Under the Moonlight collection

by MaryAnn Kempher

  Inside the kitchen, he was pleasantly surprised to see a smile on Chef Philippe’s face.

  “Ah, Jack, so nice to see you,” said Chef Philippe. Pointing at a member of his staff he said, “You—make sure that gets put over on that table.”

  Jack was relieved that the subject of pinched pies or crushed cakes weren’t immediately mentioned. The baked goods contest was winding down, and somehow, despite the assumed sabotage, Chef Philippe had managed to win multiple accolades for his delicious pies, cakes, pastries, and cookies. Dozens of blue ribbons hung near the chef’s workstation. Mr. Smalls entered the kitchen seconds after Jack did.

  “Hello, Jack. How are you today?”

  Jack smiled at Mr. Smalls. He was an easy man to like. “Fine. I saw you out there. Are you helping them decorate?”

  Mr. Smalls looked over his shoulder then turned back. “Yes, well you know I feel badly for the couple. I want to do what I can to help them have a nice wedding and reception.

  “Hello, Chef,” Mr. Smalls turned toward the ribbons on display. “Looks like you’ve done very well this week.”

  Chef Philippe’s satisfied smile was a welcome alternative to his usual scowl. He held out his arms, as if preparing to hug Mr. Smalls.

  “Yes, yes,” he said. “But this, this is my crowning glory.” The chef pointing toward a cake on a nearby trolley. It was beautiful, probably the most beautiful cake Jack had ever seen, with three tall layers covered in white frosting and a raspberry flower border.

  “Is that for someone’s wedding?” asked Jack.

  Chef Philippe walked over to the cake, looking at it fondly. “No, it’s not a wedding cake, but this is what will win me the big prize. Last year I won best overall cake, and I will again this year.”

  “I don’t understand,” said Jack. “Weren’t you making cakes all week?”

  “Yes, but this one’s different. Later today, it will be judged. While I’m thrilled at the ribbons I’ve won this week, those achievements are nothing compared to this. Every chef on board this ship, they all want to win this part of the competition. This is the big event.”

  Jack nodded toward a container in the corner, the one Chef Philippe had told him on his last visit was filled with flour.

  “Have you used all that yet?” he asked, smiling.

  Chef Philippe laughed. “Almost. It was nearly empty when the cruise started. I had it filled to the top, but have finally neared the bottom. In fact, I used the last of it this morning.”

  “That’s a lot of flour,” said Jack, chuckling.

  “Well,” said Mr. Smalls, “I’ll see you two gentlemen later. Lots of decorating left to do.”

  Chef and Jack smiled at Mr. Smalls as he left, then Chef Philippe put his arm around Jack’s shoulders and they walked out of the kitchen.

  “Yes, it was a lot of flour. And to think most of the things I made were destroyed.”

  Jack hoped the subject of the chefs ruined baked goods wasn’t about to be brought up again.

  “Saboteurs!” shouted Chef Philippe.

  Mr. Smalls, who was still walking toward the decorating team, cringed, and the crew setting up for the wedding reception turned around. Jack waved at them as if to say, “Pay no attention to the crazy chef.”

  “So,” said Chef Philippe, “why are you here, Jack?” They’d stopped walking and were watching the decorators.

  “No good reason, Chef. Just felt like stopping by.”

  That wasn’t entirely true. Jack had felt drawn back to the cafeteria, but after he was there, he didn’t know what he was looking for. He didn’t expect to find any more diamonds. Yet each time he visited, he left with a nagging feeling. Something was right before his eyes, something he wasn’t seeing. He hated that feeling. Experience had taught him that sooner or later, it would all click into place. But he didn’t have the luxury of time.

  Jack’s next stop was the infirmary. He’d hoped to find Bobby still there, but he’d already left. A few minutes later Jack walked into the security office. Brian and Paul were working.

  “Brian, let me ask you something,” said Jack.

  Brian turned his chair around. “Sure, what?”

  “Has Bobby ever gone by the nickname RJ?”

  “Sure,” answered Brian, “now that you mention it, but not for a long time now. You know, he’s little more than a kid. So he experiments.”

  “Experiments?”

  “Yeah. I’ve heard him referred to as Robert, RJ, and Bobby. Bobby is short for Robert.”

  “He can’t t stick to one name and be done with it?”

  Brian laughed. “I guess not. How is he anyway? Him and Jojo were close friends. They did everything together. He must be pretty broken up.”

  Jack rubbed his eyes. “He is.”

  Paul turned his chair toward Jack. “I wonder if he’ll still do the coffee shop thing, now that Jojo’s gone.”

  “Don’t know. Do you ever wonder,” asked Jack, “how those two managed to save enough money to do something like that?”

  “They told me that they’d recently come into some money,” Brian said.

  “Did they?” said Jack, more to himself. “Say, do you guys ever get tired of the same stops? Going to the same places over and over again?”

  “I was beginning to,” said Paul, “but then the route changed.”

  “What do you mean?” asked Jack.

  “Yeah, the ship used to do mostly East Coast trips. About six months ago, it changed to the South—Tampa, Miami, Jacksonville, the Bahamas, and to the occasional European trip, like this one was supposed have been. This would have been our longest cruise yet.”

  Jack looked thoughtful, then said, “Well, I’d better get going.”

  “Are you going to go talk to Bobby?” asked Paul.

  “No, I’ll go check on Bobby later. I think the doctor gave him some powerful drugs to sleep. I’ll see you two later.”

  “Bye,” said Brian and Paul in unison.

  Jack left the office unsure what his next move was. After Bobby was more coherent, he’d grill him good. Bobby may not have killed Matt Smith, but Jack suspected he knew who did. The only problem Jack saw was that he could only think of one person Bobby might cover for, Jojo. And no way did the man’s arm seen in the video footage belong to Jojo.

  Well, I think I have at least one crime spree solved, thought Jack.

  He wasn’t sure if he should go upstairs to the ballroom where the baked goods competition was being held or back to the cafeteria kitchen. As he neared the elevator, Chef Philippe exited the cafeteria. The chef was closely following the two old men Jack had seen earlier, Santa and Groucho Marx, who were pushing the trolley with Chef Philippe’s prize cake on it.

  “Be careful,” the chef said to the men. He looked at Jack. “I’m taking my cake upstairs now. It will be judged later this afternoon. Very exciting.”

  Jack looked at the chef, then at the men, then at the cake. The chef looked toward the two men and said, “Now you be extra careful. I will be up in a few minutes.”

  The doors opened and the men pushed the cake into the elevator. Jack stepped forward and stopped the doors from shutting.

  “Chef,” he said, “I suspect if we allow these doors to shut, you won’t ever see your cake again.”

  “What? What are you talking about, Jack?”

  Jack stepped into the elevator. Chef Philippe watched as Jack reached out and tugged the chubby old man’s thick mustache.

  “Hey,” the man yelled and slapped at Jack’s hands.

  The thin man pulled the trolley into the elevator more, and Jack pulled the trolley back. The cake wobbled from side to side. Jack reached for the chubby man’s mustache again. The man slapped at Jack’s hands and said, “Let go.”

  “What’s going on?” yelled Chef Philippe.

  Jack was alarmed for a second, then reached out and tugged harder on the mustache. Chef Philippe gasped when it pulled free from the man’s face. Jack took the man’s arm and pulle
d him out of the elevator.

  “Come on,” he said, looking at the thinner man still in the elevator, “you too.”

  Now both men stood outside the elevator, the cake had been pulled back out, and the chef was checking to ensure it hadn’t been harmed.

  “Jack,” said the chef, “would you please explain what is going on?”

  Jack smiled, then plucked the dark mustache off Groucho’s face and the chef’s hat from Santa’s head. It was clear now, without the mustaches and hat, that the two old men were really two old women. The chubby woman looked back and forth between the chef and Jack, her face crimson.

  “I can explain,” she said.

  “I think that’s a great idea, Ms. Albright,” said Jack.

  “How did you know?” she asked.

  “I didn’t, not right away. When I saw you the first time, I didn’t give you a second glance. The second time you weren’t alone, and I knew there was something odd about you and your partner in crime here, but I couldn’t put my finger on it. But when you dropped that white cloth, it dawned on me.”

  “Oh darn.”

  “I told you this was a bad idea, Nene,” said Gaga. “We should have stopped at the pies and pastries.”

  “My suspicions actually began the other night,” said Jack, “and this morning.”

  “Why?” asked Nene.

  “You were wearing gloves to go outside, when it was nearly dark, but then when I saw you earlier and it was sunny outside, you weren’t wearing the gloves. I looked at your hands, and I could still see the slightest discoloration. Your hands were blue. Like the blueberry pies you’d ruined. You’d worn the gloves to cover them up. You should have worn them one more day.”

  “I told you to wear those gloves another day,” said Gaga, “but you wouldn’t listen.”

  “Oh shush, Gaga.”

  “What is this? What is going on?” yelled the chef.

  “Chef, meet your saboteurs.”

  “Impossible! They’re just old women.”

  “Hey!” said Gaga and Nene together.

  “How can it be?” asked the chef.

  “They’ve been wearing a disguise,” answered Jack.

  “I was leveling the playing field,” said Nene. “I didn’t do any real harm—you still won a lot of ribbons. I have a favorite chef, but he’s young and inexperienced. So I figured if I messed with a few of your pies and cakes, he’d have a better chance.”

  “What about my cake? Were you going to destroy my cake too?”

  “No, I was going to hide it,” she answered. Nene turned toward Jack. “Oh, Jack, am I going to go to prison? I don’t think I would survive long in the big house.”

  “All right, both of you,” said Jack. “I want you to go back to your cabin. I’m placing you under house arrest. You’ll stay there the remainder of the cruise. I’ll stop by later to discuss any charges that the chef here might want to press against you.”

  Jack leaned down and whispered in Nene’s ear, “Don’t worry too much. I think I can calm the chef down. But no more shenanigans, okay?”

  Nene looked up. “Okay, Jack. Sorry, Chef.”

  She and Gaga got into the elevator and the doors shut.

  “You’re going to let them go?” asked Chef Philippe.

  “They have nowhere to go, and they won’t do any more harm. Plus, she’s right—you still did well in the competition, correct?”

  “Yes, but I shudder to think what would have happened if they’d gotten away with my cake.”

  Jack helped the chef take the cake up to the ballroom and then returned to his office.

  Jack sat at his desk and looked at his computer. There was an email from Mark Webber, with an attachment.

  The message read, I was able to restore this pretty good, Jack. I’ll make sure there are some officers to greet the ship. Good luck, and be careful.

  Jack opened the attachment, enlarging the images on the screen as much as possible. While still grainy, they were much clearer than they had been. He repeatedly watched the footage showing Matt Smith being killed. What he saw shocked him. His brain didn’t want to process and believe what his eyes were seeing; it had to be a mistake or a coincidence.

  Jack fast forwarded until he could see Pam, and the approach of her killer. He even saw the moment when the killer’s hat blew off. His eyes squinted. Well, would you look at that? he thought.

  As he watched Pam Larsen’s murder, he sighed. She’d been a beautiful woman, and her death so senseless and impulsive. At first he’d been surprised by what he saw, but it all began to make sense. He looked up as Frank quietly entered his office.

  “What’s that?” asked Frank.

  “The footage, it’s been restored. Look at this.” Jack rewound to the hallway outside the employee cafeteria. Frank took the spare chair and set it next to Jack’s.

  “Is that ...?” asked Frank.

  “Yeah, that’s Bobby.” Jack turned his head. “He’s RJ.”

  “Really?” said Frank.

  “Yep. Didn’t you check security personnel?”

  “Aww man, Jack. I’m sorry. It didn’t even occur to me.” Jack didn’t give him a hard time, since he’d almost neglected to check security personnel himself.

  “What about the footage of Matt getting killed?” asked Frank. “Is that any better?”

  Jack wanted to further examine the footage before he started making accusations, so he answered, “No, it’s about the same.” He turned back toward the computer. They watched as Pam got on the elevator. Jack pointed at the woman who appeared after Pam’s departure.

  “That’s Pam’s killer.”

  “You sure?”

  “Yeah. I don’t know what Bobby and Jojo were up to, but it got Jojo killed.”

  “What do you mean? What does Jojo or his death have to do with this?”

  Jack pointed again at the woman who had stabbed Pam Larsen. “I think that is Jojo. I know the footage still isn’t that great, but see the hat she’s wearing? A ball cap. Same kind of cap I saw covered in Jojo’s blood.”

  You can’t call Jojo a killer just because a killer is wearing a baseball cap.”

  “No?” said Jack. “Watch this.”

  Jack pressed the fast forward button. As the woman’s arm was about to come down and stab Pam Larsen, Jack paused.

  “What do you see?” he asked.

  Frank shook his head. “I don’t know.”

  “Look at her hand.”

  “Shit,” said Frank. A large ring was on the woman’s hand. Frank recognized that ring, which he’d seen hundreds of times. A genuine World Series ring.

  “But what’s he doing in a dress?” asked Frank.

  “Costume party. He and Bobby had probably worked something out. Here’s what I think happened. Bobby saw Pam’s arrival on the monitors. He went down there as she ran from the cafeteria. Jojo probably saw all this too. He went down as Pam got on the elevator, he followed and killed her.

  “I get that Bobby probably knew what happened to Matt, but how would Jojo know?”

  “I don’t know. There’s no audio on this. I can only think that maybe Bobby told him.”

  “So you think Bobby and Jojo were covering for Matt’s killer?”

  “Yeah. That’s what it looks like.”

  “Well, if you’re right, that’s at least one murder solved, Pam’s. What about Jojo’s and Matt’s murders?”

  “Still don’t know that.”

  ***

  RJ sat alone in his room, looking down at the pill he was supposed to have swallowed, thinking and planning. His compulsions had twisted his mind. The decisions he made based more on his urges than good judgment. He’d realized things about himself that those who knew him well had already suspected; he liked to hurt women. He’d first discovered that particular enjoyment in the Bahamas. The hooker was lucky to have escaped with only the black eye. Until the Bahamas, he’d been rough during sex, and the women seemed to enjoy it.

  His fantasy life had
begun to take over his reality, and he’d become obsessed with one particular woman. One woman he’d decided he must have. There was little thought to the consequences, so out of control was his growing fetish. He wanted to do things to her. He would get her here and tie her up. RJ’s breathing became heavy. Just thinking about what he would do was arousing him. He wrapped a rope around his hand and pulled tight, enjoying the fantasy. Dropping the rope on his bed, he rushed from his room to search for Amy.

  RJ peeked into the security office. If Jack was inside, he didn’t want to be seen. Except for Paul and Brian, the office was empty.

  “Hey,” he said.

  Brian and Paul turned. “Hey, Bobby, you okay? We’re very sorry about Jojo.”

  RJ walked to the far wall and took a key hanging there. The skeleton key.

  “I’m not thinking straight,” he said. “I locked myself out of my room. I’ll see you guys later.” He left, quickly climbing the stairs to his floor. He didn’t care if maintenance said the elevators were fixed. After what he’d seen happen to Jojo, it would be a long time before he took another elevator.

  He stood outside Amy’s room, listening. He didn’t hear any voices, so either she wasn’t there or she was alone. He let himself in. He could hear the shower running. A few minutes passed. The water was turned off, and Amy walked out of the bathroom in a robe. RJ grabbed her and swung her around to face him. He held his fingers up to his lips.

  “Shhhh,” he said. “I have a surprise for you.”

  “Robert, how the hell did you get in here?” Amy’s heart was racing, her mind searching for a logical explanation.

  “Put some clothes on.”

  She felt relieved. It had fleetingly occurred to her that Robert might have planned to rape her. Though she was still annoyed at his nerve at coming uninvited into her room, she began to relax.

  “What’s going on?” she asked.

  “It’s a surprise.”

  Amy shrugged. “I can’t be gone too long. I have a wedding to get ready for.” She grabbed some clothes and went back to the bathroom, returning a few minutes later. Robert took her hand and led her out of the room.