The photo showed the four at a party with holiday decorations and a Christmas tree in the background. They all held their wine glasses up in a toast. Frederick and Amy smiled and had their arms wrapped around each other’s waists with their heads touching. A much younger Otto was next to Amy with his arm around her shoulder. He had a broad, goofy grin and the glassy eyes of a person having celebrated too much. Mendel stood soberly and somberly next to Frederick, looking up at him. I looked closer. On Amy’s left hand there was an unmistakable small diamond engagement ring.
I surmised that Amy either was, or had, the key to these three men’s deaths. This was not a momentous leap for a sleuthing investigative mind like mine because, after all, she was the only one in the picture left alive. More importantly, she was here to question.
Suddenly, I was afraid for her life. Whether she liked Mendel and Frederick or not, my first instincts were to guard against another death. And she was so attractive that she could easily be a target for Helga if there were any hint that Brent was having any interaction with Amy at all. I struggled to find some thread that would link Helga to the quartet in the picture. Meanwhile, I had to dress for dinner and get to the bar to talk to my fellow investigators-at-large.
As a copy of the picture printed, I noticed the sea had changed during my research. It churned with huge white caps under a stormy layer of clouds coming towards us. I took my picture and left.
* * *
As I made my way to the stateroom, I activated my sea legs because the Queen Anne was dancing with the Atlantic. I hoped the worst of the weather would bypass us.
When I got there, Mavis, with a coat and scarf on, was on the balcony looking out into the building storm over the Atlantic. It was dark and overcast beyond her.
The door slammed shut with its tight spring.
Mavis glanced over and then looked back at the dark murky sea with its menacing rain.
I thought it would be a long voyage if we were at odds. With my newly discovered information and the picture, I decided to convince her that Frederick’s and Mendel’s deaths were connected and that they had not died of natural causes, but at someone’s hand. I wanted to get her to have Esther pursue an investigation.
I knew Mavis was supporting, if not encouraging, Esther’s commitment to ignoring the obvious because she wanted to be important to Esther. But, bad publicity or not, I believed these men were murdered and that now Amy was in danger.
Right then I made my unilateral decision to give Mavis a chance to join our unofficial investigation. With Mavis on board, we could get Esther’s ear. That alone would meet the approval of my fellow investigators and advance our cause.
* * *
“Hi,” I called through the open sliding glass door. “Did you enjoy the afternoon?”
“Yes.” Mavis was actually friendly as she came in and shut the storm-churned air out with the sliding door. “I didn’t see you at any panel discussions.”
“I took the afternoon off.”
“Really? With Curtis?” Mavis off her coat and was dressed for dinner underneath.
“No, but that would have been nice.” I shared my personal life to the extent I had to.
“I’ll say.”
She took a chair by the small table, removed her scarf and fluffed her hair.
“So what interesting thing did you do that didn’t include Curtis or our illustrious panels?”
I went for it. Partly, I still wanted Mavis’s friendship, but more importantly I cared that Mavis had Esther’s ear. The white-washing UPI news reports were a public avalanche covering up the truth. It was worth being late reporting to the bar, if I came with Mavis in tow. I thought if Mavis truly understood these were not overdoses, then she would convince Esther that she was not protecting these men’s reputations, but instead impeding a murder investigation, a justified murder investigation launched by her fellow mystery writers.
I explained my research and what our group was doing. Then, I took a deep breath.
“In my mind, there is no explanation other than murder.”
“I suspect, in your mind, that is a reasonable conclusion. Evidently, in Mary’s too. I had a good chat with her this afternoon. All about your theories and your foursome.”
I felt validated that Mary had used my same approach—to get Esther on board through Mavis. But, I was also wary of Mavis’s use of the phrase in your mind. I hoped Mary, with her superior experience in crime, had opened Mavis’s mind to the possibility of murder. And, I was hopeful with my new piece of evidence she would want to join our group tonight at the bar.
“Well, I found something very important.” I reached for my purse with the picture in it.
“And what is that? A justification for your group’s unofficial activity, unsanctioned by Esther?”
“She would sanction us if she knew about this.”
“About what?”
“I’ll show you.”
“I’m sure you can just tell me succinctly. You’re a writer, after all.”
I sensed sarcasm but chose to ignore it. I needed Mavis on board for my group of sleuthing aficionados. I took the picture out of my purse.
“Amy, Frederick, Otto, and Mendel were friends in Otto’s program and I think Frederick and Amy were engaged.”
“That’s it?” Mavis smirked, showing her true colors again. “Frederick has been engaged repeatedly and ad nauseam his entire life. People say that is how he got the best out of his women until he dumped them.”
“But . . . this is different . . . I know it.” She had knocked the wind out of my sails, but I unfolded the copy of the picture and handed it to her anyway. “I know this picture is the key. The common denominator between Frederick and Mendel’s murders.”
“Murders! This picture?” Mavis studied it.
“You see the engagement ring and the looks on their faces.”
“And I suppose Otto’s death can be explained by it, too?”
I paused. “Maybe.”
There was a long silence.
“Oh, for God’s sake, Veronica. Do you realize how farfetched this is?” Mavis blasted me. “I’ve had it! That’s ridiculous. You base all this on a grainy picture? Everyone knows Frederick and Mendel studied together. And who cares if Amy was food for Frederick’s engagement fetish. He wanted her and that’s how he got her.”
Mavis threw the picture on my bed. I was speechless. Mavis had sucked me into her confidence just to shoot me down.
“Don’t you know that Esther is just trying to protect the MWW and these men’s reputations? We all know they were druggies and drunks. They overdosed. We’re lucky the doctor’s playing ball. Do you think Esther wants this to be publicized as the MWW “overdose cruise”, especially with Otto’s murder? I mean what kind of a pall do you want over the group?”
“But . . . I . . .”
“I’m not listening to any of the amateur crap coming out of your mouth.”
“But, if you would just listen . . .” I doubted if she had dared to cut Mary off like this.
“You think you’re a writer just because you spew words onto a page. You’re not. That’s not what a writer does. They plot, they write, they rewrite and rewrite and rewrite. They edit, they promote, and they sell. They work at their craft and their career. You’re a dilettante, a hanger-on, an amateur just like Herbert and Agnes, and Jody. You’re all wasting your time.”
“But . . . you . . . invited me here!”
“I invited you because I lost my cabin mate and you were the only one who said yes whom I could tolerate. Correction. Whom I thought I could tolerate. At least, it appeared you had manners. I was wrong. You are a hanger-on who thinks it’s appropriate to bite the hand that tried to feed it at our dinner table. My hand.”
“I see.” I sat on the bed with my back to Mavis. “I do see, now.”
Mavis didn’t say anything else. She stood there for what seemed like an eternity. Then, she touched up her hair and makeup in the bathroom. When she eme
rged, she grabbed her purse off the dresser and left without a word.
I was shattered.
* * *
I sat unable to move. The wonderful life I had created and believed in was crushed. My mentor had just called me a phony—a groupie. Worse, she had compared me to Agnes, Herbert, and Jody. Was it true?
I treasured my new friends, especially Sean, Mary, and Elias. I trusted they didn’t think of me as a phony. I believed they respected me. They had included me as part of their team. Indeed, I was an integral part of their team—our team. They assigned me to unravel the all-important motive for the murders and I believed I was well on my way to doing just that, despite what Mavis said.
I sat up straight and assured myself that my friends would embrace my theory of the murders with this picture. I had been careful and methodical like any good mystery writer. Any good tactician. Any good detective. I had come up with a common thread amongst the dead and the one left living—Amy.
The view of the Atlantic was dark now. Rain pelted our balcony and the ship was swaying.
Deep down, I knew Mavis was wrong about me. Well, not completely wrong, but wrong enough. More wrong than right. Besides, anything she believed about me I could correct with simple discipline—by simply engaging in editorial and publishing behavior.
My books were excellent. I had read enough books in my lifetime to know that. I just hadn’t engaged in the business of being a writer and selling. Perhaps because I didn’t desperately need the income . . . at least, not now, not yet.
I got ready to meet my sleuthing team in the bar. As I went through my ablutions for dinner, I felt my heart beating at half-mast because it had been ripped apart. I’d had so many setbacks in life, and this one would take the help of my cohorts and time to mend. But emotional discipline was a learned skill, along with everything else in the world.
I didn’t save the new red killer outfit that I had brought for the awards banquet; I put it on tonight. It was a deep red, very fitted long silk dress and matching short red and black striped jacket. Of course, killer was a poor descriptive word choice under the circumstances, but that’s what it was. I looked great in it and I needed it tonight—for me. And, I admitted to myself, for Curtis, too. It would be wasted on both of us if I waited for the last night and the actual awards dinner. I placed the picture back in my black evening bag.
Dressed to kill, so to speak, I left for my meeting with my friends who valued me. As I started down the hall, I widened my stride to match the sway of the ship in the now rocky seas. Evidently, the state-of-the-art stabilizers could not negate everything.
Stepping off the elevator, I wished I had won Mavis over to our side. But I was still armed with the photo—the evidence of the trio-of-intimacy. I was sure Amy was the next target; after all, Mendel had called her his “little love.”
⌘
Chapter 22
The Gathering Storm
I was late. On the bar level, the ship’s rocking was worse since it was on an upper deck. I held onto the proscenium arch, looking for my cohorts and, I admit, Curtis.
The bar was packed. While the first-seating passengers dined, the second-seating passengers cocktailed away.
As I scanned the tables, eyes gravitated to me—the lady in red. I immediately stood tall, took a long breath, and owned the moment. I truly was in a superb outfit and a very Curtis-worthy ensemble. I felt rehabilitated after Mavis’s attack. Now, I just had to search out my fellow investigators and solve Mendel’s and Frederick’s murders—and possibly Otto’s.
I spotted Curtis near the entrance to the left hosting his oldies table. I lingered longer under the proscenium in his plain view. When our eyes met, Curtis nodded and smiled. The dress had done its job. I knew we would meet at the bar after dinner as usual—that is, if another dead body didn’t interrupt.
Then I saw Esther, my nemesis, seated with Mavis and laughing with a crowd of eight in the far corner beyond Curtis. Surprisingly, the center of attention was Agnes. She was entertaining Esther and the others sans Herbert and Jody, and very well.
Helga and Brent were to the right at a table for two. Brent was tuxedoed up and Helga decked out in a black sequined gown with a black ostrich feather wrap draped on her chair. They were statues, silent and fixed, in front of an expansive window being slapped by storm waves. In the distance beyond the ship’s lights, the ocean faded to black. Their faces were as black as the view beyond.
One table away from Brent and Helga, a chubby arm, housed in pink floral chiffon, reached high and waved at me. It was Mary, sitting with Sean and Elias. I hurried over before she could amplify her unceremonious beckoning by adding a verbal component.
* * *
The ship continued rocking as I weaved between chairs. Man was no match for Mother Nature in the North Atlantic.
“Hello.” I sat next to Sean across from Mary and Elias. “We’re really starting to rock.”
“I know,” Mary said.
There were greetings all around.
“But it’s nothing compared to the crossing two years ago, the last awards cruise.” Mary said. “You know the ship has a weather forecast just to let you know when to put on a motion patch.”
“I think we can tell when we need one!” I chuckled.
“Right.” Mary shoved a wine glass towards me on a white napkin embossed exquisitely with Queen Anne and Wessex Cruise Line in gold and maroon. “I got you a glass of house Chardonnay like mine.”
“Perfect. Thanks.” I tasted the Chardonnay. “Mmm. It’s nice. Anyway . . . I’m sorry I’m late. I was talking to Mavis about our investigation. I had hoped to get Esther’s ear through her. But she deep-sixed me.”
“What did you expect?” Sean said.
“She did the same to me this afternoon,” Mary added. “I can’t believe I was sucked in. The old ‘looking for information to use against you’ routine. I’m smarter than that. I do that all the time to the characters in my books and it works, but only with really stupid characters. I guess I’m one of my really stupid characters.”
I shook my head. “We both should have known better.”
“Forget it,” Sean said. “She’s not worth our time.”
“I agree,” Elias said. “Let’s move on.”
The words not worth our time shot through the pleasure center of my brain. I was beyond pleased at Sean’s assessment of Mavis. It validated my Mavis-damaged, needy ego.
“So where are we with the ship security people?” I asked Mary.
“Like I told the guys already . . . nowhere. Security has a real conflict of interest when it comes to balancing this kind of thing and Wessex’s public relations interests. They are tight-lipped and are focused on protecting the cruise line, corporate profits, and their jobs. They just stone-walled me with passenger-privacy baloney at every turn.”
“You mean you got nothing?” I asked.
“As far as I’m concerned, they will cover up anything for the sake of dear old Wessex . . . even murder. And, like I told Elias and Sean, the security cameras on board tape over themselves in less than twelve hours.”
“That’s outrageous.”
“And convenient.” Mary drank her wine.
“Keeping the system cheap and outdated is a calculated decision,” Sean interjected.
“They didn’t preserve anything?” I asked in disbelief.
Elias looked at me and shrugged his shoulders. “Why would they? Then they can create any scenario they like without the tapes. Maybe they should join us . . . the creative, fiction-mongering souls at MWW.”
“It’s unbelievable!” Mary said.
“What about the bodies?” I asked Sean and Elias. “Did you at least get into the make-shift morgue, or whatever you want to call it?”
“That we did! And with no need of my retired NYPD status.” Sean sat up proudly. “It’s sad to say that it was unlocked and unattended. No one noticed or cared that we were in there.”
“So much for the integrity of a
ny forensic evidence,” Mary said. “Without the proper chain of custody, my detectives in my books could never nail my slashers. I always . . .”
“How you nail your slashers doesn’t matter,” Sean interrupted. “We hit pay dirt anyway.”
“I knew it. What did you find?”
“We verified everything you told us about the rash, the tongue, and the pupils,” Elias began. “And then . . .”
“And then, we put that together with the other symptoms,” Sean interjected.
“Not mincing words, we concluded that I was right. It was an overdose of a prescription drug that simulates a heart attack,” Elias announced.
“But interestingly,” Sean vied for the spotlight, “if Mendel hadn’t had an allergic reaction to the drug the first night, we might never have figured it out. The symptoms you saw that night, Veronica, were the ones that helped us determine what really happened.”
Elias raised his wine glass for a toast. “To you and your discerning eye, Veronica.”
“To all of us.” I ecstatically raised my glass and clinked everyone’s at the table. “What drug was it?”
I ended the self-congratulatory interlude that literally erased my Mavis-shattered ego.
“It was Prolixin,” Sean proclaimed. “We knew it because Mendel couldn’t walk, had a spastic tongue with a rash, and irregular pupils.”
“It had to be,” Elias decreed.
“Yes,” Mary said. “Sean knows because he investigated a real New York murder by Prolixin before he retired. An old guy, who did not kick the bucket fast enough for his kids, was helped along with liquid Prolixin.”
“They got it over the border in Canada,” Sean explained. “They would have gotten away with it too, but for a sharp doctor and the old man’s allergic reaction to the drug, like Mendel’s, but not quite as bad.”
Death Sets Sail Page 16