Decked

by Carol Higgins Clark

  “Four A.M.?” Regan echoed.

  “It’s a tradition you don’t want to miss. We’ll probably just stay up all night partying. Why don’t you join us?” Dale asked.

  “Thanks, guys, but I think I’ll grab a few hours of sleep first,” Regan commented.

  Within a half hour the party was in full swing. Sylvie came in with Milton and Violet. As Regan greeted them she noticed that Sylvie had the look of someone who had scored a big one, obviously pleased with the chance to impress Milton and his disdainful sister.

  “Um-hmmm,” Violet said as she surveyed the surroundings with a critical eye. “Very nice. Oh, Milton, there’s that rude young man. I don’t know whether we should stay.”

  Regan realized that Violet was staring out at Cameron Hardwick as Sylvie’s face became crestfallen.

  Regan tucked her arm under Violet’s and said, “Please stay. There are so many interesting people here. Lady Exner tells me that you met Cameron in Greece.”

  “Absolutely. He waited on us, the year my dear Bruce died.”

  As Regan escorted her to the bar she said casually, “On my next trip, I’m going to Greece. What town were you in?”

  Without blinking an eye, Violet flatly declared, “Skoulis.”

  “No. No. No. Don’t be silly, Mr. Gray. I will not allow it,” Veronica was insistent.

  “But it will only take a few minutes to get this place in order. You start down to dinner and I’ll follow in a few minutes.”

  “No, you have done too much for us already. It’s past seven-thirty and we’re already late. The steward is going to come in and do the rest of the tidying up while we’re at dinner.” Veronica opened the door and started walking out. “The party was smashing, wasn’t it?”

  As Gavin reluctantly followed her, he agreed, “It was absolutely wonderful. And that’s why I just wanted everything to be perfect for you when you came back to your room.”

  Regan pulled the door shut and as she walked down the hallway thought that he sounded as though he were pleading for his life.

  FRIDAY, JUNE 26

  I CAN’T WAIT any longer, Regan thought frantically as she crept out of bed. She peered over at Veronica, who appeared to be sleeping soundly. The clock next to the bed read 4:30. Which meant it was 8:30 A.M. in Oxford.

  Regan tiptoed into the bathroom, shut the door and picked up the phone on the wall.

  Five minutes later she was speaking with Superintendent Livingston.

  “I’m so glad I caught you in,” she whispered as she told him about Veronica’s belief that Val was the governess in the picture with Athena and her aunt and children.

  Livingston looked down at the papers on his desk and shuffled through them until he found the picture in question. Holding it up, he studied it. “Could be,” he said. “Hard to be certain, of course. The photo is rather grainy. She’s identified as Mary V. Cook. I’ll stop over at Saint Polycarp’s today and look into her employment records.”

  “And another thing,” Regan continued, “there’s an American guy on board who sits at our table and to me his background doesn’t gel. An older woman I’ve met insists he waited on her in Skoulis, Greece, eleven years ago. It’s just a hunch, but could you check with the police in Greece? See if his name came up at all during the investigation. Maybe he was questioned if he worked in the town. Skoulis is not that big.”

  “I’d be happy to. What’s his name?”

  “Cameron Hardwick.”

  OXFORD

  AS LIVINGSTON DROVE once again up the road to St. Polycarp’s, he reviewed the case in his mind. If indeed Valerie Twyler had been the governess, why was she hiding it? Was the burglary of Helen Carvelous’s home which led to murder an inside job? What about this chap named Cameron Hardwick? Livingston had called Greece and asked them to pull out the files on the Carvelous murder investigation.

  It was 9:05 A.M. when he pulled into the parking lot. As expected, Reginald Crane, the headmaster, was already at his desk.

  “Nigel, this is the second visit this week.” Crane reached over and shook his hand. “Please sit down. What can I do for you this time?”

  Livingston sat back in his chair and took a deep breath. He had to be careful. Her reputation was at stake. “Miss Valerie Twyler. Could you please get out her records?”

  Without hesitation Crane got up and walked over to his battered-looking cabinet. “I assume I can’t ask why you’re interested in Val Twyler.”

  “Just checking some facts,” Nigel replied as he pulled his notebook out of his pocket.

  Tossing the file on his desk, Crane sat back down and opened it. He explained that the first page was the notes he had taken when he interviewed her for the position.

  “When was that?” Livingston asked.

  “April 23rd—ten years ago.”

  Livingston felt energy dart through his body. That was the same day Athena Popolous disappeared. “Where was Twyler working at the time?”

  “A school about seventy-five miles west of here. A place called Pearsons Hall.”

  “Did she ever list any references from Greece or mention working there as a governess?”

  Crane flipped through his papers. “No, she didn’t.”

  “Do you know if she was ever married?”

  “Apparently she had been divorced the year before she came here. She even went back to using her maiden name.”

  “What was her married name?”

  “Cook.”

  The Inspector stood up. “Exactly where is Pearsons Hall?”

  AT SEA

  WHEN SHE TIPTOED back to bed after talking to Livingston, Regan tossed and turned. Sleep was out of the question. Her mind would not stop racing. Violet Cohn. She had a mind like a steel trap. I’d lay odds that she’s right, Regan thought. Cameron Hard wick had been her waiter in Skoulis. If Val had been a governess there, maybe she’d met Cameron in town. Maybe she had tipped him off about the jewelry. The antique jewelry, in his own words, “the only jewelry worth having.”

  Regan lay on her side and hugged the pillow, once again staring out at the terrace where Cameron had spent most of the evening. If Val and Cameron were somehow involved, was there a connection to Athena’s death? And what was Hardwick doing on this ship?

  OXFORD

  INSPECTOR LIVINGSTON DROVE most of the seventy-five miles to Pearsons Hall barely noticing the tranquil English countryside.

  It was 11:30 A.M. when he found himself seated in another office, this time waiting for the headmistress, Margaret Heslop, to return from a meeting down the hall. At a quarter to twelve the door flew open and with a cane a woman pushed it wide as she wheeled herself in.

  Livingston jumped up. “Can I be of help?”

  “Good Lord no, I’ve been managing this since the war,” she said heartily. A sixtyish matron with a pleasant face and gray hair pulled back in a chignon, she settled herself opposite Livingston’s chair and extended her hand. “Margaret Heslop.”

  “Nigel Livingston. I appreciate you seeing me on such short notice.”

  “I knew it must be important. Otherwise you wouldn’t have come all the way from Oxford.” And then, with an efficient air, she added, “Tell me your business.”

  “I need to discuss the background of Valerie Twyler.”

  “Valerie Twyler?” Heslop sounded puzzled.

  “Her married name was Cook.”

  “Of course.” The headmistress’s face clouded as she shook her head. “I never think of her as Twyler. She went back to her maiden name after divorcing a chap in town.”

  “I understand she also was referred to as Mary for most of the time she taught here.” For the second time that morning Livingston found himself toying with his pen and notebook.

  “All of the time, actually,” Heslop replied.

  “Right. Do you know if she ever spent any of her summers working as a governess in Greece?”

  “She most certainly did, and that was the start of her troubles.” Heslop rolled her wheel
chair over to her file cabinet and pulled out a folder marked “Mary V. Cook.”

  “What do you mean, troubles?” Livingston asked quickly.

  “Isn’t that why you’re here?” Heslop asked as she snapped the drawer shut and opened the file at her desk. “She was getting a divorce from her husband and wanted to get away for the summer. She worked for a family in Greece where, as I’m sure you know, there was a tragedy. A woman walked in on a burglary and was murdered. Since Mary was the only one living there who was not a family member, she was questioned extensively. When she came back here for the fall term, the police kept showing up and asking her questions. We weren’t too happy about it. It got to be a bit disruptive, embarrassing and all. I gather they couldn’t prove anything. Finally there was an opening at Saint Polycarp’s and she grabbed the chance to get away. She interviewed for the job and I understand has been there ever since. I even heard she’s getting married.”

  “Yes, she is.”

  “Well, I hope he fares better than Malcolm Cook did in that situation. She could be a rather difficult woman. An excellent teacher but not very personable.”

  No wonder she never wanted to admit knowing Athena, Livingston thought. It made perfect sense that she wanted to start a new life for herself. And even if she was interviewed the day Athena disappeared, it might be totally irrelevant. He had seen those incongruous coincidences where people happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time.

  Livingston thanked Margaret Heslop for her time and got up to leave, promising not to hesitate to call if he needed any more questions answered.

  At the staircase that went down to the carpark he hesitated, pausing a moment to soak up the momentary bout of sunlight that crept from behind the clouds while he reflected on what he had just heard.

  “Oh dear, now where did I park that darn thing?”

  Livingston looked over at an older woman whom he guessed to be about seventy and smiled.

  “My husband always gets a bit ratty because I can never remember where I parked the car. He has trouble walking, so I drop him off at the door and then go park it. They’re having a crafts fair in the auditorium today. Some lovely things. You might want to have a look.”

  Trying to help, Livingston asked, “What kind of car do you have?”

  “It’s a blue Austin and it’s been giving us a good deal of trouble lately. We’ve been calling our blue Austin our bad apple.” She cackled to herself. “Oh, thank you, now I see it,” she said as she grabbed hold of the railing and negotiated her way down the steps.

  Blue Austin. Bad Apple. B.A. Livingston flipped through his notebook and looked up exactly what had been written on the matchbook found in Athena Popolous’s pocket. “B.A. 315.”

  Turning on his heel he hurried back inside. “I’m taking you up on your offer sooner than you think,” he told the surprised headmistress. “Did you by any chance keep a record of faculty automobiles?”

  “Of course. Faculty members all get stickers for the carpark.”

  “What kind of car did Valerie—er—Mrs. Cook drive when she was here?”

  “Now let’s see. Her file’s right here. Ah yes, it was a blue Austin.”

  “What was the license number?” Livingston asked tightly.

  “Three-one-five-seven-six-four.”

  “You’ve been most helpful.”

  Valerie Twyler, or Mary V. Cook, had known Athena Popolous in Greece, Livingston thought as he got into his car. For some reason Athena had written down part of Val’s license plate. Athena disappeared the day Val had her interview in Oxford. And Val had also accused Veronica of trying to poison Penelope Atwater, an idea that instinctively he found hard to believe. Regan Reilly had certainly disputed the notion. Another thing. Val’s upcoming marriage to Philip Whitcomb didn’t make sense. They seemed like oil and water. Was she marrying him because he was the probable heir to Lady Exner and her millions? If she indeed had tried to poison Penelope Atwater, there was no telling what she had planned next. And how soon. A sense of urgency made him lean his foot on the accelerator as he hurried back to Oxford.

  AT SEA

  CAMERON HARDWICK WAS having a sleepless night. In his mind he kept going over and over his plan. He mentally visualized the stateroom. If Exner woke up when he was getting rid of Reilly, it would be too risky. He looked over at the vial of knockout drops he had on his dresser. They were the kind that worked over several hours. He’d drop them into her drink tonight and by ten or eleven at the latest, Exner’s chin would be impaled on her chest. After her party last night, it wouldn’t be surprising if she seemed exhausted. By the time he stole into the suite she’d be in never-never land. He smiled to himself.

  Reilly. He’d love to sweeten her drink, but it was much too hazardous. He could feel strange vibes coming from her. She’d never let him get that close. And even if she did, if she started getting exceptionally sleepy, an alarm would sound in her head. No, he was hoping to use the element of surprise in her case. If she was asleep when he got inside, he’d have the extra few seconds he needed. If not, he knew he could get to her before she could reach for the phone. He’d checked. The phone in the living room was on a table in back of the sofa bed, too far away to grab before he got to her. If she tried to yell, it wouldn’t do her any good. What was that line? If a tree falls in a forest and no one is there, does it make a sound?

  Hardwick glanced at the clock. Six A.M. I may as well get up, he thought. It’s going to be an interesting day. And the weather was even supposed to cooperate. A good omen. Overcast skies were predicted for tonight. As he turned on the shower, the smell of heavily chlorinated water stung his nostrils. How can people who work on this ship stand bathing in this water week in and week out? he thought. The steward. Let’s hope he won’t try to get in the way tonight. By one o’clock in the morning he’d hopefully be passed out at his station, anesthetized by Dr. Jack Daniels. I’ll get past him, do my business and come back down here and wait. For land, freedom and the big payment.

  FOR SOME REASON, I’m jumpy today and worried about Veronica, Regan thought as she and Veronica dressed. They had slept later than usual. Regan had finally fallen asleep after 5 A.M. and Veronica’s perpetual state of motion was beginning to catch up with her. She had decided to skip the Sit-and-Be-Fit class.

  “It’s all right, Regan,” Veronica proclaimed. “I really do feel quite well. Today will be a good day for relaxing, regrouping, saying good-bye to our new friends and preparing for the second part of my adventure, which begins tomorrow.”

  “What, no seminars at all?” Regan asked.

  “I really don’t think I need to hear about financial planning again. Philip has someone taking care of all that for me. As for the psychic, well, I’d rather have a personal session with one in New York. I hear there are several good ones who work in restaurants. They come around to your table. I’ll have to bring my nieces.” Veronica sat down to the breakfast tray. “I’m so glad we decided to order room service today. And after this we can take it easy down on the Lido Deck, as we did the other afternoon.”

  “That’s a good idea,” Regan said. There was a knock. She put down her own coffee cup. “Now who might that be?” she asked as she went to open the door.

  A nervous-looking Gabby Gavin stood in front of her. “Is everything all right?” he asked. “I was worried when Lady Exner didn’t show up for exercise class this morning.”

  “Yes, yes, everything’s fine,” Veronica called from the living room. “Today is a day to unwind. Come in, Mr. Gray.”

  As he walked past her Regan thought he seemed to have aged in the last couple of days.

  “I’d like to escort you to all the activities today, Lady Exner. It’s such a pleasure being in your company, and this is our last day. Regan, maybe you’d like to be on your own.”

  “Thank you, Gavin, but today Veronica and I are just going to relax down on the Lido Deck. Right, Veronica?”

  “Absolutely. Why don’t you join us? It’s a lo
ng time since such a handsome gentleman has desired my presence.”

  There goes the flirt in Veronica, Regan thought. I wonder if she’ll ever write a poem about Gabby.

  “OH, MARIO, I can’t wait,” Immaculata rejoiced as she put on her eye makeup. “What time will we go up there?”

  “The steward said anytime after ten,” Mario answered as he tied the laces of his sneakers. “We’ll have our own private party in one of the two best suites on the ship. Right now I’m just dying for some breakfast.”

  Her second coat of mascara in place, Immaculata zipped closed her makeup bag. “I’ve got my special black negligee. Aren’t we lucky there’s no one staying in that suite and the steward is so nice?” “Honey, for a price anybody is nice.” “I know, but he could still get in trouble.” “Yeah, well, I told him, it’s like a second honeymoon for us and we could never afford to stay in a place like that. No one will ever know, and he gets a couple hundred bucks extra spending money.” Mario put his arms around Immaculata and gave her a hug. “We’ll relive our wedding night.”

  Immaculata looked puzzled. “But, Mario, don’t you remember? You fell asleep on our wedding night.”

  OXFORD

  IT WAS AFTER 2 P.M. when Livingston got back to his office. Several messages were piled on his desk, the most important one from the authorities in Greece. He quickly called back and learned that Cameron Hardwick had indeed been questioned at the time of Helen Carvelous’s death. He had been employed as a waiter at the local hotel. The week before the murder he had been one of the extra help hired for a large party at the Carvelous mansion. They had no forwarding address for him.

  As Livingston hung up the phone he reflected on the fact that Twyler and Hardwick almost undoubtedly had known each other in Greece. Now Hardwick was traveling on the Queen Guinevere. Five minutes later he was speaking to an agent at the Global Cruise Line’s headquarters in London. After identifying himself, he asked, “Do you have an address for a Cameron Hardwick who is now sailing for New York on the Queen Guinevere”