1 Shore Excursion

by Marie Moore

  I slid into my seat just as Captain Vargos rose to give his welcome toast.

  He looked handsomer than ever in the dark coat of his formal dress uniform. The gold epaulets on his broad shoulders gleamed in the candlelight. Seated next to him was a beautiful young blond in a silvery blue dress, her perfect hair curling down her bare back. Her lovely face smiled up at him as he completed his toast.

  Resuming his seat, Captain Vargos stared coldly, directly, at me and then quickly turned his head, smiling, as if hiding a laugh. He had been staring, not at my face, but at the top of my head.

  Reaching up, I discovered the big plastic hot roller that, in my haste, I had failed to remove from my hair. Great look, Sidney, I thought, now he thinks you’re really cool. I snatched it out, hoping no one else had noticed. My face blazed with heat as I tucked the stinking thing into my purse.

  17

  I couldn’t rest that night, not at all. I was getting very little sleep on this cruise. Too much was wrong; too many bad things were happening.

  I had made myself look like a fool at that damn dinner, my love life was non-existent, and my boss and my best friend were both mad at me. Two of my clients were dead, along with a random guy I might have recognized, and I was no closer to finding out why, much less who.

  I felt as if this whole trip was inexorably headed toward some terrible end, just as our ship steadily plunged at full speed through the dark water.

  The ship’s destination, however, was fairly certain; mine was not. I was handling everything badly, acting like an idiot, running around like a chicken with its head cut off, and I didn’t have a clue how to fix anything.

  If Jay had been there, I would have woken him up and talked it out until his street smarts produced some answers, a real plan of action. He would have ultimately said something totally outrageous and made me laugh. But he wasn’t there, and that was my fault, too.

  I looked at the clock. Three a.m. I thought some more. I looked again. Three fifteen. I had been tossing and turning like this, staring at the ceiling, forever. Plus, I realized, I was hungry. I hadn’t eaten much dinner. The midnight buffet was long over and it was too early for breakfast, but, hey, it’s a cruise ship. There’s always food somewhere, right? I could have called room service—they have it 24/7—but I was ready to get out of that room for a while. Maybe escaping the room would also help me get away from my thoughts.

  Now, I know it was pretty goofy of me to ramble around the silent ship alone at that hour, but I was sure that I could be quick and careful, and after all, it was three o’clock in the morning. The murderer was probably asleep, like everyone else but me. Even murderers have to sleep sometime, don’t they? According to Jay and everyone else, there hadn’t been any mad murders anyway, only a sad suicide, a crime of passion, and a totally unrelated incident ashore involving the grisly death of a stranger. A stranger who had wanted to tell me something. I knew that much was true.

  But still, I was pretty sure I could get away with a quick snack run. I was starving, and totally sick of that cabin, tired of looking at Jay’s empty bed.

  I stripped off my nightgown and pulled on gym shorts and a T-shirt, the first things I grabbed out of the drawer. I didn’t even consider makeup. Who would I see at this hour?

  As predicted, I met no one in the hallway, not even Abdul. Steering clear of the elevators, I zoomed up two flights and then slipped out on deck for the fastest transit to the back of the ship. The deck was deserted, too. I didn’t linger. The wind was icy, and I was soon shivering in my skimpy little outfit.

  There was always coffee and some kind of snack in the casino bar, so I headed there.

  To reach the casino from the port deck, I had to go all the way around the Broadway Showroom outside in the cold wind and enter on the other side, or else take a shortcut through the darkened theater, which you really weren’t supposed to do. But there was no one around to see, so I skirted the brass “Showroom Closed for Rehearsal” sign and pushed open the heavy door. Signs like that rarely stop me, anyway, unless the High Steppers are watching.

  I stepped inside, and in almost total darkness felt my way down the aisle, trying not to collide with anything as I headed for the opposite door.

  I had just reached the middle of the dance floor, just below the stage, when I heard the laughing behind me.

  I froze, stock still, listening and shivering all over. I couldn’t tell whose voice it was—whether man or woman or maybe the ghost—or even pinpoint the source of the sound. I was almost in the center of the big room, and the eerie cackling seemed to be coming from all around me. The laughter echoed and grew louder and louder, booming in the dimness. Then I realized that a spirit was out of consideration unless the spook was at the big master sound board, playing with the magician’s voice synthesizers and special effects. I could just make out a shadowy figure—whether man or woman, it was too dark to tell—seated behind the big board. But in the dark? At three o’clock in the morning?

  I inched quietly forward across the dance floor, hoping to creep slowly to the exit and escape unnoticed.

  Suddenly I was blinded, surrounded by a pool of white light. The weirdo had turned a spotlight on me. I stood transfixed, in the center of the pool of light, the only light in the room.

  Music boomed out, Sinatra singing “New York, New York.”

  That dreadful laughter began again, and then a voice, still unidentifiable, distorted by the sound system’s special effects, whispered, echoing, through a microphone, “Dance for me, little dolly, dance. Dance as if your life depends on it.”

  And so I danced. There in the darkened showroom, in the middle of the night, in the center of the spotlight, I danced, desperately trying to think of an escape, until the clapping and giggling and music ended, and the light went out.

  And then I ran, and ran and ran, ran like a scalded dog, out of the Broadway Showroom, past the photo gallery, through the arcade, down the stairs, down, down, down, never looking back to see if the banshee was following, until I finally reached my door and slammed and locked it behind me. I slid down the door, sobbing, to the floor, that horrid laughter still ringing in my ears.

  During that headlong flight, I had met no one, seen no one, passed no one, heard not a living soul. It was as if the ship was not the Rapture of the Deep after all, but instead, The Flying Dutchman.

  * * *

  When I woke, just after seven, I wasn’t sure if the night’s events had been real of not. Perhaps, I thought, it had all been a horrible nightmare, a product of my overwrought imagination and the stress of the last few days.

  But there were my shorts and shirt in a heap on the floor by the bed.

  It had been real, all right. It had happened. I just didn’t know how I was going to deal with it.

  I found some aspirin in the bathroom, then lay back on the bed, waiting for the little dwarves in the iron boots to stop jumping up and down in my head.

  For a long time I stared at the ceiling, trying to decide what to do. In the end I decided to do nothing.

  As dangerous as it might be, and as hard as it might be, I resolved not to tell anyone what had happened until I had a better idea of the big picture. Telling would only cause a big hullabaloo with little result. There would just be a lot of talk, but no one would do anything. I knew all too well what the official line would be.

  Jay would be alarmed at first, but then the image of my command performance would overwhelm him, and for years hence he would tease me about it. What a great story to tell over cocktails! He wouldn’t be able to resist.

  Could the puppet master have been Jay, playing a trick on me to exact some twisted kind of revenge?

  No, that scene had been too strange even for Jay, and too cruel. Jay takes jokes pretty far sometimes, but he is not cruel and he has never been mean to me. Despite our differences, Jay was one of the few people on board I knew I could trust.

  And, I thought, if I remained silent, perhaps whoever had carried out the prank
would let something slip; then I would know who the enemy was.

  I had not been harmed, not really, and no one knew what had happened except me and the madman. This thing had to end somehow, and the more I thought about my humiliation and fear, the angrier I became.

  My fear had turned me into a performing monkey, terrorized me into dancing for the amusement of an insomniac freak. While I spent my morning cringing over the spectacle I had made of myself, that damn ghoul was probably laughing his head off just thinking about it, or maybe something sicker.

  But what about the threat? Dance, if you want to live? Had I just stumbled onto some kooky drunk messing around with the sound board or had I been followed into the theatre? Was I being stalked? Was my tormenter actually the murderer?

  Whoa, Sidney, I thought. Don’t go down that path. Nothing but hysteria there. No, I had to be strong, and brave, and above all, smart. Careful. And no more solo midnight rambles! Maybe I really did need to tell Jay what had happened, even if it meant enduring a lifetime of teasing. I resolved to give that a lot of thought.

  But first, I had to find Jay and make up. No way was I spending another night alone.

  18

  Looking for Jay, I searched the Rapture’s public areas, literally from stem to stern and from the Sun Deck to B Deck.

  No Jay.

  I asked around among the High Steppers, but no one had seen him since the bus returned from Tivoli just before the ship sailed.

  “Are you sure he came back with the bus?” I asked Fred Johnson.

  “Oh, yes,” Fred nodded, “though he was acting pretty strange, I thought, even for him. He was rather subdued, sort of distracted. Maxine and I both remarked on it.”

  “Did you notice where he went after you came aboard?”

  “No. We were almost the last to board. We rode up in the elevator with him, but we got off on Promenade Deck. Jay said good night and continued on up in the elevator. I don’t know where he went after that. Is something amiss?”

  “Oh, no. No. Nothing’s wrong. I haven’t seen him this morning, that’s all.”

  “He’s probably sleeping. He had quite a bit to drink, Miss Marsh.”

  “Oh.”

  Well then. That explained a lot.

  “I am meeting Maxine for lunch in a few minutes,” Fred continued, “Will you join us?”

  “No thanks, Dr. Johnson. I’d love to, but I’d better see if I can find Jay right now. Perhaps tomorrow.”

  * * *

  I found Edgar, the ship’s concert pianist, in the Starlight Lounge, practicing for his evening performance.

  He was playing Chopin’s Military Polonaise, his favorite, and I sat in the back of the darkened room until he finished, not wanting to interrupt, enjoying his music.

  Edgar trained at Juilliard and for a while he was on the concert stage. He never achieved stardom, however, only moderate success. He had been almost ready to give up and find another way to earn his living, when a chance meeting with an old friend in Miami resulted in a contract with a cruise line.

  Now, twenty years later, his piano has taken him around the world. He is tall, balding, and British, with a great handlebar mustache. He is also a very funny man, and he does a sort of comedy concert show on some nights and serious classical recitals on alternate afternoons. He practices everyday for four hours, mostly, he says, to keep his fingers limber.

  “Bravo, bravo, maestro, bravo!” I said, clapping as he finished.

  Edgar turned and peered into the dimness of the cavernous room. “Ah, there you are, my dear Sidney. My audience of one. How nice. Thank you. Come closer, please, I am ready for a break. Tell me, are you here for a reason? Is it my superb playing, my mastery of the keys? Or is it that you just couldn’t wait until dinner to see me again?”

  For the last couple of nights I had been dining at Edgar’s table, having bailed earlier in the week on Murphy and Company.

  “Both. Your music is magnificent, of course, but I did want to ask you something.”

  “Fire away, then, dear girl. I am putty in your hands. Do you want to ask how thrilling it would be to sleep with an elderly British concert pianist? No? Well. What then?”

  “Edgar, it’s Jay. I don’t know where he is, I can’t find him anywhere in the public areas, and no one has seen him at all today. He got pretty smashed last night, I’m told, so he may just be holed up somewhere, holding his head. Or he may be hiding, pouting because of a little disagreement that we had, which was, I’ll admit, my fault. He moved out of my cabin in a snit, and I don’t know where he went. I wouldn’t worry, but as you well know, some funny things are happening on this ship. Have you seen him?”

  “Indeed I have, my darling, you should have come to old Edgar first thing and not wasted time running about. I wasn’t supposed to tell you this, but I shall. I shared the hair of the dog with Jay not two hours ago on his balcony.”

  “His balcony! What do you mean, Edgar? B Deck doesn’t have balconies.”

  “No, dearest, but the Neptune Suite does, and that’s where our boy is ensconced. In fine style, I must say.”

  “The Neptune Suite! He’s in the Neptune Suite? How in the world did he manage that?” I thought for a moment. “Oh, my God, he didn’t break in, did he?”

  Edgar shook his head and laughed, “No, no, no, no. He is there quite legally. By invitation. How he managed it, I can’t say. You’ll have to ask him.”

  He turned back to the keyboard as I thanked him and left, calling out to me over his shoulder, “Think nothing of it, love, but mind you, I shall demand a full report at dinner tonight. You will undoubtedly want to share a bottle of port.”

  * * *

  I rang the doorbell of the Neptune Suite, calling out “Room Service” in my best Spanish accent. No answer. I rang the bell again.

  “Room Service for Meester Weelson.”

  I heard steps approaching the door, stopping as he peered out though the peephole. Not that it did him any good, because my finger was over it.

  I rang the bell again and curiosity got him. I knew it would.

  He jerked the door open and stuck his head out. When he saw me, he tried to slam the door, but I was too quick for him. I had slipped inside.

  “Beat it. Scram. Go away, Sidney, please leave. I have nothing to say to you.”

  “Well, I have something to say to you, Jay Wilson, if you’ll let me into the pity party for just one minute. I came to say that I was wrong to treat you the way I did, and I’m sorry. So there. I apologize. Now will you forgive me?”

  “I don’t know,” he said. “Maybe. It depends. But first you’ve got to tell me who you really went to Tivoli with last night, Sid. I know it wasn’t Chet, because I saw him leave the ship when we did, in a cab by himself. So who were you with? Don’t lie. I can tell when you lie.”

  So I told him all about my ridiculous dinner dates, down to the last detail, ending with the horror at the carousel. I didn’t mention that I thought I had recognized the murdered man, or about my nocturnal tormenter. I was still trying to decide whether to tell him about that or not. By the time I had finished, he wasn’t mad at me anymore, just preachy.

  “Sidney Lanier Marsh, Chet doesn’t matter—he’s just a fluffball—but I hope someday you learn to avoid sketchy guys like Fernando and Vargos. Now here you are, playing around with both those bad boys. Tell me, though, I can keep a secret, which one is better?”

  It took all of my will to control my temper after that cheap shot, but I managed it, probably because deep down I knew I had it coming. “When I find out, Jay, you’ll be the first to know. Okay, my friend, we’re even. Actually, you win. You always win, don’t you? Truce?”

  He smiled and nodded slowly. “I guess so, Sidney. I never have been able to stay in a fight with you for long, have I? Come, relax and I’ll get you a drink. Welcome to the Neptune Suite!”

  I sat on a pale blue silk loveseat beside a marble table supported by gold dolphins and Jay poured two glasses of Dom from a
bottle chilling in a silver cooler. He was wearing a silk robe embroidered with the words “Neptune Suite” and a little trident on the pocket.

  He might have appeared very impressive, except that his huge hairy legs sticking out from the bottom of the robe spoiled the effect.

  He handed me a glass, clinked it with his, and I knew I’d really won, though he wouldn’t make it easy. I’d still have to grovel a little to be totally back on his good list.

  “How do you like my suite, by the way? Nice, isn’t it? Although the gold seahorse faucets in the Jacuzzi are a bit much.”

  I looked around the room, taking it all in, thinking it all over.

  “Would you like to move in?” he said. “There’s plenty of room.

  “Jay,” I demanded, “What are you doing in this suite? I want the truth. How did you get here?”

  He didn’t say anything, wouldn’t even look at me.

  Then I knew.

  “You caved, didn’t you? You told them that it was all fine, that you had changed your mind and would back up whatever version they wanted to spin about Ruth and Al and everything. In exchange, you got the Neptune Suite.”

  I headed for the door. He still hadn’t said anything, wouldn’t meet my eyes.

  “No, Jay, I’m not moving in,” I said as I started to back away. “I couldn’t sleep one wink in this place, knowing that I had totally copped out for the sake of gold faucets and a Jacuzzi.”

  19

  Vinny, one of the assistant pursers, shook his head firmly at my request.

  “No can do, Sidney. No way. I can’t give you a key to Mr. Bostick’s cabin or a copy of the passenger/crew manifest without authorization.”

  “But, Vinny,” I lied, “Captain Vargos said he wants me to have both those items so I can help him figure out how to keep the High Steppers safe. After all, I am the tour leader. He wants me to have those things. He said so.”