Set Sail for Murder

by Carolyn Hart

  Gustav stepped close. “She must have been alone. That man killed her.”

  “Mr. Lennox didn’t kill Ingrid. She was killed by the woman who persuaded her that Mr. Lennox was guilty.”

  His jaw jutted out. “They arrested him.”

  An arrest would be made in London. But that didn’t matter to Gustav. “Yes, they took Mr. Lennox into custody. Do you know why?”

  “He killed her.” Fury made Gustav’s voice rough.

  “No, he found Ingrid’s body and called Mr. Glenn. He would not have done that if he was guilty. He would have pushed her body into the sea. No one would ever have known.”

  “He called Mr. Glenn?”

  “Yes.”

  “How do you know that?” He bent toward me.

  “Mr. Lennox called me after he called Mr. Glenn.”

  “They arrested him.” He came back to the information that had spread among the crew: Ingrid dead in a passenger’s cabin, the passenger arrested.

  “She died”—I saw him flinch, hated his pain—“in his cabin. He wasn’t there. He’d gone up to the sundeck. Ingrid left Mr. Lennox a message, asked him to meet her there. While he waited—and she never came—she and the lady went into his cabin and she killed Ingrid.”

  “A woman?” He didn’t believe it. “Ingrid was strong.”

  “She took Ingrid by surprise. She used a rolled-up towel, dropped it over Ingrid’s head and twisted, then jammed her knee—”

  “No.” It was a guttural cry.

  I stopped, reached out, gripped his hands in mine. “Help me find out the truth, Gustav.”

  “If he didn’t—” He struggled with the horror of how Ingrid had died, unable to say the words that evoked her death. “If it wasn’t him, it had to be the woman, didn’t it? She’s the only one who knew Ingrid was going to be in his cabin.”

  “The only one. So please, Gustav, tell me everything that you know. What time did you and Ingrid go into the cabin Friday night?”

  “I came right after ten. That’s when she got off work and she made sure no one was around and slipped into the cabin. I tapped three times on the door and she opened it and let me in. She had a bottle of wine for us and cheese sandwiches and a strawberry torte. We pretended we were passengers and going around the world. We had our meal like we were kings and then—” He bit his lip. “She was so beautiful with her hair loose on her shoulders. Her lips—” It was as if he were speaking to himself, remembering warmth and love and life. Tears slid down his cheeks. “Later, after we’d dressed, she opened the door and then she pushed it shut real quick and whispered we had to wait, someone was coming out of the cabin across the way.”

  Coming out? “What time was it?”

  His shoulders lifted and fell. “I don’t know exactly. Around eleven.”

  At 11:03 Jimmy’s key was used to open Sophia’s door. Coming out…Coldness touched me, moved over me. Ingrid opened her door as the murderer came out of Sophia’s cabin and turned to pull the door shut, making sure it was firm, then used Jimmy’s key that was taken from the green pottery bowl to open it. Ingrid didn’t see the murderer go back inside because she’d drawn back quickly to avoid notice.

  “What did Ingrid whisper?”

  Gustav massaged one temple. “‘We have to wait. Someone’s coming out across the hall.’ We stood there, and in a minute or two she eased the door open just a tiny bit and peeked and said, ‘She’s gone.’ I went out first. Ingrid was going to wait a few minutes and then leave.”

  She’s gone.

  I scarcely dared to hope. I spoke in as level a tone as I could manage. “Did Ingrid describe the woman?”

  He shook his head. “She just called her ‘the lady.’”

  “I’m sure you talked about it later. Did Ingrid ever describe her?”

  “No. She didn’t have any reason to.”

  “When did you last see Ingrid?”

  He jammed his fingers together, looked down at them. “Last night. In the cabin. Our last night.”

  I gave him a moment, but I had to keep pressing. Gustav knew that Ingrid was supposed to be in Jimmy’s cabin with the lady. What exactly did he know? “What did Ingrid tell you about the lady?”

  He took a deep breath. “Ingrid said she had wonderful news, that she was going to help solve the mystery about the passenger who’d disappeared from the ship and she was going to get a big reward, ten thousand dollars. I asked her what she could do to earn that kind of money. She said she was going to help the lady she’d seen coming out of the cabin Friday night. Ingrid said it was the luckiest thing”—Gustav’s voice shook—“that she’d decided to talk to the lady. She almost hadn’t because she was afraid for Mr. Glenn to know she’d lied about not seeing anybody in the hall. But she said it wasn’t really a lie because he’d asked about Mrs. Lennox and it hadn’t been Mrs. Lennox and that’s what she’d tell Mr. Glenn.” Gustav hunched his shoulders. If Ingrid had told Mr. Glenn…

  Gustav took a deep breath. “Ingrid was making up the lady’s cabin, and Ingrid told her about Mr. Lennox wanting to know if she’d seen anyone in the hall and how he’d promised her a thousand dollars but she didn’t think she’d tell him because it might get back to Mr. Glenn and she’d lose her job, and a thousand dollars wasn’t that much money.

  “The lady said it was a good thing Ingrid hadn’t had anything to do with Mr. Lennox, that he was dangerous and everybody knew he’d thrown his wife overboard, and it would be wonderful if Ingrid would swear she’d seen the lady in the hallway because then she could speak up and tell about how she’d seen Mr. Lennox with Mrs. Lennox but she’d been afraid no one would believe her if she couldn’t prove she was there. She told Ingrid that the family would pay ten thousand dollars, and all Ingrid had to do was come with the lady to see Mr. Lennox.”

  Gustav’s face twisted in pain. What was a thousand dollars or ten thousand when life was gone?

  “What else did the lady say?”

  Gustav stared at me with teary eyes. “She told Ingrid she’d have Mr. Glenn ready to come in and help and she promised she’d be right there with Ingrid. Ingrid said she called and left a message for Mr. Lennox to meet her on the sundeck, but that the lady said he’d come on down to his cabin when Ingrid didn’t come and the lady would be hidden and he’d be surprised to see Ingrid and she could ask him about being in Mrs. Lennox’s cabin.”

  Gustav’s face was bitter. “The lady promised she’d tell Mr. Glenn that she’d asked Ingrid to bring her a snack late and that’s why Ingrid was in the hall and there wouldn’t be a word about Ingrid being in the cabin. I told Ingrid to let Mr. Glenn worry about what happened to that passenger. But Ingrid said she ought to help if she could, and when we got to London we’d have ten thousand dollars for ourselves.”

  A lady with quick wits had spun a plausible tale to a credulous young woman and dangling in the background was more money than Ingrid could have dreamed of having.

  “Ingrid didn’t say anything else about her?”

  The ship rose and fell. As I reached out to grab the railing, Gustav steadied me.

  “Just that she was nice.”

  I looked out at the dark water. I knew a great deal, but I didn’t know enough. Tomorrow was our last day at sea.

  30

  The atmosphere was different Friday morning, the last day of the Clio’s journey. Inveterate shoppers crowded the gallery of stores. Discreet signs indicated last-minute sales, touted the final chance to purchase crafts and Clio ball caps at half price. I wasn’t surprised to find Madge Riordan at a glass counter with several amber necklaces spread on a swath of black velvet. Not, of course, sale items. She fingered amber beads that had the glow of honey in the sunshine.

  “That’s lovely.” I touched a shiny bead.

  “I think I want it. But I like this one too.” Madge touched another necklace with larger beads interspersed with jet. “What do you think?”

  I thought she was a shopkeeper’s dream, eyes glistening with cupidity, the v
ery reach of her hand grasping. Her nails were long and sharp, bright red talons. I looked at her right hand carefully. No scratches, the nails unbroken.

  “Maybe you should get both.”

  Her lips curved in delight. “That’s what I’ll do.” She opened her purse, found her key card, which was also used for purchases on board.

  I followed as she moved to the checkout counter. “I was looking for you and Alex last night around ten for a nightcap. Did you turn in early last night?” The oddity of my seeking them out occasioned not even a ripple of surprise. To one of the Riordan women, ten o’clock would be very meaningful. Madge’s focus remained on the necklaces as she scooped them both up.

  Her reply was careless. “Early? No, we were in the card room. We played gin rummy until almost midnight. I won thirty-five dollars. It was my lucky night.” Her smile was brilliant.

  The day was cloudy and cool, the dark water bristling with whitecaps. The Clio was in the North Sea, plunging southwestward toward England. Despite the rise and fall of the deck, hardy passengers ignored the gray skies and stretched out on deck chairs near the pool, though some snuggled beneath thick fluffy white towels.

  The breeze stirred Rosie Riordan’s coppery curls. She was leaning forward, a graceful hand outstretched. The look on her face was so expressive that I paused for a moment to watch. Her eyes were eager. Her lips curved in a soft smile. She looked open and vulnerable and young.

  I looked at her companion, sitting cross-legged on the deck chair beside hers. He gave a bellow of laughter, obviously concluding a raconteur’s delivery. He was burly with thinning sandy hair and irregular features dominated by a blunt chin. But his laughter was infectious and he obviously was delighted by the woman whose company he was keeping.

  I strolled closer. They would never have noticed me, they were so absorbed in each other, but I stopped and called out, “Good morning, Rosie.”

  She looked up with a quick smile. “Hello, Mrs. Collins. How are you?”

  “Fine.” Except a murderer walked free. “Are you enjoying our last day?”

  She grinned. “Sure. Had to get that last burst of sunshine. Mrs. Collins, this is Harry Jacobs.”

  He was getting to his feet, his broad face warm and welcoming for Rosie’s friend.

  We shook hands. “Hello, Harry. I’m glad to meet you.”

  Rosie smoothed back a tangle of red curls. “I was going to introduce him to you and Jimmy last night in the bar, but we didn’t get across the room before you left.”

  I smiled at him. “So you and Rosie were having too much fun last night to table-hop?”

  “Time got away from us. We closed the place down.” His look at her was as admiring as a teenage boy’s. “It’s our bad luck we didn’t meet until I damn near knocked her down on the stairs yesterday. But it’s our good luck that I’ve just moved to Santa Barbara.”

  I slotted times into my mind. If Rosie and her new friend were in the bar when Jimmy and I were there, Rosie could not have been in Jimmy’s cabin with Ingrid.

  I went to Val’s cabin twice. I called three times. I wondered if she heard the summons at her door, listened to the peal of the telephone, sat with eyes staring and body tense, struggling with her murky memories of Friday night. Or was she thinking of years ago, Vic’s death made fresh and raw, and grappling with the reality of Sophia’s murder. No matter how much she hated Sophia, the violence of murder had pierced Val’s careful containment. Val knew Sophia was murdered. I had no doubt of that.

  I made one more circuit of the public areas. I found Val finally near the stern on Deck 5 huddled beneath a blanket in the last deck chair. Only two other chairs were taken and none near Val, the day too gray, the sea too rough.

  I walked slowly toward her. She didn’t look up at the sound of my approaching footsteps. Her pale, set face stared out at the gray water. A green scarf was tied beneath her chin, lending a nun-like severity to her features. She looked tragic, hopeless, and forlorn.

  I stopped in front of her.

  Her eyes widened. I saw the flash of fear that told me everything I needed to know. “I’ve been looking for you.”

  She drew in a quick breath but she made no answer.

  I spoke gently. “If you’ll tell me what happened Friday night, you’ll feel better.” The shackles of guilt and fear would loosen.

  She lifted a hand, touched trembling fingers to her lips.

  I ached for Val, for her pain and the terrible burden she carried.

  “I can’t.” The whisper hung between us in the cool air. Abruptly, she pushed up, flung down the blanket, scrambled to her feet. “I can’t.” She pushed past me, broke into a run.

  It was nearing lunchtime when I returned to my cabin, remembering the slap of Val’s shoes as she fled. I knew enough now to be certain that Val was the key to the truth about Sophia.

  I glanced toward the telephone. No message light. But there would not be a message from Jimmy, who must be watching the passing time with the frantic helplessness of a condemned man. As for Glenn, he’d done what he could do. I felt claustrophobic in the cabin. I stepped out on my balcony and moved to the railing, gripping it to keep my balance. The breeze ruffled my hair, tugged at my jacket and slacks. I was outside, and Jimmy was locked somewhere, unable to walk free. Tomorrow he would be whisked to jail.

  What could I offer Glenn? Ingrid had turned to Gustav and told him they couldn’t go out into the corridor because someone was coming out of Sophia’s door. Later Ingrid told Gustav about the nice lady and their plan to trap Jimmy. A nice lady had stepped out of Sophia’s cabin…She was coming out to turn and shut the door, then use Jimmy’s key. Sophia was dead at that point, had to be dead. Everything was done. The murderer finished.

  I gripped the railing. It was as if I were standing in that corridor on Friday night, watching the door to Sophia’s suite open and across the corridor another door open for an instant, then close. The murderer hadn’t seen that movement, was perhaps looking down at the precious electronic key card. Then, a turn, the door pulled shut, the key card used, the incriminating key card.

  A moment later, Ingrid peeked out and saw no one. No one was in the corridor! But the murderer should have been there, walking away, moving purposefully toward a cabin. Instead, no one was in the corridor. That meant the murderer had stepped back inside Sophia’s cabin, closed the door. Why didn’t she come out? Why didn’t either Gustav or Ingrid, who left only a moment later, see her?

  I felt the chill of the breeze on the balcony as facts and suppositions and half-formed imaginings coalesced and I knew.

  I knew who pushed the boulder, poisoned the sherry, and crept quietly into Sophia’s cabin to commit murder and push Sophia over the balcony. I knew how and why Jimmy’s key was obtained and used. I knew whose guileful manner beckoned Ingrid to death. I knew the dreaded memories that Val was fighting.

  I knew, but between knowing and proving there was a chasm I had to bridge.

  Glenn made notes as I spoke. When I finished, he shook his head. “It’s all hearsay, what Ingrid told her friend.” His dark eyes plumbed mine. “I need to know who gave you this information.”

  “If you will let it go for the moment, it may not be necessary.” I wanted to keep my promise to Gustav.

  He tapped a pen on his desk, finally nodded. “All right. For the moment.” He glanced down at his notes. “According to your assumptions, Mrs. Lennox was dead before her husband’s key was used.”

  “That’s right.” Everything had been done, Sophia strangled and thrown overboard, the files with Jimmy’s notes also tossed away, likely in a pillow case weighted with something from the suite. Glenn should check, see if the binoculars were in the bedside table.

  “Because of the information Ingrid gave to her friend, you believe that Ingrid approached one of the Riordan women and told her about Mr. Lennox’s offer. The woman persuaded Ingrid to call and leave a message for Mr. Lennox, asking him to meet her on the sundeck while Ingrid and the woman
waited for him in his cabin and there the woman killed Ingrid.” He recited his summation in an uninflected voice, then looked at me, his face grim. “Who?”

  I told him.

  His reply was immediate. “That won’t work. We know—”

  I didn’t let him finish. We knew what the murderer intended for us to know, but there was a way it could have been done, a way it was done. I described a daring and clever plan, just as clever as her manipulation of Ingrid.

  Glenn came right to the point. “There might be fingerprints. I doubt she brought gloves on board.”

  “She may have carried a hand towel with her and polished as she went, but there’s a chance she missed some. As for gloves”—I shrugged—“she may have bought some while on shore.”

  Glenn turned toward his computer. “I’ll send a security officer to get her.”

  “Wait.” My voice was sharp.

  He looked at me in surprise.

  “That can be done later. Let’s not take a chance on alerting her.”

  He frowned. “What do you suggest? We have to have some proof. Even if we found prints, that’s not enough, not nearly enough.” He kneaded a bony cheek with his knuckles.

  Our adversary was cunning and quick. I did not believe she would break down if confronted, even though she carried a terrible burden of guilt, especially with the death of Ingrid. But Glenn might be persuaded otherwise. “As you promised, there’s been no general announcement of Ingrid’s death. The murderer knows but none of the rest of the family has any knowledge. Here’s what we can do…”

  He listened with his dark head bent forward, face somber. When I finished, he was silent.

  I spread out a hand in appeal. “Jimmy Lennox is an innocent man.” I watched Glenn, saw his frown, felt his tension. In the world of luxury cruising, consideration for passengers and their comfort is paramount. He struggled with the propriety of subjecting the Riordans to a shocking confrontation with, in his view, little hope of yielding results. Glenn was a man of method, comfortable with rules and regulations and order. There was nothing orderly or ordinary in my proposal.