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

by Anna Celeste Burke

  A cacophony of clinking, clanging, scraping, and chopping sounds issued from every corner of the busy kitchen. It was music to my ears! Nostalgia rushed through me, filling me with memories of the excitement I first felt when I had become a chef decades earlier.

  Kitchens are noisy places, especially in the confined space of a ship’s galley—even one as large as this one that served hundreds of passengers each day. Mega ships fed even more meals to hungry diners than that. The newest ship in Max Marley's fleet, the Marvelous Marley World—MMW Fantasy of the Sea is a midsize luxury liner with just under a thousand passengers on board. Max had opted not to go the “ultra-luxury” route with his cruise line, hoping to keep fares affordable enough to attract the families that had made Marvelous Marley World a household name.

  “I was hoping you might show me around if you have time. I know there are a dozen kitchens throughout the ship, and I’ve only seen one of them. I’m curious too about the storage and preparation areas you mentioned.”

  “To be exact, there are fourteen full-sized kitchens, plus six smaller galley areas with minimal food service for burgers and fries, salads and sandwiches, or coffee and pastries—like Le Petite Patisserie that you enjoy so much.”

  “Those staging areas look a lot like what you see at a food court or Starbucks,” I said.

  “Exactly! This kitchen is bigger than the one you’ve already seen, but they're all similar in layout. Working in a smaller space has become old hat to me now. A trickier issue for me was getting used to relying on electric heat since no open flame is allowed on the ship. As you can imagine, fear of a fire on board is huge!”

  “I’ll take your word for it rather than even think of such a thing, Gerard.”

  “Would you like to go below to the commissary kitchen and storage area to see how we manage to stash food away for a ten-day voyage like the one you’re on?”

  “Yes! That would be wonderful, Gerard.”

  “Hang on a second. Paolo, will you come here please?”

  “Yes, Chef. What is it?” The man who bounded our way wore a hat slightly shorter than Gerard’s. As in many kitchens, Gerard as the Executive Chef wore the tallest hat. Even in the shorter hat, Paolo towered over Gerard and me.

  “Paolo, this is my friend, Georgie Shaw—Director of the Food & Beverage Division at Marvelous Marley World. Meet my Sous Chef, Paolo Vannetti. I snatched him away from a delightful bistro in Tuscany a few years ago. He’s responsible for adding more Mediterranean flare to our menus.” I shook the hand of the attractive Italian man with blue eyes and blond hair. He spoke to Gerard even though his eyes were on me.

  “You are too kind, Chef. It was a great opportunity for me to join the Marvelous World of Marley. I am pleased to meet you, Ms. Shaw.”

  “Nice to meet you, too, Paolo. At Marvelous Marley World, it’s first names only, so please call me Georgie.” He beamed a broad smile and bowed a little. “As you wish, Georgie. How can I be of service, Chef?”

  “I’m leaving you in charge while I show Georgie around.”

  “Ciao!” Paolo did another of those slight bows as Gerard took off.

  “Follow me! You have questions about how we run the kitchens on the ship, don’t you?”

  Thank goodness Jack had suggested I dress for comfort. I felt sure I was about to get a workout. I took a couple of extra steps to catch up with Gerard. Before I could reply, Gerard dashed off and spoke to a woman dressed as one of the expediters we had been introduced to in the galley kitchen at Neptune’s Garden. She nodded and then tore off on some mission. Gerard was on the move again.

  “Yes. I’d love to hear how you handle the need for fresh food and other supplies without the daily access available to luxury hotels and restaurants ashore. Guests must expect a similar level of service. I take that for granted, although I’ve only been on a few short excursions before this one.”

  “Yes, they do expect quality and service, although we cater to lots of families who are more used to eating on the run. They’re also more forgiving than the high-end clients I served on the ultra-luxury line where I used to work. For the most part, families expect standard fare like burgers, steaks, chicken, pizza, and spaghetti. We serve food kids will eat. Of course, we accommodate our more adventurous eaters at Neptune’s Garden or The Captain’s Table. I know you’ve had a chance to sample the cuisine at both places.”

  “That’s true, and it’s fabulous. Room service has also been fantastic when we’ve been too lazy to leave our cabin.”

  “Lazy? Okay, if that’s what you want to call it,” he smirked. I felt a blush rising on my cheeks.

  “Stop it, Gerard. This whole married woman thing is still new for me. I haven’t identified the appropriate euphemisms to use quite yet.” Gerard guffawed.

  “You are a hoot, Georgie Shaw. I can’t believe I can still make you blush! I used to be quite good at that with my use of colorful language. I’ve never relied on euphemisms as you know.”

  “You were one of my earliest tutors in ‘kitchen French,’ and I admit it was a little hard to take at first. I suppose I was more easily shocked than most twenty-somethings.” I shrugged.

  “Say no more. I remember the sad circumstances that led you to culinary school instead of finishing college. After what you’d been through, it’s no wonder you were sensitive to my crudeness. At least you went back to finish college while I roamed Europe in pursuit of that Michelin Star. Funny how I ended up back at Marvelous Marley World so many years after our internship.” It was Gerard who shrugged his shoulders after that comment. “You married the police detective you met during a murder investigation. That must mean you’re less easily shocked now, though.”

  “One can only hope,” I muttered as I considered the current circumstances in which I found myself. “It has been one thing after another since Jack and I met. Now, even on our honeymoon, a passenger goes missing. Have you been through this before?” Gerard came to an abrupt stop in front of an elevator in a corridor outside the kitchen. He hit the call button as he responded to my question.

  “Not since I began to work for Mad Max’s Marvelous Marley World of Fantasy Sea Cruises!”

  “You call him Mad Max, too?” My mouth gaped open in surprise. That smirk was back on Gerard’s face.

  “Got you again, didn’t I? It’s no secret that the boss is fabulously, flamingly mad at times. It’s one of the reasons I took this job. I love how over-the-top the guy can be! Where else could I work on a cruise that features Catmmando Tom’s Grotto Hideaway for kids to explore? With options to dress up like Catmmando Tom complete with an eye patch and whiskers, or float around in a pool as a Merry Mermaid in water that changes color?”

  The elevator door popped open, and Gerard used a keycard to activate the buttons that would take us to the commissary below. “How about audio-animatronic dolphins to ride?” He said as he leaned against the elevator rail that was one arm of a giant octopus positioned in a back corner of the elevator. Another arm snaked around behind me.

  “Max does have a vivid imagination,” I said eying the rather diabolical looking octopus hovering above us with one eyebrow raised along with a fiendish grin. Kids loved to hate the wild-eyed Olly-Olly Octopus, known for his skilled use of camouflage to try to trick the brave and wily Neptune’s Warriors. Like Wile E. Coyote’s misguided attempts to trick the Road Runner, it always ended up badly for Olly-Olly. “If you don’t mind my asking, does everyone who visits the kitchen commissary and storage areas use keycards?”

  “Well, they don’t all have keycards like mine that work on the elevators used by guests. In places we store goods, we restrict access to ship's personnel only. Unless they’re senior staff members like me, they can only enter those areas using elevators reserved for crew members. No passengers allowed! Except when we escort a passenger on a tour like the one we're taking now. That's not so different from backstage access in Arcadia Park. It keeps guest elevators free and reduces pilfering since there are fewer entry and exit p
oints. Although it’s not like you’re going to take a bunch of raw steaks with you back to your crew quarters. Remember that guy Sammy who got caught boosting steaks?”

  “Gosh, that was awful, wasn’t it?” The elevator pinged and the doors opened.

  “Awful funny, as I recall. Sammy tripped over his trousers as he tried to get away from security. Those steaks were heavier than he figured and his belt was no match for that extra weight!” We stepped out of the elevator into a cavernous space. Silver doors that I recognized as entrances to walk-in refrigerators lined one wall.

  “Things sure have changed since then, haven’t they?” Gerard asked with a wistful tone in his voice. “Especially after 9/11. It’s no longer just worries about theft by employees. Max Marley pays the highest wages in the industry so you don’t hear about as many problems as they have on other ships where they pack crew members into cramped quarters—like sardines. And pay wages that would barely keep minnows alive. Still, contamination by indifferent or disgruntled employees is a concern, so we take as many precautions as we can.”

  “That’s true in the parks and resorts, too. We have become more security conscious everywhere. How secure are these areas? Especially when you’re restocking at one of the smaller islands?” Gerard looked at me and then glanced over his shoulder.

  “Not perfect, but the best in the industry as far as I can tell.” He studied my face for a moment before going on with our tour.

  “Those are temperature controlled walk-ins with temps that vary depending on what we have stored in them. We don’t mix meat, produce, or dairy. Dry goods are kept separate, too.” Gerard pointed to tall shelves like you might see in a big box store, with labeled containers indicating the contents. “At the beginning of the voyage, this entire space is packed. It’s thinned out since we’re nearing the end of the cruise. We always carry extra provisions in case something happens and we need to skip a port of call or end up spending an extra day at sea. Or more, maybe?” He glanced at me as though I might have additional information about changes in our itinerary.

  Hmm, I wondered. Who’s trying to get information from whom? “You’re way ahead of me on what it means to have a passenger lost at sea, Chef, although I have heard we’re at anchor overnight.” Gerard moved to one of the large stainless steel doors before picking up the conversation again. I followed him.

  “That's what I hear too. We won't delay our return to Tahiti on this trip even though the search will push back our arrival at our last port of call. That means we'll be later than expected but won't skip Bora Bora altogether. I have a special order waiting for me for our luau that we’ll now hold the last night on board. I had planned to do that beachside tonight—with a real kalua pig cooked in an imu pit. I’m going to have to cook the pig some other way, though, and we’ll have to hold the luau up on deck. No dramatic dancers juggling torches,” Gerard said in a frustrated tone as he opened the door to one of the refrigerators that was bigger than a large walk-in closet. He pointed to a rectangular package that took up an entire shelf.

  “Voila! The pig! We’ll cook up some pork roasts, beef ribs, and teriyaki chicken, too, to make sure that we have enough for the turnout we expect on the last night of a cruise,” Gerard stepped into the walk-in fridge. When I followed him inside, he let the door slam shut behind us.

  “About your earlier question, Georgie. I’ve had my suspicions that something odd is going on.”

  5 Shipboard Extravaganzas

  “Odd? How?” I asked.

  “I don’t know. I found items shoved around down here, and no one was willing to admit they did it or knew what had happened. A few things turned up missing or damaged. Nothing expensive. That’s part of why this seemed so odd. The pricey stuff like caviar, truffles, foie gras, and expensive bottles of wine or liqueur I use for cooking I keep in a safe in my cabin.”

  “Could someone have been looking for something?”

  “That’s possible, but what? When no one claimed to know anything, I checked the log and accounted for entries and exits as well as I could. They checked out—for the most part.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “There is so much coming and going even during the late shifts, it’s hard to be entirely sure who was where when. Crew members are supposed to keep their keycards with them always, and they are not allowed to share them with others. I couldn’t prove it, but I suspected not all galley staff were following those rules. It’s not surprising that in the middle of a rush one employee might ask another to run down and pick up something. Why lend out your keycard? Things happen, I guess,” Gerard said.

  “Did you report any of this to Bill Tate?”

  “Not directly, but I filed incident reports—twice—when I couldn’t get to the bottom of the matter on my own. After one of those incidents, items down here weren’t just out of place, but oil had been spilled on the floor as though there might have been a shoving match and stuff got knocked down. Flour too. I threw out the dented, leaky can I found on a shelf and a bag of flour that had split open. I could tell someone had made a stab at cleaning it up. In fact, a member of the commissary kitchen staff eventually admitted he’d cleaned up the spills but swore he found it that way. He was so uncomfortable about it. Why, if he didn’t do it? Maybe he was just embarrassed that he'd been so clumsy and made such a mess. It didn’t seem like a big enough deal to write the guy up, so I left his name out of the report I filed. We’re talking about a few dollars’ worth of ingredients—no big deal.”

  “Gerard, why are you so wary?” Even in the privacy of the walk-in that was now growing rather cold, he did a quick side-to-side scan and lowered his voice before going on.

  “Because the next morning after I had filed the second report, I found a raw duck on a cart outside my door. It had a note stuck to it with a knife. ‘Chef Gerard, you don’t want to run ‘a fowl’ of the wrong people. Quit giving your staff the 3rd degree over nothing.’ I laughed at first, figuring it was a practical joke. I have been known to do such things myself, Georgie. Then when that guy went overboard this morning after a fight of some kind, it didn’t seem so funny anymore.”

  “You heard there was a fight?”

  “Yes. I was out on deck when the screaming and shouting began. Women were screaming, and one was shouting ‘he pushed him over the rail,’ or something like that.” A chill ran through me that had nothing to do with the frigid temperature of our surroundings.

  “Are you saying that more than one person was shouting and screaming?”

  “Yes. I heard at least two distinct women’s voices.” Gerard seemed puzzled. “What do you know that I don’t, Georgie?”

  “You cannot tell anyone else about this, Gerard, except Bill—and Jack. Before I asked Bill to track you down so we could meet, there was a report that a fight contributed to that passenger falling overboard. That report came from one woman who screamed and alerted the crew—not two.” Gerard stared at me with a penetrating gaze, almost like my super-perceptive Siamese cat, Miles. Under pressure, I gave away more details. “She mentioned that fight didn’t end well for another passenger, either.” Gerard’s eyes widened. I changed the subject, hastily. Why add to his fearfulness with details about a murder on Deck 6?

  “Gerard, why didn't you report your concerns about the previous incidents to security today, or tell them what you heard when you were up on deck?”

  “I assumed they heard the screaming and that anyone that upset would have gone to the nearest staff member right away. Maybe the dead duck thing was a prank, Georgie. I don’t want to get a reputation for being a whack job. It’s uncomfortable, to say the least, to suspect the people around you of being up to no good without any real proof.”

  I flashed on my reaction when there had been a murder at Catmmando Mountain. It had been inconceivable to me that anyone with whom I worked could have done such a thing. Even when someone tried to frame me for the murder, I had a hard time seeing my coworkers as villains.

  “I get
it. You do need to share this with Bill, Gerard. He needs to go over all of this with you, starting at the beginning. He speaks highly of you, and will not consider you a whack job, especially under the circumstances.”

  “Well, if that duck prank wasn’t a prank, it’s more than a little scary, isn't it?” I nodded in agreement.

  "Even more reason to get this on the record with Bill. Who knew you had filed those incident reports?”

  “I questioned members of the galley kitchen staff who had been on duty on the occasions when I noticed a problem down here. The commissary kitchen staff, too, that had late night shifts. They all knew I was going to file an incident report. I asked the guy who had tried to clean up the mess to come to me, first, if it happened again so he wouldn't get mixed up with whatever had gone on. Paolo was there. He can tell you who all was in the room. Since he does more direct supervision than I do, he should have a better idea about kitchen staff who have had problems on the job.” I shivered. This time from the cold. Gerard noticed.

  “Let’s get out of here before you freeze to death. Let me finish showing you around. Then, I have a surprise for you in my cabin.” Gerard said raising both eyebrows, morphing back into clown mode as we stepped out of that walk-in fridge. The storage room that was also cool felt balmy by comparison to that meat locker.

  “What kind of surprise?” I asked. “I’m well-aware of your practical jokes that aren’t always so funny, by the way. Like when you lit that poor buffet runner’s apron strings on fire on his way out to the dining room.” Gerard whooped.

  “He made a quick turnaround, didn’t he? I had no idea the guy could move that fast!”