by Diane Rapp
Murder on a Ghost Ship
By Diane Rapp
Dedication and Acknowledgements
This novel is dedicated to my granddaughter, Robyn. She enjoys life and lets us all join her fun.
My deepest thanks go to my daughter Laura, who lets me “borrow” her mannerisms and pretty face to make my heroine come to life. Laura designed my web page (Quicksilvernovels.com) and helps me learn the art of social marketing. I thank my husband Corey for making me read an article about publishing e-books and stoking the fire of my creativity. He’s always been my biggest supporter and the love of my life.
Disclaimer
Although the heroine was inspired by my daughter, everything the character does in the book is fiction. All the other characters are imaginary and any resemblance to real people is accidental. Tourist attractions in the novel are real. (There really is a turtle conservation program on Bermuda, although they probably don’t take tourists as volunteers.) Constellation Cruise Lines and all of its ships are inventions of my imagination. I encourage cruising as a great way to travel. You unpack just once but land in new and exciting ports around the world during the whole trip.
Publisher: Diane Rapp
Copyright © 2011 Diane Rapp
All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this book may be used, reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or distributed by any means (electronic, photocopied, recorded, or mechanical) without prior written permission of the copyright owner and publisher of this book except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.
Table of Contents
Prologue
Chapter 1~ Colorado
Chapter 2 ~ Dry Dock
Chapter 3 ~ The Lady
Chapter 4 ~ Logbooks
Chapter 5 ~ Bermuda
Chapter 6 ~ At Sea
Chapter 7 ~ Checking Backgrounds
Chapter 8 ~ Gunshots on Ship
Chapter 9 ~ Avoiding the Press
Chapter 10 ~ A Ghostly Temper Tantrum
Chapter 11 ~ Attack on Paula
Chapter 12 ~ Paula’s Deception
Chapter 13 ~ Confrontation With the Ghost
Chapter 14 ~ Smuggler’s Plan
About the Author
Prologue
Icy fingers stroked Emily’s cheek. She tried to ignore the feathery touch except a bone-jarring chill jolted her awake. Fully dressed, apart from bare feet, she sat upright on the bed. She hadn’t meant to fall sleep—just closed her eyes for a moment—and now she felt groggy, disoriented. In the dim light coming from the bathroom door, Emily studied the empty cabin.
The mirror above the vanity reflected Emily’s middle-aged face, wide-eyed, weary, and frightened. Something drifted across the glass, a diaphanous silhouette that obscured Emily’s reflection before it evaporated.
Shaking herself like a dog shedding water, she tried to think sensibly. It’s just a distortion in the glass, a cloud of steam, she thought. Emily touched the mirror with trembling fingers. As warm fingertips met frozen glass the contact stung like a viper’s bite; she jerked away, shook her hand and blew hot breath onto her red skin. The outline of a small handprint appeared and moved across the glass.
The cloying aroma of lavender mixed with rotten seaweed permeated the room. Emily stood and inched toward the friendly light of the bathroom until her bare toes grazed something slimy. She hopped back, flipped on the light, and stared at a trail of wet footprints stretching from the bed to the closet. The footprints ended several feet short of the locked exterior door where a piece of soggy kelp lay curled like a slug in the center of the last footprint.
“Ugh!” Emily gingerly picked it up and tossed the slimy mess into the wastebasket. She felt relieved to find something tangible. “If this is a practical joke, a devious mind organized the whole thing,” she muttered.
A sorrowful moan vibrated through the cabin, rising in volume. A vase with a yellow rose clattered across the table, a picture banged against the wall, and a chair thumped across the floor. Grabbing her shoes, Emily scrambled to the door, rattled the chain loose, and twisted the frosty doorknob with shaky hands. The piercing wail followed her into the hallway, but stopped abruptly when the door slammed shut.
Silence!
Emily leaned against the wall of the brightly-lit empty corridor and gulped air into her burning lungs. She felt surprised at the absence of distraught passengers complaining about the noise. Then she realized that the hall remained deadly silent without any sounds to disturb her guests. She checked her watch—it was 1:00 a.m.—and blew hot breath onto her icy fingers.
Do we have a real spook on our hands, or just a clever con artist? She gazed at the ceiling and whispered, “Willy! Why’d you die and leave me to run the whole cruise line? If you’re up there, help me get rid of this ghost before the Board of Directors fires me! Come on. Surely you’ve got business contacts in Heaven by now!”
She glanced down the hall to be sure no one saw her talking to the ceiling and frowned at the haunted cabin’s door. I won’t let anyone stay in that cabin until we fix this problem, she thought. She’d already moved a frightened couple into a luxurious suite before she tested the cabin herself—an experience she wouldn’t soon repeat. Now that I verified their crazy story, do I call in an exorcist or an illusionist to solve the problem?
Maybe a prankster of the earthly variety was responsible, perhaps a disgruntled employee trying to discourage her from buying the Sea Mist. Scrubbing the deal was no longer an option, no matter how tempting. She couldn’t cancel the sale. Constellation Cruise Lines already owned the ship, Emily’s first major purchase since she took charge of the board. I must solve this problem on my own.
Wiping damp palms against her thighs, Emily marched toward the captain’s cabin. Her daddy always said, “When a deal sounds too good to be true, sniff around for two-legged rats.” Before signing the contract to buy the Sea Mist, she scrutinized the records for passenger complaints but found no mention of a ghost. Since the French cruise line accepted a fraction of the ship’s true value, she chalked it up to lost revenue from political unrest. Perhaps the French concealed a deeper problem.
I need a solution before the next Board meeting. Those old windbags would love to oust me as chairman over one little mistake! Little! Try one monstrous mistake! I don’t think the slogan “Sail on a real ghost ship, terror guaranteed!” would attract many paying customers. We’re lucky the ghost stays in that one cabin. She stopped in her tracks as the next thought entered her mind, What if the ghost expands its haunting? We could face a mass exodus with passengers demanding full refunds!
Emily pounded on the door of Captain Lafort’s room. The condescending little twerp smiled like a shark as he opened the door but faked a surprised expression.
Emily pushed her way into his suite and demanded, “I want to see the logbooks!”
“Zee logbooks? At zis late hour, madame?” He ran manicured fingers through his thin slicked-back hair and Emily noticed he was still fully dressed. She ground her teeth, suddenly confident that Lafort’s smug smile confirmed knowledge of the problem. “As the new owner, I have the right to examine those records.”
“Oui, madame, zis she is easy. Zee books, zey are here on zee shelves of my cabin. You may read zem at your leisure. You look for somezing in particular, so maybe I can help you find it?” His French accent thickened as he eyed her speculatively.
Cringing at the wheedling tone of his voice, Emily nodded. “Yes, I want to find all complaints about the ship’s ghost!”
H
e didn’t even blink at the strange request and Emily clenched her teeth.
“A ghost? You make a joke, n’est-ce pas?”
Emily’s eyes narrowed and she folded her arms. “I won’t be fooled by evasions! You know very well this is no joke.”
He sauntered toward the book cabinet. “Madame, you will find no ghost in zee records.”
Jerking open the cabinet door, Emily grabbed the most recent log and ran her finger down a page written in French. “I’ll bet! You carefully kept the disturbance secret while your owners tried to unload this garbage scow!”
“Mais, non! Zee ship, she hauls not zee garbage!”
“She’ll be hauling garbage and you’ll be her permanent captain if we don’t solve this mess pronto! These logs only go back four years. Where are the rest?” Emily slammed the cabinet door.
Sweat beaded on Lafort’s forehead. “Zee logs, zey are too many to keep on zee ship.”
Emily drummed her fingernails against the bookcase and stared into the captain’s shifty eyes. “Where are the logs?”
He shrugged. “Zey are stored in Paris.”
“Zen we call Paris now, mais oui?” she said imitating his accent. “Zee books, zey must be sent to Norfolk, Virginia, n’est-ce pas?” She shifted to her own brash American accent. “Unless your company wants one hell-of-a-lawsuit, they’d better hop to it, Lafort! My staff will examine those books with a magnifying glass while we retrofit the Sea Mist in dry dock. There’d better not be one page missing! Oh! Plan to stick around, captain, since we may need an interpreter. Your company will foot the bill for your salary, comprendez vous, monsieur?”
“Oui, madame. Je comprend.” He sighed, wiping sweat from his brow.
Chapter 1~ Colorado
Kayla stared at the frosted kitchen window, absent-mindedly drying a single dinner dish. In the twilight alpenglow mounds of thick wet snow clung to the split-rail pine fencing surrounding the cottage. She thought, When will this snow end? It was the twenty-fifth of May but heavy white clumps bent the heads of newly planted petunias, geraniums, and marigolds. The pansies in her window-box drooped, their perky little faces peeking out from soggy slush. It should be a rule that the snow stops falling when the ski resort closes in April. Was that too much to ask? What good is fresh snow if you can’t ski?
Startled by the loud jangle of the wall-mounted telephone, Kayla fumbled to keep the dish from crashing to the floor. Her heart fluttered. Is it Steven? No. He said he’d call on Saturday. Already disappointed, Kayla shoved the dish into the cupboard, tossed the dishrag onto the counter, and grabbed the offending instrument on its third ring.
“Hello,” she barked.
“Kayla? Is that you? You sound like someone shot your favorite dog.”
“Emily? Where are you?” Kayla smiled into the receiver, remembering Emily from her last Caribbean cruise. She and Emily shared the experience of watching Kayla’s ex-boyfriend drop dead, and then being grilled by the local police. Kayla appreciated the way Emily kept cool under pressure, gathered information, and bolstered everyone’s spirits during the calamity. They instantly became friends.
“I’m in Norfolk, Virginia.” Emily’s voice snapped Kayla into the present. “I bought a new ship for the company’s fleet and it’s undergoing a full refit. Would you like a job?”
“Just like that? You don’t mess around with small talk, do you?” Kayla twisted her blonde ponytail as she considered the proposal. “When do you need me?”
“Right away! I know its short notice but I’m on a deadline and need someone I can trust.” Emily’s voice cracked, like she was ready to cry.
“What’s wrong?”
After a long pause Emily said, “I’m in deep trouble with this ship. I can’t explain over the phone and frankly you might not believe me…I could really use your help, Kayla. Will you come?”
Kayla imagined Emily pushing her glasses up the bridge of her nose, her large hazel eyes filling with tears. Peering outside at the gray sky, Kayla said, “The weather here’s lousy, Steven’s in Europe working for Interpol, and I finished my final update for my guidebook. I don’t have anything to keep me from helping my favorite cruise ship owner.”
“You’re wonderful! I reserved a seat for you on the flight leaving at 8:00 a.m. tomorrow. Pick up the prepaid ticket at the counter and I’ll be there when you land. You’re saving my life, kid. Thanks.”
“Don’t hang up,” Kayla said as the line clicked and the phone buzzed. She wondered, How long will I be gone? What kind of clothes should I pack?
She considered the problem. Spring in Norfolk should be balmy. CCL ships never sailed to the Falklands or the Antarctic, and high-end cruisers stayed clear of Caribbean heat after the winter season. She’d pack light summer clothes, and include a few sweaters, maybe a windbreaker. It would be wonderful to escape Colorado’s mud season and breathe fresh salt-air.
Kayla called her landlord, Jill. She agreed to pick up mail, feed the cat, and water plants—if any survived this late snowstorm. She left a message on Steven’s voice mail and packed. Infused with a sense of adventure, Kayla settled into bed and set her alarm for six.
Trying to sleep, her mind wandered. An attractive woman in her early fifties, Emily Schultz was a powerful, self-confident woman with a head for business. She owned her own company before marrying Wilheim Shultz, the president of Constellation Cruise Lines, and then inherited controlling interest in the company when he died of heart failure. The rumor-mill claimed Emily forced Willy to create an unbreakable trust that guaranteed her inheritance before she agreed to the marriage.
Emily and Kayla met in the Caribbean last January. Kayla once worked for CCL as a purser but resigned after learning about a secret company policy to prevent women from working as senior officers onboard company ships. Kayla wrote a successful travel guidebook and returned to enjoy a complimentary cruise and gather research for an update. That cruise became frantic as Kayla investigated the death of her ex-lover, uncovered a drug smuggling ring, and fell in love with Interpol Agent, Steven Young. While solving the mystery of Patrick’s death, Kayla was shot and nearly drowned. Emily arranged for hospital care and a salary during her convalescence. She owed Emily for that.
While writing the update for her Caribbean guidebook, Kayla enjoyed time with Steven. He took a long vacation from Interpol to nurse Kayla, and they rented a cottage in a small town in southwestern Colorado.
They planned to get married but ran into stumbling blocks. Dealing with the INS proved a nightmare! They filled out a mountain of paperwork, mailed the large packet to the INS and waited. Two months later Steven’s application was rejected—he must submit his documents from England.
Steven flew to England and mailed the documents again. Cursing the government Kayla submerged herself in writing. After enduring intrusive medical exams and tedious interviews about their relationship, Steven received a fiancé visa in the mail.
He called Kayla in an uproar. “Those bloody bureaucrats!” Steven said. “How do they expect a bloke to carry on with his job?”
“What?”
“I received my fiancé visa in the mail today.”
“That’s great! We can schedule the wedding.”
“There’s a catch, luv. If I return to the U.S. and we get married, I can’t bloody-well leave the country again until I get my permanent residency card. That process can take six months or more.”
“Can’t you just use your old visa?”
“When I applied for this one, they made me return my old visa. We’re stuck! If I want to work for Interpol, I can’t take a six-month leave, can I?”
“No. What can we do?” Kayla asked, forcing her voice to sound calm.
“I guess we hire a bloody solicitor.” He sounded harassed and disgusted. “That will take time and I can’t come back to Colorado.”
“Does anyone in your department know an attorney in London?”
“Sure, if I could stay in England but I’m on an important case. I won
’t be home for months and can’t very well break my cover right now. Sorry, luv, justice must be protected.”
Justice! What kind of justice kept her apart from the man she loved? The memory made hot tears sting her eyes, blurring the glowing green numbers on the electronic clock. Would his love for her fade during their separation? Perhaps he’d use the INS delay as an excuse to delay the wedding—maybe forever?
She wouldn’t stay alone in the cottage moping. She’d enjoy a voyage and solve Emily’s dilemma. Whatever problem confronted Emily Schultz couldn’t be as tiresome as dealing with government bureaucracy! Maybe Emily could recommend a good attorney. Emily’s attorney defeated the Board of Director’s challenge to her inheritance. He must be fantastic! Steven and Kayla needed a lawyer like him, but she doubted they could afford his fee.
She slept and dreamed of dour men dressed in black suits and criminals waving guns as Steven ran away from her outstretched arms. She felt grateful when the annoying alarm clock rang.
In the harsh glare of the bathroom mirror Kayla combed her straight blond hair into a ponytail and dabbed on mascara to enhance her blue eyes. Although raised in a metropolitan area Kayla looked more like a farm girl, healthy, robust, with freckles, and well-toned muscles. Her attire—jeans, a T-shirt adorned with pop logos, well-worn slip-on shoes, and a Rockies baseball cap—was picked for comfortable airline travel. She boarded a “puddle jumper” commuter flight that seated thirty uncomfortable people to Denver International Airport. They arrived predictably late. Kayla grabbed her suitcase from gate-checked baggage, sprinted down the corridor, and clambered onto DIA’s computerized “talking train” to reach the next concourse.
Kayla usually hated large airports that had long corridors teeming with weary travelers, intercoms crackling garbled announcements, and bored security guards staring at fuzzy X-ray screens. She liked Denver’s shiny new airport—although Kayla thought the exterior looked more like circus tents than mountain peaks—with its impressive three-story vaulted interior, upscale shops, polished marble flooring, and designer décor. It justified millions of taxpayer dollars.