1 Shore Excursion

by Marie Moore

  12. Abe Klein (74) and his wife Sylvia (28), from the Lower East Side. Abe’s traveled with us in the past, with the former Mrs. Klein. Abe is short, tanned, big beak of a nose and barrel-chested. He exudes an aura of power, although he says little except when exhibiting his explosive temper. He is obviously used to being obeyed. His clothes are not off the rack, but are custom-made and clearly expensive though flashy. So is his big diamond ring and watch. He met Sylvia in Vegas, where she was working as a cocktail waitress in a casino. She is small, blue-eyed and platinum blonde with a bust that does not occur in nature and a huge wardrobe featuring lots of animal prints.

  13. Jerome Morgan, (40) Bronx address, background unknown, business associate of Abe Klein. Cold, silent, frowner. Dark, with very close-cut hair and conservative clothes and accessories, except for a large gold Rolex. New to the group.

  14. Fernando Ortiz, (38), Manhattan address, no other information except that he, too, is a business associate of Abe’s. Good-looking guy, somewhat intimidating. Just under six feet, with a slim but muscular build, longish, dark straight hair and a wicked smile that is both fascinating and sort of repellent. New to the group.

  15. Ruth Shadrach, (77), deceased.

  16. Jay, Devon, and Me.

  There you have it. The High Steppers. I had finished my notes, but even thinking as hard as I could, I now knew exactly nothing that I hadn’t already known. No motives, no suspects, no connections to Ruth other than the obvious ones, nothing strange. Well, nothing stranger than some of the people themselves and the situation in which we found ourselves.

  But I did have the beginnings of an idea.

  I couldn’t do all the investigating myself. The ship was too big, the time too short, officialdom too uncooperative, and it looked as if Jay wasn’t going to be of much use. But what about the High Steppers themselves? Old ladies in particular are the nosiest people on earth, and the most tenacious. Once they set their minds on something they do not let it go. The High Steppers, or at least some of them, could help me snoop.

  There was also something in the back of my mind that kept bothering me, something that I had seen or heard that wasn’t exactly right, something or someone who didn’t fit, if I could just remember it.

  Because I was sitting there all alone, staring out at the sea, thinking hard, junior G-man at work, it took a few minutes for me to feel that icy thrill you get when you realize that someone is watching you.

  I whirled around just in time to see the library door swing shut.

  6

  Jumping up from the desk, I jerked the door open and looked both ways down the corridor, but whoever had been standing behind me had vanished. The only person I could see was a waiter approaching, ringing the lunch chimes with a little rubber mallet.

  It had probably been a crew member, hoping to vacuum, but unnerved and weak-kneed. I sat down on the brown leather sofa, shivering, as it dawned on me for the first time just how serious this situation was.

  If Ruth really had been murdered—and she had been, that was clear—I would have to be very careful in my snooping so as not to put the High Steppers or Jay and myself in any additional danger.

  Stay in a group and watch your back, Sidney Lanier Marsh, watch your back. And their backs, too.

  * * *

  The lunch chimes reminded me that I had skipped breakfast (not my usual pattern) and that I was starving. Maybe having the pants scared off you makes you hungrier. I stuffed my list in my bag and headed for the stairs.

  Fred and Maxine Johnson were scanning the rows and rows of “welcome aboard” shots on the display racks outside the photo gallery, looking for their picture. They were so intent on their search that they didn’t even see me as I passed, and I didn’t disturb them. I shivered at the thought that the murderer might be staring back at me from one of those shots.

  As I passed through the casino on the way to the dining room, I noticed that although Mr. Bostick looked as if he hadn’t budged since last night, Maria Petrone wasn’t there. She must have run out of quarters. Gladys Murphy sat at the slot machine close behind him where Maria had been. Muriel stood by her side, showing way too much cleavage and fogging a beer. I never saw anyone drink beer that fast unless they were in some kind of competition.

  Sylvia Klein, wearing a short, turquoise terry cover-up and leopard-print flip-flops, was perched on the next stool, at the dollar slot, with a matching beach bag on the floor beside the stool. It had the letters S and K monogrammed on it in gold.

  Bostick tried to snag me as I passed by. “Hey, toots, don’t ya have time for an old man?”

  “Not right now, Al,” I smiled, keeping my distance. “Lunch is ready. Didn’t you hear the chimes? Aren’t you hungry?”

  “Nah, I’ll grab a pizza later.”

  He clutched my arm and pulled me toward him. For an old guy, he was really quick, and really strong.

  “When you get time, doll, I wanna have a little gab with you about Ruthie.”

  His bleary old eyes filled with tears. He wiped them quickly with a dirty old handkerchief and blew his nose.

  He had my full attention now. He was so busy honking into the handkerchief that I managed to slip out of his grip and put a barstool between us. He reached for me, but patted Muriel on the rear instead. She was thrilled. Her face turned bright red.

  “Ruthie?” I said. “Do you mean Ruth Shadrach?”

  “Yeah, Ruthie.”

  He cleared his throat.

  “She left a bag in my room Sunday night, see? Said for me to give it to you sometime. Said it wasn’t hers, that it got delivered to her by mistake, and that one of her bags was missing, her red traincase. This one is a red traincase, too, but she said it wasn’t hers. I don’t know. They looked the same to me, but her key don’t fit this one, so I guess she was right. She tried to call your room to tell you about it, but you didn’t answer. I guess you was getting to know one of them sailors.”

  He leaned across the barstool and stole a look down my shirt. “I could bring it by your cabin later tonight sometime,” he said, “and we can pry it open and take a peek at it in private if you like, just the two of us. What time are you gonna be there?”

  I took another step backward.

  “I don’t really know, Al, but if you really want to bring it by, anytime is fine. If I’m not there, just give it to Jay Wilson. He and I are sharing a cabin now, you may have heard, and I’m sure he’d like to talk with you about Ruth, too.

  He backed off then and settled back on the stool at the blackjack table.

  I had to ask. “Al, what was Ruth Shadrach doing in your room Sunday night? She told the others that she was going to bed early.”

  “That she did,” he winked, smiling to himself, “that she did. Ruthie and me had a little something going on the side, see. She wasn’t no babe like you or nothing, but she was all right. You know what I mean? Don’t ever count out them quiet ones. Sometimes she rode the bus all the way out to my crib in Jersey for a weekend. Ruthie the Riveter I called her. Ruthie was a good old girl.”

  He grinned and reached for me one more time, but I moved faster than he did. “See ya later, cutie pie!” he yelled.

  Bells started ringing at the dollar slot machine when I was almost out of the casino, so I paused and looked back. Sylvia had gotten lucky. She had a pay-off. Al ignored the bells and the rain of coins spilling into the metal tray at Sylvia’s machine. He was frowning, concentrating on the cards he’d been dealt.

  Muriel looked annoyed at Sylvia’s good fortune, and Gladys was loudly complaining to anyone who would listen that the machines were all rigged. She climbed off her stool in a huff and headed toward the dining room, Muriel lumbering after her.

  I didn’t stick around to defend the casino. I was out of there.

  * * *

  When I got to the dining room, the door was open and the inevitable line outside was gone; the early-birds were already seated.

  My bunch was scattered among four large tabl
es and two smaller ones on the port side. Abe Klein weren’t present. I had seen Abe earlier, stretched out on the terry-covered lounges among the potted palms that surrounded the Catalina Pool. The Rapture has a retractable roof that can be closed in cold weather, transforming the heated pool and deck area around it into a solarium. A buffet lunch in an adjacent dining room is always available, served in casual cafeteria style for those guests who prefer a less formal meal. The dress code is relaxed—pretty much anything goes.

  Lunch in the main dining room on board the Rapture is open seating, meaning that you can theoretically sit where you choose. In reality, the dining room staff tries to pair you up with others, filling each available seat at a table before ushering anyone on to the next one.

  They say that this practice encourages camaraderie among the passengers, but it really just makes it easier for the staff.

  Because some passengers dislike this routine and the assigned seating at dinner as well, some cruise lines are now offering true open seating. The ships of those lines present a choice of restaurants and meal times. Besides the main dining room and buffet, meals are also served in smaller, themed restaurants that require reservations and come with a surcharge. We urge individual clients who are deciding on a cruise to always consider which style of dining they prefer before choosing a ship. Some passengers are enthusiastic in their praise of the newer meal arrangements. Others prefer the more traditional routine.

  Luckily, when I arrived at the dining room there was no maitre d’ or assistant maitre d’ at the door to seat me. They were all busy seating others.

  I paused just inside the door for a quick scan of the room, not wanting to have to eat with damn frolicking Jay and company. I didn’t see him and didn’t want to even guess where he might be. I was still plenty mad at him, and though I knew we would eventually make up, I was not ready for that olive branch just yet.

  I walked quickly past the High Steppers enclave, smiling and waving, and settled at a small table near the window.

  I looked out at the whitecaps on the waves without really seeing them. The ship was bouncing around pretty good now, despite the stabilizers. Every now and then you could hear something else crash in the kitchen. I didn’t care. I’m a good sailor, never get seasick, and Empress has lots of dishes. My mind was busy grappling with the disturbing image of Bostick and Ruth as a duo.

  “May I?”

  I looked up at a spanking white uniform, immaculate, crisply pressed and replete with gold braid. It was Captain Vargos.

  He seated himself across from me without waiting for an answer. In my experience, some cruise ship captains equate their personal magnetism with that of film stars, and this one seemed to be no exception.

  Rahim, the busboy, filled our water glasses and handed us lunch menus. The head waiter approached our table with two eager-looking passengers, but after a glance from Vargos, he seated them elsewhere. Their faces fell. Passengers love to dine with the captain.

  “There now, Captain Vargos,” I said, “you’ve disappointed your public. And isn’t it rather unusual for you to be in the dining room at lunch?”

  I closed the menu and willed the waiter to appear.

  “It is indeed unusual, Miss Marsh,” he said, leaning forward, “but then, this is an unusual voyage, and you are an unusual lady. May I call you Sidney? I have sent you one dinner invitation already that you have ignored, but now that we have this crisis on our hands it is imperative that we meet. We must work very closely together. It is essential, n’est-ce pas? So I am here today for the express purpose of having lunch with you. I left orders to be informed when you arrived.”

  Rahim offered bread and a wink, and the sommelier opened a bottle of white wine.

  Antonio, the waiter, appeared for our order.

  “I’ll have the chef’s recommendations for today, Antonio,” Captain Vargos ordered. “And for you, Sidney?”

  “I’ll just have the luncheon salad.” I said with regret.

  With no breakfast, after the night I’d had, I’d been looking forward to the whole nine yards at lunch, but I didn’t want to spend any more time with Vargos than necessary. Jay and I had clearly been shut out of the loop of information regarding the investigation of Ruth’s death. I resented that and knew I wasn’t going to be told anything new or significant by this Greek god.

  “I don’t quite understand why you need to speak with me at all, Captain Vargos,” I began, looking up into those deep blue eyes. Despite my resolve, wading into those depths, I almost lost my train of thought. “I was told that once the cruise officials landed onboard this afternoon, they would assume all responsibility for the investigation.”

  “That would certainly be true if the authorities had been able to board today,” he replied. “Unfortunately, the wind has again gained such strength that a fast boat docking or a helicopter landing is out of the question. Either one would be unsafe. I have been told that we must simply delay the inquiry until we can reach port. Therefore it becomes once again my responsibility, and yours. No?”

  He took a long sip of wine before continuing.

  “At four o’clock I will announce to the passengers the unfortunate news that one of our guests has died. We will observe a moment of silence. They will assume that her death was due to advanced age and that the cruise will continue on as stated in the itinerary after this regrettable delay, necessitated by inclement weather.

  “We will, of course, encourage them in this assumption.” He fixed me with a piercing blue stare. “Beyond that, I will tell them nothing. I must insist that you and Jay Wilson do the same. I will also announce that all shipboard activities, including the Captain’s Cocktail Party and Masquerade Ball planned for this evening, will take place as scheduled.”

  “But Captain,” I protested, “A woman had been murdered on this ship.”

  He looked around to see if I had been overheard, but no one was seated at the next table, and the noise level was fairly high. “We don’t know that, Sidney, now do we? We know that she is dead, of course. But we don’t know why or how she met her death. And we won’t know until we dock in Norway and an official investigation can be conducted.”

  He watched me in silence as Antonio placed a plate of prosciutto and melon before him.

  “Until then,” he continued, “this ship and everyone on her—including you, Sidney—are under my command. I am asking you and your colleague not to discuss the circumstances of Ruth Shadrach’s death or share any wild speculations regarding it with anyone. I do not want panic. As captain of this ship, I could issue these as orders, but I prefer that you honor my request.”

  “But Captain—”

  “I’m sorry, Sidney, but I must insist that every attempt be made by my crew and the cruise and hotel staff to carry on as if nothing unusual has happened. I strongly suggest that you do the same.” He picked up the bottle from the silver cooler at his elbow and said, “May I?”

  After filling my glass and his own, he lightly touched his glass to mine, all the while watching me carefully with his deep blue eyes.

  I could see why Zoe and every other woman on this ship found this man attractive. I regretted that he was already taken and I was sorry we had not met another time, in another place. He did look and act like a movie star, and lunching alone with him in that beautiful setting under other circumstances would have been pretty special.

  But he clearly would be no help in solving Ruth’s murder. He had his job as captain to consider. I had my job as travel leader and my mission—to find out who had killed Ruth and why. I wasn’t sure how best to respond to Captain Vargos’ “request,” so I concentrated on finishing my lunch.

  The lovely Salad Niçoise and the chilled Chardonnay were not very satisfying. At that moment I would willingly have traded all the gorgeous food and wine and flowers on the Rapture of the Deep for an Amstel Light, just one of Kim’s pastrami sandwiches, and a stool at his ratty counter.

  7

  “I just don’t think
it shows the proper respect, that’s all I’m saying.”

  Gertrude Fletcher sat front-row center in the Crystal Lounge, primly patting her tight gray curls into place, waiting for the vegetable-carving demonstration and class to begin.

  “When you get to be my age, Gert,” said Hannah Weiss, handing out little paring knives, instruction sheets, and raw vegetables, “you’ll find out that you gotta keep moving. Things happen. People get sick. People die. That’s just how it is. Life goes on. It’s sorta like George Burns said, ‘When the guy in the black coat knocks on your door, you gotta go!’ ”

  “Well, I think Ruth would want us to dress up tonight and have a few little drinks.” Brooke Shyler looked down at the emeralds on her perfectly-manicured fingers. “Why, Ruth herself was really looking forward to the masquerade ball,” she continued. “She even brought a costume. Think of it as a memorial.”

  “Yeah, a memorial,” Ethel Goldstein nodded. “A memorial. That’s nice. We’ll think of it as a memorial.”

  “I still think they should have buried her at sea instead of keeping her in the icebox with the radishes,” said Gladys Murphy. “I never seen a burial at sea.”

  Time for moi ... Sherlock Marsh. I began carefully, mindful of Vargos’ warning. “Girls ...” They love to be called girls.

  “Did any of you notice anything odd about Ruth Sunday night during dinner? Anything strange?”

  They nodded in unison, like old bobble-headed dolls, letting me know that this topic had already been well-discussed.