My mouth opened. “You know about that too? How?”
“I take this cruise several times a year, so I have lots of friends on this ship. That includes the handsome and talented Chef Gerard. He thinks highly of you and your new husband. I would say he has excellent judgment, except that he can’t seem to see through that phony Sous Chef who follows him around like a hound.”
“You’re not dazzled by all that old school continental charm?” Jack asked. I was a little surprised he had heard Hetty, given that the background buzz had increased in volume.
“Not for a minute. Paolo’s got talent, don’t get me wrong, but he's looking to move up in the world. If he can find a woman who’s loaded like my friend, Marsha Stevens, he’s out of here. Gerard will be left high and dry.”
“Do you think it’s the woman he’s after or her wares?” Jack asked.
“Why not go for the goose rather than the golden egg?” she responded. “If what you’re asking me is if I believe he’s the one with the light touch who stole Marsha’s pricey necklace, I don’t think so. Shortsighted, too, if his aspirations are to live happily ever after with the woman of his dreams who also happens to have a bottomless purse.”
Clearly, Jack had ventured beyond astonishment at Hetty’s grasp of the intrigue afoot on this cruise. An apparently willing informant, she seemed eager to share what she knew. Jack was hooked on every word.
“Marsha’s a repetitive cruiser, like me. She hasn’t been around as long as I have, but she’s wise beyond her years. That hound’s barking up the wrong tree,” Hetty laughed. Her laughter was infectious. I felt more lighthearted than I had all day.
“Too bad she lost that gorgeous piece of jewelry. I hope it doesn’t change her mind about taking this cruise again in the spring. I enjoy her company when she’s not hot on the trail of a man on board. Marsha’s not out to marry for money like Paolo. Still, she’s not shy about the fact that she enjoys the finer things in life, like the jewelry her ex-husband gave her. She says ‘easy come, easy go,’ but her story about what she went through before her divorce doesn’t sound easy to me.”
“I don’t want to be nosy, Hetty, but has Marsha worn that necklace on cruises before?”
“Of course, she has! That necklace is a man magnet as if she needs it!” Hetty replied. “Please, be as nosy as you want. I hope you catch the perp—that’s what you call them, right, Detective?”
“Yes, Hetty, on occasion we do call them that although we have a few other choice names for them too.” Hetty laughed heartily at that. “Who do you think stole that necklace?” Jack asked.
“That drunk who bumped into her as she was leaving Neptune’s Garden. Classic pickpocket routine—create a distraction, then a little misdirection, and presto it’s gone!” Hetty rippled her fingers through the air. “Marsha doesn’t believe me. The guy was three sheets to the wind and acted like he was going to fall after slamming into her. I'm sure while she steadied him, he clipped the chain or opened the clasp and slipped it off. She was so intent on getting the foul beast away from her, I doubt she would have noticed if he’d taken her earrings too.”
“Did she get a good look at the man?” Jack asked.
“I’m not sure. Paolo turned up right about then. When he started making a fuss, asking if she was okay, the drunk took off—not running, but at a good clip for someone that drunk."
I glanced at Jack. The wheels were turning. Recounting every word of his conversation with Marsha Stevens, if I had to guess. Had she mentioned that encounter with a drunk? She claimed never to have seen Jake Nugent. What about Martin Santo or Justin Michelson? Both men had convinced that ship's steward they were drunk when they got caught in a scuffle on Deck 6. Had Martin Santo bumped into her and stolen her necklace? A question from a guest seated across from me intruded into my ruminations about Hetty's revelation.
“It's a shame Captain Andrews can’t be with us tonight. He is such an interesting man, isn’t he?” It wasn't evident to whom the gray-haired, bespectacled woman was speaking, but Hetty responded.
“He’s got his hands full searching for that missing passenger. No way can he leave the bridge under the circumstances.”
“I still say it’s a shame. Our one chance to eat at The Captain’s Table and the Captain's not even here,” said the elderly man sitting beside the woman who had asked that question about Captain Andrews.
“This whole trip has gotten so messed up. It’s been one thing after another. I promised to bring something for my kids from every island on our itinerary. Now, what am I going to do?” asked a woman sitting at the opposite end of the table.
“Tell them something fishy happened on board," her companion snorted. "I for one don’t mind all the changes. That free Olly-Olly dessert buffet was an ‘unshellfish’ act,” the man added, emphasizing what he apparently regarded as another clever play on words.
“Uh-oh, a punster,” I said under my breath.
“A bad one,” Hetty added in a whisper.
The gentleman had more to say. “A gesture of unfathomable depth, I was nearly swept overboard myself by the splashy Olly-Olly display. Kudos to Paolo, I must say,” the fellow brayed.
A waiter across from me rolled his eyes ever so slightly as disgruntled guests moaned. He caught me looking at him and broadened the phony smile plastered on his face. I smiled in return even though I was aghast at the insensitivity in that passenger’s last set of remarks.
“Tasteless, too," I told Hetty, quietly, "with a fellow passenger still lost at sea." Hetty nodded, but not everyone at the table must have shared my concern. The woman who had complained about Captain Andrews' absence spoke up.
“Extra desserts hardly make up for skipping an onshore excursion to a key destination on our itinerary,” she sniffed indignantly.
“Or for the distressing day we’ve had, worrying about what was going to happen next,” another passenger added.
“At least you can’t say it’s a Bora Bora,” the "punster" quipped, then guffawed at his joke. Another round of groans came from passengers seated at our table.
“How much you want to bet he’s the next guy shoved overboard?” Jack whispered. Hetty heard him and chuckled. “If you two delightful women will forgive me, I need to step out for a moment.”
“Do you promise to hurry back?” I asked. Then, I leaned in and whispered in his ear. “You want Adam or Bill to show that picture of Martin Santo to Marsha Stevens, don’t you?”
“Absolutely,” he whispered. Then speaking loud enough for Hetty to hear, too, he said, “It pains me to leave you two alone for long.”
“Not to mention that you don’t want to insult Chef Gerard by letting his food get cold,” Hetty chided. Jack nodded and took off, his phone already in his hand.
"More wine, Ma'am?" That waiter from the other side of our table asked.
"Yes, please," I replied as I watched Jack. He turned to look at me as he made that call. Bill Tate must have answered because Jack began speaking to someone.
I hoped Martin Santo was, indeed, the drunk who had bumped into Marsha Stevens. The possibility that some other drunk with expert pickpocket skills was roaming the ship was more than I could bear to consider. Still, what difference would it make if it had been Martin Santo unless we could find him?
15 Morning Constitutional
I felt as though I had a hangover when I woke up on Day 9 of our ten-day voyage. Not from drinking, but from too many sweets. My chocoholism had done its worst. I had not been able to resist a peek at the treats in those take-out boxes when we finally returned to our cabin. A huge mistake. Even Jack had been unable to resist the urge to “eat dessert twice.”
“Lucy and Ethel must have felt like this after they got fired from that job at the candy factory,” I murmured. That Rumi quote about the sea breeze carrying secrets didn’t help me get out of bed this morning. In fact, all the ugly secrets that we had uncovered yesterday made me want to pull the silky covers up over my head.
In
addition to suffering the consequences of my overindulgence, I was feeling the aftermath of my wrestling match with that fool Justin. Why not stay here? I’d be comfy and safe from missing passengers which no one seemed to miss, murderous thieves, and a misguided youth all too willing to play the patsy.
When I became fully conscious, I suddenly remembered that my gorgeous little bauble had disappeared last night. Where? Jack and I couldn’t be sure. Its disappearance was eerily like Marsha Stevens’ vanishing necklace. In my case, there was no drunk involved, and I hadn’t even left the restaurant when I noticed it was missing.
Or more precisely, Hetty Green noticed as we were saying our goodbyes. “Georgie, what have you done with that exquisite pearl and diamond pendant? Please tell me you took it off and put it away when you went to the powder room?”
Recalling how startled I had been, even now, I reached for the necklace as I had done last night. As unbelievable as it had seemed, it wasn’t there!
Jack and I had done a quick search with help from the staff who were still around and cleaning up. Our servers had already cleared the dishes and stripped the tables. A waiter shook out the linens that had been tossed into a laundry bin.
The maître d’ had called security and a bleary-eyed Adam Drake had shown up minutes into our search. He had taken down the names of all the staff who had been on duty and had gone so far as to frisk the crew members he could round up—including the maître d’ who was mortified by the experience. Jack had tried to prevent Adam from doing that.
“No thief skilled enough to get that necklace from you without your noticing it is going to hang onto it,” Jack had whispered as we watched from a few feet away. Still, I could understand that Adam was trying to be conscientious.
“He must be following orders from Bill. He wouldn’t take it upon himself to do that without authorization from his boss.”
“True. Bill must be feeling about as bad as Adam did about this crime spree somehow being their fault. Too much responsibility with too little control—the story of our lives, isn’t it?”
“What if it wasn’t stolen at all and I flushed it down the toilet or something stupid happened like that?”
“It’s all just too much of a coincidence, Georgie. Bold, to pick you out as a target, but it wouldn’t be the first time today. You’re always quick to blame yourself, too. The sociopaths who choose to become skilled thieves count on the rest of us having all these doubts and desires not to impose upon others or be impolite. I shouldn’t be so hard on Adam and Bill.”
When we finally gave up and headed back to our cabin, I was close to tears. Jack stopped for a moment and held me in his arms. Lifting my chin, he gazed into my eyes and spoke tenderly but firmly.
“It’s just a thing, Georgie. A very pretty thing, true. One that’s even more beautiful when you wear it, but it’s still a thing. We have so much. All this!” His arm swept wide, drawing attention to our view of the ocean from the deck where we stood wrapped in each other’s arms.
The silvery moonlight cast an almost magical glow upon the water. A breeze rippled, creating a dazzling pattern as though adorning the sea itself in an array of necklaces made of moonbeams and wind. “And we have each other,” the kiss that followed made up for a lifetime of lost baubles and more serious misfortunes. I luxuriated as I replayed that moment from last night, but not for long!
“Georgie, my love, are you awake?” I opened my eyes, and three sets stared back at me this morning. My blue-eyed babies sat at the foot of the bed with Jack standing in between them. He held a serving tray.
“How do you do it?” I asked. The cats swarmed me now that I had responded to Jack’s question. I was awake—let the feline greetings begin. He must have given them their treats already, or they would not have been so polite.
“Do what?” he asked.
“Wake up refreshed and ready to go no matter what went on the night before! You’re up and dressed already—how?”
“Coffee. I have some for you, too. Do you want breakfast in bed or would you prefer to sit out on the veranda?”
“The veranda sounds perfect, although I don’t deserve it after losing that pendant!” I replied over the rumbling of my Siamese kitties who took turns greeting me with a head bonk. “No chance it turned up under my seat at The Captain’s Table?”
“Sorry, Georgie, there’s been no message from the restaurant. We can look around again. The place will be closed until this evening, but I’m sure you can get Gerard to let us in.”
“If I can track him down. Where was he last night?”
“You said it yourself that Chef Gerard has his hands full trying to cope with the changes in his luau plans. When Paolo dropped by at the end of the evening, he apologized profusely on Gerard’s behalf.”
“I know. What a ham—you’d think he was playing a scene from Shakespeare instead of relaying a message form Gerard. I probably shouldn’t bother Gerard. He’s probably desperately trying to figure out how to cook a kalua pig without access to an imu.”
“An imu?” Jack asked, as he headed toward the veranda, then stood there waiting patiently.
“An underground oven you dig in the sand and fill with coals, topped with wet banana leaves to get an authentic smoky, steamed whole kalua pig. That’s how Gerard had intended to prepare it for us if we had arrived in Bora Bora yesterday as planned. He had organized this beautiful ceremony with drums and dancers, a procession hauling in that pig with lit torches and chants.”
“Wow! I hope word about what they missed doesn’t get out and cause a mutiny among the passengers. Some of the chatter last night was less than pleasant.” The cats were losing patience, speaking of mutinies in the making. Wave two of head bonks was underway, and I got a sound trampling from them in the process.
“What is it about cats? They’re always so excited when their humans wake up, aren’t they?” Ella gave me a little pat on the face with a soft paw, while Miles rolled around on the bed. I gave Ella a smooch. She hopped a couple of times and pounced on Miles. He launched himself into the air like Marvelous Marley World’s Catmmando Tom superhero. Off they went, racing from our bedroom with the pitter-patter of little cat feet receding into the distance.
“Oh, boy, are they ever wound up!” I exclaimed as I slipped on my robe and opened the sliding doors for Jack. A gust of sea air and a bolt of sunshine hit me all at once. I closed my eyes for a moment, then followed Jack onto the veranda and shut the screen door behind me. Jack set the tray down on the table and poured me a cup of coffee.
“Drink up! I’ve promised the cats a morning constitutional. Miles is way too smart, by the way. When I said ‘leash,’ he disappeared in a flash and came back dragging this.” Jack pulled a small harness with a leash attached to it from a pocket. A bellow drew our attention to the screen door. Both Miles-the-mighty-mouth and his more mellow companion stared at us.
“So, that’s what has them so hyper!” I said as I took a seat at the small bistro table and sipped the coffee Jack had poured.
“Mommy has to drink her coffee first, okay?” I asked Miles who boomed back at me. “That had better be okay because a morning constitutional is not in the cards until the caffeine kicks in, Jack.”
Truthfully, coffee is probably a worse addiction for me than chocolate. Somehow, it doesn’t leave me with a load of guilt like a chocolate binge. As I savored a sip of coffee, I suddenly realized we were moving.
“Jack, we’re underway for Bora Bora. Is there news about Passenger X?”
“Not good news, Georgie. I was hoping you wouldn’t ask until after you’d eaten breakfast.” He lifted the room service cover from the plate in front of me. “Quiche and fresh fruit. It’s delicious,” he added, pouring himself a cup of coffee.
“Uh-oh,” I muttered as I dug into that quiche. I took a couple of bites and then swigged down the rest of my coffee. “Refill, please.” I held my coffee cup near the pitcher Jack had just set down. He obliged. After eating a little more of that quiche
and nearly finishing that second cup of coffee, I felt like I could handle the news. I was almost certain I knew what it was, anyway.
“I’m ready. Let me have it. Is it another body?” I asked.
“Yes. The search team recovered a body floating on the water this morning.”
“That poor man,” I said, hoping more coffee would ease the pounding in my head. “At least now they’ll be able to identify him and notify his family of his death.” Jack didn’t say a word.
“What?” I asked. “There’s more?” I flashed on the scene in that cabin last night.
“You might want to hold it a minute before you take another sip of your coffee.”
“Is it Abby?” I asked. “Where? How?” I continued pummeling Jack with questions before he could do more than nod yes. I’m not sure why I asked those questions. Far more important than “where” or “how” was “whodunit” and “why.”
“He’s a she,” Jack said. “That man overboard wasn’t a man after all.”
I should have listened to Jack’s warning. I nearly became another victim of the chicanery on board the ship as I tried to swallow without spewing coffee. Once I quit coughing and dabbed the tears from my eyes, I was finally able to speak.
“No way, Jack. The camera caught her on her way to her workout in those cute workout clothes. Wendy Cutler would have noticed. How did Abby end up in nondescript dark clothes not long after the camera caught her in pink?”
“I guess she had a change of clothes in the gym bag she had with her. No wonder she never made it to the spa, and we never got another glimpse of her on video later in the day.”
“David Engels showed up too late to get a good look at the passenger falling overboard, but Wendy Cutler couldn’t tell it was a woman? At the very least, someone as observant as she seems to be would have spotted that blond hair.”
“Unless Abby was wearing a wig.”
“What?” I exclaimed.
Georgie Shaw Cozy Mystery Box Set Page 50