“Or maybe because of that windfall. To some people that necklace may look like a ticket out of thievery. This could have become a game of winner-takes-all.”
“Which may also mean more bodies yet to come, Georgie. Whoever helped shove that man overboard and then killed Jake Nugent reduced the number of contenders for a share early this morning. Eight has gone down to six just like that!” Jack snapped his fingers for emphasis.
“It’s an even bigger chunk for each of the remaining members of the ring if they’re using hired hands, like Justin, and not everyone expects a cut. Their paid help may not even understand what they’re mixed up in if they’re no brighter than their patsy sitting in the brig.”
“Bill seems to think unwitting passengers like Justin are easy to find on a cruise like this one. It had to be a crew member who gave them information about the surveillance system on board. Grabbing that Perroquet costume required familiarity with what goes on in that theater. Getting away with covering those camera lenses was tricky too. Slipping a few bucks to hired hands may reduce the number of people expecting a cut of the loot, but it increases the number of people who can get in the way or give them away, like Justin. I’m convinced there’s a crew member doing double-duty as part of this theft ring.”
“I hear you, Jack.”
“Crew members aren’t allowed to drink with the passengers, from what I understand. Reviewing the transactions at the bar won’t help if that’s the case.”
“Some staff members can fraternize, I believe. Ask Bill when you call him about getting that list of sales transactions from the bar. They must flag charges to staff accounts. It ought to at least be easy to figure out if anyone from the ship’s crew was in here while Martin Santo was drinking his sorrows away at the bar.”
“If that’s what he was doing. Who knows why he was flashing that stolen engagement ring around.” Jack shook his head as he sipped champagne. “Drunks are as bad as amateurs.”
“Drowning his sorrows might be what he was doing if he was the two-timer involved in a romantic triangle with Tina and Abby, and got caught. That would make more sense, though, if he’d been the one who ended up overboard or dead on Deck 6.”
“Not necessarily if Abby was doing to him what he was doing to Tina Marston. Martin Santo could have been angry enough to take out the other two men with him this morning if this is about jealousy. That fake necklace in Jake Nugent’s possession must mean there’s more than one kind of hanky-panky going on. Martin Santo had to be out of the loop or he would never have left it behind. That tied the murder and the thefts together from the very beginning.”
“Marsha Stevens can’t help you make any connection between her and Jake Nugent? There must be one for him to have brought that fake necklace with him on this cruise,” I argued, as my suspicions shifted back to her.
“Marsha Stevens says no. She claims she never met the man—not even on this cruise. If he was among the men in that crowd you saw around her at the bar, he didn’t make a lasting impression because she doesn’t remember bumping into him there. I believe her. You had your eye on her and that necklace, I’m sure you would have noticed if the dead guy on Deck 6 was one of her suitors that night.”
“Jake Nugent was a big man—I could tell that even when he was sprawled on the ground. None of the guys at the bar with Marsha Stevens stood out in the height department. Still, Jake was well-connected to the jewelry business. He certainly would have known someone capable of making a knockoff. Could he have had a copy made and shipped to him to pick up at one of our stops along the way?”
“You spotted it as a fake right away, so it wasn’t the highest quality copy. Maybe that’s because it was a rush job. I can’t conceive of any way they could have gotten a copy made and on board this ship in less than a week, though. If we were back in the OC, I’d have a bunch of colleagues to consult. With a few more days, I’d have time to find out things like how fast a copy of a piece of jewelry can be made. We’d be able to run more thorough background checks on these hooligans to see if the ones we can identify have crossed paths before—including the owner of that necklace who’s still a person of interest. It’s even more unfortunate that our list of suspects is still incomplete if it’s also true that we’re looking for an unknown number of crew members. What’s more frustrating is that we can’t locate any of the known suspects within the confined space of this ship. Heck, we don’t even know the identity of our second victim. We’re running out of time, and the only good news about that is that the thieves only have a little more time to kill each other before this ship docks in Tahiti.”
“I understand, Jack. I’m feeling the pressure from Max and the FBI breathing down our necks, so it’s got to be worse for you. Time running out isn’t all bad. In another day or two at the most, we’ll just be a newly married couple on the next leg of our honeymoon. Good riddance, I say, whether this has all been figured out or not.”
“I’ll drink to that, Georgie, my love,” Jack added, giving my glass a little clink. “Let me call Bill and then let’s go have dinner and then we’ll call it a day, okay?”
In my mind, I imagined an enormous clock. Instead of wishing that it would slow down, I willed it to speed up! Tomorrow, when we arrived at Bora Bora we’d turn this whole nightmare over to the FBI. Let Max tell them he needs answers when he struts on deck in Tahiti. By then, we’ll have shared all we know with the investigative team taking over the case. With our job done, we can wave as we run for it—off this ship just as Max is coming aboard.
“Aah!” I said feeling like I could breathe again for the first time since that text message from Max.
14 Not a Bora Bora
It was eight o’clock on the dot when we finally arrived at The Captain’s Table. The small, exquisite dining spot only seated guests twice each night—6:00 and 8:00. We had expected to be late to our dinner at six because of that dessert-fest, but even being fashionably late became an impossibility once we caught up with Bill and Maggie at Abby Kinkaid’s cabin. At 6:30, I had given up and called to cancel our reservation. The maître d’ offered us a place at the later seating, and I took it, hoping to salvage some shred of day 8 of our honeymoon cruise, just for Jack and me.
A few minutes after our arrival, we sat at one of two elegantly appointed tables as a dozen guests settled in around us. No captain or captain’s mate headed either table tonight. One sign that a search was still underway for a missing passenger. Usually, Gerard or another high-ranking chef, like Paolo, sat at the head of the second table. They were absent tonight, too, dealing with the upheaval from a change in the ship's routine.
Except for the wall of windows open to a view of the sea and the night sky, the dining room was paneled in polished exotic woods. It felt intimate. More like a library or a private dining room than a restaurant. Gleaming brass embellishments conveyed a nautical theme in a subtle way. On one wall, an ornate wood and glass cabinet housed the fine wines served with our dinner.
A flash of light caught my eye as a beam swept back and forth on the surface of the water. A second sign that this was no ordinary evening in a lavish dining room on a luxury cruise.
Subdued conversation ensued as the staff moved around us, pouring water and handing us menus with the limited options available featuring Chef Gerard’s choices for the evening. That included recommendations for wine to accompany each course.
The French in French Polynesia was emphasized on the menu tonight. I wondered how much Gerard had counted on being able to put into port today to pick up supplies for this dinner. Could he possibly have all the fresh ingredients for a red and yellow beet carpaccio with walnuts, goat cheese, mesclun greens, in a balsamic vinaigrette? It made me tired just thinking about how much Gerard must have had to scramble to alter menu options given the sudden detour our cruise had taken. No wonder he wasn’t around.
I ordered duck magret with fig and port sauce as my main dish—even though I had no doubt that Gerard’s seafood feuillette had to be de
licious. The lure of the puff pastry in that dish must have overcome my husband’s usual preference for a well-prepared filet mignon. He had forgone the steak au poivre for the savory blend of fresh shrimp, scallops, and lobster served in a flaky pastry case. We both declined to order dessert given the binge we’d had earlier this evening. Plus, there were more goodies in those take-out boxes stowed away in our cabin.
I reached under the table and gave Jack’s hand a squeeze. I hoped that would help put the more disagreeable sights of the day out of my mind. It worked.
“Newlyweds, aren’t you?” The passenger seated on my right asked.
“Yes. How did you know?” She waited a moment to respond to my question. Our servers were back pouring the wine paired with our choice of appetizers. Once they had moved on to other guests at our table, she spoke up again.
“No big secret or anything. I’m Hetty Green,” she said offering her hand for me to shake. “I overheard you talking to Chef Gerard when you were in here earlier this week.” She leaned closer and in a quieter voice said, “I eat here every night. My husband, God rest his soul, was a ship’s captain and I pull strings to make sure I’m a regular.”
“How wonderful for you, Hetty. I’m Georgie Shaw, and this is my husband, Jack Wheeler.”
“You’re that detective, aren’t you?” she asked without skipping a beat. I nearly fell off my chair. Jack appeared to be more composed as he shook the hand she had shoved under my nose.
“I am a detective, true. I’m not sure if I’m ‘that’ detective.”
“Oh sure, sure, I know.” She lowered her voice again, twisting in her seat to get closer before speaking, “I was told your investigation is hush-hush.”
“Told, by whom?” I asked.
“I can’t disclose my sources, now can I? I’m no stranger to the bridge or the crew there. My Harry and I were always welcome no matter what was going on. I’m still granted special privileges except when there’s trouble like today. That doesn’t mean they can send me packing without answering a question or two.” Hetty paused to take a sip of the wine poured for her.
“Besides, I’m no fool when it comes to shipboard trouble. Oscar wasn’t the only code word that went out over the speakers today. Here’s a tip. If you see me scooting toward a lifeboat, follow me!”
“Will do! Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that,” I said. Despite my shock at how much she knew about Jack and me, I liked Hetty Green immediately. The large, sturdy-looking senior citizen wore a bright Polynesian floral print, floor-length dress. More fitted than a muumuu or a caftan, it still seemed to flow about her as she sat down. That added to the breezy free-spirited vibe she exuded as she spoke.
“If you haven’t taken a tour of the bridge you should. There’s no place like it. Even better than a visit to the commissary.”
My mouth opened. “You know about that too? How?”
“I take this cruise several times a year, so I have lots of friends on this ship. That includes the handsome and talented Chef Gerard. He thinks highly of you and your new husband. I would say he has excellent judgment, except that he can’t seem to see through that phony Sous Chef who follows him around like a hound.”
“You’re not dazzled by all that old school continental charm?” Jack asked. I was a little surprised he had heard Hetty, given that the background buzz had increased in volume.
“Not for a minute. Paolo’s got talent, don’t get me wrong, but he's looking to move up in the world. If he can find a woman who’s loaded like my friend, Marsha Stevens, he’s out of here. Gerard will be left high and dry.”
“Do you think it’s the woman he’s after or her wares?” Jack asked.
“Why not go for the goose rather than the golden egg?” she responded. “If what you’re asking me is if I believe he’s the one with the light touch who stole Marsha’s pricey necklace, I don’t think so. Shortsighted, too, if his aspirations are to live happily ever after with the woman of his dreams who also happens to have a bottomless purse.”
Clearly, Jack had ventured beyond astonishment at Hetty’s grasp of the intrigue afoot on this cruise. An apparently willing informant, she seemed eager to share what she knew. Jack was hooked on every word.
“Marsha’s a repetitive cruiser, like me. She hasn’t been around as long as I have, but she’s wise beyond her years. That hound’s barking up the wrong tree,” Hetty laughed. Her laughter was infectious. I felt more lighthearted than I had all day.
“Too bad she lost that gorgeous piece of jewelry. I hope it doesn’t change her mind about taking this cruise again in the spring. I enjoy her company when she’s not hot on the trail of a man on board. Marsha’s not out to marry for money like Paolo. Still, she’s not shy about the fact that she enjoys the finer things in life, like the jewelry her ex-husband gave her. She says ‘easy come, easy go,’ but her story about what she went through before her divorce doesn’t sound easy to me.”
“I don’t want to be nosy, Hetty, but has Marsha worn that necklace on cruises before?”
“Of course, she has! That necklace is a man magnet as if she needs it!” Hetty replied. “Please, be as nosy as you want. I hope you catch the perp—that’s what you call them, right, Detective?”
“Yes, Hetty, on occasion we do call them that although we have a few other choice names for them too.” Hetty laughed heartily at that. “Who do you think stole that necklace?” Jack asked.
“That drunk who bumped into her as she was leaving Neptune’s Garden. Classic pickpocket routine—create a distraction, then a little misdirection, and presto it’s gone!” Hetty rippled her fingers through the air. “Marsha doesn’t believe me. The guy was three sheets to the wind and acted like he was going to fall after slamming into her. I'm sure while she steadied him, he clipped the chain or opened the clasp and slipped it off. She was so intent on getting the foul beast away from her, I doubt she would have noticed if he’d taken her earrings too.”
“Did she get a good look at the man?” Jack asked.
“I’m not sure. Paolo turned up right about then. When he started making a fuss, asking if she was okay, the drunk took off—not running, but at a good clip for someone that drunk."
I glanced at Jack. The wheels were turning. Recounting every word of his conversation with Marsha Stevens, if I had to guess. Had she mentioned that encounter with a drunk? She claimed never to have seen Jake Nugent. What about Martin Santo or Justin Michelson? Both men had convinced that ship's steward they were drunk when they got caught in a scuffle on Deck 6. Had Martin Santo bumped into her and stolen her necklace? A question from a guest seated across from me intruded into my ruminations about Hetty's revelation.
“It's a shame Captain Andrews can’t be with us tonight. He is such an interesting man, isn’t he?” It wasn't evident to whom the gray-haired, bespectacled woman was speaking, but Hetty responded.
“He’s got his hands full searching for that missing passenger. No way can he leave the bridge under the circumstances.”
“I still say it’s a shame. Our one chance to eat at The Captain’s Table and the Captain's not even here,” said the elderly man sitting beside the woman who had asked that question about Captain Andrews.
“This whole trip has gotten so messed up. It’s been one thing after another. I promised to bring something for my kids from every island on our itinerary. Now, what am I going to do?” asked a woman sitting at the opposite end of the table.
“Tell them something fishy happened on board," her companion snorted. "I for one don’t mind all the changes. That free Olly-Olly dessert buffet was an ‘unshellfish’ act,” the man added, emphasizing what he apparently regarded as another clever play on words.
“Uh-oh, a punster,” I said under my breath.
“A bad one,” Hetty added in a whisper.
The gentleman had more to say. “A gesture of unfathomable depth, I was nearly swept overboard myself by the splashy Olly-Olly display. Kudos to Paolo, I must say,” the fellow brayed.
<
br /> A waiter across from me rolled his eyes ever so slightly as disgruntled guests moaned. He caught me looking at him and broadened the phony smile plastered on his face. I smiled in return even though I was aghast at the insensitivity in that passenger’s last set of remarks.
“Tasteless, too," I told Hetty, quietly, "with a fellow passenger still lost at sea." Hetty nodded, but not everyone at the table must have shared my concern. The woman who had complained about Captain Andrews' absence spoke up.
“Extra desserts hardly make up for skipping an onshore excursion to a key destination on our itinerary,” she sniffed indignantly.
“Or for the distressing day we’ve had, worrying about what was going to happen next,” another passenger added.
“At least you can’t say it’s a Bora Bora,” the "punster" quipped, then guffawed at his joke. Another round of groans came from passengers seated at our table.
“How much you want to bet he’s the next guy shoved overboard?” Jack whispered. Hetty heard him and chuckled. “If you two delightful women will forgive me, I need to step out for a moment.”
“Do you promise to hurry back?” I asked. Then, I leaned in and whispered in his ear. “You want Adam or Bill to show that picture of Martin Santo to Marsha Stevens, don’t you?”
“Absolutely,” he whispered. Then speaking loud enough for Hetty to hear, too, he said, “It pains me to leave you two alone for long.”
“Not to mention that you don’t want to insult Chef Gerard by letting his food get cold,” Hetty chided. Jack nodded and took off, his phone already in his hand.
"More wine, Ma'am?" That waiter from the other side of our table asked.
"Yes, please," I replied as I watched Jack. He turned to look at me as he made that call. Bill Tate must have answered because Jack began speaking to someone.
Murder at Sea of Passenger X Georgie Shaw Cozy Mystery #5 (Georgie Shaw Cozy Mystery Series) Page 12