Set Sail for Murder

by Carolyn Hart

  “Everything is nebulous.” Jimmy sounded discouraged. “None of the Riordans can prove where they were after ten-eighteen. That’s the critical period: ten-eighteen, when Sophia called me, to eleven thirty-nine, when you called her.”

  I looked at Jimmy with a deep sadness. He was convinced that one of the Riordans had committed murder and desperate to see justice done. But there was the heartbreaking possibility that Sophia might have grabbed up the key from the bowl, gone to hunt Jimmy, and used it to reenter the cabin at 11:03. If she were despondent at not finding Jimmy and assumed his lack of response meant he was unwilling to forgive her, she could have gone out on her balcony, key in her hand, clutching the envelope with his letter and the dossiers, and jumped to her death. I did not speak of this to Jimmy. He would never believe Sophia committed suicide.

  I know better than ever to say never.

  “I don’t know what else to do.” Jimmy’s face creased in misery. “I have to admit Glenn’s done everything he can. He told me he talked to every passenger within twenty cabins either way of Sophia. The only fact he’s certain of is that my key opened her door right after eleven. Everything else is what we’ve told him or the Riordans have told him. It all comes out to nothing.” He looked at me with despair in his eyes. “I’ll never forgive myself if Sophia’s death isn’t avenged.” Then he added, so softly I scarcely heard, “Sophia will never forgive me.”

  I reached across the table, caught his hand, wished I could help him bear his weariness and despair. “Sophia would never blame you.”

  It was almost as though Sophia were there with us, blue eyes glinting with intelligence, vibrant face inquisitive, golden curls tight against her head. I remembered her that last evening and knew I had to tell Jimmy what she’d said. I hoped it would be of comfort.

  “Sophia told me she’d been a fool, that you were kind and caring and generous. She loved you very much, Jimmy.” Then and now I’d not been certain whether Sophia truly loved or desperately sought love.

  “I wasn’t there when she needed me.” His eyes were haunted.

  I stood on my balcony, gripped the railing. Far below, the white froth of waves glistened in the moonlight. Stars blazed with a magnificence not seen on land except atop remote mountains or in secluded valleys, far from the brightness of cities. The Clio plowed steadily southwestward through the velvety August night.

  I felt quite alone, though an occasional splash of light through a balcony door illumined several adjoining balconies. The balconies, of course, were connected, running the length of the ship, each balcony separated from its neighbor by a chest-high railing. Had the traveler next door chosen to enjoy a nightcap on the balcony, we could have exchanged greetings, shaken hands. I smelled the distinctive, to me unpleasant, odor of a cigar. Someone was on a nearby balcony.

  I spent almost an hour on the balcony, looking out into the night, thinking and figuring and planning. I didn’t have much hope, but I’d learned as a very young reporter that if you want to know, you have to ask.

  23

  I ate an early breakfast Tuesday morning, keeping an eye out for any of the Riordans, but none passed by. I went down to Deck 4 at shortly after eight o’clock and asked to see Staff Captain Glenn. I waited only about ten minutes before I was shown into Glenn’s office.

  He looked more rested this morning, though his eyes were grave and his face somber. “What can I do for you, Mrs. Collins?”

  “I’d like to know the status of the inquiry. I know you have investigated everything pertaining to Sophia’s whereabouts on Friday evening. Was she seen anywhere on the ship after I said good night to her?” I was careful to keep my voice pleasant without any trace of confrontation.

  He pulled several folders from a drawer, spread them on his desk, but he didn’t refer to them. “She was not seen. However, that doesn’t preclude her having walked from her cabin to her husband’s and returned.”

  At eleven o’clock, the long hallways could easily have been empty except for Sophia.

  He gave a small shrug. “It would have been helpful had she been seen. As it is, we can only surmise what must have happened from the facts we have. The most important fact is that Mr. Lennox’s key opened her suite door at twenty-three oh-three. There are three possibilities. Mr. Lennox retained the key Thursday evening, leaving the empty leather folder in the bowl. Mrs. Lennox admitted someone to her cabin Friday evening and that person took the key, stepped into the hallway, closed the door, then used the key to reopen the door. Mrs. Lennox picked up the key from the bowl and carried it with her when she left the cabin, then used that key to open her door.

  “In the first instance, if Mr. Lennox entered the cabin, there may have been a quarrel and Mrs. Lennox committed suicide after her husband departed, or she was killed and thrown overboard. In the second, Mrs. Lennox admitted her murderer and was dead by the time the key was used. In the third, Mrs. Lennox was so distraught upon her return to the cabin she jumped from her balcony or, in the most benign interpretation, accidentally fell as a result of her distress and the rough passage.”

  I couldn’t tell if Glenn favored one theory. “Do you expect to reach a conclusion before we arrive in London?”

  His brows drew down in a frown. “We don’t have enough evidence to indicate with any certainty what happened. We will present the results of our inquiry to the authorities in London. The likelihood is that Mrs. Lennox will be officially deemed missing at sea and the investigation will remain open. As the facts now stand, I believe there would be a presumption of suicide or accident because there was no disarray in her cabin, no evidence of a struggle, no traces of blood.”

  The lack of disarray in the cabin was an argument against murder. “Mr. Glenn, I hope we can discover the truth.” I waited as the soft bong of his walnut clock marked the half hour. “It would tell us a great deal if someone saw Sophia use that key to enter her cabin at eleven-oh-three.”

  He picked up a pen, softly tapped the desktop. “It seems unlikely that anyone observing her would have failed to mention the fact.” His tone was faintly sardonic.

  “It could be”—I picked my words carefully—“that someone might have done so but doesn’t want to admit seeing Sophia that late.” Val’s memory of Friday night might well be spotty.

  He looked alert. “On the idea that such an admission puts the observer too close to the point when Mrs. Lennox disappeared?”

  “Exactly.” I pushed away an image of Jimmy and said words he certainly would have been astonished to hear. “Mr. Glenn, it may be that the solution is sad but understandable. If Mrs. Lennox herself used that key at eleven-oh-three, the likelihood is that her death was suicide. If she was seen by a member of the family, that person must have entered his or her cabin after that time. If I knew when each Riordan cabin was last entered Friday night, I would have an idea whether there was a possibility that Sophia was seen.”

  He studied me, his gaze thoughtful. “It isn’t customary to reveal information about passengers.”

  I met his gaze directly. “It isn’t customary for a passenger to disappear in mid-cruise.”

  “Granted.” There might have been a spark of approval in his dark eyes. “So your idea is that any passenger who returned to a nearby cabin shortly after twenty-three oh-three might possibly have glimpsed Mrs. Lennox. However, you should realize that the locks only register when a cabin is entered and which key was used. There is no record when someone exits a cabin. For example, it would have been possible for Mrs. Lennox to have left her cabin after twenty-three oh-three and theoretically she could have gone to another deck and fallen, jumped, or been pushed.”

  I understood that Glenn was being precise, but I was looking for a link to a murderer. I had no belief in accident or suicide. I wanted to know who among the Riordans had the opportunity to insert Jimmy’s key in Sophia’s door. It could only have been someone who entered their cabin after three minutes past eleven.

  “That’s possible, but it doesn’t do
any harm to check with passengers who could have been in the hallway when Jimmy’s key was used. Several of the Riordans said they entered their cabins around eleven.”

  Glenn tapped his pen against the desk. “Is it your hope that one of the Riordans might confide in you if Mrs. Lennox was seen?”

  “It’s a possibility.” I foresaw other possibilities, but I didn’t intend to mention them. “And, of course, there are the interior cabins directly across from Mrs. Lennox’s suite.” I had no interest in the occupants of those cabins, but it might convince Glenn I wasn’t focusing simply on the Riordans.

  He waved a dismissive hand. “Those two cabins are not occupied on this voyage.” He looked down at a sheet in the folder, jotted notes, pushed a sheet of paper toward me. “Keep me informed, Mrs. Collins.” It was a command.

  I took my precious sheet of paper up to Deck 9, found a comfortable deck chair near the pool. Glenn was thorough. Under the heading “Last Cabin Entry Friday Night” he’d listed each of us:

  James Lennox—2309

  Henrietta Collins—2332

  Evelyn Riordan—2152

  Rosemary Riordan—2306

  Kent Riordan—2309

  Alex Riordan and/or Mrs. Alex—2328

  Valerie Riordan—2332

  I went through, changed the times to non-naval usage: Jimmy, 11:09 P.M.; Evelyn, 9:52 P.M.; Rosie, 11:06 P.M.; Kent, 11:09 P.M.; Alex and/or Madge, 11:28 P.M.; Val, 11:32 P.M.. The times marked the last entry into any of the cabins Friday night. Only Evelyn was safely within her cabin before the earliest moment when Sophia could have died. The rest of them remained possibilities.

  I’d found out what I needed to know, but it wasn’t the times that burdened my thoughts. Instead, I wondered if Jimmy and I were wrong. Perhaps Sophia had fallen or jumped. Otherwise, why was there no sign of a struggle? Even though Sophia was not a large woman, she would have fought an attacker. Any one of us, some easily, some with effort, could have tumbled her dead body over the balcony railing. But how could she have been taken by surprise and overcome without leaving behind some indication of a struggle? If she had opened her door to one of the Riordans, she would have been facing that person. She would have been wary and alert because she knew she was in danger. Any attack would surely have resulted in a struggle. Moreover, none of the Riordans appeared scratched or bruised. No blood…That ruled out a knifing. The screening of passengers and luggage almost precluded a gun. Again, gunshot wounds bleed.

  I pushed away my uncertainties. What happened to Sophia hinged on the truth about Jimmy’s key. Perhaps if I was clever indeed, I could find out.

  It was midmorning when I sighted Evelyn in the fitness center. It was my fourth circuit of the ship’s public areas. One of the lovely aspects of shipboard life is its quicksilver quality. A wanderer occasions no attention. After all, when the ship is under way, unless passengers are in their cabins, they are likely to be drifting about and there are only so many possibilities: the cafés, deck chairs on Deck 5 or near the pool and Jacuzzi, card room, fitness center, beauty salon, spa, library, promenade, Internet room, tearoom, and sundeck. I’d spotted Alex and Madge drinking mai tais near the pool and Kent hunched over a computer keyboard, but I wanted to start with Evelyn.

  Evelyn rode an Exercycle. Her back was to me. Her hair frizzed with dampness beneath a calico bandanna and her skin was flushed, indicating she’d been working out for a while. Apparently, she was fit despite her bulk and generally frowsy appearance. Jimmy had said she was an accomplished dancer and that’s why he was suspicious of the supposedly accidental spillage of the sherry. Now we knew she’d deliberately bumped into him. She’d told the captain she’d been afraid the sherry might have been poisoned. She insisted to Jimmy that she hadn’t seen anyone tamper with it. Perhaps that was true and she was simply fearful without any evidence because of the boulder that fell so near Sophia.

  I didn’t intend to discuss Sophia’s death with Evelyn. Instead, I hoped she would make it easy for me to join the Riordans on a casual basis.

  I climbed on the Exercycle next to hers and looked across with a smile. “Good morning, Evelyn.”

  “Good morning.” She was puffing from effort. “How are you?”

  “I’m ready for some exercise. It helps, doesn’t it?” I set the timer, began to pedal.

  “Oh yes.” She was definitely short of breath. “I hope Jimmy is bearing up. I know he’s working hard on the memorial service.” She slowed her effort, wiped her face with a towel. “We’ll do everything we can to help.” Her look at me was earnest. “Now is the time for all of us to remember Sophia’s gifts—”

  I kept my expression pleasant and marveled at the ability of the human mind to recast reality. Evelyn was a sorrowing former sister-in-law.

  “—and we all know she did her best. I’m sure it was a dreadful accident. But now”—she stopped pedaling—“we have to look forward. That’s what Sophia would want us to do. I’ve persuaded the children to take the excursion into Karlskrona today. It’s much better to keep busy, don’t you agree?”

  I felt like I’d scored a bull’s-eye. I’d expected the Riordans would take today’s excursion since they’d traveled into Stockholm yesterday. “That’s a very good idea.” I looked at her eagerly. “May I join you?”

  There was only a hint of hesitation before she nodded. “That would be lovely. I understand there is a museum with a glass tunnel and we can see the remains of a shipwreck.”

  “Just the sort of thing Sophia would have enjoyed.” I doubted Sophia was ever attracted to the distant past. She would have been much more interested in talking to vendors on the square, finding out if their goods were handmade, exploring the impact of the European Union on their lives.

  Evelyn’s smile dimmed. “It might be as well if we didn’t talk about Sophia this afternoon.”

  “Certainly. But”—I stopped cycling, dropped my voice to a confidential note—“don’t you keep trying to figure out what could possibly have happened?”

  “She fell.” Evelyn’s voice was stubborn. She pulled off the bandanna holding her flyaway hair, dabbed it against her throat.

  “If she fell—or jumped—from her balcony”—and the bleakness of my voice wasn’t simulated as I pictured Sophia plunging toward the roiled sea—“wouldn’t she have screamed?” The wash of the ship’s passage was distinct, but anyone on a nearby balcony should have heard a cry. I remembered the quiet on my balcony the night before. Evelyn had retired to her cabin early. Was there any chance…“Were you out on your balcony Friday night?”

  “Balcony?” She looked at me as blankly as if I’d spoken Sanskrit.

  “Friday night. If Sophia screamed—”

  “I was reading in bed. You saw her after that.” She wadded the bandanna in a ball.

  “Yes.” I had indeed. Evelyn couldn’t be of any help. In fact, she probably wouldn’t have heard anything even if she’d been awake and on her balcony. I’d already realized a cry would likely only have been heard by someone standing on the huge balcony next to hers at the ship’s stern. Evelyn’s balcony was the first around the corner on the port side. Probably sounds from the stern wouldn’t carry there.

  I frowned, envisioning the occupants of the cabins in order: Evelyn, Alex and Madge, Kent, Rosie, Val. None of the cabins except Evelyn’s was occupied during the critical period.

  Evelyn thumped to the floor. “That was good. I’m off to shower. And perhaps I should check with Jimmy, see if there is anything else I can do. You don’t suppose he’ll be upset that we are going on the tour?”

  “Not at all. He’ll understand. I’ll be down at your cabin about two-thirty. I know Karlskrona will be interesting. It will be fun to take boats into shore rather than dock. Thanks for including me.”

  “Of course.” Her smile was genial.

  As she turned away, I lifted my hand in a farewell wave and resumed cycling, simply a lonely traveler seeking companionship.

  24

  The sixteen-passe
nger tender bounced in a choppy sea, plunging up and down as it crossed a half mile of white-capped water to Karlskrona, Sweden’s original naval supplies base and now a UNESCO world heritage site. The island was an appealing mélange of dark green trees and multihued historic buildings, the colors bright and vivid in the clear northern summer light.

  I sat with the Riordans on the back benches. Evelyn clamped a hand on the wooden back of the bench in front of her. “I had no idea it would be this rough.” She looked with concern at Val.

  Val slumped on the bench next to me. Sweat beaded her upper lip. She breathed lightly, her eyes glassy, her face drained of all color.

  “Look at the island, Val.” I pointed toward Karlskrona. “We’ll be there in just a few minutes.” I pulled a plastic bottle from a side sling. “Splash some water on your face.”

  Val held out shaking hands.

  I poured an ounce or so. “There’s nothing quite so refreshing as cool water.” If I could keep her mind engaged, she might make it to shore without getting sick.

  Val lifted her hands, patted the water onto her cheeks.

  Kent leaned toward his sister. “Hey, Val, I got an e-mail from Angela this morning. She said when Heather saw the billboard, she cried. Do you think that’s good?”

  Val focused on her brother. “I think”—she swallowed—“she’s coming around. We’ll call her again this afternoon. I’ve been thinking. The wedding ought to be outside. We’ll have an arch of roses. I can see the pictures now, you and Heather, framed by roses. All kinds of roses.” Some color came into Val’s cheeks. “Pink and red and cream and salmon and magenta.”

  Rosie beamed at her sister. “You’re a genius. Lots of flowers. Do you remember when we used the language of flowers for a code? We found an old book of grandmother’s and it was full of all this stuff about flowers. That was so much fun.”