Death Sets Sail_A Mystery

by Dale E. Manolakas

  “Depends where she had it delivered.” I impressed even myself.

  “Good again. I’ll read your book when it comes out. I bet I’ll get some ideas.”

  I smiled on the outside but gasped on the inside at the growing pressure I felt to publish.

  “But why isn’t it open?” Mary muttered to herself.

  “Because it’s a refill. A back-up. Look at the bottom of the label. One refill remaining.”

  “Of course, refills. Excellent again. We’ve got to find the opened one, too.”

  “She has it with her. I’m sure of it.”

  “I agree. Get a picture of all this stuff with your phone. Can you?”

  “Sure, but we’ve got to get out of here. I’m getting really nervous.”

  “I think we should take this stuff. It’s evidence.”

  “But she’ll know. And she’ll guess it was us.”

  “Maybe not . . . at least, until we dock in South Hampton. I’m going to ask Sean and Elias. Stay here.”

  “I don’t want to stay here alone. What if she comes back?” I looked at the time on the digital clock. “The panel discussion’s almost over.”

  “I’ll be back in a minute.”

  “Wait.”

  Mary ignored me and hurried out the door.

  * * *

  I was alone. Alone after Sean’s breaking, and Mary and my entering into Amy’s cabin.

  My heart raced. I quickly snapped some pictures of everything with my camera. As I rearranged things to get more pictures, I found three memory sticks nestled with a CD and a folded paper. I scanned the paper. It was an untitled synopsis of what appeared to be a book Amy was writing. After the first few sentences I knew from the title and short synopsis I had found in my Internet research that this was not the book she had published in her twenties. I assumed the memory sticks had copies of that book on them.

  I flipped through layers of magazine articles and Internet blurbs about Mendel and Frederick and Otto. I finished my pictures and then made a command decision and slipped one memory stick into my pants pocket.

  All of a sudden, Mary laughed and talked boisterously outside the door.

  I inched toward the door and listened. It was Amy and Mary, together. My heart stopped. Obviously, Elias and Sean had been unable to stop Amy in the hall.

  After I repacked the small carry-on, I lifted it back onto the top shelf quietly. I prayed Mary could lead Amy away.

  I smoothed the bed and took a quick look around. Everything seemed in order.

  Suddenly, Amy’s electronic key card slid in the door.

  I panicked. I remembered the lamp had been off when we came in. It was too late. I had no time to turn it off. Without Mary’s boisterous warning, I wouldn’t even have gotten the carry-on put away.

  As the door handle turned, I dove into the closet, hitting my head on the open safe.

  I quietly crept behind the clothes, knees bent and head tilted. I arranged them neatly.

  I reached for the sliding closet door and started to close it. Mid-slide it jammed. I looked down. Nothing. Then I looked up. It was the larger suitcase. Mary had placed it cockeyed.

  There was nothing I could do.

  I melted back into the wall of the closet behind Amy’s clothes.

  ⌘

  Chapter 29

  Out of the Closet and Out of the Bag

  Amy’s closet was economy class, ship speak for very small. I pressed against the back wall so hard I felt my vertebrae bruising my skin. I held my breath too long and then desperately started shallow quiet breaths.

  I prayed Amy’s didn’t remember the lamp was off and that her clothes were not bulging—screaming that I was behind them. If caught, my hope was that if Amy could get away with two murders shipboard then I would not be thrown in the brig for “mistakenly” being in Amy’s stateroom either. Somehow, I would reconcile hiding in the closet.

  “High tea will be so much fun,” Mary called from the doorway. “Seating is in five minutes.”

  “It’ll just take me a second to get ready.”

  “All right, but you look fine.”

  “I wonder if they really serve crumpets, and what they actually are?” Amy laughed, but from inside the cabin now.

  “I think they’re these little English muffin-y things.” Mary toned her voice down. “My feet are killing me. I’ll come in and wait.”

  “Sure. Grab a chair. I thought I left that lamp off? Huh . . .”

  Mary distracted her. “I’m so glad we ran into each other.”

  “I didn’t know you were on my floor.”

  “It would be a shame to take this crossing and not go to English high tea at least once.” Mary sidestepped Amy’s query. “Also, we haven’t had a chance to really chat. I wanted to talk to you about your agency. Confidentially, I haven’t been thrilled with the representation on my last two books. Just because I’m successful doesn’t mean they can ignore me.”

  “I agree.” Amy jumped at Mary’s bait. “I can’t believe any agency would ignore you.”

  I stood in the shadows behind the clothes thinking greed was, as always, a blinding monumental motivator. Mary was tapping into Amy’s professional lust to distract her. She was dangling her ten percent agent’s cut in front of Amy’s nose. Amy had no idea that Mary’s urgency, baiting, and invitation to high tea were just subterfuges—a way to save me. I was grateful, so grateful.

  “I’ll get my black velvet jacket.” Amy walked towards the closet. “I . . . uh . . . that’s funny.”

  There was silence as Amy stood at the closet door half opened and the large suitcase above misaligned against the door.

  “Too dressy for tea, really. We should go.” Mary was desperate when she saw her mistake replacing the suitcase. “We want to get a main floor table. There’s plenty of time to change for dinner after.”

  “No I’ll just grab it.”

  I saw Amy’s arm reach up and push the suitcase above back into place. I felt for a velvety jacket in the dark, hoping it was toward Amy. I found it half way to me. I lost all hope.

  When Amy opened the closet door, more light streamed in. I froze. My back hurt and my thighs burned from my semi-squat position. I held my breath as Amy started to hard sell her agency, riffling progressively my way through her clothes.

  I turned my face and shut my eyes so that my dark hair would blend into the shadows. Time stopped for me. The fraction of the second Amy searched in her closet became an eternity.

  I waited in terror. But nothing happened. I was sure Amy couldn’t miss seeing the top of my head. But Amy didn’t break the rhythm of her search or chatting up her agency.

  Mary was desperate. “We’d better go.”

  “My floral silk, that’s more English tea time.”

  Amy’s hand stopped its march toward me and rested on her floral jacket—still away from me. She paused for what seemed to me to be an hour. My thighs and back ached.

  “Great! Let’s go.” Mary pushed.

  “Who is your agent?” Amy finally pulled the jacket out and rearranged the adjacent clothes where the void was created.

  “I’ll fill you in on the way.” Mary got up and headed for the door.

  Amy put on the floral jacket and then slid the closet door fully closed. I believed she had seen me. She had evaluated the situation and decided a confrontation was of no benefit to her.

  My legs felt weak. I was left in the dark closet waiting for the cabin door to sound their departure.

  * * *

  After Amy and Mary left, I took several deep breaths and shook my legs out. I felt steady enough to get out of the closet. I arranged the clothes as neatly as they had been. Obviously, it was an exercise in futility, but I did it anyway with a last ditch hope that Amy had not seen me.

  I had to get out of there, but I didn’t know whether to take any of the evidence we found. I decided if Amy had seen me she would dispose of it all immediately. Her survival instincts would take precedence over her c
ompulsive hoarding of her justifications for murders. If she hadn’t seen me, Mary was right; there was no reason for her even to look at it until we docked. It was my call. So—I grabbed it all from the carry-on—the Prolixin vial, the papers, notes, Internet printouts, clippings, and articles. I even took the book with notations. I stuffed everything in one of the several white plastic dry cleaning bags stacked on the upper closet shelf. I put the carry-on back, made sure the closet was neat as a pin, and slid the door shut.

  I believed, if Amy had seen me, she had gambled I would just flee the scene after her closet intrusion. But she was wrong. I knew crime analysis and killers. I knew opportunity and how to take advantage of it. I valued hard evidence above all. I was on an adrenaline high. I was also memorizing this entire ordeal to put in a future book. Real life really was more amazing than fiction. At least, mine was.

  On the way out, I stopped at the door and scrutinized the scene of my crime—my first real crime—breaking and entering and burglarizing. Everything was in order. And this time Amy had left the light on herself.

  Even though I had the last bottle of Prolixin, I was still worried for Mary at tea. The open-and-used vial of Prolixin had to be in Amy’s purse—the vial Amy had used on Frederick and Mendel.

  * * *

  When I walked out into the hall, Sean and Elias descended on me.

  “You’re okay?” Elias asked. “I couldn’t stop her.”

  “Yeah! I know! If Mary hadn’t done her routine at the door, it all would have been over.”

  “Why? Did she catch you? Where did you hide?” Sean asked.

  “In the proverbial closet. Where else?”

  “Good choice” Sean laughed. “So she didn’t find you?”

  “I don’t really know. I thought she had . . . but then she didn’t say a word.”

  “Huh,” Sean mumbled.

  “But she sure noticed the lamp was on and that Mary left one of her suitcases out of place.”

  “Why did Mary leave you in there alone?” Elias asked.

  “She wanted to ask you what we should take.”

  “Nothing,” Elias answered. “Amy would know.”

  “Too late for that.” I held up the bag of evidence. “And I snapped phone pictures too.”

  “A right plonker you are! You sure don’t fool around . . .” Sean turned serious detective. “And for the best. It’s done. We need the evidence, especially if we’ve been compromised. Good decision, Veronica.”

  “Fine . . . I guess. Let’s get out of here . . . now.” Elias led us down the hall. “We can go to my place and look through the stuff.”

  “Yes!” I followed. “Do you have a roommate?”

  Elias laughed, “Of course not. I’m too noisy to get along with anyone and too old to change my ways.”

  “I know what you mean,” Sean commiserated as we reached the elevator. “It would have been worth the money not to be bothered with anyone. I didn’t think of it. Next time.”

  “Well, now we know why Amy didn’t want one.” I said.

  “And, I guess we didn’t have to worry about protecting poor little Amy, Veronica.” Elias shook his head.

  “That’s pretty clear.” Sean patted my shoulder. “But don’t worry. We’ve all gone up the wrong path many times.”

  “Thanks.”

  “We’re on the right one now.” Elias led us onto the elevator.

  We shared the elevator intermittently as we traversed decks, but Elias was so gymnastic in his sociability that he immediately switched gears, exchanging pleasantries with our transient elevator companions. My heart was still beating too hard to engage and Sean, being ever the detective, looked quietly and covetously at my bag of goodies.

  * * *

  I liked going up to the more expensive decks. Writers like Elias and Helga do really well with their mystery series, and reap the rewards. I committed myself to preparing my books and finding an agent to sell, sell, sell.

  As Elias led us off the elevator to his upper level expensive stateroom, I again thought about Mary and the vial of Prolixin Amy still surely had in her purse.

  “I’m worried about Mary. I’m positive Amy has the vial of Prolixin she used on Frederick and Mendel is in her purse. It wasn’t anywhere in her room.”

  “Does Mary know that?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then Mary can take care of herself,” Sean responded. “Do you think Amy saw you?”

  “I just don’t know.” I described Amy’s search in the closet and her settling on the floral jacket.

  “This is bad.” Elias opened his door. “If she knows, she could do something desperate.”

  “But proving anything to the security here is going to be an uphill battle,” Sean entered the stateroom. “They won’t do anything and there is but one day left. We have to hide this stuff until we get to port and just stay away from Amy.”

  Elias’s stateroom was elaborate and beautifully decorated in green and peach. It had a bedroom alcove off to the right and a breathtaking balcony.

  “This is gorgeous.” I placed the bag of evidence on the coffee table.

  “Sit down. Should I order us a drink or coffee?”

  “Sure,” Sean answered. “Let’s get some wine to wash this evidence down.”

  We all laughed; I more than either of them, because I was so relieved to be safe.

  “Good idea. It’s almost that hour,” Elias agreed. “Veronica?”

  “Great.” I actually needed something stronger after my close encounter in the closet, but I settled for wine.

  * * *

  I took the evidence out of the bag and put it on the coffee table. I set my phone there, too, with the pictures up. I showed them Mendel’s book with Amy’s notations and expletives. Sean studied it.

  “This is motive . . . guilt served up on a silver platter.”

  Elias looked at the pictures on my phone. “Most of these are out of focus.”

  “I was in a hurry.”

  “No matter. We have the real things here, thanks to Veronica,” Sean said.

  Elias looked through Amy’s collection of magazine articles about both Mendel’s and Frederick’s rises to stardom. “Interesting. Otto rose right along with those two.”

  “That must have eaten away at her.” Sean scanned the papers too. “Their lives hounded her, especially since she stayed in the book game. Every bestseller Mendel wrote reminded her of what they had done to her.”

  “And Frederick’s proclivity for collecting Oscars drove her over the edge,” Elias added. “Especially the last . . . with Otto there, preening,”

  “I’ve seen real-life murders done for less, much less.” Sean scanned an article. “I have to say I feel for her.”

  “I do, too.” I grabbed the memory sticks. “Oh, and I picked up these. If you notice there is a synopsis of a new book in the pile and I think this memory stick may have the full draft on it.”

  “Great job!” Sean grinned. “This is amazing.”

  The wine came and the tension of the last several hours faded.

  “Can we just go to security now and at least try to get Amy thrown in the brig until we dock in Southampton?” I asked.

  “First there probably is no brig . . . and we have too many holes. Especially with this unprofessional bunch protecting the Wessex Cruise Line.” Sean topped our glasses. “First, we’d need to show that Amy doesn’t have a medical reason for having the Prolixin. And that’s impossible here in the middle of the Atlantic.”

  “And then we’d need to prove Prolixin killed Mendel and Frederick.” Sean added.

  “Not going to happen out here, either.” Elias shrugged his shoulders.

  “And then how do we prove Amy killed Otto?” Sean asked. “Because, in my mind, there is no doubt that she did.”

  “Mine either,” I agreed.

  “But we have even less for Otto’s murder and my buddies closed the case with their burglary-gone-wrong theory. They had no suspects and nothing else panned
out. I don’t blame them with their caseloads, and I don’t think can get them to reopen it without some hard evidence. It didn’t help that all our colleagues and the media made a circus of it.”

  “But, it was a well-meaning circus,” Elias interjected.

  “Of course, but this is a real uphill battle now,” Sean said.

  “But closing it can be fought,” Elias said. “I’ve put harder cases together in my mysteries and I do base them on research into real murders and real solutions. Granted . . . I wedded multiple murders and fictionalized them. But still, I think we can do something here.”

  “I guess I can have my ex-partner fight to officially reopen Otto’s case based on the evidence our brave Veronica got.” Sean winked at me.

  “Thank you.” I smiled.

  “Let me get some of this scanned in and sent to him.”

  “Okay.” Elias put the memory stick in his laptop on the desk and scrolled through it.

  “I wish Mary were here. I don’t like her being with Amy drinking tea with that vial in Amy’s purse.” I was worried for her.

  “Take my word for it. Mary won’t take one sip of tea this afternoon. Not with Amy around.”

  “Right,” Sean said. “And besides, Amy presumes she has gotten away with everything. She won’t risk another murder this afternoon because she doesn’t know we have this stuff yet.”

  “I think you’re right about that,” Elias agreed. “But it will be another thing if, or rather when, she finds out.”

  “But did she know I was in the closet?” I asked.

  “I personally don’t believe anyone could be that cool.” Sean said.

  “Maybe. I hope so.” I said.

  “I don’t think we can count on anything, though. We all have to be on our guard from now on,” Sean said. “She’ll discover we took the stuff soon. We are almost at Southampton. Who knows when she’ll start packing?”

  “This is interesting.” Elias looked up from his laptop. “It’s a book synopsis and a draft of a book by Amy. The plot parallels Mendel’s book, but in reverse. He is the villain. And it’s in a writing program.”