by Marie Moore
Who knew?
Most of the High Steppers go to the early show before dinner, so I decided that would be the perfect time to check out Bostick’s cabin.
I turned off the water, wrapped my hair in a towel and myself in a robe, and stepped out into the cabin to lay out my plan for Jay.
He was gone again. There was a note on my bed.
You are hogging the bathroom again, piggie. I can’t wait on you any longer. Try to look amazing tonight. Don’t wear that tired old blue thing you always wear.
See you at dinner.
—J.P.W., II (The Magnificent!)
Tonight was another formal night, so I wiggled into a new black sequined number that I had snatched up, no kidding, at a Midnight Madness clearance sale. I twisted my hair up and secured it with a diamond, well, rhinestone pin.
There. Jay would approve of this outfit—yes, he would. Maybe it wasn’t totally amazing, but it was close. I have to admit he was right about that blue dress. It’s seen better days.
I added long silver and CZ earrings and was digging in my drawer for my evening bag when the phone rang.
I picked it up. A mechanical sounding voice whispered, “Back off, Sidney Marsh, or you are next.”
“Who is this?” I demanded, but my answer was a quiet click. The call had ended.
I hung up and sat down on the bed, weak-kneed, my stomach churning.
Great, just great, I thought. Now even the perp is in on Warn Sidney Day. I felt a now-too-familiar frisson of fear, but stamped it firmly down with anger. I was scared, but also just plain mad. I was determined to maintain that anger. It would be my armor.
I considered telling Jay, but if I did, he might insist that I heed the warning. I wasn’t doing that. I wasn’t giving in. Not now, not after all that had happened. After all, if the caller really meant to harm me, he would just do it, not call up and tell me about it in advance. Robot-Voice wasn’t going to hurt me. I was just being terrorized again. That thought infuriated me. I slammed the door behind me and rushed down the passageway to dinner.
21
The entrées that evening included a choice of lobster or prime rib.
Feeling like a Murphy, I ordered both. Does fear and anger make your hungry? For me, that night, it did. I also killed two glasses of wine before the soup course. Edgar, Jay and I were seated at Table Seven, a small table for four on the far side of the dining room. No one else was seated with us. The High Steppers were seated some distance away, in the middle of the room, near the Captain’s table.
Edgar, ever the gentleman, didn’t comment on my gluttony, but Jay never minces words.
“Oink, oink, Sidney! Are you ordering two desserts, too?” You better ease up on the groceries, sweetie. That little sparkly dress looks great on you, but it barely covers your ass as it is.”
“You’re just jealous of my dress, Jay, because you can’t wear it,” I shot back.
“Now, now, children,” Edgar said, “Stop quarrelling and gaze upon Mrs. Petrone. Ah, there’s a sight to behold! A vision in scarlet!”
Angelo and Maria Petrone were just being seated across the room at Table Six. She was, indeed, beyond amazing, in a very low-cut red and gold satin dress with a lot of gold fringe and sparkles and a slit up the front of the skirt. This was a dress for a pop-tart, not a woman of her age.
All the High Steppers were dressed in their finest. Hannah, Ethel and Gertrude had fresh hairdos from the beauty salon, and were wearing tea-length dresses in dusty rose, ice blue, and mauve.
Chet Parker, the Johnsons, and Brooke were seated at the Captain’s table. Both of the men were in black-tie; Maxine wore a green silk knit dress that had to be a St. John, and Brooke was classic, of course, in a long white Dior.
“Captain Vargos is watching you, my darling,” Edgar said, “have you noticed?”
Are you kidding me? I thought. I noticed. Believe me, I noticed.
“Check out the Murphy family,” Jay said. “The fashion police need to make an arrest at Table Four.”
Pete Murphy was squeezed into an ill-fitting rental tux from the gift shop. His hot pink cummerbund was coordinated with Gladys’ garish lime green and pink sequin gown. Daughter Muriel’s skin and fuzzy red hair were not enhanced by her tight, very low-cut, green-bean colored dress.
Muriel glanced in our direction. Her round green eyes glowed, accented by gigantic false lashes. Her thick scarlet lips parted in a dreadful smile. But she wasn’t focused on us. She was watching Table Eighteen by the window, where Fernando Ortiz sat, deep in conversation, with a short, Middle-Eastern man.
“Hoo, boy, he better look out,” Jay snorted. “I’m glad she doesn’t have the hots for me!”
“I am told that she aspires to be an actress and a singer,” Edgar said. “I interrupted her terrible singing yesterday when I went into the Broadway Showroom for my rehearsal. Completely off-key. A horrible experience! She said she was practicing for the talent show, and I could tell that she truly believes that she will win. Very sad, really.”
Edgar looked at his watch, placed his napkin on the table, and pushed back his chair. “I must be off now, my dears. I am scheduled to play Beethoven tonight in the Boom Boom Room. Such a travesty!”
After Edgar left, I laid out my plan for Jay, who agreed, I think, just to keep the peace and get me off his back. All he really cared about at this point was getting this gig over with and returning to New York pronto. I didn’t tell him about my robo-call warning and I still hadn’t shared my own horrible experience in the Broadway Showroom. I was keeping all that to myself for the time-being. I thought Jay might back out on the investigation of Al’s room, and this was our first and only crack at it. Jay can be a big chicken.
I felt the Captain watching me again, but I wouldn’t meet his eyes.
He won’t catch me alone for any more little chats or to give me any more orders until I’ve solved our mystery, I vowed. After that, we’ll have to see.
The meal ended with Cherries Jubilee, sort of a shipboard staple. Like Baked Alaska, it is served aflame and is prepared tableside by the headwaiters. They must believe these culinary demonstrations enhance their chances for big tips at the end of the cruise.
It doesn’t, at least as far as the High Steppers are concerned. They figure everything is part of the deal. They won’t pay one dime for extras.
Still, the flaming ceremony is pretty, and the dessert, a cruise-ship staple, is yummy. Jay and I both lapped it up and lingered over coffee. He spared me any more cracks about my appetite for food or drink, having put away more than his share of both.
By now, the dining room was almost empty. The captain had left his table. The High Steppers always rush out right after dessert so they can fight for front-row seats for the cabaret.
After dinner we stood at the doors of the Broadway Showroom until we were pretty sure that most of the High Steppers were seated and enjoying the show.
Then we headed for Bostick’s cabin.
22
“Someone’s coming. I hear someone coming. Quick, quick, quick! Into the closet. Quick! Turn off your light.”
Jay and I dove into the closet in Bostick’s cabin, burrowing behind the man’s nasty old clothes just as the footsteps stopped outside the door. We had just begun our search and now here we were, Laurel and Hardy, stuffed into the tiny closet. Barely breathing, we heard the cabin door open.
I expected it to be the steward, but the overhead light remained off. Whoever had joined us also preferred darkness.
Not a good sign.
Under the door I could see a thin beam of light moving along the floor, probably looking under the bed. I held my breath and prayed.
Soft footsteps moved closer. A cabinet door opened. A pause, then the sound of a door closing. A dresser drawer glided opened next.
Great. Just great. Someone else was searching the cabin. The closet would be next and then we were busted. I tried to press deeper into the smelly darkness but there was little room, especial
ly with Jay trying to do the same thing.
The closet door slid partially open, the tiny light beamed in, and a gloved hand began to slide the hangers along the rod on Jay’s side. I felt him shudder.
Just at that moment, we heard a distant clatter from far down the long passageway. The hand froze for a moment, then withdrew. The closet door slid shut, and we heard the soft footsteps moving quickly away.
I could smell Bostick’s shoes and my own sweat.
The pencil beam clicked off, and I heard the cabin door quietly open and close.
“I think I just peed in my pants,” Jay whispered.
“Thank you for sharing,” I whispered back.
We heard distant voices approaching in the passageway, becoming clearer as they approached. As soon as they passed, we would be able to slip out, too. I heard Jay exhale, but we did not move a muscle or make any other sound. The voices and the metallic clattering sound were directly outside the cabin now—deep voices, Russian. We waited for them to continue past the cabin, but instead they stopped, opened the cabin door, switched on the lights, and entered.
Heavy footsteps. One of them said something that earned hearty laughs from the others. The bathroom door opened. A toilet flushed. Then I heard wheels, and thuds, and drawers opening and realized that the cabin’s contents were being loaded on a cart. I knew then that it had to be crew, with orders to clean out the cabin.
Our only hope of escaping discovery was if the cart was small and filled before they got to the closet. I knew the linens would take up a fair amount of room, but Bostick hadn’t had much stuff.
The bed creaked under the weight of one of the men, and I heard paper rustling, pages turning, then chuckling, followed by comments in Russian and more laughter. A pager beeped, the bed creaked again and the cart thudded against the doorway. Then they were gone, locking the door behind them.
We stumbled out of the closet and into the room. I realized I was trembling.
“Holy moley, that was close! Your bright ideas almost did us in this time, Sidney. We’ve got to get out of here before either those Russians or our other friend comes back. It’s like a freeway in here. They must have posted a notice somewhere that this cabin had been released.”
I glanced around the room, hoping against hope to find something, anything, quickly that would make our risk worthwhile. Everything belonging to Bostick except the stuff in the closet had been removed, and we had already determined that the closet contained nothing but a few nasty old clothes.
Jay stuck his arm under the bed and came out with a bondage magazine.
“Looks like those guys missed this one when they looted old Bostick’s stash. Thank God for chains and leather. If they hadn’t found this juicy stuff they might have had time to look in the closet before they were called away. Let’s get out of here. If Ruth’s red bag was ever in this room, it’s gone now. Someone must have beaten all of us to it. Come on. Let’s get the hell out, Sidney. Now, before the phantom returns for another look.”
* * *
Back in our cabin, Jay locked the door and then we hashed everything out, beginning with my first sighting of the homeless guy in New York. I finally told Jay all about recognizing the guy on the carousel after receiving the note at the restaurant and the details of my horrible night in the Broadway Showroom. He was shocked and sobered. After that, and our little evening adventure in Al’s closet, I had Jay’s full attention. He was finally taking me seriously.
“Okay, Sidney, I admit it. You are right. The fun and games are over. Our visitor in the dark tonight had a knife. I saw it on the table when the closet door opened, reflected in the beam of the flashlight. I do not, not like knives. I wasn’t too worried when I thought The Strangler was lurking around because I’m pretty big and it would take someone even bigger to strangle me. But knives are another thing. Knives are really bad. I don’t do knives. I am not ending up as sushi.”
“A knife, Jay? Really, a knife?”
“A real knife. Long. Sharp.”
“Okay.” I took a deep breath. “Okay. Well.” I took another long breath. “Let’s try to stay on task, Jay. You were asking about the homeless guy.”
“Okay, okay. Shelve Jack the Ripper. Back to the homeless guy. When you saw him in New York, Sid, were you afraid of him?”
“Well, yeah, sort of, especially when Eddie said he saw him on my steps. But he can’t be the killer, Jay, because Homeless Guy is dead. Besides, if he’d wanted to kill me, he wouldn’t have warned me with a note.”
“Homeless Guy never really did anything to you, did he? Never said anything?”
“No. Not in New York. He followed me, and yelled at me once to stop, but I couldn’t hear what he said. He never said anything I could understand until we were on the ship, and I didn’t realize even then that it was him.”
“What? Homeless Guy was on the ship?”
“He was on the ship, and he warned me about the deck being dangerous. I thought he meant slippery because the deck was wet and the sea was rough, but maybe it was more than that.”
“How did you know it was the same man and why didn’t you say anything about it?”
“Because I didn’t realize it was him at the time. He was dressed differently, like a crewman. You know how hard it can be sometimes to recognize someone out of context. It was only later that I knew it. Something about the way he walked … and his eyes, Jay, they were a weird color, kind of muddy gray-green. I remembered his eyes.”
“And then you didn’t see him again until ...”
“Tivoli. On the carousel. Dead. I’m almost positive the note I got in the restaurant was from him.”
“But how was Homeless Guy connected to you, and us and the High Steppers? To Ruth and Bostick?”
“I don’t know, Jay. I’ve thought and thought about it and I can’t come up with any answers that make sense. I think now that he might not have been a homeless person at all and that the homeless thing was just a cover, but for what? For who? I’m convinced that the note the waiter gave me in the restaurant at Tivoli came from him. I think he wanted to meet me, talk with me, at the carousel but I was delayed and he was killed before I got there. I believe now that he followed me, followed us, around New York and halfway around the world. I just don’t know why.”
“What about Ruth and Bostick? Could they have had a connection with Homeless Guy?”
“I can’t imagine how, unless they were involved in something without knowing it. But what? They both led pretty simple lives.”
“Well, I guess, but we didn’t know about their special relationship until Bostick told you, did we? Maybe they had other secrets, too.”
“Oh, please. An occasional boodle on the Jersey shore in no way compares with whatever’s going on here. This is heavy stuff.”
“It all goes back to the High Steppers, though, Sidney. There’s something going on with the High Steppers and that missing red bag. The other passengers on the Rapture don’t seem to be involved, just us. We think we know this bunch pretty well, but do we? How much do we really know about them as individuals? What if one of them is a Lizzie Borden? A Son of Sam? We need to take a harder look at the High Steppers. You’re always Googling people. Have you thought to Google the High Steppers?”
“Uh, no. Have you?”
“Yes, of course. That’s how I spend my weekends. Are you kidding me? No. It never occurred to me to Google the High Steppers. But that’s definitely what we need to do now. I can’t believe you haven’t already thought of it, Nancy Drew. Don’t do it on the ship, though, where people are watching. You know how little privacy there is in the computer room. Wait until we dock tomorrow in Stockholm and check it out at an Internet café in port. I’ll escort the group tour and cover for you. We don’t want anyone to know what you are doing and anyway, it’ll be cheaper off the ship. That bitch Diana would never authorize the expense and you will end up paying it. Meanwhile I’ll babysit.”
He looked at his watch.
“Hungry, Sidney? I am. Let’s grab some pizza at the disco and just dance all this mess away. I feel like dancing, don’t you?”
“You go ahead, Disco Queen, have fun. I’ll check on the High Steppers before I turn in.”
“Okay,” he said, too quickly, letting me know that he needed some space, too. “Later, babe.”
* * *
“Buy you a drink, lady?”
The voice from the dimness of the Buccaneer Bar startled me out of my fog. I had been wandering aimlessly through the ship, ostensibly checking on the well-being of the High Steppers, but really just thinking in circles.
It was Fernando Ortiz, the only customer in the bar, now rising from a corner table. He pulled out a chair for me, signaling two with his fingers to the bartender. He was looking good tonight, his deep tan and long dark hair set off by his creamy linen shirt. The shirt was partially unbuttoned, revealing a muscular chest and a thin gold cross on a fine chain. It was surprising, because he seemed so sophisticated, and the open shirt/chain thing would never be my choice, but it looked pretty good on him.
“Two drinks? How did you know I would accept?” I asked, looking up at him as he seated me.
“I took a chance,” he said, resuming his seat. He swallowed the remainder of his drink as the waiter set the new order down in front of us.
I asked myself why I gave this arrogant man the time of day, even as I watched him blow off the tip as he signed the tab for the drinks. I had no idea. He was not my type at all. Instinctively I knew I should stay far, far away from this ole boy, but still …
He leaned forward, smiling, clinking his glass with mine, and his intimate smile and sudden nearness made me catch my breath.
“You look worried, Sidney. You should stop worrying. Relax. There’s nothing you can do that changes anything that has happened or will happen on this ship. Don’t fret over those dreadful old people. What does it matter? Their lives are over. Their time is up.”