Murder on a Ghost Ship (High Seas Mystery Series Book 2)

by Diane Rapp

  Steven frowned. “We’re in for a storm. Do you want to press on?” He opened the island map and pointed at the bottom curve of the fishhook-shaped landmass. “If we follow the arch up to the West End, we can visit the Maritime Museum in the Royal Naval Dockyard and take a ferry back across Great Sound to Hamilton. It might be worth a go.”

  “No. I don’t relish riding along a narrow stretch of land during a storm. Let’s head back to St. George. If the storm clears, we’ll stop at Fort Catherine along the way.”

  Kayla shivered. A sense of gloom dispelled her adventuresome mood.

  At the moped, Steven opened the seat cover to extract a zippered bag. “The rental agent provides rain slickers, so this must be a common occurrence.” Steven unzipped the bag and pulled out two small packets. Kayla opened one and unfolded a thin plastic poncho complete with hood.

  Slipping her head through the hole, Kayla said, “This stuff feels like shrink wrap.”

  “It’ll do in a pinch. Hop on.”

  Following the route back, rain pelted the poncho and dribbled down Kayla’s bare legs. Hunching into Steven’s shoulder, Kayla’s cheek stuck to the slick surface as she inhaled the aroma of plastic and sea salt.

  Left to her own thoughts, Kayla worried about Steven. How serious is the situation at Interpol? Will his career survive? If he doesn’t return to Interpol, he might find a safe job near me. The selfish thought made her feel guilty and she wished she had Natalia’s talent to see the future. I’d just take one glimpse, but would Steven be happy working a mundane job?

  The rain stopped by the time they reached the ship. Unable to refold the flimsy ponchos, they tossed their slickers into the trash and ran to their cabin. They stood in the hot shower together—to save precious water. As the ship’s horn blew the final warning, they were dressed and ready to watch the ship leave port.

  As the ship sailed east the storm turned south. Standing at the ship’s stern the two lovers watched Bermuda shrink to a thin black outline against the churning wake. Kayla almost expected to hear a hiss as the sun’s fiery orb sank into the sea. A cosmic blaze of crimson and gold filled the sky in stormy streaks that resembled molten lava.

  The sunset dimmed and they gazed down into inky-black water, churned into a malevolent turmoil by the propellers. Kayla shivered. The rumbling ship’s engines vibrated her bones and rattled her teeth. She nuzzled into Steven’s arms, trying to expunge the agitation that settled inside her once again.

  Steven asked, “What is it, luv?” His dark blue eyes filled with tenderness and concern.

  Kayla’s throat tightened. “I’m sorry we left Bermuda. When I stepped back on the ship, I felt something bad is going to happen. Let’s go inside.”

  Steven’s arm steadied her and they climbed the stairs to the pool level. A large group stood around the bar laughing and drinking. Friendly smiles beckoned and Steven squeezed Kayla’s waist affectionately.

  Vincent Bollard stepped forward, his hand extended.

  “Come join us,” Vincent said.

  Kayla smiled and shook his hand. She said, “This is my fiancé, Steven Young.”

  When her fingers connected with Vincent, a chill spread through her body, her vision blurred and the world tilted. Vincent looked like the young romantic actor she remembered from old movies with dark brown eyes, tanned face, and gleaming white teeth. Nearby, Buster combed fingers through a full head of thick brown hair and a thin Angela Hearns sipped champagne as a platinum blond.

  Kayla’s vision swirled and she rubbed her aching forehead.

  “Are you all right, my dear?” Vincent asked. His soft hand gripped her elbow as he eased her into a deck chair. Having closed her eyes against the unwanted hallucination, she risked another look at Vincent. His puffy face and reddish cheeks were lined with wrinkles, and his bleary eyes looked bloodshot.

  Relieved, Kayla gently pulled away from his grip. “I’m fine. I got a bit too much sun today, that’s all.”

  Paula Bollard arrived with angry eyes and pinched lips. She insinuated herself between Vincent and Kayla and said, “Go inside and lie down young lady.” Her high-pitched voice cracked like a young boy going through puberty. “A sun stroke can be serious.” She turned to Steven and ordered, “Make sure she gets rest and drinks plenty of water.”

  “Certainly,” Steven said, helping Kayla to her feet. “I’ll see to it.”

  As they stepped through the door, Paula called out, “Don’t put ice in her drink! The shock wouldn’t be good for her system.”

  “Hot tea it is! I’ll see she drinks a strong pot straight away,” Steven replied with a wave.

  “Yes that’s just the thing,” Paula said and shut the door behind them.

  Kayla glanced through the glass door as Vincent grimaced and snapped at his wife. Paula’s head drooped and she nodded complacently.

  Steven said, “What happened to you out there?”

  “The ghost gave me a vision of Vincent Bollard as a young man. He’s connected somehow with her death. Did you see how he snapped at his wife after we came inside?”

  “Sorry, I wasn’t paying attention to him. I’m more concerned about you! Are you all right?”

  Kayla nodded. “When we figure out what happened to the ghost, she’ll leave me alone. Let’s go talk with Natalia.”

  Steven kept a firm grip on Kayla’s arm until they reached Emily’s stateroom. Inside the suite, he forced Kayla to sit and fussed with an electric teapot.

  “What’s up with you two?” Natalia sat cross-legged on the floor surrounded by piles of logbooks.

  “Kayla’s been in touch with your ghost,” Steven huffed as he poured steaming tea into a mug. “She nearly fainted dead away.”

  Emily leaned forward. “What did you see?”

  “My vision swirled and it was like looking through a movie camera. I saw Vincent Bollard with Buster and Angela but they all looked young and healthy. I’m sure the Lady is connected with Vincent Bollard and Angela Hearns.”

  Natalia stretched long arms over her head and rotated her neck until it popped. “Let’s find the logs for their voyage.”

  Emily consulted the passenger list. “They sailed in April of 1995. Where’s the box for that year?”

  Steven bent over the boxes, checking the dates marked on the sides. “Here it is!” He laughed. “Someone scrawled my name across the top. No wonder you haven’t found your ghost, she’s been waiting for me to arrive.”

  Natalia’s eyes widened. “That’s not my handwriting! I marked the names, but I didn’t mark this box.”

  Emily examined the dusty box. “You’re right, Natalia. This box is sealed with brown strapping tape and the others have clear tape. I’ll ask the steward.”

  She summoned the steward while Steven opened the box with his pocketknife.

  “Billy, do you know where this box came from?” Emily asked.

  The steward nodded—his eyes wide with alarm. “Captain Swenson found this box in his clothes closet. It looked like the boxes you’ve been looking through,” he pointed, “so thought I should bring along.”

  “Excellent thinking, Billy, I’m pleased you can use your head.” Billy blushed and mumbled his thanks as Emily pushed a twenty into his hand and closed the door.

  “If Captain Lafort were here, I’d throttle the man!” Emily said. “He was hiding this box, because he knew it was exactly the one we needed.”

  Natalia laughed. “No wonder the ghost threw books at him! You think the Lady wrote Steven’s name on top—see how the “S” and the “Y” are written with a flourish?”

  Steven took out a book. “All the logs for 1995 are in here.” He thumbed through logbooks until he reached April. “Here it is!” The lights dimmed and the scent of lavender filled the air.

  “Good! She’s here, so we’re on the right track,” Natalia said, staring at the ceiling.

  Steven plopped onto the sofa and thumbed through pages. “See here! On April 21st the captain recorded that Celeste Bollard fel
l overboard at 11:15 p.m. The next twenty pages outline the investigation into her death.”

  Natalia clapped her hands. She called out to the ceiling, “Celeste! We know who you are! Now we’ll uncover the killer’s identity.” The lights grew bright, the lavender scent faded, and the room warmed.

  “What does that mean?” Kayla asked.

  “I think she’s happy and leaving us to our work.” Natalia smiled. “Let’s start reading.”

  “Whose voice sounds best for reading?” Steven asked. They all stared at Natalia.

  “Me? Okay. I don’t mind.” She took the logbook from Steven, sat cross-legged on the floor in front of the coffee table and said, “The handwriting is different than the captain’s. It’s the clerk writing the transcript. Captain Holmgren is interviewing Vincent Bollard first.” She read:

  Captain: Mr. Bollard, tell us where you were at 11:15 p.m. on April 21st when your wife fell overboard.

  Bollard: I was in the casino card room, playing poker with you and several other guys.

  Captain: Let the record show that I, Captain Holmgren, was indeed playing cards with Mr. Bollard and three other gentlemen of our acquaintance. Mr. Bollard during the evening you had occasion to leave the card room. What was the purpose of your absence?

  Bollard: I received a note from my wife at about ten o’clock. She asked me to come to our cabin. I thought it must be important, so I left the card room and went down right away.

  Captain: What transpired at the meeting with your wife?

  Bollard: Celeste wasn’t there. I waited for ten minutes, left her a note on the dresser, and came back to play cards. I didn’t know she was upset enough to jump overboard!

  Captain: Let the record indicate that Mr. Bollard returned to the card room at 10:15 p.m. and stayed until the alarm sounded at 11:20 p.m. At that time Mr. Bollard accompanied me to the scene of the accident. Sir, were you aware of any reason your wife should commit suicide?

  Bollard: (He hesitated for about thirty seconds before answering.) Celeste was unhappy. We argued because the blasted tabloids reported that Angela Hearns had an affair with me during the filming of our movie. Those rumormongers print anything to sell a paper and were always making things up! I told Celeste it was a lie but she didn’t exactly believe me. We’re always under a microscope. It caused Angela lots of trouble.

  Captain: Did you find a note in your cabin from your wife?

  Bollard: No. After the incident, I returned to our cabin. The note I wrote to my wife was missing but she didn’t leave one for me.

  Captain: Can you identify the handwriting on this note? Please read it for the record.

  Bollard: Yes. It’s my wife’s handwriting. It says, “I can’t go on living this way. You were right about the baby.”

  Captain: For the record I will describe the note. It is written on a torn piece of stationary and unsigned. The capital letters C and B are embossed in gold across the top of the page. The note says, “You were right about the baby.” Do you know what she means?

  Bollard: She was depressed because she recently miscarried. I wanted to adopt but she refused.

  Natalia paused. “Vincent Bollard broke into tears and was excused. The next witness was Angela Hearns.”

  Captain: Miss Hearns. Could you state for the record what you witnessed on the evening of April 21st at 11:15 p.m.?

  Hearns: Yes. Several cast members sat with me in the bar on the top deck. One of the girls cried out and pointed. She said that Celeste Bollard just jumped overboard. We all ran outside, notified a steward, and waited for you to arrive.

  Captain: You did not see Mrs. Bollard jump overboard personally?

  Hearns: No. My back was to the window. When we got to the railing we found Celeste’s black velvet shoe with a note stuffed inside. Her green shawl was snagged on a bolt on the railing.

  Captain: Did you see any sign of the victim? Was anyone else on the deck?

  Hearns: No. It was dark and foggy. I couldn’t see Celeste in the water, and there was no one else on deck.

  Captain: Which girl cried out? Do you know her name?

  Hearns: I’m sorry. I was so shocked by it all that I didn’t recognize her. She had long hair and dressed in a long black coat.

  Captain: Were all those in the bar members of the cast?

  Hearns: No, several other people sat around tables, people I’d never met.

  Captain: Is this the note you found inside the shoe?

  Hearns: Yes and it looks like her stationery.

  Captain: Miss Hearns, you recognized the black velvet shoe as one belonging to Mrs. Bollard?

  Hearns: Yes. Celeste’s shoe is distinctive. Diamonds shaped in a little butterfly adorn the side of the shoe. A little diamond flower was on the matching shoe. A woman notices these things.

  Natalia’s eyes sparkled with excitement. “Celeste was not wearing black shoes on the night she died. I’ve seen her. She wore a green velvet dress and matching green shoes. The black velvet shoe they found with the note was not the one she was wearing. The killer planted it!”

  Steven nodded. “You could be right. Vincent Bollard identified the handwriting, but the note was unsigned and torn from a larger sheet of stationery. We don’t know if she wrote more on the note. It might not be a suicide note.”

  Natalia nodded. “The captain wrote additional comments of his own. He felt unsure of the note and found it odd that only one shoe was found. He wonders how she climbed over the railing in one high heel.”

  Emily said, “It’s too bad he didn’t know she was really wearing green shoes! The investigation might have taken a different course.”

  Natalia nodded. “The next witness was the cabin steward.”

  Captain: Mr. Drake, you are the steward for the cabin occupied by Mr. and Mrs. Bollard?

  Drake: Yes sir.

  Captain: Did Mrs. Bollard summon you on the night of April 21st?

  Drake: Yes sir. She ordered a pot of tea.

  Captain: At what time?

  Drake: It was almost eleven, sir. It seemed strange.

  Captain: Go on man! What was so strange?

  Drake: She regularly ordered tea and took the tray herself at the door, not allowing me inside, you see. But that evening when I knocked she said, “Come in.” I was surprised but I went inside to set the tray on the dresser. She said, “Thank you. That will be all.” I left the cabin and closed the door.

  Captain: Did she appear upset?

  Drake: It’s hard to say, sir. She leaned back against the headboard of the bed, holding a cloth to her forehead—like she had a headache.

  Captain: Did you notice when she left the cabin?

  Drake: Aye, sir. I spotted her walking down the corridor jest a few minutes later. She walked right quick, so I didn’t speak to her.

  Captain: You’re sure it was Mrs. Bollard?

  Drake: Aye, sir. I saw her from the back, but she wore that fancy green dress and shiny green necklace. It was Mrs. Bollard, herself.

  “Well,” Natalia said, “if the steward saw her at eleven, then Vincent has an alibi for the time of the murder.”

  Steven nodded. “Yes. He’s got the best alibi—the captain.”

  Kayla asked, “Do you think Celeste committed suicide and can’t remember now that she’s a ghost? Maybe she’s running us in circles.”

  Natalia pondered the question, drumming her red nails on the cover of the book. “If Celeste committed suicide, she’d be anxious to leave this ship. I don’t believe she’d stick around to see her husband and his new wife.” She glanced at the wall clock. “I’d better get ready for my show. Are you all coming?”

  “Sure,” Kayla said, squeezing Steven’s hand.

  “Wouldn’t miss it, Tally,” Steven said.

  “Tally?” Natalia stiffened. “Where’d you get that name?”

  Steven shrugged. “Seems logical. Natalia is such a mouthful and we’re all friends. Do you mind?”

  Natalia combed her hair over both ears with her fi
ngernails. “No. My grandmother called me Tally. It sounds strange to hear it again.”

  Emily picked up the logbook and said, “If you don’t mind, I’ll continue reading. I’ll let you know if I find anything valuable.”

  Natalia headed toward her room. “Oh, Kayla. The steward missed your overnight case. It’s still in my closet.”

  “I’ll be right back, Steven,” Kayla said.

  Inside Natalia’s room, Kayla stopped short. The room’s décor had been converted into an oriental motif. Paper pagoda’s glowed as lampshades. A black silk spread covered the twin beds that were pushed together in one corner. An embroidered red dragon spread its talons and bared its fangs across the coverlet, while oriental maidens in vibrant colors covered bamboo hangings above the bed. Gigantic fans spread open like flowers on the opposite wall and the smell of incense drifted from burners on the night stand. Glancing at Natalia’s glossy black hair, red fingernails, and lithe figure dressed in a crimson silk jersey, black pants, and velvet slippers, Kayla envisioned a geisha smiling mysteriously.

  Kayla asked, “How’d you do all this?”

  Natalia cast a lopsided grin. “I bring it all with me. Everything folds flat, and takes about fifteen minutes to arrange. This way I feel like I’m home no matter where the job takes me.”

  “You sure you’re Russian? Surrounded by all this, you could be an oriental princess.”

  Natalia fingered the black silk sash at her waist. “Eastern Russians are Eurasian, more oriental than Slavic. I’m considering a change in my act next season—portraying myself as a mystic from the Far East. My next gig could be as an American Indian. I don’t like to get stuck in one persona.”

  “Amazing!” Kayla retrieved her case from the closet. “It’d be fun to see your act mutate each year.”