Mask on the Cruise Ship

by Melanie Jackson

  It was then that Lavinia O’Herlihy, frowning in puzzlement at her ticket, walked up and slid into the seat beside Jack…

  Madge just made it on in time. She was explaining to Mother that she’d had trouble choosing between brands of sunglasses when the conductor asked her to take her seat. Glancing at her ticket, he instructed, “Down there, Miss,” and pointed a dozen or so rows along to the empty seat beside Ira.

  “But — but — ” Madge, Jack and Lavinia protested.

  “Please, Miss,” the conductor said.

  It was the kind of “please” you didn’t refuse. Madge moved to the empty seat. Above her, bright brass luggage racks reflected, one after another, the burnished red of her hair.

  It wouldn’t be such a bad trip for Madge, I decided. Ira was snoozing, his head against the window, his mouth slightly open. Yup, I thought. It’d be a nice, single experience for Madge.

  The train skimmed along the banks of the roiling Skagway River. Boy! I had the feeling that if I could reach out and touch that angry current, it would slap back.

  The train trundled past gorges with wide, dazzling mountains of ice. Their jagged peaks loomed so high I had to press the top of my head against the window and squint up to see. With the sun on them, the peaks sent off brilliant flashes. Even with clip-on sunglasses, my eyes hurt, but it was worth it.

  “Whoa,” moaned Lavinia as we wound past a deep, surging, silver waterfall that sent up white clouds of spray. Be-neath her horn-rimmed sunglasses, Lavinia’s face sagged.

  “Of course, you wouldn’t be trainsick if you sat farther back,” Jack advised Lavinia. “It’s well known that the front seats are much harder on the stomach. Maybe we should switch you with, say, Madge.”

  Ooooo, crafty.

  However, Jack would have to wait a while before exchanging Lavinia for Madge. A lot of people on his side, that is, the right one, were standing to peer out the windows on my side. There was just a better view on the left. Jack wouldn’t be able to escort Lavinia past for now.

  I began to chuckle out my evil “Boo-wa-ha-ha” when I noticed one of the people standing nearby. Talbot St. John — holding on to the luggage rack so he could bend down to see out without falling into someone’s lap. He was wearing a CD player and headphones. Huh! I bet he was the type who listened to doofus trendy bands.

  He noticed me at the same time and reddened. Scowling at Talbot, I raised the current Deathstalkers comic book to block him out.

  “Enjoy reading upside down, do you?”

  It was Captain Heidgarten’s jolly voice. I lowered the Deathstalkers, who were indeed on their heads while firing stingrays, laser guns, etc., at assorted enemies. I closed the comic book and grinned at the Captain. Talbot had edged down the aisle and out of sight. “I’m not really reading,” I assured him.

  “I should hope not!” he returned, beaming. “I sign up for the White Pass & Yukon Route every time we anchor at Skagway. Never grow tired of it. Why, look at that …”

  I looked. Straight down and down and —

  “Whoa!” moaned Lavinia.

  Captain Heidgarten said cheerfully, “We’re high up, all right— a thousand feet high, as a matter of fact, on a wooden trestle bridge. Don’t see too many of ’em anymore — they probably violate about three dozen safety regulations.”

  The Captain and I laughed heartily. Not everyone appreciated his robust sailor’s humor, though. A few people, Lavinia included, turned ashen.

  However, Captain Heidgarten soon distracted us all with the story of Jefferson “Soapy” Smith of Klondike Gold Rush fame.

  Soapy got his nickname in Denver, Colorado, where he tricked people into buying expensive bars of soap. He claimed each bar had a hundred-dollar bill at the center. “Not exactly good, clean fun,” remarked Captain Heidgarten.

  Soapy was attracted to the chance of fast money, so he hotfooted it to the Klondike. Only he didn’t make his profits there by hunting for gold. Instead, Soapy set up a fake telegraph office. He got chummy with the successful prospectors, then presented them with phony telegrams from loved ones pleading for money.

  He must’ve been slick as a wet bar of soap, all right. The worried prospectors shoved bags of money at Soapy. They just assumed he’d send it to their families for them. Which, of course, he didn’t.

  From a few seats behind me, Julie Hébert piped up. “So he was charming and cunning.” She saw me craning round at her and winked. “Just like the Raven.”

  I felt slightly offended on the Raven’s behalf. After all, the legendary bird had a nice side. It didn’t sound like Jefferson “Soapy” Smith’d had so much as a nice particle.

  On the other hand, at least Julie’s spirits were picking up. Since the theft of the mask, she’d been anxious and pale.

  Captain Heidgarten nodded at Julie. “Soapy was charming, cunning … and not that long-lived. Eventually some angry locals came after him and — well, let’s just say that Soapy’s luck went down the drain.”

  The train route included two tunnels. I like tunnels because you can gulp in your breath at the beginning and hold it till you’re outside again. Mother and Madge find this gross, but the challenge is actually very fun and satisfying.

  Not far into the first tunnel, a sharp, pointy object jabbed me in the side — followed by a cackle. I was startled into letting my breath out. Lavinia! The pointy object had been her elbow.

  As I was massaging my side, a whiff of Chanel No. 5 floated past. The train whished out of the tunnel. In the seat across from me, Madge was now sitting beside Jack.

  I glanced back. Lavinia was with Ira. She was applying her sharp elbow to his side, to wake him up. Poor guy. I guessed he was in for another lecture about what a great wife she’d be.

  “Smooth,” I congratulated Jack.

  He bowed to me. “Thank you, Modom.”

  Madge, though, was not taking the situation with good humor. “That horrible old man snored,” she informed me, her blue eyes several degrees colder than the ice gorge we were passing. “And he was snoring out the smell of onions. Yech!” she shuddered.

  “You’re responsible for this, Dinah Mary Galloway,” Madge went on. My sister was not the type to let a prank go by lightly. “Oh no, don’t deny it.”

  Then I forgot about Madge, who proceeded to scold Jack that there was nothing to laugh at. Outside Mother’s and my window, eagles were swooping and skyrocketing. Mother and I watched them as, below, just-blossoming elderberry bushes pushed out their creamy, star-shaped flowers, and plump, chocolate-colored wolverines bent their white foreheads and bustled hastily away from the train into the woods.

  At the second tunnel, undistracted, I held my breath from beginning to end. When we emerged, my cheeks were still puffed out with the air I was holding in. Several seats ahead, Talbot was leaning on his armrest — and his cheeks were puffed out too. He’d been doing the same thing!

  He happened to glance back, and for a second we stared at each other with our faces bloated, jellyfish-style.

  Then, annoyed that somebody else was on to this holding-your- breath-in-a-tunnel routine, which I’d thought was my invention, I drew back out of sight. I let my breath out with a loud bwwwccck, like the deflating sound of a balloon. This was also part of the routine.

  I looked across at Madge, hoping for an annoyed reaction. The bwwwccck was usually good for one.

  Madge wasn’t paying any attention. After being in the tunnel, she was rosy-cheeked and smiling. She did cast a couple of scolding frowns at Jack, but these were definitely pretend ones. Post-smooch pretend ones, in fact.

  Brother, I thought.

  Huh! But not brother-in-law, not for a long time, I vowed.

  Chapter 14

  The true snakewoman, revealed

  First thing next morning on our Internet chat line, I punched in opening remarks to Pantelli. You wouldn’t believe what we saw yesterday on the train tour!

  He cut in: You wouldn’t believe what we saw yesterday at Lord Bithersby. Li
esl the Weasel got her hair chopped! Now she looks like a burned match — pale and skinny, with just a bit of black at the top. You fooled her with that phony e-mail message, Di. She’s bragging to everyone that Talbot’s gonna take her out for a Belgian fries lunch date! HA HA HA.

  I didn’t view the outcome of my prank quite so merrily as Pantelli. I foresaw a long — make that Rip Van Winkle’s lifetime-long — session in the principal’s office. How could Liesl have fallen for that phony e-mail? Stupidity?

  No. Vanity, I decided. Only a girl as stuck-up and conceited as Liesl Dubuque would believe a twelve-year-old boy would write her such a mushy message.

  I hope you didn’t tell her anything, I typed.

  Me? No way! Your secret is safe with yours truly. Liesl will never weasel out of me that you’re the culprit.

  Phew, I wrote. I wished, though, that Pantelli wouldn’t use the word “culprit.” It sounded so … criminal.

  Yeah, all I did was walk up to Liesl, point to her hair and laugh deafeningly.

  Great, I thought. Like sharp-witted Liesl won’t figure out now that I’m involved. Thanks a lot, Pantelli, I wrote.

  You’re welcome!

  My face was scrunched up in dismay. “Bad news?” said Fill-In hopefully. She set down the double mocha I’d ordered. It was the first time I’d ever seen a hint of cheer, however wan, on Fill-In. I guessed other people’s disappointments were the only thing that improved her spirits.

  “Sort of bad,” I admitted.

  I’d been right. Fill-In’s pencil-thin eyebrows went up and her pinched features splintered into a crack of a smile.

  Julie Hébert strolled into the Internet café. She, too, noticed my face. “I don’t think I’ll order what Dinah’s drinking,” Julie joked to Fill-In.

  I giggled. Fill-In, interpreting this as an insult, shriveled up her smile again. “I’m not appreciated. And my replacement’s late again. I hate being kept waiting.” She grabbed a blue napkin with a fat white ship imprinted on it and blew her nose.

  “I’ll have a cappuccino, please,” Julie called to Fill-In.

  Pantelli typed, Hey, are you still there, Di?

  Yeah, I replied. It’s just that Julie Hébert showed up.

  Oh, right. Julie. Turns out The Tone has seen Julie himself. She made quite the impression on him and his classmates.

  Julie walked over to the counter to pay Fill-In. “Would you like a chocolate biscotti to go with your mocha, Dinah?” she offered, smiling. “My treat.” She gestured to a glass canister crammed with goodies. “Or maybe a chocolate fudge brownie?”

  Madge may have dawdled over fashion decisions, but for me the choice of biscotti versus brownie was the difficult type. “Um,” I said, wondering if it would be rude to ask for both. “Ummmm … ”

  More words from Pantelli flowed across the screen. The Tone said that in the middle of a lecture at the Roundhouse Community Center, Julie stormed in and threw a tantrum!

  I gaped at the screen. Huh? I typed. That’s not how I heard it from Julie.

  I realized Julie was waiting for my reply. “I think I’ll have a … ”

  My attention faded. I was concentrating on Pantelli’s next message.

  Yeah, Julie screeched at Elaine that she couldn’t possibly live on the allowance Elaine gave her. The costs of having a private trainer, plus her weekly visit to the beauty salon, were draining all her pocket money, Julie said. Not only that, but it was totally unfair of Elaine to buy Julie a new car only every three years — Julie was missing out on the latest gizmos.

  “Impossible,” I said, dazed. This was Julie? My Julie?

  “You’ll have an ‘impossible’?” Julie questioned good-humoredly. Fill-In, tongs poised over the biscotti and brownies, gave an angry sniff.

  “I … ” Slumping in my seat, I gazed stupidly at Pantelli’s words. They just kept pouring out, unstoppable as toothpaste when you’ve squeezed the tube too hard.

  The Tone says Julie then whined about having to clean their house. “Yeah, I know I’m the one who trashed it, but I was upset,” Julie shouted. The Tone, sitting nearby, had to dodge her spit drops.

  I responded weakly, You mean — Julie lives with Elaine? I thought she was suffering in some dive on Cadwallader Avenue.

  Not from what The Tone gathered. This is one weird dame, Di. She finished by demanding a check for some art class she wanted to take — then slammed out of the room. Professor Hébert burst into tears. “I’m sorry,” she sniffed. “I’ve — I’ve tried so hard with my stepsister — given her everything.”

  “Everything,” I repeated numbly.

  “Everything?” Julie questioned. Her smile didn’t waver. “Isn’t that a teeny bit greedy, Dinah?”

  What a soft voice Julie had, I thought suddenly. Not that I hadn’t noticed before, but it occurred to me now just how very soft it was. Like a snake's hiss …

  “I … ” I mumbled.

  “Yes, Dinah?”

  “I think I’ve lost my appetite,” I said weakly.

  I wandered onto the volleyball court. Nobody was around to play. Most passengers were heading out to Ketchikan, our port of the day. Mother, Madge and I were waiting for Jack to be off-duty at noon, and then we’d be going.

  I pulled on the netting and let it bounce into place. I decided to repeat this a few times. It was kind of fun. The harder I tugged, the more fiercely the net whipped back.

  I’m what you’d call one of those creative kids who can be left to their own gifted resources.

  Besides, fidgeting helped my thought processes. Julie was a phony! From what The Tone said, she was the nasty Hébert, not Elaine. Imagine complaining because you weren’t bought a new car every three years! Heck, if you were a Galloway, you got a new used one every fifteen years.

  In my frustration at having been fooled, I yanked the netting even farther back. Quite a stretch — just like Julie’s sob stories.

  I thought of the cell-phone call. The one at my house, where Elaine had assumed I was Julie. And had been so nasty.

  Hadn’t she?

  I reconsidered the conversation. Elaine had insisted Julie keep cleaning. I’d thought that was mean, especially at dinnertime — but if Julie had trashed the house, well, duh. Of course Julie ought to be tidying up.

  Julie had stretched that one cleaning job into the yarn that she had to earn her keep at Elaine’s as a cleaning woman.

  It sure sounded like Julie was the type to chew up facts and spit them out in a twisted form. Twisted — like those snakes curling from Medusa’s head.

  Yech. I shuddered. The inside of Julie’s mind was not a place I’d like to visit.

  On the other hand, Elaine had definitely forbidden Julie to talk to people about the mask. You know nothing, she’d snapped over the phone.

  These Hébert sisters — what a pair! I was sure glad Madge and I weren’t like them. Julie and Elaine made us seem semi-normal.

  I trudged off, then stopped. Yawning at my feet were the stairs down to Julie Hébert’s room.

  And coming up the stairs was Evan Brander, who immediately went scarlet. “W-what are you doing here?”

  He was questioning me about being here? I narrowed my eyes into what I hoped were forbidding hazel slits. “What are you doing here?”

  “L-look, Dinah. There’s something I haven’t been quite up-front about.” After giving his lower lip a nervous chew, Evan opened his mouth to stammer out what was doubtless a sordid confession.

  Just then — “Greetings!” It was the friendly steward I’d met last time by these stairs. He bore a fresh stack of fluffy blue towels imprinted with fat white ships.

  Startled, Evan fled up the stairs.

  “Jittery type,” commented the steward.

  “He has a guilty conscience about something,” I informed the steward darkly and then sighed. “I always have trouble with my pianists.”

  I went downstairs with the steward because I didn’t know what else to do. I was feeling kind of stunned. First
, I’d found out that Julie was a whopping liar. Second, more proof that Evan was up to no good.

  The steward knocked on doors. No one answered any of them. Nobody stays in a stateroom much on a cruise ship, unless, like Madge, they’re barfing. The steward was able to pop in and distribute towels.

  “Room service!” he called through Julie’s door. No reply, so he unlocked it with his pass key.

  “Bet she’s gone ashore to Ketchikan,” he told me. “Was it something urgent?”

  He assumed I wanted to speak to Julie. Ha! With what I’d found out, I’d happily stay away from the lady for several lifetimes. Our truth-stretching Julie was — let’s all make like a sheep now — ba-a-a-ad news.

  I was about to pooh-pooh the steward’s assumption when I noticed the hairclip I’d loaned Julie on the chest of drawers. The elegant, cat-shaped hairclip Madge had made specially for me.

  Hmph! Well, I’d reclaim that in no time flat. A snake-shaped hairclip — now that’d suit Julie.

  “I’ll just grab my hairclip, if that’s okay,” I said.

  The steward laughed. “You should adopt my hairdo, kid.” He pointed at his very unmessy hair — a crew cut. “No need for hairclips!”

  After depositing some towels in the bathroom, the steward said, “Go ahead. Just remember to shut the door when you’re through.”

  He pounded on the next door down the hall. “Room service!” he yelled.

  “C’mon in,” said a voice — a sort of familiar voice, but I headed into Julie’s room and forgot about it.

  I grabbed the hairclip and would have left — except that Julie’s painting of Medusa, now taped to the wall, caught my glance. And trapped it, as if I, like Medusa’s victims, had been turned to stone. The painting was so gruesome, it was fascinating. Kind of like anchovies, if you know what I mean.

  Medusa leered out at me, eyes crazed and lips shrunken back over sharp teeth. “Ewww,” I told her.