“To where you’d already loosened the railing supports?”
“Exactly. He tried to come at me when he realized I had no intention of keeping my end of the bargain. We struggled. He leaned against the rail, lost his balance. The screws gave way.”
“And you tipped him over for the final touch.”
His bared teeth gave her the affirmative answer. Noting his muscles tense, she offered one last attempt to delay him. “What about Helen? Why did you push her down the stairs?”
“I didn’t hurt Helen. You won’t be so lucky. Fortunately, disappearances on cruise ships happen all the time these days.”
Marla saw movement from the corner of her eye. Eric Rand, conscious, was crawling in their direction.
She twisted and snatched the blade from the drawer. Before she could turn, Oliver grabbed her wrist in a painful vise. He squeezed hard, making her gasp in agony. Just as her fingers loosened, something smashed into Oliver’s knees from behind.
Eric had lifted a broken chair and rammed the legs into her assailant. The effort exhausted his strength, and the auctioneer collapsed like a sand castle in a wave.
Oliver bent over, howling. Her respite didn’t last long. With a triumphant cry, he scooped a hammer from the floor and straightened to his full height.
An evil leer on his face, he raised his hand for a killing blow. As his arm came down, she parried his thrust with her elbow. They wrestled while he pinned her against the counter with his body. If he got a good swing at her head with that hammer, it would be over.
“Marla,” she heard Eric’s voice rasp, “Alden’s painting.”
“What?” Did he mean for her to secure the artist’s painting for safekeeping? He must be really out of it. Didn’t the guy see what was going on?
It struck her what he meant at the same time as Oliver’s palm hit a glancing blow to her temple.
She saw stars, and her pulse throbbed. Losing ground against Oliver’s strength, she faltered. He lifted the hammer with another triumphant cry.
Damn you, I refuse to suffer another concussion. Once in my life was enough.
Twisting, she seized the wooden frame that she’d left on the counter and twirled around. Crack. A corner connected with Oliver’s jaw, producing a satisfactory crunch.
Their eyes locked.
Oliver’s gaze widened, and then he slid to the floor like a blob of paint.
Marla stood frozen, her breath coming in pants. Eventually, she had enough presence of mind to kick him to see if he responded. Thankfully, he didn’t budge.
They all needed medical attention. And if she was quick enough, she could just make dinner.
Dalton’s face showed a mixture of consternation and relief when she arrived at their dining table. He leapt from his seat, confronting her. “Where the hell have you been? I’ve been searching the ship high and low for you. If Mom hadn’t said she’d seen you earlier, I would’ve called the FBI myself.”
“I ran into our killer.” Lifting her hair, she showed him the bruise on her temple.
“By God, who did that to you?”
“Holy mackerel, are you all right?” Betsy said, shoving her chair back and rising.
The Wolfsons and Starks stared at her in shock while Marla noted two empty seats at the table. Kent Harwood didn’t react at all, swiping another roll when no one was looking.
“If I’d met you earlier,” Vail said, “you wouldn’t have had to face the brute alone. Who was it?”
“I wasn’t alone. Eric Rand helped me.”
“Against whom?” His face reddened, as though steam were about to shoot from his ears.
“Oliver. He’s responsible for everything. Well, almost everything.”
Betsy glanced at his empty seat. “Where is he?”
“In custody. I imagine Irene was too embarrassed to join us, although I have her to thank for clueing me in. She might be better off once she clears the air with her daughter.”
“What daughter? Never mind, you’ll tell me later,” Vail said. “Meanwhile, Brie is worried about you. Go tell her you’re okay. And I need to make a phone call. Be right back.”
Marla wound her way through the crush of bustling waiters to his parents’ table. Upon spotting her, Brianna knocked back her chair and rushed over.
“Marla!” the teen cried, hugging her.
“I’m fine,” Marla said in a reassuring tone, patting the girl’s shoulder. Moisture tipped her lashes. Before meeting Vail and his family, she hadn’t been used to anyone except her own mother caring about her.
“We’ve all been so concerned,” Kate remarked, plopping her napkin on the tablecloth. John gave a solemn nod in agreement.
“I discovered that Oliver was responsible for our problems in Roatan, among other things,” Marla replied. “Let’s meet after dinner, and I’ll tell you all about it. I want to hear about Tulum also. In the meantime, please enjoy your meal. It’s been a long day, and you’re probably starved.”
Back at her table, she regarded Dalton after placing her order.
“So where were you this afternoon?”
Smiling, he winked at her. “You’ll see in a minute or so. Pass the butter, please.”
Too hungry to argue, she complied. Halfway through her salad course, she looked up to note two newcomers claiming the empty seats at their table.
“Brooklyn!” Marla exclaimed, catching sight of his familiar face. He grinned at her, a white slash in his dark complexion. Helen sat next to him in Irene’s chair. Aside from her wrist in a removable cast, she looked comfortable in a pair of capris, sandals, and a knit top.
“Dalton called and said it was safe to come down,” Helen said. “He’d come to my stateroom earlier when you were looking for him,” she told Marla. “And he found Brooklyn there. We insisted that he fill us in on things, so he stayed a while to chat. Holy macaroni, I’d never have suspected Olly.”
“Sorry to worry everyone,” the cafe manager said, settling his bulk and flipping a napkin open onto his lap. “I’ve been hiding out in Helen’s cabin.” He gave Bob Wolfson a sheepish glance. “I thought it was you, man. Didn’t want to take no chances and end up like Martha.”
“Except Martha’s all right,” Helen babbled. “I received an e-mail from her that she’d made it home. Someone pulled the same trick on her as they did to you in St. Maarten,” she told Marla. “Eventually she got free and found her way to the airport in San Juan.”
“That’s a relief.” Thurston Stark had recovered his voice, although he sounded hoarser than normal. “We’ll be looking for a new museum director now, even if Oily is only charged with assault and not murder.”
“That’s questionable,” Marla said. She then shared Oliver’s confession about how he’d abused Alden Tusk as a youth and how Alden had intended to prevent him from resuming his perversion via a proposed children’s art program. She also told them that Oliver had lured Alden to his death at the fund-raiser, hoping to abscond with his triptych, but that someone else had beat him to it by stealing the critical center panel.
“I can’t believe we had a pedophile on our staff,” Thurston muttered.
“Is there actually such a thing as a phobia to flutes?” Heidi said in her girlish voice. Her neckline showed off a sparkling emerald necklace that matched the green in her dress.
“Yes, it’s called aulophobia,” Marla answered, leaning back so the busboy could remove her empty salad plate. “I asked the doctor in the medical center. Presumably Alden developed this fear because Oliver played the instrument prior to his abusive sessions. Flute music acted like a trigger for Alden’s self-loathing and feelings of dread.”
Falling silent to examine her food that had just arrived, she sniffed the sautéed onions and garlic accompanying the red snapper, pimiento rice, and baked plantains. A trio of musicians serenaded diners with Mexican music while the ship’s photographer hopped from table to table plopping a large sombrero onto people’s heads and snapping pictures.
M
arla cringed when he approached their group, but waving him off had no effect. The guy was as persistent as a life-insurance salesman.
Kent Harwood, who’d been silent until then, finally spoke up after swallowing a mouthful. “Looks like the museum staff will have more than one vacancy.”
The others glanced at him, startled. Without waiting for any further explanation, Bob Wolfson blurted out a confession. “You’ve got no proof that I’m responsible for the bookkeeping problems,” he said, eyes narrowed behind his spectacles. “I’ve kept careful records.”
“Ah, but you can count on Countess Delacroix to take up the slack in that regard,” Kent said, his lips broadening in a slow smile.
“I don’t understand,” Kate commented to Marla the following night. “Where does the countess come into the story?” They sat outside on the aft terrace, overlooking the ship’s wake that frothed in the moonlight. “By the way, Marla, I love what you did with my hair. My bridge pals at home will be envious.”
Marla smiled proudly. That morning, she’d trimmed the layers on Kate’s auburn hair, which had given it more lift. A balmy breeze teased wisps of bangs onto Kate’s face. Marla felt a surge of affection for the older woman, whose generosity seemed boundless. They’d already packed for debarkation and left their suitcases out in the hall for pickup. Aside from a quick breakfast the next morning, they wouldn’t see each other again for some time.
“I talked to the museum gang today to set things straight,” she told Kate, along with Dalton and John, who occupied the other seats at their round table. Brianna had gone to a farewell party with her new friends. “Too bad Eric didn’t make it to the final art auction this afternoon. He would have been proud to see Irene win the bid on Alden’s triptych. Oliver’s wife plans to donate the set to the museum for its permanent collection.”
“You didn’t answer Mom’s question about the countess,” Vail remarked. He leaned back, arms folded across his chest, legs spread wide. A sexy grin curved his sensuous mouth.
Marla’s skin tingled. She knew what he wanted to do in their cabin on the last night of their cruise.
“Eric Rand engineered bringing everyone from the museum aboard,” she explained, starting from the beginning. “He’d been convinced Alden’s death wasn’t an accident and felt he had been wrongly fired from his curator position. He spent the past few months collecting information on each person present in the museum on the day Alden died.
“He’s the one who swiped the center triptych painting after the artist’s death, having realized its significance. However, Eric couldn’t identify the person molesting Alden, nor did he know who played the flute, even after Martha mentioned hearing the music. So he devised this scheme to flush out the killer. Using his connections at the cruise line, he bought the tickets and sent one to each person involved.”
“Wait a minute,” John said, drumming his fingers on his chair arm. “Where did he get the money?”
“From Irene. She wanted to learn the truth, even fearing her husband might be involved. Eric hired investigators to find out all he could about the people at the museum that day. He unearthed quite a few secrets.”
“So Eric Rand wrote those notes found on everyone’s door?” Kate said, wearing a puzzled frown.
“That’s right. He hoped his message, ‘I know what you did and I have what you want,’ might spook the guilty person. Kent Harwood was aboard, not because of his role as an exterminator, but because he’s an insurance investigator. He’d been sent to learn who was pilfering paintings at the museum and substituting fakes in their place.”
“Thurston Stark,” Vail contributed in a wry tone.
“Right.” Marla nodded. “The foundation chair didn’t want his wife to find out he was living above his means. He worked in collusion with Cliff Peters, the security guard, but what Thurston didn’t know was that Heidi was having an affair with Cliff in order to assist him. She was just as interested in maintaining their status quo, so she seduced the guard to secure his cooperation.”
“Kent told you this?” Vail raised an eyebrow.
She nodded. “Cliff confessed to Kent after the investigator put the heat on him. Both Thurston and Cliff will be met by the authorities tomorrow morning, same as Oliver and Bob Wolfson.”
Kate sat up straight. “Yeah, what’s Bob’s role? And you still didn’t explain where the countess fits in.”
“Bob, the museum’s business manager, has been embezzling funds for years. He wired the money to his bank in the Cayman Islands, withdrew cash during his yearly cruise, and bought property in Mexico. Helen Bryce caught on to his scheme and offered to run away with him. Sandy, who couldn’t help noticing Helen’s attentiveness toward her husband, got jealous and ‘accidentally’ shoved Helen down the stairs.”
“Oh my,” Kate exclaimed, clamping a hand to her mouth.
“Countess Delacroix met Eric Rand when he was curator at the museum. He used to go on European trips to meet art collectors and donors. Or maybe she made it her purpose to meet him to get at Bob Wolfson,” Marla continued with a weary sigh.
“The countess wanted to buy Bob’s property,” Vail elaborated. He rolled his eyes at Marla, as though imploring her to finish. Now that the crisis was over, he wanted to enjoy their remaining free time.
I’m trying, she mouthed back. “Anyway, the countess encouraged Eric to seek the truth about Alden’s death. If he implicated Bob, she’d offer to buy Bob’s real estate in exchange for attorney fees. As it turned out, Bob was guilty of embezzlement, not murder. He and the countess reached a deal in Cozumel, and she left.”
“What about the rest of the people in Eric’s message?” John inquired with a note of mild curiosity.
“He’d bought Helen’s life insurance policy. He’ll give it back, along with the watch owned by Betsy’s father that he picked up at a pawn shop. Eric just needed leverage to use on people if necessary.”
The auctioneer had gotten what he’d wanted: justice for Alden Tusk and restoration of his honor as curator.
Marla had never found any of Tusk’s ballet portraits on board, but she intended to track them down from her home computer. No matter—she’d gotten several free pictures that would look good on the walls of their new home, as well as remind them of their first cruise together as a family.
“Here comes Brie,” Vail called, then stood to greet his daughter. “How was the party?”
Brianna glanced at him with doleful eyes that glistened in reflected light from the globes situated around the deck.
“It’s hard to say good-bye to people. Some of them live across the country.”
“You got everyone’s e-mail address, right?” Marla said, rising to give her an affectionate hug.
“Yeah, but I’ll miss my friends. What’s going on with you guys?”
“Have a seat.” Vail yanked a chair over for her. “We’ve been saving the best news for last.” He nodded at Marla. “You tell them.”
Three pairs of eyes swung in her direction.
“Dalton and I have decided on a wedding date,” she announced.
“Awesome,” Brianna yelled.
“At last,” John droned. “Now Kate can stop nagging.”
“I’m so excited,” Kate said, beaming, “when is the joyous event?”
Marla watched sparkles of moonlight gleam on the waves like the diamond on her hand. “The eighth of December. The weather is usually good in South Florida that month. We don’t want to get too close to the holidays, though.”
“That’s marvelous. John and I definitely have to rent a place so we can help you make plans.”
Marla smiled at her. “I must say that I am eager to join your family. You’ve made me feel so welcome. I love you all.”
Vail reached over and squeezed her hand, while her heart swelled with affection. This trip has served its purpose. She’d grown closer to her soon-to-be family, and now she had many happy experiences ahead: marriage, a new house and expanded salon.
The
ir cruise might be over, but her next voyage had just begun.
Killer Knots Page 25