by Marie Moore
What is Vargos doing here? I thought. Why isn’t he on the ship where he’s supposed to be? That’s suspicious.
Even as the question formed in my head, he disappeared into the crowd milling about the entrance.
I paid my bill, gathered my things, and quickly crossed the square, skirting the balloon seller, two tour groups, and any number of children and dogs.
“Don’t do anything on your own without contacting me first,” Morgan had said. To hell with that, I thought. Badge or no badge, I wasn’t sold on Morgan or his story. I don’t know much about G-men, but I doubt that they wear big gold watches.
Entering the narthex, I had to wait for my eyes to adjust to the dimness. Candles flickered in the chapels on the sides of the vaulted sanctuary. Tour groups moved quietly across the worn stone floor, stopping now and then to hear their murmuring guides explain, in several languages, the significance of the architectural features of the cathedral and recount its history. They shuffled from chapel to chapel, whispering stories associated with the statues and monuments that memorialized the famous and near-famous Swedes and saints.
The hum of muted voices created a hollow, echoing sound in the vastness of the great room.
There was no sign of Vargos. His white uniform should have been noticeable in the dimness.
I moved quickly down the outside aisle, working my way through the crowd and peering into every chapel, then moved across to the other side, in front of the high altar, past the statue of St. George and the Dragon, and back up the opposite aisle. No white uniform. Where could he have gone? There was only one public entrance, only one exit. Had I missed him? I didn’t think so.
The only two places left to look that the public could visit were the clock tower and the crypt. I don’t do heights, so I chose the crypt, a decision I instantly regretted once the huge metal door clanged shut behind me. My clumsiness was embarrassing, especially because the loud, echoing noise was followed by the sound of laughter, presumably directed at me.
The mustiness of centuries filled my head.
Bad choice, really bad choice. Got to make this quick, I thought, as I hurried down the winding stone steps, the air growing steadily stuffier. I couldn’t imagine our fastidious captain even setting foot in this dusty, creepy place. Still, I am here now, I thought, so I might as well take a look.
With each step, the light grew dimmer. The walls were lined with engraved stone tablets and alcoves filled with the marble statues and remains of long-dead priests. I tried not to think about free molecules.
Vargos was definitely not there, I decided. In fact, no one was in the crypt but me. No one living, that is.
That’s it, I thought. R.I.P., folks, I’m outta here.
I ran quickly back up the steps—the only way out of that dismal place—and pushed hard on the heavy door, too ready for light and fresh air.
Nothing.
I hit the door with both hands, then my shoe, then put my shoulder hard against it, then finally kicked it, hard.
Still nothing.
Don’t panic, Sidney Marsh, I told myself. That won’t help. Yell.
So I yelled and yelled and yelled and no one came. I beat on the door some more but nothing happened. Then the walls themselves seemed to vibrate as the huge pipe organ in the vast chamber above began the first notes of the evensong.
For sure no one could hear me now. I sat down on the damp stone floor and rested my head on the wall.
After a long while, the organ stopped and then I stood and beat on the door with my shoe and yelled and yelled again and again and again until it wasn’t a yell at all, only a croak. But no one came.
I sat on the steps and put my head on my knees and tried to think my way out. Deep down, I knew I was stuck.
Evensong was over, the church would soon be closing for the night, and the Rapture would sail without me.
My best hope was that a sexton would check the crypt before closing down for the night. More likely, I would have to stay right where I was with the saints until the crypt was opened for visitors in the morning. What had the sign said? Was the crypt open every day, or just on certain days? Was the church even open every day? I couldn’t remember.
At the worst, well, I couldn’t even think about the worst.
I looked at my watch, tilting it so that I could read it in the faint light. 7:55. I was sure the cathedral would close soon, if it wasn’t closed already. No one was coming to release me. No one.
I went to the bottom of the steps, made a pillow of my purse, and stretched out on the cold stone floor. At least the air was a little better nearer the floor.
Five minutes later, when I thought the situation couldn’t get any worse, it did.
What light there was went out, leaving me in total darkness.
26
When they found me, my hair hadn’t turned white, and I wasn’t babbling or chewing on a long-dead hand or anything, but I was dirty, exhausted, and scared.
I heard a scraping noise and a torrent of Swedish, then Jay’s voice. I saw a blaze of light as the massive door swung open.
“There she is. Oh, my God, Sidney, are you all right?”
Then he picked me up in his great big arms and carried me out of that awful place.
* * *
“I still don’t understand how you found me.”
I was sitting propped up on pillows in my bed on the Rapture, sipping a double or maybe a triple brandy Alexander.
“Hannah Weiss, Sidney. You have Hannah Weiss to thank, babe, and also the captain. Hannah saw you go into the crypt and she didn’t see you after that, and when you didn’t get back to the ship in time for the sailing, she called me and told me and wouldn’t let up until we got Vargos. He freaked out and held the ship and sent out a search party to find you.”
“Well, thank her I will, bless her little heart, first thing tomorrow. I just can’t talk to anyone else tonight. And I’m really glad it’s a sea day tomorrow. If it’s okay with you, I’d like to sleep in a little in the morning.”
“You got it, Sid. After that ordeal, you deserve a little pampering.”
“I just feel so stupid, Jay. It’s embarrassing for a tour leader to get herself in a jam like that. What kind of dumbass accidentally locks herself in a cathedral crypt and delays a sailing? Diana will fire me for sure, now.”
“Sidney. I wasn’t going to tell you this until tomorrow, but you might as well know it now. It wasn’t an accident, Sid. Someone locked you in that crypt. The door was wedged shut, and a heavy trunk was pushed in front of it, along with the ‘closed to visitors’ sign. We had to move it to get you out.”
“But why, Jay? Why? Who would do that to me?”
“I don’t know, Sidney. I don’t know who, but I sure can guess why. You are getting on someone’s nerves, big-time, babe. Someone is trying to warn you off, telling you in a major way to stop meddling. Did anyone see you when you were on the computer in the Internet café, Sid? Brooke, Hannah, Ethel, Gertrude, the Johnsons and Chet Parker were with me the whole time, so it wasn’t them. I don’t know where the others were.”
“Captain Vargos was somewhere in the church or the square, Jay; I saw him. Jerome Morgan was around, too, and I think he saw the print-outs.”
And then I told him about Morgan and his warnings.
“That’s bullshit, Sidney, pure bullshit. He’s no more James Bond than I am. You stay away from that dude. Stay far, far away. Think about it, sweetie, think real hard. You’ve really got to watch your back from now on. We can’t have you getting yourself killed. Or, more importantly, getting me killed. Keep your head totally down until we get home, okay? To hell with all this, Sid. Leave the heavy lifting up to Empress. Someone comes up behind you one of these nights and gives you a quick shove over the rail, and it’s all over.”
He probably had more to say along the same lines, but the phone rang. It was Gertrude, who thought she had seen a mouse in her cabin. Jay swore and left to check it out, but not before saying,
“All I really want now, babe, is to get both our asses and what’s left of the High Steppers back to New York as soon as possible—and not in a pine box in the cargo hold. Diana can fire both of us anytime she wants. I don’t care. I’m too creative for this job, anyway.”
* * *
My entombment was a very effective deterrent. If someone had meant to scare me off, they had succeeded.
I decided that night that I was going to stop trying to be a hero and heed all the dire warnings people were hurling at me. Perhaps they did genuinely care about my safety, even Captain Vargos.
Moreover, I realized that I really owed that handsome gentleman an apology and my thanks for holding the ship and sending out the posse to find me. Delaying a sailing is a truly rare occurrence on Empress Lines. They don’t want to pay one extra penny in port charges. They’d hold it for the Pope, maybe, but not for a lowly travel agent.
I threw back the covers, then showered and dressed, taking special care with my clothes and makeup. Then I turned off the lights, locked the cabin, and took the elevator up to the Sun Deck, hoping to find Captain Vargos on the flying bridge, watching the stars through his brass telescope. Now that I was far away from the cabin and out of Jay’s space, I could spritz myself with a little perfume sample Helga had snared for me. My behavior had already upset Jay enough; no need to set off his allergies as well.
As I stepped out on deck, the wind gusted in from the east, billowing my skirt out and making my hair whirl around my head. I was really careful this time, watching my back, minding Jay’s advice, staying in the shadows. As I walked I listened for footsteps, ready to duck back inside at the slightest hint of anything wrong, but no one was on deck but me. Everyone else was in the Broadway Showroom for Comedy Night.
The flying bridge juts out from the ship just above the Sun Deck. As I reached the rail on the deck below it, the sky was sparkled with stars, and sure enough, when I looked up, the captain’s brass telescope was there, gleaming in the moonlight. There was no sign of the captain. Very disappointing.
I was staring out at the waves, in the shadow of a stanchion, watching the white foam rush by in the dark sea, when a gleam of light from above caught my eye. Looking up, I saw Captain Vargos step out onto the flying bridge, and I was just about to call out and wave to him when he bent to adjust the telescope, adapting the height to better suit the beautiful young blonde who stood beside him.
Damn.
I slipped back into the shadows.
You missed your chance with him, Sidney, you fool, I thought, as I slipped silently away, and now he’s moved on. You never ever get it right, dummy, do you?
I stomped back down to my room, not only sad and disappointed, but pretty steamed, too, mostly at myself for believing his compliments and swallowing all that garbage he had told me about being lonely and stuff.
Was he using those lines on Blondie, too, when he asked her to look at the stars?
27
We reached St. Petersburg in the late afternoon on Saturday.
Everyone was on the rail for the sail-in past the rusted hulks of the old Soviet sub base. The wind off the sea and the glorious light as we approached Peter’s Window on the West helped clear away the cobwebs left in my brain by my awful experience in the church in Stockholm.
The fresh sea air and the loveliness of the sunset’s golden glow on the stones of the magnificent old buildings also gave me new resolve: Just enjoy the beauty around you. No more wasting time or energy on what might have been with Stephanos Vargos, Master of the M/S Rapture of the Deep.
The last day at sea had been, thank God, uneventful. I slept late, had a pleasant lunch with Brooke, Hannah and Ethel, then sat in on the shore excursion talk and slide show. Meanwhile I seized the opportunity to chat up everyone I could find. I was all too ready to solve the mystery, turn my information over to the cops and just go home, back to New York, far, far away from dangerous killers and handsome, fickle captains.
I did not see Captain Vargos or his little blonde Barbie-doll all day.
Jay stayed in the cabin going over my notes and computer printouts. Later, he talked the purser into letting him use a computer in his private office. He was finally getting down to business.
My own search hadn’t yielded a lot. There were no hits whatsoever on either Fernando Ortiz or Jerome Morgan. I thought that was odd—unless they really were G-men. We found no hard evidence that those two were even connected to each other, except that Fernando was apparently the only person Morgan ever spoke to, excluding, of course, his astonishing speech to me in Stockholm.
The jury was still out on Morgan, but with no evidence to the contrary on Fernando, I decided that he was in the clear. I liked him, and just because Jay didn’t, I wasn’t going to hang him out to dry.
Abe was a different story. Abe was all over the place. He had been the focus of any number of reported investigations, although as far as I could tell, he had never been convicted of anything. Either he was truly innocent or he had a lot of clever lawyers.
No one had seen much of Abe lately. He stayed in his cabin or by the pool most of the time, especially since Sylvia’s sudden departure. I didn’t have a clue what he did all day, but he sure wasn’t playing shuffleboard with the High Steppers.
There was next to nothing on any of the others—a few harmless mentions—the exception being one shocking account of Muriel Murphy taking it all off in Grand Central Station before being arrested for public intoxication. No wonder her parents were trying to put the lid on her.
Most of the tours for St. Petersburg were fully booked; everyone was excited about visiting all the fabulous palaces, the Winter Palace, the Catherine Palace and Peterhof. I was excited too, and not just about the tours. Fernando Ortiz had called my cabin after lunch and invited me to dinner and the ballet at the famed Mariinsky Theatre.
Who knew what the Captain was up to? I decided I didn’t care. I had plans of my own.
Besides, Fernando clearly liked me a lot, which is more than I could say for a certain captain. I hoped he would be watching through his stinking telescope as we rolled away from the dock in the shiny black limo.
Jay didn’t like Fernando Ortiz at all and he had preached the Stay Away From Him sermon again to me that morning.
For once, though, Jay wouldn’t object to my going out with Fernando, because I wasn’t going to tell him.
Jay and Edgar had plans to skip dinner and go out drinking off the ship with a Russian pianist Edgar had known at Juilliard.
“I mean, I can’t wait, Sidney,” Jay said. “Vlad has this amazing apartment and Edgar says we are going to experience some of the best iced vodka ever. So don’t expect me back anytime soon. You’re on your own tonight. But be careful, love, because when I get back from my little adventure I will be in no condition to rescue you from any tombs.”
“I’ll be fine, Jay. Y’all go and have a good time; don’t worry about me. I’ve got the High Steppers covered through dinner, and then I’m going to the ballet. Nothing bad can happen at the ballet.”
After the port talk I had my chance to confront Pete Murphy about Gladys’ tall tales.
“Why did Gladys lie like that, Pete? About Dr. Sledge being your mother’s doctor? I found out that your mother passed away three years ago in Florida.”
Pete’s big face reddened. He shook his head.
“Because she was embarrassed, Sidney, that’s why. About Muriel’s drinking. We both are. Gladys tries to cover up everything about Muriel. See, Gladys has been talking to Dr. Sledge a lot lately about Muriel’s drinking and mood swings and I guess she thought that dumb story about Dr. Sledge’s brother would help hide it.”
He took out a handkerchief and blew his big nose.
“I know it doesn’t do any good, Sidney, but Gladys feels like she has to cover up for Muriel. She always has. I don’t know why. Anyone can see she has a problem. Muriel is our youngest, you know. We thought maybe it would help if we took this trip, spent more time wit
h her, just the three of us. We hoped this nice cruise would help her make some friends and bring us closer together as a family. We have all our meals together, and we’ve signed all three of us up for nearly every class and excursion they offer. Keep her busy, I said, get her interested in something besides her singing, because I know that ain’t going nowhere, no matter what Gladys says. But with all the bars around, Muriel’s just gotten worse. I’m looking for her now. We thought we could watch her, keep our eyes on her, but she’s an escape artist. See ya later, Sidney. I gotta go. I hope you understand. Don’t think too bad about Gladys.”
I watched in pity as that poor, driven man shuffled off down the glittering arcade, peering into every shop, looking for his baby.
I strolled in the same direction, hoping to buy a small gift for Roz, my friend in the office. I always try to bring home a little something for her.
The ship was in full Russian theme. The shops were stuffed with Russian merchandise—fur hats, amber jewelry, vodka, and those painted–wood, nested dolls. Dr. Zhivago was playing in the movie theater that evening, and the dinner menu included Beef Stroganoff and Chicken Kiev.
Nearing the end of the row of shops, I thought I saw Captain Vargos approaching but soon realized it was only First Officer Avranos. I felt another brief pang of longing to be going to the ballet with the captain instead of Fernando. Get real, Sidney, I thought, Pack up the violins. I firmly shoved all thoughts of the captain aside and scooted downstairs to the beauty salon for my appointment. At the ballet, I would be looking good and having a marvelous time. Little czarina, that’s me. I bought a manicure and pedicure, because you never know, do you?
I tried to glean more information about Sylvia and Abe from Monique, but she didn’t add much to what I already knew.
Monique was indignant. “He is a bad man, zat one. Why she ever wants to be with ’im, I do not know. Sylvia is a beautiful girl, beautiful hair, beautiful skin, big bosoms. Many men desire ’er. Why she wants to sleep with zis old toad? Pff! For ’er, of course, from ’im, many gifts. Fur coats, jewelry, many, many gifts. She likes that. She loves gifts. For me, all ze gifts in the world would not suffice.”