re going to take it off in Mazatlan.” She looked up, wiping her eyes.

  “Why?” I asked.

  “We’re in Mexican waters, so the body will be taken off at the next port. I have to go with it, but I don’t know what to do.” She looked at Tom. “Carmelita said you’re a police officer. Can you help me?”

  “I don’t know anything about Mexican laws, laws at sea or how they apply to a death on a cruise ship,” Tom told her.

  She grabbed his hands. “Please! Help me!”

  We heard the lock on the door between the two rooms, click. Brian stuck his head in. “Is everything all right?”

  “No,” Tom told him. “Come on in. Mrs. Mitchell needs your help.”

  “Brian’s help?” Leslie Mitchell said.

  I put my hand on her arm. “He can help.”

  Brian stepped into the room. “What’s up?”

  Tom told him about Melvin. Brian nodded and said, “I’ll make some calls and see what I can do.”

  “How can an insurance salesman help me?” Mrs. Mitchell asked.

  “I’ve done business in Mexico before. I’ve still got some contacts here,” Brian explained smoothly.

  “Oh, thank you,” she said.

  Brian went back into his room and a few seconds later, Carmelita rushed in. She went right over to Leslie and threw her arms around her, both sobbing.

  I looked at Tom.

  “Let’s go see what Brian’s doing.” he said.

  I nodded. As we joined Brian in his room, he was just getting off the phone. “I’ve contacted the American Consulate in Mazatlan. They’ll have someone meet the boat and help her get her husband off and take the matter from there.”

  “That’s good,” Tom said.

  Brian shut the door between the two rooms. “They said an autopsy will be done and they’ll send me a copy of the results.”

  “Do you think this is another poisoning like Adam Sherman?” I asked.

  He nodded. “It seems your parents’ little cruising group is dwindling.”

  “They’re being systematically eliminated,” Tom interjected. He handed Brian the note I’d gotten at dinner, just as his phone rang. He stepped away from Brian and me.

  Brian read the note, then looked at me.

  “No, it’s not from my dad.”

  “You’re sure?” he said.

  “Yes. If my dad were still alive, he’d have gotten a hold of me in the last four ye
ars. He wouldn’t have just let me think he was dead.”

  “Well, this person knows Adam’s death was murder rather than an accident. That’s not common knowledge,” Brian suggested.

  “I hate to say this, but why would the killer want me to stop? Why not just kill me?”

  Tom coughed, obviously listening to our conversation as well as to the person talking on the phone.

  “I’ve thought of that myself, Liza,” Brian said. “There has to be a reason you’re not just being eliminated like any other threat.”

  “Maybe it’s because I’ve always got a bodyguard,” I nodded toward Tom.

  “No, I discounted that,” Brian continued. “This guy’s killed cops along with his target. It certainly hasn’t stopped him before.”

  “Then it’s someone who likes me?” I smiled.

  “That’s a possibility,” Brian said. “It’s probably someone who doesn’t want to hurt you and keeps warning you off hoping you’ll stop on your own.”

  “They don’t know me very well,” I said.

  Tom came back. “It was Ramirez on the phone. They found the guy who drove the boat.”

  “The one the purse snatcher threw my purse to?” I asked.

  Tom nodded.

  “Did the guy tell them anything?” Brian asked.

  “He said he picked up the job off the Internet.”

  “There’s an Internet site for purse-snatching jobs?” I asked.

  “I guess so, but when Ramirez tried to get into the site, he couldn’t. Why don’t you give your friend a call tomorrow and see what he can do?”

  “What time is it at home?” I asked.

  Brian checked his watch, did a mental calculation, and said, “Two-thirty.”

  “Okay, hand me your phone.”

  “It’s a little early, Liza,” Tom said as he handed me his phone.

  “Not for my friend.” I dialed Justin’s number. He was a teenager. He rarely got to bed before three and then slept until one or two in the afternoon.

  He answered on the first ring. “Hey Teach.”

  “Sleeping?”

  He laughed. “Not for at least another hour or so.”

  “That’s what I figured.” I told him about the purse snatching website.

  “Wow? Criminals R Us?” He laughed.

  “I guess so, but you tell me.”

  “Okay, give me a minute.”