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

by Anna Celeste Burke

  “Oh no, that can’t be Max, can it?” Jack moaned as I hurried to check my messages. “Even he wouldn’t contact you before 8 a.m. on your honeymoon, would he?”

  “False alarm, Jack. It’s not Max," I replied. "Carol texted me. She’s going to email me some information,” I said as I returned to the veranda.

  “Carol? Why? What kind of information?”

  “You’re not the only one who followed up on some loose ends after we got back to our cabin last night. Since you didn’t have anyone who could investigate Paolo’s background, I said I was going to ask her to do that, remember? He is a Marvelous Marley World associate, after all. True, in a roundabout way via the cruise line. Carol was more than happy to help when I asked her to check into his background. She didn't even ask for details about why, although she already knew Max was on his way to Tahiti. The word is out—trouble in the South Seas.” Jack didn’t say a word but wore a skeptical expression.

  “Oh, ye of little faith. Look at her message.” I handed him the phone as I dashed into the bathroom to shower and dress.

  WOWZA! WHAT A HUNK. TOO BAD YOU CAN’T ALWAYS JUDGE A BOOK BY ITS COVER. IT’S PAOLO VANNELLI—NOT VANNETTI—MORE COMING VIA EMAIL SOON. ONE PICTURE IS WORTH A 1000 WORDS. I'M SENDING SEVERAL.

  16 Anagrams and Arrivals

  The fresh morning air was invigorating as we strode purposefully up on deck. Well, as purposefully as you can with two cats on leashes. Miles had much more experience on the leash than did little Ella. More than once, I simply had to stoop down and pick her up. Sometimes her curiosity got the better of her, and she refused to move on. Another time or two, the five-month-old kitten became spooked, plopped down and covered her eyes.

  “I guess she figures if she can’t see scary, it can’t see her,” Jack said, watching as I picked her up.

  “I’ve been known to do something similar,” I retorted.

  “Yes, not so different than that old ostrich head-in-the-sand strategy, is it? My parents used that for years trying not to see what they didn’t want to see among the less savory members of the Wheeler family.”

  “That must be especially true with pretty boys like Paolo Vannelli. I can’t believe women fall for that hooey he doles out. I hope Carol gets that information to us soon. Maybe there will be enough to upgrade Paolo from a person of interest to a suspect by the time we catch up with the FBI,” I said.

  “Using an assumed name on his visa and employment application ought to do that for starters—if that’s what Carol says he did. That message was a little too cryptic to be taken into evidence. I’ll have Bill pick Paolo up and question him once we get that information she’s sending you.”

  “Are we the only two people on board this ship traveling under our real names? What do we pay people in Human Resources to do if they miss something like that with their background checks?”

  “It’s more complicated when you’re trying to gather information from other countries. Many places don’t keep records in the same way we do. Some smaller locales don’t automate background information. That’s still true even in our data-obsessed world back in the states, Georgie. We could try out assumed names if you think that would be fun,” Jack raised his eyebrows a time or two.

  “No thanks. There’s enough confusion about who’s who on this fantasy cruise as it is. Oh, Jack, look!” I said as I caught a breathtaking view of our destination. The ragged peaks of Bora Bora were larger now that we were closer to the island. More than a dark silhouette against a brilliant blue sky, they cast an almost mystical vision, as though drawing us to them. Those vivid green craggy points rising from an aqua sea were made more mysterious by a shroud of misty clouds that hung low about them.

  “Sights like that make this whole trip worthwhile, despite all the trouble, don’t they?”

  “They sure do, Jack. If we're only an hour away, that’s earlier than Captain Andrews planned to arrive, isn’t it?”

  “Yes. He was going to wait until more vessels joined us this morning to take over the search. Apparently, Max made that arrangement so the MMW Fantasy of the Sea could move on without abandoning the search altogether, but that’s not necessary now,” Jack said, sighing deeply.

  “That’s a good sign that Max is thinking rationally about the loss of a passenger.”

  “True. Even bordering on the compassionate, although I’m sure your boss is primarily concerned about protecting Marvelous Marley World’s image.”

  “No doubt. Recovering Abby’s body puts an end to any misgivings about giving up the search too soon. Another murder at sea and the fact that Passenger X turns out to be an XX and not an XY isn’t good news either.” Jack looked a little perplexed. “You know what I mean—two X chromosomes as in female rather than an X and a Y as in male…oh, never mind.”

  “There will need to be clarification about the fact that the man overboard wasn’t a man after all. We’ll skip the discussion of chromosomes if that’s all right with you. The FBI can decide how much to say about the circumstances that make Abby's death a murder.” Jack stopped at the entrance to The Captain’s Table. He tried the handle, but the door was locked. Then he peered through the window.

  “I’m sorry I mentioned it. Good luck explaining any of that in a way that's reassuring to passengers.”

  “Someone’s in there, I think.” Jack knocked on the door. No one answered so he pounded louder.

  “Hang on, Jack. I’ve got my keycard,” Bill said as he rushed up behind us. Jack was straining to see inside the restaurant.

  “I could have sworn I saw movement in there.”

  “Let’s go in and see.” Jack and Bill went through the entire restaurant and found no one. Even the kitchen was empty at this hour.

  “You two ready for a treat and a nap?” I asked Miles once we were inside. I took his leash from Jack and led the two cats into a corner of the lounge area at the entrance to the restaurant. After a bit of sniffing and a couple of treats, they hopped up next to each other on a plush bench. Like perfect angels, they struck their Sphinx pose and sat perfectly still, side-by-side, staring at Jack and Bill as they began to move chairs away from the table where we had been seated the night before.

  Just in case they got the itch to wander, I looped the end of their leashes around the foot of a heavy Captain’s chair near their bench. Then, I went to work, knowing I couldn’t count on their perfect angel routine to last for long.

  We spent the next half hour searching the empty restaurant for my necklace. Bill had been thoughtful enough to bring latex gloves with him, so I could search the garbage bin in the women’s bathroom—just in case it had slipped off in there. Another first and certainly not an activity I had expected to do on my honeymoon.

  Once I was satisfied that necklace wasn’t anywhere in the lavish restroom, I rejoined the men. They had begun taking items from the side tables and waiters’ stations, placing them on the long dining table after examining each object. I followed suit and pitched in. Not long after another wave of defeat had set in, Jack spoke, and Miles let out an ear-splitting call.

  “Georgie, come here, please.” I rushed to his side. “Do you recognize that?” Jack dumped the contents of a small silver teapot into a gloved hand. My heart sank when I saw what he held. I looked over my shoulder at Miles. How does he know when something’s up? I wondered. No more Sphinxes. Miles and Ella were sitting straight up like a pair of porcelain figurines.

  “That’s the clasp from my necklace, Jack, along with a bit of the chain. That clasp is unique and unmistakable.”

  “A perfect hiding place for a talented thief. I’m almost sure I know who did it and when, too.”

  “Who?” I asked.

  “How?” Bill chimed in seconds later.

  “To answer your question first, Georgie. It was the young man who poured our last round of coffee. When you came back from that visit to the restroom, he leaned in and offered to refill your cup, remember?"

  "Yes. I know who you mean. I noticed the g
uy several times—especially when that blowhard was spewing bad puns. Our server tried to hide it, but he was annoyed."

  "That's him. As for how, Bill, a touch on Georgie’s arm and a flourish with the tea towel draped over his arm must have been enough to distract us as he cut the necklace and slipped it off. I caught him eying you earlier in the evening, Georgie, but what man in that room wouldn’t have had his eye on you?”

  “Not me, Jack. My necklace, if you’re right about him. It’s an audacious move to steal my pendant while I’m sitting next to the detective who happens to be investigating murder and thievery on this ship of fools.”

  “I’m sure that’s the point. The bad guys figure they have us outsmarted. With the cruise coming to an end tomorrow, they must have an exit strategy in place.”

  “Let’s round him up, Jack. Adam has the names of everyone on duty last night. If we pull them all together, you can pick him out of a lineup.”

  “Good luck finding Matt Rosinna, even though his name is on the crew roster. He was long gone by the time Adam started frisking people.”

  “What makes you say it was Matt Rosinna, Jack?” Bill asked. “There were a dozen names on the list last night in addition to the maître d’.”

  “The name stands out in my memory now because it’s another anagram of Tina Marston—like Martin Santo.”

  “No!” I exclaimed. “He’s a she, too?”

  “Like Abby Kinkaid?” Bill inquired a split second later.

  Before Jack could reply to either of us, my phone pinged. “It’s that info from Carol.”

  I opened my email message and headed straight for the photos. There was a captioned picture of Paolo Vannelli—not Vannetti—in Vegas, not Tuscany. The newspaper photo showed him standing next to an imposing chocolate castle, holding a blue ribbon, and beaming his Pavarotti-style smile. Behind him and a little off to the side was Tina Marston, or whoever she was, since the caption didn’t mention her name. She wore a happy smile, too, along with kitchen whites.

  “Aw, what a happy pair,” I commented, sarcastically, as I showed that photo to Bill and Jack. It took less than a minute for Jack to explain what Carol had discovered about Paolo’s alias. Bill was on the phone in an instant, barking orders to locate and take Paolo into custody.

  “I’d say the pretty boy’s luck has just run out,” Jack muttered, putting an arm around my shoulders. “Let’s get out of here. I don’t believe there’s anything more we can do for now. Once Bill has Paolo in custody, he might need to speak to us again.”

  A bellow from Miles made it known that he was more than ready to go.

  “We’re taking the kids home,” I said. “You know how to reach us, Bill.”

  As soon as we were out on the deck, I took a deep breath. While we were inside, searching for my necklace, the ship had reached Pofai Bay. The dark blue color of the deep water where we would anchor stood out in contrast to the lighter color of the shallow water near a startlingly white beach. Beyond, I could see a marina and low-lying buildings that had to be Vaitape. The largest city on Bora Bora, half of the island’s ten thousand residents live there. Still, it’s a small town by comparison to most any standard.

  “I’m a bit sorry we won’t be able to explore the island. A lazy swim in the lagoon or snorkeling sounds good, doesn’t it?”

  “That luau Gerard had planned for last night would have been fun, too. Next time,” Jack said as he took my arm.

  “Max owes us a ‘next time,’ after what we’ve been through during the past twenty-four hours. What is that sound?” I asked.

  “A helicopter—the cavalry has arrived.”

  “The FBI is landing on the ship?” I asked.

  “It would seem so,” Jack replied as he stepped close to the rail and shielded his eyes watching as that helicopter hovered. I joined him as the skilled pilot maneuvered onto the helipad. Bill came running from the restaurant, stopped for a moment, and then took off.

  “Ari’i nui,” he said as he dashed past us. “Tell the Big Chief we’ve got the bad guy cornered. Someone spotted Paolo down in the commissary kitchen.”

  “Oh no,” I gasped as my stomach did a flip-flop. “It can’t be!”

  “Speak of the devil,” Jack said as we watched the little “Big Chief” step from that helicopter.

  17 Stop that Pig!

  “Is it too late to hide?” I asked.

  “I’d say so. For a man in his seventies, his eyesight is excellent. See for yourself.”

  I moved closer to Jack to get a better view of the 5’6” aged founder of Marvelous Marley World Enterprises. Max sported a white linen suit that set off his white hair. Sure enough, he’d spotted us. Max Marley, now surrounded by several other passengers from the helicopter, was pointing directly at us. Jack and I waved in response.

  “Shades of Mark Twain,” I huffed.

  “At least he’s not wearing that little black Colonel Sanders tie like he’s on a visit to his old plantation home.”

  “Given Bill keeps calling him Ari’i nui, I suppose we should be grateful he hasn’t shown up in a headdress and loin cloth.” Jack burst out laughing as I continued my mini-tirade about Max’s sudden arrival.

  “Max no doubt took time out for a moment with his fashion consultant, and it’s all tastefully done. It strikes me as being rather contrived.” I had no sooner finished my sentence than a photographer bounded out in front of that lineup on the helipad and snapped a photo. “Need I say more?”

  My phone rang so I couldn’t have said more even if I had wanted to keep on griping.

  “Hello.”

  “Ms. Shaw, will you and Detective Wheeler please meet us at the stairs leading to the bridge.” Before I could ask who was calling or respond to that request, the caller hung up.

  “We’ve been summoned by Ari’i nui. To the bridge, we must go!” Miles howled in protest. “My sentiments exactly, Miles.”

  “Maybe you can do that tiki-tiki song and dance in honor of his arrival, and I’ll get to hear my new wife sing!”

  “I’d rather dive overboard as a sacrifice to the volcano god.” That got another laugh from Jack. It only took us a few minutes to get to the bottom of those stairs. As far as I could tell, we were now in Pofai Bay, and the ship had come to a stop.

  “What’s that?” I asked.

  “I think it’s one of the ship’s tender boats. Maybe it’s getting ready to take the landing party ashore for provisions. Max might already be putting the screws to Captain Andrews to get the ship back on schedule as soon as possible.”

  “We just got here. Early even. There shouldn't be a problem getting back to Tahiti by morning.” I shut up at the sound of a calm, stern voice.

  “No, Max! That cannot be done.” I looked up to see a group huddling above us.

  “That is not what I want to hear, Captain. ‘Can’t’ means ‘won’t’ in my book!”

  “Then it ‘won’t’ be done, if you’d prefer to hear me say that.” Captain Andrews, usually a rational, affable man, was obviously perturbed. “There is no way we can allow passengers to go ashore today and still guarantee our arrival back in Papeete tomorrow morning for disembarkation. We haven’t even had a chance to hear what Randall Jennings and his people need from us to assume responsibility for the criminal investigations underway. Passenger safety and restoring security on this ship come before making sure our guests have a good time.”

  “Please, please, gentlemen. Let’s have this discussion somewhere more private,” another member of the party suggested.

  “Al, I don’t need your advice quite yet.” Max turned around as he spoke those words. His fists were all balled up. He was moving rapidly into tantrum territory. A breeze had bits of his hair standing on end as though horns were sprouting from his head. His face was already tinged an angry pink.

  “Al Hampton is from Marvelous Marley World’s law firm. The Board must be concerned about lawsuits from passengers,” I whispered to Jack. That’s when Max and I made eye contact.r />
  “Georgie! Now here is the voice of reason.” Max took two steps down the stairs leading to us.

  “This way, please,” Captain Andrews said, and the whole party began to follow him. He leaned over from the walkway above us. “Ms. Shaw, Detective Wheeler, uh, uh—all of you, please join us on the bridge.” He had stuttered at the sight of the cats with us. Miles was standing, staring back at him in bold defiance of the commotion and bellowed in reply to the Captain’s invitation. Little Ella had huddled close and was sitting on my feet.

  “Jack and Georgie can fill us in on progress with the investigation, I’m sure. You’ll have your answers soon enough about what it’s going to take to get matters cleared up, Captain Andrews.” Jack shook his head as Max uttered that proclamation.

  “Bill Tate and I should confer with the agents from the FBI before I make any pronouncements, Max.” Jack nudged me. Ella wasn’t going anywhere. I picked her up and started up those stairs. I had the uneasy sensation that I was on my way to the gallows as I took each step. Walking the plank or being hung from the yardarms was a more appropriate analogy for discipline at sea by the unhappy pirate tyrant vying for control of this vessel.

  “Where is Bill Tate?” Max asked when Jack and I reached the top of those stairs. Last in line behind Max, we were bringing up the rear in a procession of men in suits and snappy uniforms. Had that captain’s uniform been the inspiration for Max’s suit? I wondered.

  “Chasing down a suspect, Max,” Jack replied. Max came to an abrupt stop and clapped his hands together. Weirdly elfish, but I preferred the clapping to more of his “pre-tantrum” posturing.

  “That is excellent news, Jack. Excellent!” He slapped Jack on the back and then moved forward. He strutted a little as he held his head high and marched after the rest of the entourage.

  A half hour later, Jack had briefed the group seated around a gleaming wood table, in a spacious room comprised of windows on three sides. The beauty of our sea view stood in stark contrast to the ugliness of the events that had taken place the past day. Events that ended in the recovery of Abby Kinkaid’s body this morning and the identification of two key suspects Bill Tate was currently hunting down.