No Hiding Behind the Potted Palms! A Dance with Danger Mystery #7

by Barton, Sara M.

  Half an hour later, the four of us were eating the salad course when Lizzie’s pager went off.

  “Boss, we’ve got a domestic. The husband had too much to drink and now he’s barricaded in the room, beating the crap out of his wife.”

  “Where?”

  “Cabin 734A.”

  “Go. And keep me informed.” Bob grabbed his phone and started making calls.”Mary Sue, get me Rashid and Birdsong.”

  “Why don’t we go out on the verandah and do a little star-gazing?” Sammy suggested. He gave me a bright smile, but his eyes were watching Bob.

  “I take it that a domestic incident is tough to handle on the ship,” I remarked as we moved outside.

  “Dangerous. You never know how far people will go. That’s a balcony unit, so we have to be prepared for the bastard to toss the wife over the railing, for her to jump, or for one of them to accidentally fall.”

  “Were you a cop, Sammy?” I was making conversation in the soft moonlight. The verandah was illuminated by lamps, but I could still see the sparkle of the ocean below.

  “Thirty years on the job. I was chief of police in a little town along the Hudson River.” We talked for some time about his years on the force. He shared stories about some of the more unusual cases he investigated. Joseph brought us our dinner on the verandah, followed by a dessert tray of assorted tartlets and coffee. I could see Bob still talking on the phone in the living room. Without warning, the peaceful night was shattered by the sound of a loud emergency alarm.

  “Damn!” Sammy grunted. “Wouldn’t you know it!”

  He was on his feet and into the living room a lot quicker than I expected for a man his age. I followed.

  “I’ve got this, Bob. You go. She’ll be fine,” he promised.

  “Lock up. Don’t open the door until you get confirmation. You know the drill.” Bob was already unlocking the suite door. Joseph stood ready. “You call if there’s anything unusual.”

  “Go!” Even as that word was out of my mouth, I was surprised. “Hurry up!”

  Bob did a double-take before shutting the door behind him. Who was I to tell the director of security for the Beauty of the Seas to respond to an emergency? And yet I felt that sense of urgency as the alarm trilled.

  “Chutzpah,” Sammy grinned when we were alone with Joseph. “I like that in a woman. Makes her interesting.”

  “I really don’t know where that came from,” I admitted. “I’m not in the habit of telling people what to do.”

  “Don’t worry, Mariem. In this case, it’s a good thing to do,” he reassured me.

  “How will they find the person who went overboard?” I asked. Sammy explained the procedures.

  “We can’t see it because the cabin is on the other side of the ship, but there are a lot of spotlights trained on the water right now. We have a team trained for recovery, whether it’s for a live person or a dead body.”

  The minutes ticked on, even after the alarm was silenced. Fifteen minutes after Bob left, Sammy’s phone rang.

  “Right, boss. Right. On my way!” Sammy scrambled to get on his feet. “We’ve got trouble on the Lido Deck. Some jerk just went ballistic on the dance floor. Joseph, can you hold down the fort here? Don’t let anyone in until you get the 311 code on your phone, okay?”

  “Sure. No problem.”

  “I’m sorry about this, kid. Joseph will take good care of you.” Sammy reiterated the need to lock the door as he slammed it shut. Joseph quickly obliged.

  “Don’t worry, miss. I’ll make sure you stay safe.”

  “Thanks.”

  Joseph started to clear the table. He loaded the concierge cart with the dirty dishes and wheeled it over to the wall by the suite door. When that was done, he straightened up the room. The silence was almost overpowering. I couldn’t even imagine what was happening. I turned on the TV, flipping through channels until I found the ship’s station. There was a warning that the Beauty of the Seas was experiencing a serious emergency. All passengers were asked to remain where they were, to allow the ship personnel to respond to the crisis. The ship’s camera was trained on the bow, where a crowd had gathered on one side to watch the attempted rescue. I could hear muted voices through the audio link.

  A thud startled me. Joseph was on his knees, curling up in a ball as he was tasered by a man dressed all in black, his face obscured by a balaclava. The intruder stood in the living room, waiting for the butler to drop again, and he quickly bound him with cable ties. I was on my feet, ready to move, with nowhere to go. If I went to the veranda, my only option was to toss myself over the railing to avoid the killer. I didn’t think I could get past the man in black and out the door. I thought about running into the bathroom and barricading the door, but his eyes followed mine and I knew he was faster and far more agile than I. He took a step forward.

  “Why?” I asked. If I was going to die tonight, I had to know. “Why are you doing this? What have I ever done to you?”

  “Nothing personal. I get paid to do this. Now, why don’t you be a good girl and make this easy on yourself?”

  “I have a better idea,” said another voice, appearing in the bedroom doorway. “You get your stinking hands in the air before I lose my head and shoot your sorry ass to bits.”

  “No, said another voice, coming from the verandah. “Let me take a shot at the bastard.”

  “Better still, let’s all take a whack at the bastard!” Angelo growled, entering from the corridor. I was stunned to see all of the security people from the Beauty of the Seas pouring into the suite. The man in black was on his belly, hands behind his back, with little resistance. Bob gave me a big grin as he walked through the door.

  “I told you I’d take care of you, Mariem!”

  “Joe, you okay?” Angelo bent over the butler and cut him loose.

  “No biggie,” said Joseph, standing up. He came over to me, extended his hand, and introduced himself. “Joe Sulunge, U. S. Department of the Treasury.”

  “You’re not a butler?” I was confused. “But what about the domestic incident?”

  “We needed to flush out Tom Terrific here.” Bob walked over to the man on the floor and removed the black hood. “Let me introduce Juan Tomas Jiménez Gomez, gun for hire.”

  “I’m not talking! I want a lawyer.”

  “Good luck with that, buddy. We’re at sea, in case you hadn’t noticed,” Tony sneered.

  “I’m not going to be extradited!”

  “How right you are. That’s because you’re not leaving this ship until we dock, three days from now.”

  “You can’t keep me locked up! That’s illegal!”

  “Are you sure about that, Sherlock? You boarded this boat in New York. You menaced an American citizen in international waters. You assaulted a federal agent. And you’re wanted for the murders of several people. You’re in the system for a long, long time, pal.”

  The man in black was taken away, escorted by several security people, with Joe in charge.

  “What did I miss?” I sat down on the sofa, stunned. “This was all planned? It was some kind of Treasury sting?”

  “Not exactly,” Bob explained. “I told you the truth when I said that Assistant United States Attorney Megan Plourde wasn’t interested in you. She’s not. Declan Dowd, on the other hand, is under investigation. He’s suspected of hiring the guy who murdered Maura Trelawney and also hiring Jiménez to kill you.”

  “But why? Why would Declan want me dead?”

  Bob came over to the sofa and sat down next to me. He reached out a hand and patted my knee.

  “Be prepared for another shock, Mariem.”

  “What kind of shock?”

  “Henri isn’t dead. He’s alive and living in Senegal with his mistress, Lorena del Gatos, also known as Maria Velez Suerto.”

  “The woman who took over Maura’s accounts at Oracle?”

  I sat there for several minutes without saying another word. My thoughts swirled around my head with no place
to go. Henri was not dead. I was not a widow. I was a victim.

  “The Treasury Department has had Declan under surveillance for seven months now. When he hired Jiménez to kill you, it was all recorded on tape. We knew you were in danger, so we came along for the ride.”

  “Meaning what? You’re still a Treasury agent?” I glanced at Bob and saw him nod.

  “You got me to open up about Henri. Why? Was I a suspect?”

  He looked down at his hands as he put them on his knees and then he took a measured breath.

  “Mariem, you’re married to Henri Dufours. When your husband came up on our radar screen three years ago, after that trip to Myanmar, it was because we had solid intel that he was laundering millions of dollars with his partner at Grenois, Louis Givernette. They had set up several international corporations that were raking in the bucks, legitimately and illegitimately. We’ve never brought you in for questioning because we didn’t want to tip our hand. But we did need to know whether you were aware of Henri’s business dealings.”

  “And now?” My voice sounded bitter, defeated.

  “Now comes the fun part,” said Bob cheerfully. “We’re going to bump you off.”

  “What?”

  “Once you’re dead, Henri and his friends won’t look for you any more.”

  “But the killer will know he didn’t kill me!”

  “Actually, he thinks you’re a Treasury agent, posing as the woman he was hired to kill. We supposedly hid you in Cabin 734A, where a second contract killer succeeded in killing you.”

  “There was a second contract killer?”

  “Nice touch, right? We’ve floated the story that someone from the cartel sent a hit man after you because the Justice Department was launching an investigation into Grenois Financial. Two bodies are about to wash up, yours and the non-existent hit man, and they’ll be retrieved by the United States Navy, who just happen to be conducting maneuvers in the area as part of a training exercise.”

  “Very convenient,” I told him sardonically. I wasn’t really sure how I felt about all this. Everything was upside down and nothing was right side up. But somewhere inside of me, there was a little piece of hope growing. Maybe I could finally put the ghost of Henri to rest, even if he was still alive.

  “It is, isn’t it?” Bob responded jovially. “Care to watch the action? The Navy should be arriving any moment.”

  The Beauty of the Seas was lit up like the Fourth of July, all her lights aimed at the water, as a frigate arrived on the scene. We watched as teams of divers were dispatched in six Zodiac inflatable boats. They spread out across the sea in search of the non-existent bodies.

  “The Navy gets a chance to run a real training mission, we have eyewitnesses who see the recovery of the bodies, and you get a new life.”

  Chapter Eight —

  “What will happen to Henri and that woman?”

  “We want to watch what Declan does after he finds out you’re dead. You see, the reason that he got involved with you was because Henri wanted that two million dollars. It was Declan’s job to get the insurance payment away from you. What’s more, what you don’t know, is that Declan insured your life for two million dollars, just before you two supposedly got married.”

  “Which we didn’t.”

  “This was all about Henri needing money, Mariem. He faked his own death to convince the cartel to stop looking for him. And he had Declan hire a hit man so that, Declan could get your estate as your heir, which he’ll turn over to Henri when things cool down, through a series of shell companies. There’s a will on file that you supposedly made out just before you married Declan. Henri didn’t have time to put any money away before the Justice Department started investigating his connections to drug traffickers in Asia and Mexico, so he’s strapped for cash. The cartels were starting to look for him, as a pre-emptive strike, to prevent him from flipping on them. He needs your money.”

  “Which actually isn’t my money, because Henri isn’t dead,” I pointed out.

  “Well, that’s partly true. You’re not entitled to the insurance money, but you are entitled to everything else.”

  “I don’t want it if it’s money made from drug trafficking.”

  “You want the part that was legitimate?” Bob gave me a smile.

  “Actually, yes.”

  “Oh, look.” Bob pointed to the television, where an excited crowd was gathered. “You’ve officially kicked the bucket.”

  “What happens to me now?” I asked, sitting next to Bob as he was transfixed, his eyes glued to the action on the ship’s television feed. The Navy put on a big show of retrieving my supposed body.

  “We’ll move you to a new location, get you set up in a new life.”

  “Oh.”

  “Not what you wanted to hear?” he inquired. I shrugged him off, still trying to process the many changes piled at my feet. I went from being a widow who made bad investments to being the wife of an international criminal to being a nobody without a life, all in the space of two and a half days.

  “Mariem, look at me.” Bob took my hands in his. “I know it’s not going to be easy, but you’re going to get through all this. You’re going to be fine. You’ll start a new life, a happy life.”

  “A secret life.” Maybe that’s what was bothering me most. When I married Henri, I gave up my family because he didn’t want to be inconvenienced. I gave up my friends because they interfered with Henri’s plans. I gave up my art, because it took me away from Henri. I gave up my heart, because I knew somewhere deep inside of me, my husband never loved me. And now, as the shattered pieces of my life lay all around me, I was supposed to pick up my life and reinvent myself. I didn’t think I had it in me. There was too much debris in the way, and I couldn’t see the road ahead. I turned to Bob.

  “Can I ask you something?”

  “Sure.”

  “Why did he marry me? Why me? It’s not like he loved me.”

  “He needed a wife. He needed an image that made him seem legitimate.”

  “But he was legitimate when I met him.”

  “Was he?” Bob scratched the back of his neck, trying to find the right words. I knew from the expression on his face that there was more bad news to come. “Henri Dufours is actually Jean-Paul Bardot. He comes from a family of French profiteers who built their fortune during World War II as smugglers in Calais. They operated a well-known black market. His family has been in the heroin business for at least forty years. You only met a handful of his relatives, am I right?”

  I nodded. Now I was beginning to understand. He kept my family at arm’s length just as he kept his own. But what about all the business trips he took? What about all of the meetings he had in the city?

  “You were his entry into respectable society, Mariem. Weren’t you involved in a lot of charity work? And you were a painter who exhibited a couple of times a year. You gave him cover for his nefarious business dealings.”

  “That’s terrible!” A tear slipped down my cheek. Frustration and disappointment collided on my cheeks as I began to sob. Bob wrapped me in his big, strong arms. He didn’t try to talk me out of my feelings. He just let me cry it out. And when I was done, he took my face in his hands and peered into my eyes.

  “Mariem, you are stronger and smarter than you know. You will get through this. You will become the woman you always should have been. You will start a new life that is yours for the taking, and you will decide how you will live it. No pity. No regrets. Understand? We have people who will help you. We’ll be your family for now. And once you’re settled and safe in your new life, we’ll find a way to reconnect you to your own family. Can you trust me on this?”

  I looked at those mahogany eyes, with all the secrets they held, and I knew instantly that he meant what he said. And in that moment, I began to dream of my new life.

  I remained sequestered for the remainder of the cruise, separate from the other passengers. When the time came to exit the ship, I wore a wig and a nurse�
��s uniform, wheeling Mary, the little old lady down the gang plank. It turned out that my breakfast companion, the late Bernie’s widow, was one of Bob’s operatives. She took occasional stints as part of the support team.

  The first thing she did when she arrived in the suite was to apologize for having deceived me about her real purpose in sitting down with me. The second was to tell me Bob was a good man. The third was to tell me not to give up on love.

  “My Bernie really was a prince,” she insisted. “Don’t ever give up hope.”

  An hour before disembarking in New York, with both of us playing our new roles of mother and daughter, we made our way through U.S. Customs. It was my first time using my new identity. My hands shook slightly as I handed over my new passport. It had stamps from Canada and Bermuda, as if I had been there recently.

  “You’re just Lucie Fairweather from Habersham, South Carolina, traveling with your mother, Mary McCaffrey. You’re both widows,” Bob informed me, as he handed the document to me half an hour earlier. Now I waited, barely breathing, as the customs officer examined the booklet.

  “Did you enjoy your trip?” the woman asked me, as she peered at me through her glasses. I remembered what Bob told me. I should be as honest as possible, especially about my emotions, because otherwise they could give me away, but I shouldn’t volunteer too much information.

  “Actually, no. We spent most of our time in the cabin. My mother is a new widow, and she misses my dad a lot.” I forced myself to recall Mary’s talk of her late husband as I spoke. The customs officer peered down at the morose Mary, sitting in the wheelchair, and nodded sympathetically.

  “It gets better with time,” she offered, as she processed us through. “Good luck.”

  “Thanks,” I said.

  Outside the cruise ship terminal, we grabbed a cab to a small boutique hotel in Murray Hill. Bob wanted to make sure we hadn’t picked up a tail before sending us to our new home. He had arranged for us to be on the fourth floor, with agents in the rooms on either side and across the hall.

  “Don’t be nervous, Lucie,” my companion told me as we settled into our room. “You’ll be fine. We’ll be fine. And when you’re ready to be on your own, I’ll move on.”