Murder at Sea of Passenger X Georgie Shaw Cozy Mystery #5 (Georgie Shaw Cozy Mystery Series)

by Anna Celeste Burke

  “No, Dear. You’re part of my cover. A happy honeymoon couple out and about on one of the last days of their romantic South Sea Island cruise.”

  “I should have known I’d be a prop or a decoy. Do you want me to flash my legs to distract passers-by if they wander our way?” I lifted my skirt and pointed the toe of my slipper bending my leg like Claudette Colbert flagging down a passing car in It Happened One Night.

  “I have no doubt that would work like a charm. Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that. I’d prefer to keep those gams of yours under wraps like the rest of this investigation.”

  “Good luck. None of this will remain undercover for long. Once Mad Max arrives it’ll be game over, Detective.”

  “True. Your meddlesome boss is likely to beat us to Papeete, Georgie. Even if he uses the corporate jet and bypasses airport hassles, he can’t reduce the flight time by much, especially if he stops and refuels along the way. That means many hours in the air once he files a flight plan and gets to the airport. I figure we’ve got 24 hours before Max Marley can have a Rumpelstiltskin tantrum on this ship or anywhere nearby.”

  “That’s not a lot of time to solve a murder—even for you. Maybe I should contact Max and try to head off that tantrum. I’ll appeal to the importance of keeping a cool head and low profile when we arrive in Papeete. If I can call forth Max the Guardian Angel of Marvelous Marley World and tap his concern about not blemishing his brand that might take precedence over his desire to punish the bearers of bad news.”

  “Go for it, Georgie,” Jack said handing me a cup of coffee and pouring himself another. “Knowing you, by the time he gets here he’ll believe the whole cool-head-low-profile approach was his idea in the first place. Getting updates from someone he trusts will help him feel more like he has control.”

  “One can only hope,” I said as I scarfed down that coffee and one of those delicious chocolate tarts. “What does one wear to a shipboard crime scene?” I wondered aloud.

  “I’d opt for comfort. We’ll make this as quick as we can, but it could take a while.”

  “Will do,” I said as I dashed into our bedroom and slipped into a pair of black, stretchy cropped pants and a red knit boatneck top. Finally, I combed my hair, and put on a bit of mascara and lip gloss.

  “Red is your color,” Jack said when I reemerged moments later. He smiled appreciatively. I’m not sure whether red was my color or his, but I’d added more of it to my wardrobe since I learned how much he liked to see me in it.

  “And so forgiving if you happen to have blood and gore on your itinerary. Just so you know it, I’m considering making gold or purple my new favorite color.”

  “No problem. You’d look just as ravishing in those colors, too.” Jack swept me into his arms and kissed me. I returned the favor. “Let’s go before I change my mind about getting involved in this cops and robbers mission,” he said, releasing me from that embrace.

  “Or before this honeymoon can get any more bizarre.” I glanced over my shoulder at the underwater scene on the opposite wall. The cats had figured out how to trigger the motion detectors, and the scene was flowing again. Little Ella was dashing back and forth, chasing after a school of brightly-colored fish. Miles’ head was moving rapidly as he tracked her motions, like a sports fan at a tennis match. “At least the cats are having a good time,” I said knowing full well the game afoot for us was not tennis.

  3 Passenger X

  “We’ve done a complete census, and we’re not missing a passenger, Sir,” the young man said as his gaze wandered to the tented area from which Jack and Bill had just emerged. When we first arrived on Deck 6, I had followed Jack in there, but I hadn't stayed long. The blood was more than I could handle. Besides, it was crowded. Tom Reasoner, waiting at the scene, had gone over what he found when he arrived at the site, and what he had done since then. He repeated much of the story Bill had told us in our suite, but this time with show and tell. Gruesome.

  Jack inspected the identification card Dr. Maggie Hayward had retrieved from Jake Nugent’s pocket. It was now in a small plastic bag. Dr. Hayward, who asked that we call her Maggie, had brought plastic bags with her from the infirmary along with latex gloves, tweezers, and a few other items. Jack slipped on a pair of those latex gloves and began to inspect the area.

  Bill took photos as Jack or Maggie pointed out one thing or another—including a bloody shoe print. Scrapes and scuff marks on the rail suggested there had been a scuffle before that passenger went overboard.

  “What’s that, Jack?” I had asked pointing to something snagged on an exposed edge of the rail.

  “I’m not sure,” Jack said as he had Bill take a photo before using a gloved hand to slip it into a plastic bag. He held it up. “It’s a piece of plastic, I think, Georgie.”

  “I have a magnifying examination lamp in the infirmary. We can take a closer look. At these, too,” Maggie said as she lifted two blond hairs from the body lying on the deck in a pool of blood. That’s when I began to feel the need to escape.

  “Can you get a picture of this, please, Bill?” Bill leaned in close and snapped a photo of a necklace partly hidden by the dead man's body. After Bill snapped a picture or two, Jack lifted the body a little and slid that necklace the rest of the way out of a pocket where it must have been before the man fell. Bill shot more pictures as Jack held aloft an elaborate piece of jewelry that combined braided gold with gems of various colors. As he slipped it into a plastic bag, I spoke up.

  “I’ve seen that necklace before,” I said.

  “Was it worn by a cool blond with shoulder length hair?” Jack asked.

  “If I can clear my head, I might be able to remember,” I replied. When I peered more closely, I got a better look at the necklace. Unfortunately, when Jack had lifted the body to pick up that necklace, I also got a better view of a savage wound that must have caused the man’s death. That’s when I had abandoned Jack and the others, leaving them in that little tent of horrors.

  “What I can tell you is that it’s a fake,” I said as I fled.

  As soon as I drew in a couple of deep breaths of sea air, my memory of that necklace came back to me. The woman wearing it was no blond. A sultry brunette with dark eyes set off by smoky eye makeup and wearing dark red lipstick. Men surrounded her as she stood in a lounge area waiting for the maître d’ to seat her for dinner. She spoke with great animation and apparent ease.

  Had that dead man been among them? I strained to recall the appearance of each of the men with her that evening. That scene in the tent still had me shook up. At this point, I couldn't even be sure I remembered how many men had been in that circle of admirers.

  I gave up and composed a message to Max. When I sent that message, I hoped the “angel Max” rather than the “devil Max” would be on the receiving end. My boss who avowed he possessed those two warring personas, was as chimerical as the fantasies spun by the entertainment conglomerate he had founded decades ago. In his 70s, Maximillian Marley showed no signs of relinquishing his leadership role anytime soon. While I was still pondering the fate of my text message to Max, a member of Bill’s security team showed up in his spiffy white uniform. That’s when we learned that we had a man overboard but not a single missing passenger.

  “What about the crew?” Jack asked after Adam delivered his message about the passenger census.

  “All present and accounted for, Sir.”

  “Thanks, Adam,” Bill said. That sounded like a dismissal to me, but Adam lingered scanning the deck, glancing side-to-side.

  “Sir, is this the point at which Passenger X went overboard?”

  “Passenger X?” I asked.

  “Yes. That’s how we’re referring to the missing passenger until we have a cabin number or name to use.”

  I scrutinized the young man who was shifting from one foot to another. Perhaps he was anxious about the missing person report he had just delivered to his boss, the Security Chief, Bill Tate. A missing passenger at sea was bad
enough. Not being able to account for the person’s identity had to be much worse.

  Does he know more about all that has gone on here on Deck 6 than has been shared publicly? I wondered. Despite the hope to handle the homicide investigation discretely, it seemed unlikely that a murder could be kept from the crew, even if they could conceal such information from passengers. Is that what had him so antsy? There was one way to find out.

  “Adam, is there something bothering you?” I asked. He glanced at me and then his eyes flitted Jack’s way before settling on Bill’s face.

  “We had an incident near this spot the night before last. A steward broke up a confrontation and reported it as a dispute between passengers who’d had too much to drink.”

  “That’s good to know. Do you have a record of the passengers who were involved in the incident?” Jack asked.

  “We don’t have their names. The steward didn’t call security to the scene but filed an incident report later. The reason I remembered it now isn’t just that it happened near here, but one of the passengers the steward spoke to didn’t have a ship-issued identity card with him. He claimed he’d left it in his cabin. When he filed the report later, the steward made an offhand comment. Something like, ‘how did he get that drunk if he didn’t have his I.D. card with him at the bar?’ I assumed the guy fighting with him must have bought the drinks before they went at it. What if the guy without an I.D. card is Passenger X?”

  “Since he didn’t have I.D., did the steward include the passenger’s cabin number in the report?”

  “Yes, Bill. He also offered to escort the passenger back to his cabin, but he declined the offer of assistance. They seemed to have settled their differences, so the steward let it go at that point.”

  “Jack, if you can handle the investigation here, I think Adam and I should go check out the cabin this guy claimed was his. Maybe the incidents are unrelated. It’s also possible that it involved a disagreement between two of our three thieves. Maybe already fighting as their scheme unraveled. It's a shame that steward didn’t call security, though. We would have scanned the card for the passenger carrying an I.D. to confirm his identity. And, we would have insisted that the passenger without I.D. take us to his cabin to retrieve it.”

  “There’s another thing. Bill. I already checked the passenger manifest. The passenger occupying the stateroom with the number recorded on that incident report is a woman traveling alone. I’m guessing that drunken passenger was out of it or just picked a cabin at random hoping to get the steward off his back.”

  “The point of issuing those electronic I.D. cards is so that sort of thing can’t happen,” Bill said, sighing deeply. He ran a hand up the back of his neck. “Let’s go have a talk with the woman in that cabin.”

  “If you’re lucky, that number wasn’t random, even if that’s what the unidentified passenger intended.”

  “I hope you’re right, Jack. I’m not looking forward to needlessly hassling an already hassled guest.”

  Bill was right to be concerned about adding to a guest’s distress. In the short distance from our suite to the tented area, Jack and I had heard grumbling from passengers. Some were disappointed. Others were scared, but some were angry too.

  So far, passengers had only heard a brief announcement that the search for a missing passenger would delay arrival at the next port of call, Bora Bora. A more formal briefing would be provided later in the afternoon. The details weren’t likely to make passengers any happier unless the search and rescue teams located Passenger X by then.

  “I have a question before you go,” Jack said. “Could you have a stowaway? Security was tight in Papeete when we went through customs before boarding, but it seemed more casual in Moorea and other stops. Can new passengers or crew members come aboard when you put into port? Could someone have done that without your knowing about it?”

  “We’re paranoid about stowaways–especially since 9/11. It’s not just that we're worried about terrorism. Our supply officers try to account for everything and everyone that comes or goes on this ship. That minimizes theft. The kitchen commissary and galley workers are obsessive about the handling of provisions, especially the sort of fresh produce, meat, or seafood that would come aboard at a stop along the way. They monitor the transfer of goods and even have protocols for getting rid of the containers in which goods are delivered to the dock. Food-borne illness is a bigger threat than terrorism, day-to-day. Along the way, the Chef usually buys fresh items from purveyors he trusts. He places those orders ahead of our arrival in port, so he knows who’s going to pick up or drop off merchandise.”

  “Sounds like the way we worry about the chain of custody when it comes to handling evidence. What about other supplies?”

  “At the start of a cruise, items like linens, cleaning products, toiletries, and paper products are stocked for the entire itinerary. Sometimes supply officers guess wrong and need to pick up items ashore. Given we’re on the last leg of our cruise, maybe the protocol was relaxed at our last stop, but I’d be surprised if a breach went unnoticed. We can ask the supply officer, but Chef Gerard is most likely to have made pickups along the way. I’ll start with him.”

  “I can do that, if you’d like, Bill. Gerard and I are old friends from culinary school.” Bill was pondering my offer, perhaps wondering how much he ought to engage a passenger like me in the business of investigating a shipboard crime. He was being pulled in a lot of directions at once, however, even with Jack’s help.

  “I’d take her up on that offer, Bill. She’s a vetted company associate, like you are, with management experience in food service and public relations. If Gerard has concerns about anything that’s happened on this cruise, he’ll have no trouble telling Georgie about it. Chef Gerard is the only man on this ship who’s allowed to send my wife sweet nothings. He seems trustworthy even though he’s aware of Georgie’s weakness and not afraid to exploit it,” Jack said, raising an eyebrow as he tried to lighten up the unhappy mood that had settled upon us.

  “Weakness? What’s that?” Bill asked still in a bit of a fog.

  “Chocolate!” Jack and I said in unison. That broke the spell, and the Security Chief laughed for the first time since he had stepped into our cabin earlier this morning.

  “If you can do anything to expedite the investigation, Georgie, that would be great. Not to mention that since you’re dealing with an old friend, you can impose upon him to keep matters quiet.”

  “Understood,” I said. I was relieved at the thought of getting away from Deck 6, even if it meant poking my nose into affairs below deck. It would be interesting to see how this floating city fed the legions on board. Not just passengers but all the staff that it took to serve them.

  I’d been taken on a quick tour of the galley when we used the reservations Max had made for us in one of the ship’s two premiere dining spots, Neptune’s Garden. Gerard, a Michelin-starred chef, was quite the showman. The food was exquisite—more Mediterranean than South Seas—with an appropriate emphasis on the freshest seafood. A gorgeous display with an ice carving of a mermaid had greeted us at dinner that night.

  “Even if I don’t come up with information about a breach of protocol or a stowaway, I’m going to see if Gerard can cook up some event for tonight. The last night on board is usually a special one, but an extra culinary extravaganza might take some of the edge off passengers' disappointment about not arriving in Bora Bora today as planned.”

  “That's an excellent idea. A word of caution about the need to continue to be discrete. Not just to avoid disturbing the passengers any further. As much as I hate to say it if someone did get on board without a ticket, they most likely had help from an insider.” That worried expression Adam had worn suddenly made sense. The one Bill now wore was almost identical.

  Maybe I shouldn’t be quite so eager to play sleuth, even with an old friend like Chef Gerard, I thought as I bid farewell to my husband who had made the transition from honeymooner to detective. He was one s
tep away from telling me to go back to our suite and leave the sleuthing to the pros.

  “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do, Sweetheart,” he whispered using his hokey Philip Marlowe voice. My one-week-husband, who looked much more like James Garner in the Rockford Files than Humphrey Bogart, had learned a thing or two. I’m not a woman who’s easily deterred once my mind is made up, so he hadn't tried to stop me.

  “You can count on me to play it cool, Pal.” Food didn’t sound that bad now that I was out in the fresh sea air instead of in that tent. “If I score some five-star chow, I’ll share it with you, handsome,” I whispered. My wise-cracking dame voice was even hokier than Jack’s impression of the classic film noir detective. Thank goodness no one could hear it.

  “Gerard says you should meet him in the galley on Deck 2. Do you know how to get there or do you want an escort?” Bill asked. Yielding to the worried expressions on the men’s faces, I opted for an escort even though I felt quite sure I could find my way to that galley on my own. The dead man couldn’t hurt me, nor could the man overboard, but that third man was another story. Who was the ruthless slasher? Where had he gone? Was he still lurking about or watching us from a deck above us? I was suddenly very grateful that I had an escort.

  4 The Commissary

  “Georgie, Darling! How are you? Did you come to pitch in? Are you hungry?” The thin, energetic man in a tall chef’s hat rushed toward me as he peppered me with those questions. The galley on Deck 2 where passengers could avail themselves of a nonstop buffet had to be the busiest kitchen on the ship.

  The kitchen staff served breakfast all day, adding other items for lunch, afternoon tea, and dinner. The kitchen was probably the largest one on the ship but appeared to be a more compact version of what you’d find in a restaurant or hotel. The place was buzzing with activity. Steam was billowing from pots on the stove and from a water bath used to keep containers of food warm until a runner transported them to one of the buffet stations in Kehlani's Lagoon. A rich medley of aromas swirled amid those vapors. Expediters shouted for items needed out on the serving line or relayed a special request from a guest.