“I hate you,” said Scott. Alex laughed and went back to his own cabin.
Twenty minutes later, Scott said, “I’m ready,” through Alex’s cabin door. The door opened and Alex stepped into the hall. Alex was three years older than Scott, but they both were tall with dark hair, and could almost have been mistaken for twins.
“Still trying to grow in that mustache?” said Scott. Alex reached up, self-consciously.
“I think it’s coming in nicely.”
“Sure, if you want to look like the star of an ’80s crime show.”
Chapter Nine
When Frank and Jack entered the security office, Jojo and Bobby were attentively watching the monitors. Jack smiled to himself. They’d probably seen him and Frank coming, so they were on their best behavior. Jack hadn’t worked with the two men long, but he’d already formed an opinion that wasn’t altogether favorable. He made a mental note to change his shift visits. Maybe he’d already become predictable. He tried to visit each shift at least once and had been doing that for the past week every night at about the same time. He could only imagine the amount of goofing off the two men did once they were sure nobody would be checking up on them.
Frank’s eyes fell on the pizza box at the same time as Bobby’s. Bobby grinned sheepishly.
“Listen, fellas,” said Jack, “I need you to go through footage from last night. We’re looking for Matt Smith.” Bobby and Jojo looked at each other, then up at Jack.
“You’ve lost Matt?” asked Bobby.
“Well, let’s just say we’ve misplaced him,” answered Jack.
“Okay, boss,” both men answered. Jack and Frank sat in two nearby chairs and waited. Frank looked up at the wall clock.
“My shift starts in three hours,” he said. “What do you want me to do about a partner tonight?”
“I’m sure we’ll find Matt before then,” answered Jack. Bobby and Jojo turned back toward the monitors and worked their magic.
“Hey, Jack,” said Bobby, “look here. We found footage of Matt going into the cafeteria, but it doesn’t look like the footage is all that great. The cafeteria’s dark, and the images are distorted.”
“Why?” asked Jack.
“Same as the other footage, because of the thunderstorm,” answered Jojo. “We had a power surge, a few of them. There are problems with a lot of the footage from last night.”
“Where should I be looking?” asked Jack. The office door opened and the swing shift crew arrived to relieve Bobby and Jojo.
“Monitor six and seven,” answered Bobby. He stood and let Paul, his replacement, sit.
“What’s going on?” asked Paul.
“We’re looking for Matt Smith.” answered Bobby.
“You need anything else, boss?” asked Jojo.
“No, you can go,” answered Jack. Then, looking down at the screens, he said to Paul, “Well, let’s see it.” Paul pushed some buttons, and on one screen appeared the sitting area of the crew’s cafeteria, which, like Bobby had said, was very dark; the hallway was on another camera. After a few moments a woman walked into the cafeteria. She was wearing a long coat with a hood.
“Who’s she?” asked Jack. They looked at the footage from the hallway, but that didn’t help.
“Don’t know,” answered Paul. “I don’t recognize her as staff. Then again, we have a lot of staff on this ship.”
Jack looked over at Frank. “Do you recognize her?” Frank shook his head no. She disappeared into the kitchen.
“What the hell good is having security cameras if the footage is so damned bad?” said Jack.
“Here comes Matt,” said Paul. Tall and lanky, Matt Smith was easy to recognize as he entered the cafeteria and then its kitchen.
“Where’s the footage from the kitchen?” asked Jack.
“There isn’t any,” answered Paul. “There aren’t any cameras in the kitchen.” Jack had been staring intently at the screens, his hands supported by the desk. He straightened up, looking stunned.
“You’re shitting me, right?” he said. “No cameras, anywhere?”
Paul shrugged. “Well, yeah as you can see there are cameras in the sitting area,” he answered, “and outside the entrance in the halls, but not the actual kitchen, no.”
“Unfuckingbelievable,” said Jack, shaking his head. “Can the footage be zoomed?” he asked.
Paul swiveled his chair around, looking sympathetic. “No, this is it. As it is. Sorry.”
“Will you look at that,” said Frank, pointing at the screen. A woman had appeared. “If that’s not Pam Larsen, then I need glasses.”
“What the hell is she doing down there?” said Jack, mostly to himself. They watched as Pam walked toward the kitchen, looked in through the window on the door, then rushed out of the cafeteria.
“Hurry,” said Jack. “Show me the hall outside the cafeteria.”
Pam Larsen could be seen running out the cafeteria doors and nearly running into a man in the hallway. But the footage wasn’t any more helpful than that of the woman in the long coat. Besides being grainy and distorted, the man’s back was to the hallway camera and he was always just off where the camera rotated. Jack stared at the image. Something about the man seemed familiar. What was he not seeing?
“I’m gonna go check out the cafeteria,” said Jack. “Take a look around.”
“You want me to come with you?” asked Frank.
“No, stay here. See if you can figure out why Pam Larsen ran out of there like a bat out of hell. And watch for Matt Smith—see where he goes when he leaves.”
Each time Jack walked into the cafeteria, he was surprised by how large it was. But it needed to be—it fed a twenty-four-hour crew of a thousand or more personnel. Shiny and spacious, it rivaled any of the restaurants available to the paying passengers. It was brightly lit, but mirrors on all the walls made it seem brighter than it actually was. It was fairly quiet. Not a lot of people were eating.
Jack made his way across the room toward the kitchen, pushing through the swinging door. Inside was all hustle and bustle. He quickly moved out of the way of a short, plump waiter, his white cap pulled down tight around his ears. There were three men wearing white chef’s coats. Two were turning chicken breasts on a grill and the other looked to be doing some baking. Beautiful pastries and pies were lined up on a nearby ledge.
“Hello,” said Jack to the first chef, who was almost as wide as he was tall. Jack wondered how much of the food cooked was actually eaten by the waiting employees. The man’s nametag said Marv.
“I’m from security,” said Jack. “Could I speak to you for a moment?”
Marv turned toward another chef. “Can you watch these breasts for a minute, Mikey?”
“Sure,” the man answered.
“This is a beautiful kitchen,” said Jack.
Marv looked around proudly. “Well it should be. Everything’s new, completely remodeled.
“Oh yeah,” answered Jack. “I think I heard that it was redone.”
“Reopened the day after launch day,” Marv smiled. “Mr. Smalls thought that was kind of fitting.”
“How long was it closed?
“I don’t know,” answered Marv. “About a month I guess.”
“You mind if I look around some?” asked Jack.
“Is something wrong, something I need to know about?”
“No, nothing you need to worry about,” answered Jack. “You haven’t noticed anything unusual?”
Marv shrugged. “I haven’t, but you might want to talk to our pastry chef, Philippe. That’s him over there.”
Marv went back to turning chicken breasts. Jack looked around. It really was the epitome of a modern kitchen. Tons of storage space, multiple grills and ovens, new floors that gleamed. Jack’s eyes narrowed. He kneeled down and picked something small off the floor, then stood and held the object up to the light.
“What’s that?” asked Marv.
“Not sure,” answered Jack before shoving the item in
to his pocket. He walked over to Philippe, who was furiously kneading dough. He stopped and turned toward Jack. The chef looked frazzled. His head was a mess of thin, white hair that stuck up and out in every direction. He was of medium height but very thin; his white chef’s coat seemed to hang on him.
“Chef Philippe,” said Jack, “I’m Jack Harney, from security. I was just stopping by, hoping to have a look around. But I don’t want to be in anyone’s way.”
“No,” said the Chef, “I’m glad you stopped by. Day and night I bake—cakes and pies, pastries and cookies. I don’t eat, I hardly sleep. I do not need this stress.” Chef Philippe spoke with a slight accent. Jack couldn’t place it, but it reminded him of Count Dracula.
“What stress?” asked Jack.
“I’ve been meaning to call someone, but keep forgetting. Someone, some animal is destroying my baked goods.”
“Destroyed? Destroyed how?” asked Jack. The chef talked with his hands, and flour flew in all directions. Jack took a step backward.
“Well, some are mashed up.” Flour flew to the left. “Some have slices missing.” Flour flew to the right. “But they aren’t fit to put out for the guests.”
“Who’d want to destroy baked goods?” asked Jack.
The chef looked at Jack like he was crazy. “Well it’s obvious, isn’t it? Saboteurs! My competitors, of course. Bakers from all over the U.S. are on this ship. My pies and cakes took first place last year—someone wants to make sure that doesn’t happen again. Even my cake entry has gone missing. All day I bake, and every night. I bake, then in the morning I have to start all over. But that’s not all. This morning, I came in and there was blood on the floor.”
“Blood?” said Jack. “Where?”
“Right about where you’re standing.”.
“Did someone cut themselves?”
“I hope it’s from one of my saboteurs,” Philippe said. “I’ve been asking around. None of the employees cut themselves. Of course, nobody was supposed to be in here last night. They might be afraid to admit they were here.”
“Was there a lot of blood?”
“No, not a lot.”
“You should have reported that,” said Jack. “If you find out who cut their hand, let me know.” Jack walked back to the swinging doors. “Regarding your cakes, same thing. And if I find out anything useful, I’ll let you know. Thanks for your time.”
Around four o’clock, Jack returned to the security office. When he walked in, he was pleased to see Frank sitting next to Paul, still looking intently at two of the six screens, scrolling through footage from the previous night. He was glad to have Frank’s help. He sat on a stool next to him.
“You find footage of Matt?”
“This is the part where I say, ‘I have good news and bad news,’” answered Frank. “Good news—we found Matt.”
“And the bad news?” asked Jack.
“Check this out,” answered Frank. On the screen, Jack watched Matt Smith enter the kitchen.
“So?” said Jack. “I’ve seen this.” Frank held down a button and the screen slowly rotated to show the interior of the cafeteria.
“Look at that,” he said, something like pleasure in his voice. Jack looked at him, surprised at his tone, then back at the footage. A floor-to-ceiling mirror was across from the kitchen door. The back of Pam Larsen’s head could be seen in its reflection, but even with her head in the window, Matt Smith was also visible. Jack looked closely at the footage. Matt seemed to be alone, but then Jack saw it: someone was standing next to Matt. But all that could be seen was the person’s arm, which was a man’s. Suddenly the arm came down, and Matt fell to the floor. Even with the less-than-stellar footage, it was obvious Matt had been struck hard. Jack paused the video.
“I’ll be dammed,” said Jack.
Frank shook his head. “Damn,” he said. “If Pam Larsen was killed by a woman, and Matt by a man that means we have two killers on board.”
“So you think Matt’s dead?” asked Jack.
“Don’t you?” said Frank. “And there’s something else.” He reached over and pushed the fast forward button.
“What is it?”
“I was sitting just letting the footage roll, hoping whoever hurt Matt would appear.”
“Did they?”
“No, but someone else did.”
“What?”
Frank laughed. “I know, that place was like Grand Central Station last night. Watch this.” First, they watched Pam Larsen run from the room and into the mystery man.
“Wait,” said Jack. “Who’s that?” After Pam left, a woman appeared by the elevators.
“Call me crazy,” said Jack. “But that looks a lot like Pam’s killer.” The video footage jumped and became distorted. Then the image changed to the woman they’d seen enter the kitchen earlier. She’d pulled the hood of her coat up over her head, and she was bent over, pushing a trolley that was holding what appeared to be a cake.
“Is that the same woman we saw earlier?” asked Jack.
“Yes,” answered Frank. “I think so, and it looks to me like she’s stealing a cake. It’s not enough we have two murders to deal with—we have a serious baked goods thief too.”
“I’d like to say I’m surprised, but I’m not,” said Jack.
“What do you mean?”
“Well, I just came from the employee cafeteria. The pastry chef told me he’d been having problems with pies and cakes being destroyed. He said a big cake was taken; he wasn’t kidding. I’m thinking maybe we have some bored kids on the ship. But you know what?”
“What?” answered Frank.
“Look again at the time stamps. Notice anything odd?”
“No.”
“Frank, she goes into the kitchen before Matt’s killed, but she doesn’t come out again until after he’s killed. And the arm we saw didn’t belong to a woman.”
“Oh my God,” said Frank. “Was she in the kitchen when Matt was killed?”
“I don’t know, but it looks like finding our bakery thief just rose in priority.” Jack stood.
“Where you going?” asked Frank.
“To see Mr. Smalls. I have to tell him he’s had two murders on his ship.” He started to walk out. “You gonna come with me?”
Frank looked back toward the screens. “Shouldn’t I stay here? Keep looking?”
“Nah, come with me. I’d rather not tell Mr. Smalls alone.”
Chapter Ten
Scott followed Alex toward the elevators.
“What do you want to do first?” he asked.
“Let’s go check on the cake.”
They took the elevator down to the second floor. They recognized the area from when they boarded the ship but were unsure where the cafeteria was, until they noticed that everyone who had gotten off the elevator with them all walked in the same direction. They followed staff through some swinging doors and found themselves in a very large, brightly lit room. The rows of tables seemed to go on and on, and there were a lot of people there.
“Do you get the feeling we don’t belong here?” said Scott.
“Follow me,” answered Alex. Alex walked toward a swinging door, he hesitated for a second, then pushed his way in. He walked over to a man stirring something in a pot.
“Excuse me,” said Alex. The man turned; his nametag said Marv.
“Yes, sir, what can I do for you?” Marv said.
“Hi, my name is Alex, this is my brother Scott. We’re a part of a wedding party. I was sent down by my nervous bride to check on the wedding cake.”
“You’ll want to talk to Chef Philippe. I’ll go get him, he’s in the back.” A few minutes later Marv and, Alex assumed, Chef Philippe returned. In the few feet needed to travel between the kitchen’s storeroom and Alex and Scott, Chef Philippe shouted directions to at least three workers.
“You there, put a hair net on. You! Why are you putting almond extract in that mixer? You fool—those are chocolate chip cookies. Why is that cake in ther
e? Put it by the wall. Do I have to do everything myself?” When he reached Alex and Scott, he wiped his flour-covered hands on his pants leg then held out his hand.
“I am Chef Philippe. I’m told you’re here to check on your wedding cake? Your name?”
“I’m Alex Mitchell,” said Alex. “The wedding wasn’t supposed to be until next Friday, but we’ve heard that the ship might be turned around, and we’ll be returning to Tampa sooner than originally planned. If that happens, the wedding will need to be moved up.”
“What? What?” said the chef, clearly agitated.
“Yes,” said Scott. “A woman was hurt last night. The wedding might have to be moved up.”
“A woman hurt,” the chef repeated. “The ship turned around. Did you hear anything about the baked goods competition? Oh where is Marco?” Chef Philippe looked around the kitchen. “Marco,” he yelled. “Go upstairs, find out whether the ship is being turned around. Find out about the competition.” At his side Chef Philippe held a clipboard, which he brought close to his face.
“My eyes, they are not what they once were,” he said. “Ah, here you are. Yes, sir, no worries—your cake is ready. With so many people on board, we’re constantly baking. Day and night we bake to keep the buffets full of beautiful desserts. Because of this, we usually make our larger cakes, the wedding cakes, early. I can assure you they stay tasty for a long time in our refrigerator.”
“May we see it?” asked Alex.
Chef Philippe began rapidly speaking in a language Alex and Scott didn’t recognize. Alex and Scott exchanged glances. Finally the chef said, “Of course.” He led Alex and Scott to a stainless steel refrigerator and opened the door. At the far end, a large cake, beautifully decorated, could be seen.
“That’s our cake?” he said. “It looks great—thank you.”
“You’re very welcome, sir,” answered Chef Philippe. “If that is all?”
“Yes. Thank you,” answered Alex. Alex turned and walked out of the kitchen, Scott following. They walked to the elevator and stepped inside. Scott pushed the button for the lido deck, thinking something to eat would be just the cure for their hangovers.
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