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Chapter 31
Desperation and Determination
The bar was devoid of Helga, and so was Brent’s conversation as we sat at the same two barstools we had occupied last night when the Helga attack happened. My fellow investigators were not there yet and neither was Curtis.
Brent enjoyed two Martinis to my one wine. The whole time he was checking out an adjacent table of peppy young female passengers, generously displaying legs and breasts.
I wasn’t enjoying any of this. I was bored with Brent’s vapid conversation and wandering eyes.
“I’m going to the casino.”
“Fine, I’ll camp out here.” Brent didn’t take his eyes off the young women.
“Okay. But be careful. Helga may show up.”
“Huh?” Brent glanced at me, oblivious to my warning. “Thanks for the help.”
“Sure. I’ll see you at dinner. Helga will show up. Don’t worry.” I was being facetious since his only focus now was filling his non-Helga time with the young things nearby.
I left, annoyed that he had involved me in his obviously ridiculous urgent search for Helga. The only redeeming factor was that it made Mavis curious and jealous.
I looked into the casino and decided I’d powder my nose first. I hated those feminine euphemisms, but they automatically came to me after many years of acculturation.
* * *
As I opened the nearby restroom door, I heard Mavis and Esther squabbling inside. I stopped with the door ajar and listened.
“But I need the work.” Mavis was intense. “You don’t understand. I can’t pay my bills. I refinanced my house three years ago and the money’s spent. Now I can’t make the mortgage payment!”
“I understand, dear. Don’t be so verklempt. I just don’t use ghostwriters and I don’t know of anyone who does . . . or would admit they do. Let’s get out of here. We’ll talk some other time.”
“But . . .”
“Look . . . do editing.”
“You know it doesn’t pay enough.”
“What about your agent reissuing your old series?”
“You know the odds of that taking off . . . besides, it will take too long even if he stops dragging his feet. I need money now.”
“I can’t help. Really.”
“I’ve been in this game since before you started.” Mavis shouted. “I’m good. I just need work to tide me over. Any work.”
“I understand.”
“You don’t!” Mavis snapped.
There was a long silence and then Mavis moderated her tone.
“I’m sorry, Esther. Just hear me out, please. Asking you is hard for me. My last book didn’t even make my advance back. And it was a book I wrote in my twenties, revamped. It was not good enough then and only got published because of my name.”
“Oy vey. Did your agent approve of your little scheme?”
“No . . . he didn’t. I tweaked it myself. But it doesn’t matter anyway. The next one I tried to retool and get by him he rejected. He knows I’m dried up and so do the publishers. I have nothing left. No muse and no money.” Mavis’s voice cracked. “My agent avoids my calls. He’s all but dropped me.”
“It can’t be as bad as all that.” Esther was uncomfortable. “Your muse will return. It’s just a dry spell. We all have them. It’s late. I . . .”
“Esther, please! Wait a minute!”
“Let go, Mavis, you’ll rip my sleeve!”
“Sorry . . . but you know everyone. You could help me on the Q.T. You can set me up anonymously to ghostwrite for someone. I know you can.”
“Bist meshugeh? I won’t be associated with ghostwriting! It could ruin my reputation!”
“Look, I know you use a ghostwriter.”
“What! I . . .”
“And you could use me instead. I’m better. I’d be more discreet than they are. How do you think I found out? I would be confidential.”
“How dare you? I don’t use a ghostwriter! I don’t use anyone but myself.” Esther dismissed Mavis with an ordination of finality.
“I’m sorry.” Mavis submitted to the reprimand. “But, please, will you ask your friends? It’ll all be confidential.”
“I . . . I’ll think about it. But you start talking about any ghostwriting associated with my name and our friendship is over. Now let’s go.”
I knew Esther’s acquiescence was disingenuous. She just wanted away from Mavis and her oozing desperation, and to control Mavis’s implied threat of disclosure.
I took off for the casino before they caught me eavesdropping. I was upset for Mavis, even though I didn’t like her. I had read articles that stated ninety percent of all writers earned less than $10,000 a year. It was so much work to write a book and, even worse, it took intense dedication to publish even one. I thought they deserved more. But all artists struggled, even those who became successful, now and through the centuries: actors, painters, sculptors, composers, singers, dancers, authors. I began to doubt my commitment to publish even if that commitment was born of non-monetary objectives. Would $10,000 a year be enough to dignify my efforts—even if it also gave me my interesting authorial life and solidified my friendships from this cruise? Ingrained in my psyche was the notion that only money was a validation for my work, as it was in the psyches of most Americans.
* * *
I went on into the casino, but I felt lost—devoid of purpose. I didn’t want to think about Mavis any more. I knew playing blackjack would distract me—but I was not a true gambler. I was unwilling to risk money for what I considered a sure loss at blackjack. I bounced around through the chiming, colorful slots, like I was the shiny steel ball in a pinball machine.
I finally found a vacant, inviting well-cushioned red leather stool. I had a view of the bar entrance to watch for Curtis or my cohorts.
Perched on the stool, I tried to relax after the Mavis-Esther encounter. I believed Esther really did have a ghostwriter and that many other moneyed authors did, too. I fed the machine dollar bills and some tokens came back. I used the tokens on the slot machines, killing time along with my fellow passengers, which is to say donating money to the house before the second dinner seating.
My relaxation didn’t last, though. Most inopportunely, my classmates appeared and accosted me.
“You’ll end up losing your shirt. I did.” Agnes blurted out, apparently having lost her quota of money.
“Yeah.” Herbert trailed up to my other side. He patted his long dark hair swept over his balding head to confirm it was in place.
“That’s an exaggeration, Agnes. You played three lines at a time and lasted thirty minutes.” Jody corrected Agnes.
“The odds are against you, here and everywhere.” Herbert stopped patting his hair. “Statistically, the house will win because no one can walk away when they are up.”
“Thanks, but I’m just feeding it a few dollars. I’m about even.”
“About even doesn’t mean even,” Herbert hounded. “If I were you, I’d . . .”
Jody interrupted with her brash loud voice. “Have you given up trying to make murders out of those heart attacks?”
“Who told . . .” I aborted my question—I knew it was Mavis who was discrediting me.
“Mavis did,” Herbert ratted. “And, I might add, that she is right. The odds of two murders happening on the same cruise ship one day after the other are prohibitively high.”
I stonewalled the discussion. I didn’t want anything getting back to Mavis or Esther, which it surely would. I slid off the red stool.
“See you later.” I took my tokens to another slot machine.
“You should put your imagination into finishing your last book,” Herbert called after me.
He was rude. I had been, too, but I refused to engage them with respect to anything pertaining to our investigation. At this point, I owed allegiance to my new friends and myself. Our reputations, if not our lives, were at stake.
I played with the tokens as I
lost them one by one—but they dribbled back to me in part, three for every five I lost. I liked their feel. Some cruise lines had gone to straight paper vouchers with bar codes for the winners to cash in. They said it was for hygiene reasons. I, of course, relished the good old germy days when real quarters and real dimes were used, along with silver dollars. I even remembered the nickel slots.
Five bucks into my intermittent and expected but fortunately slow losses, Heather wandered into the casino with Amy. They sat nearby at a blackjack table across the aisle. Amy was very different from the woman I had met at the ship’s boarding pavilion in New York. Tonight, she was smiling as she responded to, and appeared to enjoy, Heather’s bright-eyed chatter. Did Amy not realize our double-barreled investigative shotguns were pointed right at her—or didn’t she care?
Was Heather Amy’s next target? I didn’t know of any connection or motivation. I wanted to join them and gauge Amy’s reaction to me to see if she had seen me in her closet. Frugality, however, stopped me. I just couldn’t afford to sit at a blackjack table where the stakes were higher and the losses faster.
Suddenly, three black bars popped one by one on my new slot machine, and tokens drained into the wide trough below. I was in the black by at least thirty bucks. I grabbed the small, used bucket that a previous loser had left next to my machine and gathered my winnings.
I could now afford the price of a seat near Amy and Heather at the blackjack table.
I got my tokens changed into chips for the blackjack table. On the walk over, I remembered the rule I had learned to hit on fifteen and stay on sixteen. Or, was it hit on fourteen and stay on fifteen. I couldn’t decide, but it didn’t matter because I never could resist getting another card anyway. Hopefully, my dealer would be of the same mindset, go over twenty-one, and bust.
I walked up behind Amy and Heather and heard the blackjack players moan as the dealer announced a natural. That is to say, twenty-one with a face card and an Ace. Across the board, he took everyone’s red five-dollar chips, green twenty-five-dollar chips, and some black one hundred-dollar chips. Heather was winning and had stacks of red and green chips. Amy, however, had a meager stack of red chips.
“Veronica?” Heather noticed me. “Are you going to join us?”
“Sure.” I sat in the stool next to Heather and put my short stack of five-dollar chips down. “Are you winning?”
“Not really. The stacks of chips you see are deceiving.” Heather gingerly placed her one chip in the circle for her next bet. “I’m about even. It seems that’s all I ever am.”
“How are you doing, Amy?” I couldn’t resist poking the bear.
“The dealer doesn’t have a chance of nailing me.” Amy leaned over and whispered with a cool evil glare from her golden eyes. “I’m too careful. No one does.”
I shuddered. I regretted engaging her. I confirmed, though, that she did know Mary was not at her cabin accidentally and that she had seen me hiding in her closet. That was not merely a double entendre—it was an overt threat.
I got off my stool and turned to Heather.
“It’s getting late. I’m going to the bar.” I put my chips in my purse.
“We’ll join you,” Heather chirped.
“No. You two are having fun. See you at dinner.”
I hurried away—from Amy.
I went to the restroom where I had eavesdropped. I was alone. I leaned over the sink to catch my breath and calm myself. Amy scared me. I looked at myself in the mirror. I touched up my lipstick and straightened my hair. I decided I would not be alone or near Amy the rest of the cruise. There was safety in numbers—and in distance.
Two chatty thirty year olds came in.
I left.
* * *
I rounded the corner into the main hall and went to the bar. Sean, Mary, and Elias were already seated at the far end. Their table abutted the massive windows framing the nighttime blackness, laced with reflections from the ship’s lighting. Dribbles of seawater streaked the thick glass.
As I rushed over, I passed by Brent, still seated on his bar stool. He was now enjoying the company of the two young women I had left him eyeing. They had joined him and were loudly and obviously admiring his wit. The giggling bounced through my ears.
A quick scan showed me the bar was, as yet, devoid of Curtis and his client group.
“Here,” Mary called loudly, unnecessarily waving her ample arm as I headed for their table.
“Good evening,” Sean greeted me.
I sat and noted their depleted glasses of wine. They had been there for some time.
“Am I late?”
“Not really.” Sean drank. “We’re celebrating.”
“Got this for you.” Mary pushed a glass of red wine at me.
“Thanks. Any Prolixin in it?”
“Not funny!” Mary said.
“Celebrating what?” I took a drink of my wine.
“Sean got Otto’s case headed in the right direction,” Elias explained. “They are looking at forensics again and seeing if any security cams in the vicinity have Amy on them. They may reopen it officially if they can find something . . . anything.”
“Yeah,” Sean added. “No one knew about the Amy connection. My partner . . . ex-partner . . . liked it. He’s getting back to me tomorrow.”
“Good. Because Amy’s on to us . . . or, at least, onto Mary and me.”
“What?” Mary exclaimed. “What do you mean you she’s on to us? I didn’t think she noticed a thing. She was great at high tea. I mean . . . I did keep an eye on my teacup . . . but she was friendly and chatty. And she was the center of attention at the table.”
“Well, I was just at the blackjack table with her and Heather. Amy threatened me.”
“My, God,” Mary mumbled. “I can’t . . .”
“What did she say?” Sean interrupted.
“She got right up in my face, stared me down, and said ‘The dealer doesn’t have a chance of nailing me. I’m too careful. No one does’.”
“That’s as unsubtle as it comes,” Sean said,
“There’s definitely no other way to take that.” Elias shook his head. “We’re in trouble.”
“Yes. And when I think of how reserved little Amy was when she boarded,” I said. “She’s changed. She’s fearless, manic, and . . .”
“Satiated,” Sean interrupted. “Like an animal full after the kill . . . satiated for now, but ready to pounce . . . ready to kill again. Especially if threatened.”
“I’m sure she saw me in that closet. And it’s getting around the MWW that we’re making progress.”
“Christ on a crooked crutch,” Mary said. “In the stateroom I didn’t see any reaction from her. I would have sworn that she didn’t notice a thing.”
“She’s a good actress.” I thought she was better than me, even with all my training and experience. “You know when I first met her in New York I mentioned the cruise would be wonderful and she said it would be ‘quite eventful.’ I thought she meant the awards, but obviously she didn’t.”
“She meant the evil events planned by her,” Mary said.
“You know,” I recalled, “When Mendel fell in the dining room that night, he called Amy his ‘little love’.”
“Evidently, it was unrequited,” Mary said. “To say the least.”
“My take is that she feels invincible now,” Sean said. “She has two murders under her belt, probably three, and she has essentially gotten away with them.”
“That’s true.” Elias stroked his mustache as he thought.
“I’ve seen it a million times when I’m questioning suspects who have gotten away with crimes. They don’t even invoke their right to an attorney because they think they are untouchable. In Amy’s case, she thinks she has committed the perfect murders.”
“The perfect murders . . . maybe.” Elias shook his head. “The NYPD closed Otto’s murder case publically and they didn’t even know about her relationship with him. And here, the Wessex and Es
ther did the greatest cover-up. For all the wrong reasons.”
“You know, my partner said the video that guy shot of Mendel in the dining room was on YouTube with thousands of hits,” Sean said.
“That didn’t help,” Elias said.
“We have to keep an eye on each other and stay away from her,” Sean cautioned.
“But Mary’s at Amy’s table.” I pointed out.
“I would suggest, Mary, that you don’t drink anything tonight,” Elias said.
“Can she eat?” I asked. “Wouldn’t that be dangerous too?”
“Of course, she can eat,” Elias answered enthusiastically, like a true Greek who could not imagine skipping a meal. “Amy can’t mix that stuff in food easily. Just stay away from the soup.”
“I wouldn’t eat anything,” Sean cautioned. “Maybe the bread. Just shove things around your plate. Just . . .”
“Look,” Mary cut the discussion off. “I’ve already made up my mind to order room service later. I’m shoving the food around my plate like Sean said. I’ll eat the communal bread and butter. Amy wouldn’t dare knock off the whole table.”
I snickered. “Let’s hope not!”
“Hey, getting serious here, my partner said security won’t do anything on board unless they’re forced to,” Sean said. “Like catching her in the act. That’s Wessex’s MO. And, he said, it’s the same for all cruise lines. They protect their reputations first and foremost.”
“Corporate greed knows no bounds,” Mary interjected. “I’ve killed off a couple of CEO’s in my books. It gives me great satisfaction.”
“You should escalate to their torture-murder,” I chuckled. “Maybe I will in my next book.”
“Come on girls,” Elias rapped his knuckles on the table. “Shh. Let’s stay focused. This is life and death. And the death part is taking over.”
“Anyway, my partner’s going to talk to Scotland Yard as soon as he gets the forensics report back and looks at the surveillance. Amy’s going to have a big surprise when we land on the other side of the ‘pond’ as the Brits would say.”
Death Sets Sail_A Mystery Page 24