The Corpse with the Diamond Hand

by Cathy Ace

  But the gum’s not lethal, unlike the bottle of liquid you have there, was what I wanted to say, but I didn’t. Derek had obviously known exactly where we’d gone, and, when he and Bud arrived a moment later, he made it clear it was time for him and Laurie to join the rest of the select few who would dine with the ship’s master that night. Laurie tucked away her vaping device, and we all left the smokers to their nefarious ways.

  “See you for a nightcap?” called Laurie as she trotted toward the bar.

  “Absolutely,” I called back.

  When they’d gone, Bud said to me, “We’ve still got half an hour before dinner—want to fill me in on what you and Laurie got up to?” He raised an eyebrow toward the sign that said, SMOKING AREA, looking almost angry.

  “Well, I didn’t smoke, I can tell you that much,” I began, “but I can also tell you from what she said to me at the bar that Laurie seemed to think there was something going on between Frannie Lang and Tommy—something that was more than a tutor-pupil relationship. She said she’d seen them together on Maui. Frannie Lang was quite clear she’d met Tommy in Hilo—days after we’d left Maui. Was Laurie mistaken, or was Frannie Lang lying?”

  Bud looked tired. “Everybody lies, and everyone has secrets,” he said. “As for Frannie and Tommy? I can’t see it.”

  “What’s wrong?” I asked. Bud was far from his normal self. What’s happened?

  “I promised I wouldn’t say anything,” he replied, looking guilty. I could see turmoil in his eyes.

  “As your wife, you promised you’d always tell me everything—well, everything you’re legally allowed to, anyway.”

  Bud raked his hand through his hair. You’re stressed, Bud. My mind was in a whirl. What could have got him into such a state?

  Finally, Bud took both my hands in his, drew me toward a quiet corner, and looked me straight in the eyes. “You must promise not to say a word to anyone. And I’m specifically including Laurie in that ‘anyone,’ right?”

  “Right …” I replied slowly. What’s the matter, Bud? I wanted to scream.

  “Promise?”

  I nodded. “Just tell me. I promise.”

  “It’s Derek. He’s got cancer. Pancreatic. Stage four. He hasn’t told his wife. No one.”

  I was almost speechless. “But he told you? Why? Why would he tell a complete stranger if he hasn’t told his wife?”

  Bud looked at me as though pleading to be understood. “He said I gave him a funny look or two earlier on today, when we were in their suite. Said he thought I’d guessed that something was seriously wrong with him, and that he needed to tell me the truth so I wouldn’t say anything in front of his wife.”

  We were both silent for a moment or two.

  “I’m so sorry, my darling,” I said, hugging Bud to my side. I felt the weight of the news dragging him down. “He’s passed a terrible responsibility to you. I think it’s unfair of him. How dare he?” I was angry with Derek Cropper, and felt sad for him too. I was sad for Bud. And for Laurie. “Why on earth hasn’t he told Laurie? Did you ask him? Did he say?”

  Bud sighed and pulled away from me gently. “Cait, we were standing at a bar, and a man I hardly know told me he’s dying, and that it’s a secret. How do you think I reacted? Of course I asked him all the obvious questions, and he gave me all the obvious answers. He doesn’t want her to worry. He doesn’t want the treatment they’ve offered because it’ll destroy his quality of life—what little he has left of it. They can’t operate, so it would be chemo, radiation … you know the sort of thing. He says he feels fine, except that drinking makes his gut ache—but he does it anyway because he always has, and he enjoys it. He made it clear to me he plans on going out with a bang, and he wants Laurie to have a good time until he drops.”

  The vastness of Derek Cropper’s decisions overwhelmed me.

  “You’d tell me, wouldn’t you?” I asked quietly. “You know … if …”

  Bud smiled sadly at me. “I don’t know,” he said simply. “Would you tell me?”

  I gave the matter some thought. “I see what you mean,” I replied. “Not that straightforward, is it?”

  I held Bud’s hand as tight as I could without hurting him, then said, “Right, I’m having another drink before dinner. Coming?”

  Bud looked at his watch. “They’ll be letting us in in ten minutes, and I bet the bar’s slammed.” He sounded utterly deflated.

  “You know how well I can wriggle my way to a bar and get the drinks in,” I said, smiling with false bravado. “Come on, let’s get a quick one and wander to the table a few minutes late.”

  Bud agreed, and we headed off. As I led the way, Bud said, rather more cheerily, “Get anything else useful from Laurie?”

  I looked around and drew close to Bud’s ear. “You’ll have to wait until we’re alone, but yes, she seems to have formed some strong opinions about Tommy, and I don’t think they were all formed when Derek was around.”

  “What do you mean?” asked Bud, looking perplexed.

  “I’ll tell you when we can speak in private,” was all I could manage as I pushed into the melee surrounding the Crystal Bar. Once there, I waved at Simon the happy barman.

  Starlight Restaurant, Deck 6

  BUD AND I HAD REQUESTED a table for two for the entire cruise. We’d been allocated a delightful one at the edge of the balcony on the upper of the two dining decks, where we had a good view of the entire dining room. My aversion to heights meant I had to sit with my back toward the balcony rail, so I looked across the upper deck rather than out over the lower one.

  Seated at the table nearest our own were two women who appeared to be in their forties. As our time on the ship progressed, they became nodding, then smiling, companions. Diane, a delightful woman, was from Boston; she sported perfectly matched outfits for every meal, and never wore the same ensemble twice. As she and her companion left their table, they’d pass by ours, and Diane would routinely make some sort of witty comment as they breezed past. She was like a ray of sunshine—always laughing and joking with her much quieter companion.

  On this occasion, she looked stunning—dazzling, even—in silver sequins and black velvet. She waved as we arrived and we waved back, safe in the knowledge we wouldn’t have to engage in conversation; however, Diane surprised me by leaving her seat and rushing to our table.

  Grasping her napkin, she bent toward Bud. “My, don’t you two lovebirds look fabulous tonight!” she said. “Don’t panic—I’m not going to interrupt your honeymoon dinner, but I heard you were in the Games Room when that guy died this morning. Was it his heart, or did his girlfriend kill him with an icepick?”

  I must have looked horrified, because Diane laughed at my expression.

  “It was very sudden, but we don’t know what happened. Suffice to say, neither of us observed any icepicks.” Bud was forcing jocularity, and it didn’t work.

  Diane pulled a face. “That’s the Canadian take on it, eh?”

  We all laughed, and she left.

  “How does she know what happened, or that we were there? And where did the idea of an icepick come from?” whispered Bud behind his menu.

  Peering across at Diane and her friend, I smiled and replied, “She’s a natural communicator. She’d know everything that’s going on, and a lot that isn’t, I suspect.”

  “Well, let’s not encourage her,” said Bud. With that, we both gave our attention to what was in store for us for dinner.

  The service and the food were spectacular. I had a small portion of grilled polenta topped with warm, crushed baby tomatoes and pearls of bocconcini cheese, draped with strands of emerald basil, and drizzled with warm, scented olive and basil oil; it looked and tasted fabulous. The big deal on the menu that night was lobster, but I’ve never cared for it, so I settled for succulent tournedos Rossini with a light madeira sauce and some tasty, beautifully presented vegetables, prepared with a Provençal flair.

  Bud and I hardly spoke. My thoughts were on the Tommy
Trussler case, but Bud didn’t seem to be engaged with anything internal or external. It was as though he was daydreaming.

  I noticed that the senior maître d’ was making the rounds from table to table, and I reached across and tapped Bud on the arm just before he arrived at ours. Martin, who hailed from the Czech Republic, was dark, dapper, and always smiling. He had a way of putting everyone at ease, and ran his dining room as though we guests were the instruments and his staff the musicians, with the score provided by the kitchens.

  “I hope everything is to your satisfaction this evening?” he asked, as he must have done on thousands of previous occasions. To his credit, he made the question sound fresh and genuine.

  Despite the smile on his lips I could tell that Bud just wasn’t with it, so I blustered on about how marvelous everything was, but that we’d probably pass on dessert and get a breath of air before dinner.

  “Not tonight, please, no,” said Martin. “Tonight we have our last-ever parade with the baked Alaska puddings, which will be alight. It is magnificent, but, having done this for many years, we are now told it is no longer safe to walk about with open flames. So tonight, this is it—the grand finale. You should stay. Cruising is changing all the time, but you are fortunate to be here to witness a great tradition. The quartet will play, the cruise director will host, and the captain will speak. Then we parade, sing ‘Auld Lang Syne’ together, and wave our napkins in the air. It will be fun.”

  A gale of laughter floated up from the main floor of the restaurant below us. I couldn’t help myself—I turned toward the sound and saw that it was the party whooping it up at the captain’s table. Derek and Laurie Cropper, to be exact. It appeared that Derek had just performed some sort of trick, which had him standing behind the master of the ship with a bottle of water in one hand and a large napkin in the other. The entire table was giving him a round of applause, and Laurie was on her feet leading the response. From where I was positioned, I could read the captain’s body language, which told me he was taken aback by the proceedings, and feeling distinctly uncomfortable. I wondered how much more the Croppers had managed to drink after they’d left us; the sommelier down on the main floor seemed to be carrying several bottles of wine as he danced his way from glass to glass.

  Just before he left, Martin leaned in toward us. “Ezra says he’d like to see you after the parade, in his office,” he whispered. Affixing a smile on his face, he glided to a table across the walkway.

  “If you’re finished, I think we should go now,” said Bud, half his meal still on his plate.

  “Oh! You didn’t like the Dover sole?”

  He looked at his meal as if noticing it for the first time, “Not hungry. Buy you a drink at the Sundowner Bar?”

  “Of course,” I said, searching his face. I took the napkin from my lap, put it to the left of my plate, and stood to leave.

  It took us ten minutes to get there, without so much as a word passing between us. When we arrived, we sat completely alone, save the relief barman. Winston was on his dinner break; soft Hawaiian music floated from the sound system; I hoped for some solace.

  Bud got up restlessly and stood at the rail, looking out at our wake. It foamed in the moonlight then disappeared into the vastness of the black ocean.

  “We’re nothing, are we, Cait?” he said.

  I left my seat and drink and stood beside him. “We are what we are,” I replied quietly.

  Smiling warmly, he said, “You know I love you, right?”

  I silently stroked the back of his hand and murmured “Yes indeed, Husband.”

  “Good, because I do. And when I say we’re nothing, I don’t mean us. We’re quite something, you and me. I mean it in the general sense. You put your finger on it earlier today: we see the world as we are, not how it is. I’ve spent my entire adult life upholding the rule of law. Making sure the good guys get help, and the bad guys get their just desserts. I’ve tried to be fair, to act decently. But life’s not fair, is it? Despite all I’ve seen, including the body of my first wife lying on a beach, shot to death because some stupid scumbag thought she was me, I’ve never faced what Derek Cropper has made me face tonight. I’ve lost my wife to murder. I’ve lost colleagues to violent deaths and accidental ones. I’ve seen suspects and perpetrators killed. I’ve even helped rush a few wounded ones to hospital myself, because they might have done something terrible, but they didn’t deserve to die. I’ve been forced to take a life on two occasions. I’ve seen and experienced a great deal that many haven’t. But this? I suppose I’ve been fortunate, until now, that I haven’t had too many people close to me who I know are dying, while there’s not a single thing I can do to help. No one can. And the thing is, there’s no one to blame. No criminal. No idiot with a shotgun or a pistol. No meth-head with a knife. Just cells—tiny little things that are supposed to keep you alive until they decide to kill you. I cannot imagine how you must feel if that’s the person you see in the mirror, knowing you can’t help yourself.” Bud turned, picked up his drink, and downed it in one gulp.

  “So, you wouldn’t tell me, if you knew that was happening inside your body,” I said. It wasn’t a question.

  “No. I wouldn’t want you to feel what I’m feeling now. And this for a man I barely know.”

  “But I’d know, Bud. I’d see it in your eyes. We haven’t been together very long, but I understand you well enough to know that I’d know. At least I’d suspect.”

  Bud shrugged. “Losing a life, under any circumstances, makes me angry. Murder more than anything. But at least with that there’s a chance for justice. For Derek Cropper? And his wife? And all the people like them? No justice at all.”

  I sighed. My heart hurt. I’d never seen Bud like this before. As I pondered why he had been hit so hard by Derek Cropper’s news, I felt an uneasiness creep into my soul.

  “Look, Bud, I know you said you wouldn’t tell me if you were sick—really sick—but, please, look at me. Show me you’re okay.”

  I pulled him around and stared into the pale blue eyes I love so much. Relief. Bud’s sadness wasn’t for himself. He was fine. He wasn’t hiding anything about his own health from me. He couldn’t.

  I decided it was time to tackle his mood head on. “Bud, I love you, and I’m terribly sorry that Derek’s news has affected you like this, but we have a case to solve where justice can be delivered. Tommy Trussler didn’t have time to put his affairs in order, to take one last, mad trip, and risk a fortune in the casino while drinking the best champagne. He had his life taken from him in an instant, and we have a chance to find out who did that, and why. So—are we on this case, or what?”

  “Jingle bells, jingle bells, Mister and Missus!” called Winston Williams as he emerged from a door let into the side of the bar. “What you two doing out here when all the fun is back in the dinin’ room? Fiery Baked Alaska tonight. Last time, too, they say. You missing somet’in’ there, you know.”

  Bud shook his head just like Marty our black Lab does when he’s been out in the rain. Winston chuckled, and I knew that my Bud was coming back to me.

  “One for the ditch?” suggested Winston.

  “How long before all the kerfuffle is over in the dining room?” asked Bud.

  Winston looked at his watch. “’Bout half an hour, I’d say, then they all rush out, grab a drink at the bars, and run into the theatre for the show,” he said sagely.

  “Right then, two of our after-dinner usuals, please, Winston,” said Bud, handing the barman his card.

  “You can put that away, Mister Bud. I got your number by now. I bring your medication to you where you sit, you relax. You know, like they say on them islands back there over the sea, ‘Hang loose,’ or, like they say on mine, ‘Don’t worry, be happy!’”

  Bud and I moved to a little table overlooking the sea. Two people on a ship in the middle of an ocean. Around us, blackness. Like a void. Tiny, insignificant beings, battling a newfound sense of mortality and determined to find a killer.r />
  After Winston delivered a Bombay and tonic for me and a Crown on the rocks for Bud, Bud sipped, rallied, and opened with, “Right then, tell me what you learned about Tommy from Laurie. I’m all ears.”

  “Your ears aren’t that big,” I mugged.

  We seemed to have weathered a storm, and I spoke quickly and quietly. “Laurie mentioned she’d seen Frannie and Tommy together, something that Frannie ‘forgot’ to tell us about. I don’t think Laurie would have made up such a specific instance.”

  “Go on,” encouraged Bud.

  I drew closer, “She said she saw Frannie and Tommy walking together along Kaanapali Beach. Now, I know that the Knicelys said they met Tommy when he was on the same tour of Maui as them, but we were moored off Lahaina for two days, so I suppose Tommy might only have taken part in the organized tour on one of those days, leaving him free to explore the Island alone on the other. But we visited Maui before we visited the Big Island, and Frannie Lang was quite clear, insistent even, about meeting Tommy for the first time there, in Hilo. So, if Laurie is right, then Frannie lied about when she first met him.”

  “Laurie might have been confused, or mistaken about the identity of either Tommy or Frannie,” said Bud.

  I gave him a withering look. “For a retired cop, you’re surprisingly quick to give a suspect the benefit of the doubt. She also told me she saw Tommy and Nigel together in Kona—though that was in the line-up to get the tender boats, so they might have bumped into each other by chance, I suppose. I’ll give Nigel the benefit of the doubt before you do, shall I?”

  Bud poked his tongue in my general direction, which was the sight that greeted Janet and Nigel Knicely as they rounded the corner of the rear deck and found us in our “secret spot.” She was dressed in a pale gold gown that was as close to beige as evening wear could get, and Nigel wore a new-looking dinner jacket with a lurid bow tie. The cummerbund—which I was positive he was wearing in the correct manner—wasn’t on view, hidden beneath his buttoned, double-breasted jacket.

  “Look who it is,” exclaimed Janet, quite loudly for her. I was oddly glad to see the Knicelys. I have some questions for you.