Helga took a gulp of wine and then blasted Brent with a pent-up frontal assault.
“I see we are indeed pouting. Is it because we didn’t get our allowance this month?”
Brent glanced around the table shamefacedly and then down. Even Mavis, who had been graced with Helga’s intimacies at dinner, could not meet his eyes.
Elias tried to deflect Helga. “Is anyone going to the wonderful reprise of Broadway musicals in the main theatre tonight? I’m sure it will be a night to remember.”
“I’m sure they’ll put up a proper show.” Anne encouraged the change in subject. “I plan on attending.”
But Elias and Anne could not derail Helga’s verbal battering of Brent.
“Are you unhappy because you couldn’t bring your girlfriend on the cruise?” Helga paused and then shouted. “Or are you unhappy because you did bring her and I have been keeping you too busy?”
“Helga!” Brent pleaded. “Be quiet. You’re drunk and making a fool of yourself.”
“That’s it, isn’t it? She’s here,” Helga snapped backward, rotating her head unnaturally to scan the tables around her. “And you don’t want me to make a scene.”
Then, Helga zeroed in on Heather, sitting there wide-eyed and open-mouthed at the Helga spectacle. “Or, have you substituted her for some fresh meat?”
“What? I . . . We . . .” Heather turned red and was unable to speak.
Sean interceded. “Helga, I think that’s enough.”
Brent turned to his harridan wife and gently touched her hand that pinched her wine glass stem. “Stop this now, dearest. You’re making an ass of yourself.”
For an eternity of silent intensity, Helga remained poised to pounce on Heather. Heather remained a deer frozen in Helga’s headlights, vulnerable and waiting for the impact.
Then Helga broke her stare. She sat up straight, took a deep breath, and turned to Brent.
“Give us a kiss, Brenty-baby.” Helga leaned into him sloppily.
Brent acquiesced and gave her a peck. Before he withdrew, she trampled his face with an open-mouthed marathon lip sucking and tongue-drilling kiss.
After she was satiated, Helga sat up, victorious in her humiliation of Brent. Brent stared at his plate.
As Helga checked her lipstick with her compact mirror, the table collectively began to breath easily again. Dinner was more relaxed. Elias engaged his social skills, but not with his normal ease. He was agitated and angry with Helga.
However, the evening was gradually salvaged thanks to Anne’s and even Mavis’s efforts. I tried to stay out of the crosshairs and so did Heather.
“We had an interesting afternoon.” Elias said. “Sean and I.”
“Oh, really,” Helga sneered, not wholly satiated with her humiliation of Brent and still trolling for another victim. “And, what did you do?”
“I don’t think we should be talking about this,” Sean whispered to Elias.
“Too late. It’s out of the bag now.” Helga lobbed her head like a tennis ball from Sean and then to Elias and back again. “What did you do?”
I saw Brent relax as Helga’s attention focused on other quarry.
“We had a look see at the bodies.” Elias poured another glass of Cabernet. “Anyone else want a top off?”
With no response, Elias put the bottle down.
“Why?” Heather asked.
“Because these fools are pretending to solve a mystery aboard our ship,” Helga laughed. “A mystery that doesn’t exist!”
Helga was licking her chops. She acknowledged Mavis with a nod. Mavis had obviously spilled at least some of the beans in their tête-a-têtes.
Sean flashed a look at Helga that could kill and his Irish face turned red. He took a deep breath and withdrew from the conversation with the dignity and detachment of a man who had been baited his whole career by criminals—criminals he put in prison. He had solved crimes his entire life. I understood and admired him.
“And what did you find?” Helga teased.
“Murder.” Elias did not mince his words and rehabilitated his ego—however injudiciously and dangerously. “Double murder!”
“Elias!” Mary reprimanded.
She and I recognized that he was angry enough to divulge prematurely too much of our clandestine investigation.
“Murder?” Anne said. “You mean Frederick and Mendel!”
“Oh, my God,” Helga turned to Anne. “Shock from the flower child who has daisies strangling her victims at picture perfect, tranquil English country houses!”
Helga laughed loudly, distorting her painted red lips.
“I beg your pardon,” Anne retorted.
“Helga, please.” Brent put his hand again on hers again, hoping it would calm her as it had before.
“Shut up!” Helga slapped his hand off. “Never do that again.”
“Wait, did someone murder them?” Heather turned to me, ignoring the Brent-and-Helga-show.
“And why are you asking Veronica that question?” Helga interrupted and then, without missing a beat, turned to me and spit with wine breath. “The impostor. The unpublished. The interloper. The pretender.”
I glowered at Mavis. She had done her dirty work here tonight at my dinner table through Helga. Brent was red-faced at Helga’s unnecessary and cruel degradation of me. I wanted to “Helga” Mavis face-to-face right then and there for what she had done. I was not to be disregarded just because I was unpublished. I had a better crime-solving reputation than she did, and in a famous locale. I was more recognizable than she was, especially in my community, which was neither undiscerning nor small.
Instead, I sat in silence—in shock.
Elias, imbibed and ego-bruised, tromped into my hiccup of silence. While I was still formulating a response to Helga, he answered the lovely Heather’s question. After all, she was a rare female specimen. At least, at our table. Young, plumped, ripe, and wide-eyed.
“Heather . . . the answer to your question is yes.” Elias felt the power of wine and seized the moment for his Sherlockian-reveal, as all well-written protagonists would. “And there is a group of us who are going to prove that. We could use your help. But we must not spread the particulars around until we are through gathering our proof because . . . there is apparently a murderer amongst us.”
Heather went white. “A murderer amongst us? The MWW?”
“Elias, I think we should cool it.” Sean whispered, giving up his isolation policy of the evening. “You’ve already said too much.”
“Yes,” I chastised Elias too, ignoring Helga glaring at me with cold malice.
I glanced at Mary and she back at me. We had to shut down Elias strutting his stuff in an obvious attempt to one-up Helga. I couldn’t blame him, but it was untimely and would be detrimental to our investigation. His rally-to-arms had to be stopped. Fortunately, Mavis’s self-importance did it for us.
“Elias, this is not a melodrama,” Mavis said. “Esther and the doctor have looked into Mendel’s and Frederick’s deaths thoroughly and have concluded they died of unfortunate heart attacks.”
“So you think . . .” Elias interjected.
“So I know,” Helga glared at me. “Some little people’s imaginations have gotten the best of them. And they should remember there are consequences to their actions . . . liabilities. The MWW and the Wessex Cruise Line have put this to rest.”
“Put this to rest?” Heather queried.
“Oh, put it anywhere you want, sweet young thing.” Helga tried to stand. “I’m done. And I’m going to use Brent’s allowance with abandon at the blackjack table. Want to watch, dear little Brenty?”
“Helga, let’s talk.” Brent stood and held Helga’s chair dutifully. “Careful. Your heel’s on your hem.”
“I don’t know how you talked me into this cruise.” Helga yanked at her dress. “It’s bad enough being cooped up with these people, and now I’m on a high seas roller coaster. You’re a fool.”
“I apologize.” Brent lo
oked at us sheepishly and whispered. “I’m so sorry.”
“Oh, shut-up, you little kiss-ass,” Helga shouted, as she literally ripped her black sequined hem free and strutted away.
Helga worked her way through the tables fighting for her balance in her tight sequined gown. The long piece of her now-ripped hem trailed behind her, scattering black sequins over the herringbone carpet.
I watched Brent watch Helga. If eyes could have pierced her flesh and ripped Helga’s heart out, Brent’s would have.
Finally, Brent grabbed Helga’s black ostrich feather wrap and dutifully followed. He was statuesque and steady, his head held high. His large strides easily caught up with Helga as she sidestepped for balance.
He didn’t take his eyes off her, nor did he make one move to help steady her.
⌘
Chapter 24
Harridans
We all observed Helga’s drunken exit from the dining room with Brent in tow. Mavis now had to get along without her confidante. I for one was not going to make her comfortable.
As relieved as we were the table was now sans Helga and Brent, the waiter appeared even more relieved. Why wouldn’t he be? This wasn’t a British Royal Navy warship and he didn’t receive combat pay. He flittered around our war-torn table dropping off our dessert menus and briskly removed all signs of Helga and Brent, including the stray breadcrumbs.
I ordered a double cappuccino. I was flagging and wanted to be perky when I met Curtis. I got sherbet for a palate cleanser and skipped all the other condensed caloric goodies. Everyone else indulged, Mary twofold because she loved the flourless chocolate cake and adored the Napoleon.
“You know.” Mary swallowed a big bite of her cake. “I could put them in my next book as the couple from hell who slash each other to death.”
Everyone laughed, including Mavis who was ever the suck-up, apparently to all indiscriminately. All but me, that is.
Anne forked her lemon tart. “And I could murder them in my next book, too, and have their bodies fertilize the rose bed,”
There was a reconstituted chuckle around the table.
“I wonder if it’s worth it?” I asked Sean.
“What?”
“Brent staying with Helga?” I sipped my cappuccino and expected a resounding negative response from this hard-core, independent retired homicide detective.
“To him?” Sean answered thoughtfully. “. . . Yes. I’ve seen it work well when the man learns his place. Brent just hasn’t done that yet. He still hasn’t had all his self-respect beaten out of him . . . and, it’s eating him up.”
“Will he leave her?”
“He’ll leave her or learn to get over himself. No man can live like that . . . without making that choice once and forever.”
“Or woman?” I added.
I lived in a rarified wealthy corner of the world where trophy wives spawned babies to win the ATM jackpot. If it doesn’t work out, then they fight like rabid animals for their support orders and community assets to maintain their lifestyles and marketable bodies for their next victims.
“Yeah, women too. Being NYPD homicide, I’ve seen some of those marriages end in well-planned murders.”
“I’ve only read about that,” I remarked. “But, in my neighborhood a block away, a very wealthy husband did die suddenly and left a charming child-wife with a hunk of change. Who knows?”
“Exactly.”
“In my books,” Mary forked her Napoleon, squishing the cream out onto the plate. “Spousal murder is one of my favorites. But, take it from me, Helga’s smart enough to have a bullet-proof prenup. Brent’s dead in the water. And, in my view, murder is a non-starter for him.”
“You never know. Prenups can be changed and challenged.” Elias winked. “Money pilfered and hidden. More agreeable, lonely ladies found. One never knows. But let’s get on with the murders at hand instead of speculating about marital discord. Perhaps these ladies, with their fine analytical minds, would like to join us in our clandestine investigation?”
“I for one would be honored,” Heather said.
“I’m at the climax of my new book. I have no time, but I’ll lend some advice where I can.” Anne took another bite of her lemon tart.
Her excuse was polite and British. But she was clear; she had sufficient doubt in our little band to decline out with grace.
Mavis glanced approvingly at Anne. “I don’t mean to be rude, Elias. But I have no time to waste either. I have MWW duties that are paramount. I can’t join in your murders-on-the-high-seas illusory endeavor. Plus, as you all know full well, Esther has made the MWW position clear. There was no murder or suicide or anything irregular about these unfortunate deaths. It’s for the best.”
Mavis applied her lipstick and put her napkin on the table to leave, but lingered to hear what Elias had to say.
Elias pushed on, ignoring the uncommitted and the naysayers, and filled the table in on our findings—but only selective ones.
Mavis listened intently and, as the protector of Esther’s presidency, would be reporting everything. I was worried until I heard Elias altering and strategically selecting facts. He knew what he was doing and what would get back to Esther through Mavis, and from Heather to her new friend Amy.
Elias was a tactical genius, revealing with sleight of mind our theory explaining Otto’s death too and suspecting a danger to Amy.
Unfortunately, he gave me full credit, which engendered a Mavis frontal assault on her way out.
“Since this is all based on an amateur’s suppositions,” Mavis pronounced. “I can’t take it seriously. As Veronica may not have disclosed to her new friends, she is my student and has been for years and years. In my opinion, she never will be published and her mysteries, as well as her investigative skills, are amateurish.”
“Oh?” Anne was as usual polite. “Well, we all had to start somewhere, didn’t we?”
“I think Veronica’s research and analysis are stellar.” Heather spoke up. “My husband’s law firm has Hollywood connections and Veronica did single-handedly solve the Valentine Theatre murders not long ago.”
“You heard about that?” I was surprised my crime solving reputation extended from coast to coast and, now, over the high seas.
“Sure. The entertainment industry is a small community with long tentacles,” Heather smiled. “Stephie Sevas, the film star, told one of the partners at his firm. Stephie’s protégé was in the play.”
“Fascinating, Veronica!” Anne’s interest was piqued. “We must have tea before the cruise is over.”
“I’d love to.”
“Valentine murders or not, this so called theory is full of holes.” Mavis was now discredited and on the defensive.
I was careful not to share my suspicions, or at least my questions, about Helga’s possible role in all of these events.
“It’s a better theory than two heart attacks,” Sean scoffed. “That’s absurd.”
“It’s not unheard of though, and their lifestyles can’t be discounted,” Anne waffled diplomatically and placed her tea bag in her individual pot. “One has to be careful . . . very conservative where real people’s lives are going to be affected.”
“Well . . . my father did die of a heart attack . . . young . . . too young,” Heather added.
“Precisely!” Mavis peacocked with glee.
Heather looked over, startled.
“An early, sudden death is hard,” Anne intervened sympathetically, rehabilitating the moment. “What a shame.”
“Thank you,” Heather pushed her dessert away after one bite. “I’m tired and I’m afraid a bit motion sick. If you’ll excuse me?”
She left.
“I hope I didn’t offend her.” Mavis looked to Anne for support.
“Of course not.” Anne was conciliatory—but lying. “It’s the rocking. We’re all feeling it.”
I saw British politeness at its best in Anne. But she was so diplomatic that I personally found it offensive. I woul
d avoid any tea with her. The invitation had served its purpose without needing to come to fruition because I knew Mavis took it as a slap in her face.
I looked around. Most tables were still nursing after dinner drinks or desserts like us. However, Curtis’s table was starting to break up. He stood and I caught his eye. He nodded at me. I decided not to be late for our date tonight—a rocky Atlantic Sea notwithstanding.
“Mary.” I leaned over to her. “I’m going to the bar. Can you keep an eye on Amy?”
Mary glanced at Amy, still embedded in sociability over liquors and dessert at her table. Then, she saw Curtis looking my way.
“I’ll take over tonight. We’ll see you in the bar . . . or not!”
“Thanks.”
I left the table of well-fed and well-imbibed authors to their conversation and Mavis, who remained seated, to her mean spirited demolition of my character. Amongst my now fast-friends and cohorts, she sounded silly. I, after all, had discovered the common thread amongst the murders, even Otto’s.
I was confident that together with my quartet, I would prove Mavis and Esther wrong. But I didn’t care if it was tonight. I had other things on my mind.
* * *
The ship was still undulating, but I had gotten my “sea legs.” I made my way to the bar with more equilibrium.
On the way, I stopped outside the casino. It enticed passengers with its camaraderie and bright-lit slots jingling away, intermittently ringing out for the winners.
If I had not been meeting Curtis I would have joined the hottest craps table piled three deep with passengers putting down bets as they cheered spontaneously. I loved the sociability of craps. To me, it had the ups and downs of a roller coaster ride, the players screaming and moaning with each roll of the fickle dice. I usually played simple pass or no pass bets and rarely ever got fancier than that. When I did, I always lost.
To the right were the quiet, serious blackjack and poker tables where passengers were taken for a further ride, a quiet somber one.
As I scanned the room, I caught sight of Brent and Helga at a blackjack table close by. I drifted in among some potential gamblers loitering around to find their courage. I was curious about Helga and Brent in the aftermath of their dining room scene. And about Helga for other reasons as well.
Death Sets Sail_A Mystery Page 18