Mahoney nodded. “Yes, sir. Their child has chickenpox or something like that.”
“They were to be in the Bermuda Suite?”
“I believe so, sir.”
“Let’s arrange to move Mr. Jones to the Bermuda Suite then, with our thanks.”
“Yes, sir.”
Veins were bulging in BJ’s temples. “You’re upgrading him?”
“The least we can do,” said Captain Sterling.
“I sure hope it’s not a better room than mine.”
“You have the finest suite on the ship, Mr. Baker.”
BJ’s blood pressure seemed to drop a point or two. Sterling sure knew how to handle these entitled types.
“Well, you better make sure nothing happens to my Heisman or my ring,” said BJ.
“It is our highest priority, Mr. Baker. Right, Army?”
“One hundred percent, sir,” said Mahoney.
BJ puffed out his granite chest and turned away, pushing through the doors and back out to the deck. I assumed that he had nothing further to say.
“Mr. Jones, I must get back to it. My thanks again.”
“Anytime, Captain.”
“Army.”
“Sir.”
Sterling marched away down the corridor. I was left standing with Mahoney. He really was a serious-looking guy, square of shoulder and he stood to attention even when relaxed. I stood in silence, waiting for him to tell me to keep out of his business. He knew that he and his team should have averted the situation with BJ. Guys like him didn’t like being shown up.
“You’re security?” he asked.
“I’m a PI, but we do a little bit of that kind of work.”
“Do you mind telling me who you’re working for?”
“Anastasia and Frederick Connors.”
“The jeweler. That’ll be handy.”
“How so?”
“Your new suite is in the same passageway as the Connors.”
I figured that would be handy, but not for reasons Mahoney knew anything about.
“Are you alone on board?” he asked.
“No, my fiancée is outside, probably wondering what the hell is going on.”
“Is she a PI, too?”
“No. She’s a special agent with the FDLE.”
“She here professionally?”
“All vacation.”
“We’ll go collect her. I’ll get someone to organize your new suite. But first I need to make a stop. If you don’t mind coming with me.”
He didn’t say it like it was a question.
Chapter Nine
Danielle had taken a seat in the front row of the amphitheater despite the welcoming address being over and most everyone else having left for cocktails or the buffet. I introduced her to Mahoney and then the chief security officer took us back into the corridor to the side of the amphitheater. We walked along a ways and then took an elevator down. We got off and followed another corridor toward the middle of the ship. Now we were on a much wider corridor that seemed to go on forever. The floor was blue linoleum and the walls were more bland cream. Mahoney kept walking.
“This is the main crew thoroughfare,” he said. “We call it I-95, like the freeway. It runs from bow to stern and allows us to access any area of the ship without having to go through public areas.”
I-95 was a good name for it. The corridor carried a lot of traffic. Crew moved about in both directions, trolleys of ingredients made their way from cool rooms to restaurants, and one area was lined with luggage.
“Mustering point,” Mahoney said. “Housekeeping lines up all the baggage you left at check-in and then delivers it from here to your individual decks.”
“Decks? Not to the rooms?” Danielle asked.
“No. Baggage is left by the elevators nearest to your cabin. Except for the suites.” He looked at Danielle. “Don’t worry, I’ll have your baggage moved to your suite for you.”
Mahoney stopped by another elevator and we waited.
“Why did the captain call you Army?” I asked.
Mahoney smiled. “Why do you think?”
“You served.”
He nodded.
“But I’m sure a lot of ex-military guys get into security.”
“I’m sure they do. But most of the ones on cruise ships are former navy or coast guard.”
But you were in the army?”
He nodded again. The elevator arrived and we got in.
“How long?”
“Twenty-two years.”
“Rank?”
“Lieutenant colonel.”
“Why don’t they call you Lieutenant Colonel?”
“I’m not in the army anymore. And there are no lieutenant colonels in the navy.”
Danielle asked, “How does an army officer end up on a cruise ship?”
The elevator stopped and the door opened.
“Long story,” he said.
We stepped out onto a small carpeted landing. To the side, I could see windows and, beyond that, blue sky. We weren’t in the bowels of the boat anymore.
“Forward of this point is the bridge,” Mahoney said. “Aft is the security control room.”
He headed for a door simply marked security.
“So what do we call you, Lieutenant Colonel?” I asked.
He stopped before the door. “Army is just fine with me.”
The security office looked like any number of similar offices I had seen in hotels and casinos. A miniature version of Houston control. Lots of flatscreen monitors and computer terminals, displaying images from all over the ship—decks, corridors, bars, restaurants. The pool area looked busier than I had thought it would be.
“Could I have your ship IDs?” asked Army.
Danielle pulled hers over her head and I removed mine from my pocket. Then Army spoke to a woman in whites seated at a terminal.
“Rhonda, can you please reassign Mr. Jones and Ms. Castle to the Bermuda Suite and get housekeeping to collect their baggage from deck three?”
“Of course, sir.”
“Did we take care of our errant guest?” he asked.
“Taking a break in his cabin, sir. Kirkland is posted. You want to rotate?”
“No, give him a few hours and a warning. Then keep your eye on him.”
“Aye, sir.”
“Our friend from Cleveland?” I asked.
Army nodded.
“You sent him to his room with no dinner?”
“More or less. That’s first port of call. Give them a chance to cool off. A warning usually does the trick.”
“And if it doesn’t?”
“We confine to cabin.”
“Can’t he just walk out?”
“We post a guard. Plus, if we need to, we can reverse the locks so they only open from the outside.”
“That’s a neat trick,” said Danielle. I didn’t like the way she said it, or the way she looked at me after.
“You don’t have a brig on board?” I asked.
He shook his head. “Ship’s not big enough to warrant it. Some of the monsters out of Port Canaveral do. For serious crime or extremely unruly passengers—and the ones who don’t take the warning—we have extra crew quarters below if we need to house someone. If people get too troublesome they get dropped at the next port of call, but that doesn’t work for us since we’re only stopping at our private island.”
I looked over the security monitors. “How many cameras do you have on board?”
“Almost nine hundred.”
“Nine hundred! Holy smokes. Is there anything you can’t see?”
“Not much. A few dead areas because of the design, and of course we can’t see into cabins.”
“I’m glad to hear it.”
“How do you monitor that many cameras?” asked Danielle.
“We can’t. And most of the time we don’t need to. But we can pull up vision within seconds of getting a report in from any on-deck security or crew, and we record it all so it can be
viewed later if necessary.”
“You get a lot of crime?”
Army shook his head. “Not really. Drunk and disorderly like our Cleveland friend, that’s the biggest one. Most of our incidents are alcohol related. But there’s the occasional assault or theft. That’s why we record all the feeds even when we can’t watch them all.”
We looked around the room. It was an impressive operation. But I still had a question.
“Why did you bring us here?”
“I want you to understand that we have things in hand.”
“Because I got to the guy first?”
“And I know you were the one who picked up on him in ballroom three. We should have caught that one.”
I looked at him. I liked him. He was a serious man doing a serious job. He wasn’t busting my chops for getting involved. Instead he was embarrassed that I’d had to. One more time and I call it a pattern, but for now I was happy to accept his mea culpa.
“You would have got there, if I hadn’t,” I said.We both knew that wasn’t true but no one felt the need to correct it. The woman at the terminal handed Army two new ship pass IDs, and he gave them to us.
“Your new bunks,” he said. “Let me show you where.”
Army walked us back to the elevator. We went down but this time it was a short trip. When we got out we were at the forward end of a much smaller corridor. The carpet was turquoise and the walls whitewashed panels. It looked beachy. Army took us down two doors and then stepped aside so Danielle could do the honors.
“So you know, there are six suites on this passageway. Your clients, the Connors? They’re two doors down from you. The passenger elevator is at the aft end of the passageway. It will bring you out around midships on any of the main decks.”
“Appreciate it,” I said.
“Enjoy the cruise,” he said. “I hope we don’t speak again.”
He strode back toward the crew elevator.
I heard Danielle say, “Um, MJ?”
“Yes, my dear,” I said, mocking my client, Frederick.
“Get in here.”
I stepped through and let the door close behind me. I was in a living room. It was more spacious than our living room at home. There was a large sofa and a flatscreen television mounted to the wall. At one end there was a bar with leather stools and chrome accents, and at the other end a door hung ajar. Danielle stepped past the sofa and out onto a balcony.
We were up on the highest passenger deck. It was a long way down to the water. But the water was calm and deep blue, and the sky was the color of the travel bags I saw all over the ship. I wasn’t sure if we were still in US waters or had entered Bahamian territory, but it was all the same. And it wasn’t New England in the snow. It was February in the Caribbean.
I put my arm around Danielle and we watched the water splashing away from the hull as the ship carved its way through the ocean. The air was warm and fresh and the falling sun lit the sky a kaleidoscope of colors that sat near blue on the color wheel. I could have stood there until dark, but Danielle slipped out from my arm and went back to explore the massive suite. I was considering setting up a hammock and sleeping on the balcony.
“MJ?” I heard Danielle call from inside.
“Yeah?”
“Get in here.”
Again I did as I was told. Danielle was highly trained with all manner of weapons, so compliance was usually a good strategy. I stepped inside. I didn’t see her. The bar was inviting but empty. The sofa sat unused. The door at the end of the room was open.
“You want to find a drink, something to eat?” I asked as I walked across the living space. There was no reply.
I forgot about drinks. I forgot about dinner. The bedroom was a decent size but the bed took up most of it.
“That’s a big bed,” I said.
“It is. A California king.”
“California? That’s the whole West Coast.”
I stood in place. For a moment I didn’t want to move. I just took in the massive bed and Danielle lying in the middle of it. She was on her side, one leg across the other, propped up on her elbow. She wasn’t wearing a stitch of clothing.
“MJ?”
“Yeah?”
She gave me the half smile.
“Get over here.”
Chapter Ten
I could have happily stayed in our suite all evening, but my always conscientious fiancée reminded me that I had a client to consider. We both dressed well. Danielle was a traffic stopper in her black dress. I looked like an old surfer at a wedding in my tuxedo. But Danielle liked it, so all other opinions could go walk the plank.
We were in our better-than-Sunday best because we were headed for the top end of town. The movers and shakers, the team owners and Hall of Famers, the Palm Beach set, they were all going to be at the reception in the Castaway Casino. We took the elevator down and found we were only steps away from it.
My late friend and mentor Lenny Cox had always said that there was no room he couldn’t get into in Palm Beach if he was wearing a tux. I figured the theory was good for cruise ships too. The big guy in the suit at the casino entrance didn’t agree.
“I’m sorry, sir, ma’am, but it’s an invite-only event. There are open receptions in each of the buffets.”
“Yeah, unfortunately we’re expected in this one,” I said.
“Then you’ll need a ticket, sir.”
He must have gotten a buzz in his earpiece because he excused himself. I wasn’t about to cause a scene, so I surveyed the surrounding area for somewhere we could sit and wait. I had a feeling that if Anastasia was in the casino there was a decent chance that Frederick hadn’t gotten a ticket. He wasn’t supposed to be on the cruise, and apparently taking a suite didn’t come with one. So it was a great chance for her to meet up with Guy X. But we would have to wait outside and see if they came out together.
“There’s a boutique over there,” said Danielle.
“You don’t see anything with a bar attached, do you?”
“Afraid not.”
“Excuse me, sir? Mr. Jones?”
I turned back to the security guy at the door. My ship pass was back in my pocket so I wasn’t sure how he knew my name.
“Yeah?”
“You can go in, sir.”
“In the casino?”
“Yes, sir.”
“What’s the catch?”
“No catch, sir. Chief Mahoney says you can go in.”
“Mahoney? How does he know—”
I stopped myself and turned around and looked at the ceiling. Opposite the casino entrance, on the other side of the corridor, was a video camera.
“He’s watching?”
“Yes, sir.” The guard held his arm out to usher us in. “Enjoy your evening.”
The room looked like one of those casino nights that high schools hold as fundraisers. It wasn’t big enough to be Reno, let alone Vegas, and the tables all seemed to be squeezed down at one end so a dance floor could be created at the other. No one was dancing. Cocktail tables had been set up along the periphery, and there was a door out to a large balcony or a small deck. I didn’t know what distinguished one from the other.
A waiter offered us champagne. It would have been rude to refuse, and I realized why it was a ticketed event. My understanding was that alcohol sales were a major money-spinner for the cruise lines, so giving it away had to come at a price. We looked around the room. There were a lot of tuxedos and a lot of gowns. It was a fine-looking group.
No finer than Ron Bennett. I was never completely sure if he was my sidekick or if I was his, but like air, he was always around when I needed him. He ambled over to us in his tux, his arm wrapped around the Lady Cassandra. She wore a long white dress and a silk shawl the color of the Caribbean Sea. They both looked happy. Cassandra kept her smile subtle and understated, just like her. Ron’s sun-blotched face was grinning from ear to ear.
“Fancy meeting you here,” he said.
“Lenny alw
ays said a tux could get you into any room,” I replied.
“He was right more often than he was wrong.”
I nodded. “You both look resplendent.”
“You scrub up very well yourself, Mr. Jones,” Cassandra said.
“So what have you two been up to?” Danielle asked, ever the investigator.
“Well, let’s see.” Cassandra tapped her chin. “Since we cast off from Florida? We checked into our suite, watched BJ’s speech, then we went for walk, didn’t we?” She looked at Ron and he nodded.
“We did.”
“Oh, and of course, Ronnie asked me to marry him.”
“That’s fantastic,” said Danielle, embracing Cassandra. Ron’s face somehow got more flushed as he offered me his hand, but this wasn’t a shaking moment. I gave him the big hug he deserved. I admired him. He was a romantic, in the old-fashioned sense of the word. And the old romantics, they put their hearts out there, on the line, more often than the rest of us. It meant they probably got hurt more often but at that moment I couldn’t help but suspect that maybe the upside was more significant as well.
I hugged Cassandra and proposed a toast. We drank to their happiness, which they already had, and their longevity, which was never a given and so always worthy of raising a glass to. I found myself smiling, reflecting their faces. There was something about weddings and babies.
“Have you thought about the wedding?” Danielle asked.
“Nothing too big,” said Cassandra. “We’ve both done that. I wouldn’t care if it was just the two of us.”
I was thinking about who exactly weddings were for when I saw Anastasia. She was in her burgundy gown and had put on a tiara I hadn’t noticed back at the amphitheater. I figured for a jeweler it was product placement. She was chatting to a couple that I recognized from somewhere. It took a moment and some time travel but I got there in the end. They had been a famous ice dancing couple, a good few moons ago. They wore a few more wrinkles and he had a little less hair but they still looked trim and fit. They were hanging on a tale that Anastasia was telling. At least, I think they were hanging on her words. They may have drifted into comas. Anastasia spoke with a rhythmic motion to her head but she kept her body still and her hands by her side. She was about as animated as a cereal box.
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