by Marie Moore
Not suntan oil, bath wash. Giorgio. Sylvia’s favorite perfume. Someone had dumped it in the water of the hot tub; the heavy fragrance was unmistakable.
And I knew at that moment that Jay was free.
Not only did he hate the heavy lush scent of the perfume; he would not, could not, be near it because of his allergy.
If Jay had been in the water with that oil he would be wheezing and all covered in a rash. And moreover, we could prove it.
Proof! Jay was in the clear. Either Sylvia had added the perfumed oil to the water after Jay left her or someone else had.
I searched all around the hot tub, and then plunged my arm into the nearest trashcan. Nasty. Drink cups. Wadded-up napkins. Paper plates with old scraps of food from the Midnight Buffet. Pizza crusts. And then, I saw it, the real golden egg. An empty tube of body wash, with the distinctive Giorgio label.
I didn’t touch it, hoping that fingerprints on the tube might really seal the deal for Jay. Covering it back up with trash, I went for help.
31
Much later that evening Jay was released and returned to the Rapture.
Dr. Sledge confirmed Jay’s perfume allergy, Helga produced a charge slip showing Abe’s perfume purchase on the last night at sea, and Abe’s fingerprints were found on the tube along with Sylvia’s.
After Jay had left the hot tub, Abe, or perhaps even Sylvia, had apparently poured the perfumed oil into the water. As Sylvia relaxed in the warm, fragrant water, she had been throttled from behind with my missing pink scarf. Tiny cuts on her body marked the spots where her bikini had been sliced away with a knife, perhaps the very knife that Muriel said she had found on the deck.
I shivered in the cold night air as Jay and I stood by the rail on the Lido Deck and watched the police drive away with Abe and Morgan. Abe was still loudly protesting his innocence and proclaiming his love for Sylvia. Morgan said nothing.
The Russians didn’t care what Abe or Morgan said or didn’t say. They just stuffed them into the Tupelov and drove off.
Jay put his big arm around my shoulders. “That Morgan was really rotten, Sidney,” he said. “He is truly a killer, too. Vargos told me late this afternoon that the authorities said that the badge they found on Morgan was real, all right, the same one he flashed at you. It just didn’t belong to him. It belonged to the dead guy on the carousel, the one you called Homeless Guy, who followed you in New York. He was the real spook, and Morgan is being charged with his murder. Morgan killed him at Tivoli. Homeless Guy was working on the ship, disguised as a crewman. He was following us. He may have even followed you into the park that night, Sid, to warn you. But he slipped up somehow, and Morgan wised up and killed him.”
“So the note the waiter brought me in the restaurant that night must have been from Homeless Guy, Jay. I had a strange feeling, felt uneasy on the paths in the gardens, as if I was being followed. I feel certain now that Homeless Guy must have followed me off the ship to the park. I guess he wanted to warn me. He’d already tried twice before, remember?. Only this time, someone made sure he wouldn’t succeed.”
“All I know, Sidney, is that Morgan was no more a secret agent than your Aunt Minnie. As for your boy Fernando ...”
I looked up at him.
“Please. Let’s just don’t say anything more about him, okay? And he’s not my boy.”
My memory of my special evening at the ballet with Fernando Ortiz is burned into my brain as one of my top ten most embarrassing romantic experiences ever, and—as Jay will be happy to tell you if you’ve got a couple of hours—some of those were pretty dreadful.
When Jay’s snickering finally subsided, I posed a question that had been bothering me since he told me the news about Morgan. “Jay, do you think I need to find somebody to tell about seeing Homeless Guy in New York?”
He shook his head, smiling. “No, Nancy Drew. They know that. They’ve got it all figured out. They know now that Homeless Guy was following you in New York and on the trip, even on the ship, hoping to catch the smugglers.
“How did Sylvia get the red bag, Jay? Do you think Al gave it to her?”
“No, I know he didn’t. Sylvia took it out of his cabin the same night we were there. She found it while we were hiding. It was Sylvia who slipped in to search while we were in the closet.”
“Sylvia! She would have been my last guess. I thought it was a man. The bag must have been in that cabinet. The one we heard open and close. And Sylvia had a knife? How could you know all this, Jay?”
“Monique told me. Monique and Sylvia were good friends. Sylvia told her everything, all her troubles, and Monique did all she could to help her. Sylvia carried the knife everywhere for protection after she left Abe because she was afraid of him. Monique got the knife for Sylvia from a guy she dates, one of the chefs.”
He gave me a little hug.
“Now let it all go, Sid. It’s time to pack it all in for the night. You’ve done enough for one little senior citizen’s cruise, don’t you think? Cool those jets, babe. We’ve solved the mystery, and thanks to you, I’m out of jail. It looks like this gig is finally over. Tomorrow we’re out of here.”
After a major consultation with the Russians, the cruise line, and the embassy, plus about a million calls to and from New York, we had finally gotten everyone to agree to fly us and the remaining High Steppers home the following afternoon.
The Rapture of the Deep would remain in St. Petersburg for another day while the investigation was wrapped up; then the ship, carrying the remaining passengers, would finally sail for England. By that time I should be back in my apartment in New York with this nightmare behind me.
“I still can’t believe it, Jay. I mean, really, who would ever suspect a High Stepper?”
“Apparently that’s what Abe and his boys thought, too, Sid. That’s why they picked poor Ruth to act as their mule.
“One of the Interpol guys told me off the record that they believe that this was probably not the first time the High Steppers have been used as unwitting couriers by Abe’s gang. He’s traveled with us before, remember?”
“Yeah, and he never really fit the normal High Stepper profile, did he?”
“Sidney. Think about what you just said. Is there a normal High Stepper profile?”
“Um. No, I guess not.”
“My guy also said that we, and particularly you, were also followed in New York by Fernando’s driver, who, of course, was really part of the ring, too, and not just a driver.”
“Back to Homeless Guy, Jay. Who did he work for?”
“They wouldn’t tell me. They just said that he was on the other side, the good side, trying to catch Abe’s gang. But he got too close to Morgan, so Morgan took him out at Tivoli.”
“Jay.”
“Yeah.”
“Do they know for sure which one killed Ruth and Al and Sylvia?”
“Well, they don’t have a confession yet. Abe’s insisting he didn’t kill any of them. And remember, they’re still looking for Fernando. They haven’t caught up with him yet, but they will. And when they do, he’ll sing. I bet that the Russians will find out everything they want to know by the time they finish their interrogation. How would you like to spend the rest of your life in a Russian jail? I almost did. If it hadn’t been for you I guess I’d be on my way to Siberia by now, if they still do that. A Russian prison camp would be really bad.”
“That would be only a little worse than facing up to Diana, Jay. I can tell you, I’m not looking forward to hearing what she has to say when we get back to the office. She probably blames us for the whole thing.”
Well, I think that witch should have the decency to apologize. We deserve a raise for what we went through.”
“Yeah, right. Like that’s going to happen.”
“Try not to mention Tiger Woman anymore tonight, okay, Sidney? You’ll spoil my evening. I’m going to karaoke. Want to come?”
“Not tonight, Jay. Thanks, you go ahead. We’re leaving in the mornin
g and I have to tie up a few loose ends. And you know what? I don’t think anything can spoil this night. I mean, it feels pretty fantastic to have finally worked it all out and be headed home, doesn’t it?”
“Yeah, babe, it does. It sure does.”
* * *
I was standing on the Sun Deck, watching the moon rise in the night sky, when I saw him step out, alone this time, onto the flying bridge, and bend to adjust his telescope.
“Hey, sailor,” I called up to him. “How about showing me some stars?”
He stared down at me for a moment, and then, with a broad smile, unlatched the gate and pulled me up onto the flying bridge.
32
We loaded the bus with the High Steppers early Wednesday morning.
Stingy Diana and Itchy had handsomely sprung for a tiny little farewell tour of St. Petersburg between the airport and home, probably to try and head off the lawsuit that the Levy sisters were loudly advocating.
“How cheap is that?” Jay whispered, after we heard the arrangement. “I’ll bet Itchy is going to have to cough up a lot more than this pitiful little shore excursion before it’s all said and done.”
Jay was doing the bag count, tagging each piece as it went in the compartment under the bus. I stood at the bus door, helping those who needed it up the steps. Things were pretty much back to normal. Well, normal for the High Steppers, I mean.
“Stop! Stop the bus!”
Gladys Murphy rushed down the gangway, wild-eyed, followed by her husband Pete, who looked exhausted.
“What’s wrong now, Gladys?” Jay asked.
“We can’t find Muriel,” Gladys shrieked. “We’ve lost her. What if something’s happened to her?”
“Ain’t nothing happened to Muriel unless she passed out dead drunk in some deckhand’s bed,” Angelo Petrone murmured to his wife. “But he’d have to be drunk, too, and blind.”
“Now, now, Gladys,” I said, “Calm down. Muriel’s okay. We’ll find her.”
“Stop all that screeching, Gladys,” Gertrude Fletcher snapped. “Nothing has happened to Muriel. I saw her not ten minutes ago outside the Sunset Lounge, drinking vodka out of her purse.”
“My baby, my baby,” sobbed Gladys.
Great. Just great. Now I’ll have to go and find her, I thought. We couldn’t hold the bus a minute longer and still have enough time for a shore excursion.
“Get on the bus,” I said to the Murphys. “I’ll go back for Muriel and bring her to the airport in a cab. She’ll have to miss her tour, but you shouldn’t have to miss yours. Enjoy your tour and don’t worry. It’ll be fine. Just get on the bus. I’ll bring her.”
Jay rolled his eyes and whispered to me as he climbed aboard, “Very noble, Miss Marsh, quite a sacrifice, missing the last shore excursion with the High Steppers to round up a stray. I’m not sure yet who is getting the better deal here. You might owe me.”
“Well, we don’t have much choice, do we, Jay? We can’t just leave Muriel on the ship and it’s not fair to make the others miss any more of St. Petersburg. Depending on the shape she’s in, we might catch up with you at the Hermitage, or I might just have to take her straight to the airport. I don’t know.”
“You know, Sid,” he said, handing me Muriel’s passport and air ticket, “I’m really glad you have this overdeveloped sense of duty.”
“Yeah, right,” I told him. “Me, too. You be sure and thank my grandmother for that the next time you see her.”
“Okay, High Steppers!” he shouted, bounding up the steps and grabbing the mic. “Let’s roll! And just wait ’til I tell you all about Ivan the Terrible!”
The doors whooshed shut and the bus pulled away from the pier. I waved goodbye until it was out of sight; then I turned and headed back up the gangway to look for that ridiculous Muriel. It was just like Gladys to ride blithely off on the bus, leaving Muriel to me. Now where could she be? We had already paged her repeatedly on the loudspeaker.
Wonderful, I thought. I will just have to search all eleven decks of the Rapture until I find her.
33
I started on the top of the ship at the Sunset Lounge where Gertrude had reported last seeing Muriel.
Mario was mopping the dance floor.
“Yeah, she was here earlier, but she’s gone now. You’ll find her soon, I bet. She was hitting the bottle pretty hard. I don’t think she could make it too far on her own.”
I got pretty much the same answer from workers and remaining passengers in all the lounges, restrooms and public areas on the top three decks.
Deck Eight was all suites, but none of the cabin stewards I talked to there had seen her. She could have hidden in an empty stateroom, I thought, but not for long, because the staff was all over the place, preparing the ship to depart for England. I asked everyone I saw to page me if they spotted her.
Because we were in port, the shops and casino on Deck Seven were closed, but on the Promenade Deck, I got lucky. I ran into Dr. Sledge. Gladys had alerted him, and he was looking for her, too.
“Muriel has been quite a challenge for us all, hasn’t she, Miss Marsh? Let’s divide and conquer, shall we? You search the port side and I’ll take the starboard.”
He looked up and down the corridor and then lowered his voice. “I must say that I will be very glad to see Muriel Murphy headed home, and I am sure you will as well. I have advised both Muriel and her parents of her need for professional help. This spotty guard dog approach that her parents have been taking doesn’t work very well, what?”
“It sure doesn’t, Dr. Sledge,” I said.
And neither do you, I thought, considering his inept, unprofessional, and spineless performance in all that had happened on this voyage.
Where did they get these people?
34
I found Muriel huddled in a corner of the library, which should have been closed and locked at that hour, but wasn’t.
She was sipping vodka out of a pint in her purse and singing softly, curled up in a leather chair like a little child, with magazines and candy wrappers scattered all around her on the floor. She was hammered.
“Muriel! There you are! I’ve been looking all over for you. Let’s go, dear. It’s time to leave the ship. The bus has already left.”
“Do we haaaaaaaaave to go, Mish Marsh? I loooove it here. I don’ wanna go home.”
She peered at me over her glasses, trying to focus. Then she tried to stand, wobbled for a moment and crashed back down into the chair. She obviously couldn’t walk by herself, and she was no lightweight.
Great, just great. Now I’ve got to haul her out of that chair, get her off the ship by myself, pour her into a cab, and sober her up enough to be allowed onto the plane.
They don’t pay me enough. They don’t pay me enough. They don’t pay me enough. My new mantra.
I thought about going for assistance, but all the ship’s crew was really busy, and besides that, if I left her to get help, she might stumble away and hide again. I was through playing that game.
“Muriel. Give me your hand. I’m going to help you up, and then we’re going to take the elevator down to B deck and leave the ship. Okay? A cab will take us to the airport to meet the others. Wouldn’t you like that? The bars on the ship are all closed now, Muriel. The cruise is over. The airport is really nice; you’ll like it. Now just hold on to me, that’s it, and try to stand. That’s great. Good girl. Steady now. Hold onto me. Now let’s try to walk.”
I put my arm around her and heaved her up out of the chair.
They don’t teach you this stuff in travel agent school, but they should. Muriel was certainly not the first problem drinker I had dealt with on tour. Drunks are an occupational hazard on package tours.
We stumbled toward the glass elevator. I held Muriel up against the wall while I pushed the down button, talking to her all the time.
When the doors opened, I muscled her into the elevator, propped her in the corner against the back wall, and punched the B Deck button. She h
ad stopped mumbling and was humming instead, the same snatch of tune over and over and over.
Itchy’s really got to up my pay after all this, I thought.
The elevator started down.
Through the glass wall I could see the taxi line. Most of them had left, but a few remained. The suitcases that had been lined up outside the customs shed were almost gone. The elevator stopped on Continental Deck, but no one was there waiting.
The doors closed again and we continued downward. I waved at Captain Vargos, who was standing, tall and handsome, at the purser’s desk. When he saw me waving he didn’t wave back, but instead said something to the purser and pointed at me; then he headed rapidly toward the stairs without another glance in my direction.
What’s wrong with him? I wondered. I thought we were okay now. More than okay. In fact, last night was pretty great.
“Whee!” Muriel said, her green-grape eyes glowing as we whooshed through the atrium of the main lobby then into the enclosed shaft that passed through the lower passenger decks.
While Muriel hummed behind me, I watched the lighted numbers change above the door. We stopped on B Deck, where the entrance to the main gangway was located.
The doors were opening for B Deck when the cord went around my neck.
Somehow, somehow I managed to get a few fingers under that cord bare seconds before I was down on the floor, fighting for my life.
Muriel shouted out that maniacal cackle that had haunted my days and nights since my macabre performance in the Broadway Showroom. She pulled the cord tighter against my fingers, around my neck.
Muriel was incredibly strong. Incredibly sober. And mad, completely mad.
“Don’t struggle against me, Sidney, don’t fight me. It won’t help. I’m much stronger that you, you know. Just take your punishment. You can’t win. There now, just relax, you little trollop, and it will soon be all over. Relax!”
I clawed against the cord as hard as I could, trying to bite her, kick her, buck her off my back, but it was no use. She not only outweighed me, she was so strong, so incredibly strong. I couldn’t take my hands away from under the cord to try to hit her. I couldn’t risk it.