“I’m a bit sorry we won’t be able to explore the island. A lazy swim in the lagoon or snorkeling sounds good, doesn’t it?”
“That luau Gerard had planned for last night would have been fun, too. Next time,” Jack said as he took my arm.
“Max owes us a ‘next time,’ after what we’ve been through during the past twenty-four hours. What is that sound?” I asked.
“A helicopter—the cavalry has arrived.”
“The FBI is landing on the ship?” I asked.
“It would seem so,” Jack replied as he stepped close to the rail and shielded his eyes watching as that helicopter hovered. I joined him as the skilled pilot maneuvered onto the helipad. Bill came running from the restaurant, stopped for a moment, and then took off.
“Ari’i nui,” he said as he dashed past us. “Tell the Big Chief we’ve got the bad guy cornered. Someone spotted Paolo down in the commissary kitchen.”
“Oh no,” I gasped as my stomach did a flip-flop. “It can’t be!”
“Speak of the devil,” Jack said as we watched the little “Big Chief” step from that helicopter.
17 Stop that Pig!
“Is it too late to hide?” I asked.
“I’d say so. For a man in his seventies, his eyesight is excellent. See for yourself.”
I moved closer to Jack to get a better view of the 5’6” aged founder of Marvelous Marley World Enterprises. Max sported a white linen suit that set off his white hair. Sure enough, he’d spotted us. Max Marley, now surrounded by several other passengers from the helicopter, was pointing directly at us. Jack and I waved in response.
“Shades of Mark Twain,” I huffed.
“At least he’s not wearing that little black Colonel Sanders tie like he’s on a visit to his old plantation home.”
“Given Bill keeps calling him Ari’i nui, I suppose we should be grateful he hasn’t shown up in a headdress and loin cloth.” Jack burst out laughing as I continued my mini-tirade about Max’s sudden arrival.
“Max no doubt took time out for a moment with his fashion consultant, and it’s all tastefully done. It strikes me as being rather contrived.” I had no sooner finished my sentence than a photographer bounded out in front of that lineup on the helipad and snapped a photo. “Need I say more?”
My phone rang so I couldn’t have said more even if I had wanted to keep on griping.
“Hello.”
“Ms. Shaw, will you and Detective Wheeler please meet us at the stairs leading to the bridge.” Before I could ask who was calling or respond to that request, the caller hung up.
“We’ve been summoned by Ari’i nui. To the bridge, we must go!” Miles howled in protest. “My sentiments exactly, Miles.”
“Maybe you can do that tiki-tiki song and dance in honor of his arrival, and I’ll get to hear my new wife sing!”
“I’d rather dive overboard as a sacrifice to the volcano god.” That got another laugh from Jack. It only took us a few minutes to get to the bottom of those stairs. As far as I could tell, we were now in Pofai Bay, and the ship had come to a stop.
“What’s that?” I asked.
“I think it’s one of the ship’s tender boats. Maybe it’s getting ready to take the landing party ashore for provisions. Max might already be putting the screws to Captain Andrews to get the ship back on schedule as soon as possible.”
“We just got here. Early even. There shouldn't be a problem getting back to Tahiti by morning.” I shut up at the sound of a calm, stern voice.
“No, Max! That cannot be done.” I looked up to see a group huddling above us.
“That is not what I want to hear, Captain. ‘Can’t’ means ‘won’t’ in my book!”
“Then it ‘won’t’ be done, if you’d prefer to hear me say that.” Captain Andrews, usually a rational, affable man, was obviously perturbed. “There is no way we can allow passengers to go ashore today and still guarantee our arrival back in Papeete tomorrow morning for disembarkation. We haven’t even had a chance to hear what Randall Jennings and his people need from us to assume responsibility for the criminal investigations underway. Passenger safety and restoring security on this ship come before making sure our guests have a good time.”
“Please, please, gentlemen. Let’s have this discussion somewhere more private,” another member of the party suggested.
“Al, I don’t need your advice quite yet.” Max turned around as he spoke those words. His fists were all balled up. He was moving rapidly into tantrum territory. A breeze had bits of his hair standing on end as though horns were sprouting from his head. His face was already tinged an angry pink.
“Al Hampton is from Marvelous Marley World’s law firm. The Board must be concerned about lawsuits from passengers,” I whispered to Jack. That’s when Max and I made eye contact.
“Georgie! Now here is the voice of reason.” Max took two steps down the stairs leading to us.
“This way, please,” Captain Andrews said, and the whole party began to follow him. He leaned over from the walkway above us. “Ms. Shaw, Detective Wheeler, uh, uh—all of you, please join us on the bridge.” He had stuttered at the sight of the cats with us. Miles was standing, staring back at him in bold defiance of the commotion and bellowed in reply to the Captain’s invitation. Little Ella had huddled close and was sitting on my feet.
“Jack and Georgie can fill us in on progress with the investigation, I’m sure. You’ll have your answers soon enough about what it’s going to take to get matters cleared up, Captain Andrews.” Jack shook his head as Max uttered that proclamation.
“Bill Tate and I should confer with the agents from the FBI before I make any pronouncements, Max.” Jack nudged me. Ella wasn’t going anywhere. I picked her up and started up those stairs. I had the uneasy sensation that I was on my way to the gallows as I took each step. Walking the plank or being hung from the yardarms was a more appropriate analogy for discipline at sea by the unhappy pirate tyrant vying for control of this vessel.
“Where is Bill Tate?” Max asked when Jack and I reached the top of those stairs. Last in line behind Max, we were bringing up the rear in a procession of men in suits and snappy uniforms. Had that captain’s uniform been the inspiration for Max’s suit? I wondered.
“Chasing down a suspect, Max,” Jack replied. Max came to an abrupt stop and clapped his hands together. Weirdly elfish, but I preferred the clapping to more of his “pre-tantrum” posturing.
“That is excellent news, Jack. Excellent!” He slapped Jack on the back and then moved forward. He strutted a little as he held his head high and marched after the rest of the entourage.
A half hour later, Jack had briefed the group seated around a gleaming wood table, in a spacious room comprised of windows on three sides. The beauty of our sea view stood in stark contrast to the ugliness of the events that had taken place the past day. Events that ended in the recovery of Abby Kinkaid’s body this morning and the identification of two key suspects Bill Tate was currently hunting down.
Mostly, I had remained silent. Except when it came to describing the incidents Gerard had recounted to me. That included the discoveries he had made in the commissary kitchen, and that “dead duck” message left soon after he began trying to get to the bottom of what was going on.
Jack had asked that they hold questions until the end of our summary of events. By then, we hoped Bill Tate, Adam Drake, and Dr. Maggie Hayward would join us to go over written reports Jack and the other principle participants in the investigation had compiled. When they hadn’t shown up by the end of that overview, Captain Andrews had his second mate call Bill Tate on his cell phone.
“Nothing, Sir.”
“Try again in a few minutes," Captain Andrews said.
"Will do!"
"If the Security Chief is still down in the commissary kitchen and storage areas, cell phones don’t always pick up the signal. Especially now that we’re at anchor and may not have repositioned our satellites to optimize onboard communica
tions,” Captain Andrews explained to those of us sitting in that room.
Max rolled his eyes and thumped his fingers on the table. Just as I was trying to figure out what to do next, Maggie walked in. She had a stack of printed material that she distributed. The Captain made a round of introductions as Maggie took a seat a couple of chairs away from me.
“Sorry I’m late, Jack. I wanted to update the reports we had put together with the information collected this morning about Abby Kinkaid. What you have in front of you are written reports about the investigation into Jake Nugent’s murder, the disappearance and recovery of Passenger X, who we now know as Abby Kinkaid, and an assault involving Justin Michelson. The bodies of the dead passengers are in the ship’s morgue. Justin Michelson is being held below in the brig. There’s also a summary of the thefts that have occurred on board during this cruise and an inventory of the evidence that’s been collected and stored in a secure location in the infirmary.”
We all flipped through the stack of pages in front of us. The amount of material to be covered was daunting. This review could take the rest of the day, I thought. Did Max get that? He had stopped thrumming his fingers on the table as he scanned the material.
“Where would you like to start?” Jack asked. Before anyone could reply to his question, Miles roared. Ella cried, too. None too politely. The sight of those awful photos made me want to chime in and wail along with them. Instead, I opted to escape.
“I’m so sorry. I need to take the cats back to our suite. Our morning constitutional has turned into a marathon.” Jack did not look happy. “If you’ll excuse me for 20 minutes or so, I’ll drop them off and return as soon as I can. You have lots of material to go through before we can get to the discussion Max wants to have about the ship’s itinerary. I’d like to be in on that conversation.” I saw Jack’s shoulders relax. Murder, mayhem, theft—no problem—facing an imperious, often irrational CEO was another matter.
“Hurry back,” he whispered. Max’s hearing is as good as his eyesight.
“Yes, do hurry back, Georgie. We have some vital decisions to make. It’s almost 10:00 already. Time is not our friend.”
“I understand, Max.” Since I’d been up and at it since before seven, it felt more like ten o’clock at night than ten a.m. At that point, I raced out of there, especially when I heard Maggie’s opening remarks.
“Shall we start with the preliminary report about timing, manner, and mode of death involving the murder of Jake Nugent? As you can see from photos taken at the crime scene…”
“Let’s make our getaway, quick guys!” When we got to the bottom of the steps, I saw that tender boat again. This time it was loaded with people and cargo, including a rectangular container that I recognized immediately.
“How do you like that? Gerard must have gotten permission to take his pig ashore and cook it in an imu on the beach,” I said aloud. A man in a tall chef's hat stood on that craft, with a smaller member of the kitchen staff beside him. As I strained to look more closely, I saw two things. The man in the tall hat was a blond, and seated at his feet was Bill Tate.
“That’s odd,” I said, speaking to the cats again. I pulled out my cell phone and called Gerard. No answer. “Sorry, pals, one quick stop and then we’ll go home, okay?” The only reply was a round of chatter—no booming protest.
In two or three minutes, I was at Kehlani’s Lagoon on Deck 2 where the morning buffet was packed. Large dolphin figures wearing flower garlands and leis stood on either side of the entrance. A seating hostess in a colorful Polynesian print shirt and shorts greeted me.
“Oh, what beautiful cats! I wish they could come in and join the fun, but no pets allowed.”
“I completely understand, but I have a huge favor to ask. Have you seen Chef Gerard this morning? Is he on the floor of the dining room, by any chance?”
“I haven’t seen him this morning at all, now that you ask. He’s usually running around, talking to passengers, and making sure the buffet is…”
“I’m sorry to cut you off. It’s urgent that I find him. Can you have someone check to see if he might be in the kitchen, please? Tell him it’s Georgie Shaw.” She must have sensed that my stress level had climbed a few notches after hearing that Gerard wasn’t there.
“Sure,” she said. “Let me get someone to take my place, and I’ll go find Gerard for you.” In a flash, a woman dressed in identical garb took her place. She immediately spotted the cats and oohed and aahed at them until hungry passengers arrived, looking for breakfast.
Should I go back and interrupt that meeting? I wondered as I waited for Gerard to join me. What was I going to do, though? Run in there and holler, “Stop that pig!”
I had my phone out and went over the email from Carol, nervously thumbing through those pictures she had sent me. I returned to the one in which Paolo was smiling with Tina nearby. I slid to the next picture in the series and froze. No way! What was going on? I called Gerard on his cell phone again.
“Gerard, it’s Georgie. I need to speak to you right away. Call me as soon as you can.”
18 A Psycho Logical Move
“I’m sorry, but no one has seen Gerard all morning. Someone said Paolo mentioned that Chef was sleeping in this morning after a bad night.”
“Thanks. Now what?” I asked that question out loud. The young man in kitchen whites stood there staring at me.
“Nice cats.”
“Yes, I know. Thanks. Look, uh, Ray,” as his name tag indicated, “I need to see Gerard as soon as possible. Can you take me to his cabin? I’m an executive with Marvelous Marley World, see?” He took the I.D. card I handed him and examined it. “I wouldn’t impose upon you or disturb him except that it’s an emergency. I know my way there, but I don’t have access to staff quarters. Do you?”
“Sure, Ms. Shaw. Maybe it’ll cheer him up to see you and your cats. Let’s go.” He returned my I.D. card to me, stepped toward the restaurant, and then realized that wasn’t going to work. “This way,” Ray said leading me to an elevator designated for shipboard personnel only.
“Does this have anything to do with the guys in that helicopter?” Ray asked as we rode down in the elevator.
“Yes, it does. What have you heard about that?”
“Only that it’s about the passenger they found at the crack of dawn. Drowned, right?”
“I’m afraid so. Has anyone said anything to you about changes in the plans for the luau celebration tonight?”
“Since the last change, you mean when it was supposed to happen last night here in port and then it didn’t?” The elevator door slid open, and we stepped out into the corridor that led to Gerard’s room. He was in the last cabin on this floor.
“Yes, I suppose that’s what I mean. It’s been a difficult couple of days, hasn’t it?”
“You can say that again. No new changes.” The cats were straining on their leashes, pulling me forward. Miles let out a low guttural cry that was a cross between a meow and a growl.
“What is it, Miles?” The hair on my arms and the back of my neck stood up.
I reviewed my situation once again as we rushed down the corridor. As far as I could tell, I had three options. One was to call Bill Tate on his cell phone. Until I had a better handle on what was up out there on that tender, that didn’t seem like a valid option. If he was a hostage, that call could get him injured or killed. Besides, what if he wasn't a hostage and he was in on whatever was going on? My call could tip him off that he had been discovered making his getaway on that launch. That’s why I had decided to try to find Gerard as soon as possible.
My second option was to sound a general alarm with security, but that could have a bunch of unfortunate consequences, too. Like, getting Bill Tate killed if he wasn’t on that tender voluntarily, scaring the heck out of passengers, needlessly, or looking like a fool if all of this was paranoia on my part.
A third possibility was to track down the only other guy I knew by name who was intimately familiar
with all the trouble on board. Not a high-powered member of the staff, but Bill had trusted him and he ought to be able to tell me what he and Bill had been doing while Jack and I were in that conference room.
“Do you have a way to call security,” I asked my companion.
“Yes,” he replied.
“Do it, will you, please? Ask for Adam Drake. If you get him on the line, I’d like to speak to him.”
Ray looked puzzled as he did as I asked. I heard Ray ask for Adam Drake just as we arrived at the door to Gerard’s cabin. I knocked gently on the door. It was closed but not latched. I felt a slight movement as I rapped on the door.
“Gerard,” I called out. “It’s Georgie. Are you there?” Miles did not wait for an answer. He stood up and leaned against the door, with tiny Ella doing the same. Their weight was sufficient to push open that door wider.
“Gerard!” I cried.
“It’s Adam Drake, Ms. Shaw.” As I took that phone from Ray, the cats dragged me forward into Gerard’s room. Gerard was lying on the floor.
“Adam, it’s Georgie Shaw. I’m in Chef Gerard’s cabin. Come quickly, but please don’t tell anyone where you’re going. Hurry,” I said as I hung up and handed the phone back to Ray.
The cats were swarming Gerard. When he moaned, I felt a rush of relief. He was alive! There wasn’t any blood, either, and no visible sign of injury.
“Ray, can you bring me a damp washcloth from the bathroom, please?” He sprang into action without saying a word.
I knelt on the floor beside Gerard. “Gerard, it’s Georgie. Can you speak to me, please? Gerard, what happened?”
Georgie Shaw Cozy Mystery Box Set Page 52