by Diane Rapp
“Stick around! I’ve got plenty of ideas.”
“Do you suppose you could work Vincent Bollard into your routine tonight? If he had something to do with his wife’s death, you might get a reaction.”
Natalia smiled wickedly. “Good idea! I’ll think of something appropriate to say, so watch his face for a reaction! What fun!”
“Take it easy, Tally. You don’t want to become his next target.”
The scent of lavender invaded the room with the familiar bone-chilling cold. Kayla tried to prepare herself for a vision shift but this time Natalia paled. Her eyes rolled back into her head and her body crumpled like a marionette whose strings were suddenly cut.
Kayla caught Natalia and pushed her onto the soft surface of the bed. Clasping Natalia’s icy hands, Kayla rubbed until color returned to the skin.
Natalia mumbled, “The next target! Celeste wants us to stop the next murder.” Her large dark eyes brimmed with tears. “I saw a body falling overboard.”
“Who?”
Natalia said, “I don’t know! It was a dark shape falling through the mist toward black water.” She grasped Kayla’s hands with trembling fingers. “I’m tortured by this gift! I wish I could force it out of my head, give it away like an itchy old coat.”
Kayla cringed, remembering the feeling of vertigo when her vision shifted.
Natalia abruptly released Kayla’s hand. “Don’t worry. It’s not contagious, besides I’d never wish this gift on a friend.” She stood up and forced a crooked smile. “It’s okay. We know who Celeste is and what she wants. I’m sure we can help her.”
Kayla left wondering if they really could help prevent a murder.
That evening Steven and Kayla arrived at the small theater early. Steven ordered champagne cocktails and watched calmly as the audience filled the seats surrounding the half-circle stage.
Kayla felt less calm. Her gaze darted from one face to the next as people entered, and she siphoned her drink from its glass without conscious thought.
“You want another?” Steven asked, nodding at her empty glass.
“Oh!” Kayla touched her forehead. “Yes, but make it a diet cola. My brain’s already fuzzy. I’d keel over if I drank many more of these.”
Steven leaned closer. “That’s my strategy. Get you sloshed then lure you to my room.”
“Good plan, except we’re already staying in the same room.”
“Dash it all woman, you ruin all the fun of seduction.”
Kayla laughed. “Not all the fun I hope.”
Steven kissed her cheek. “It worked.”
“What?”
“A minute ago, you acted all fidgety. I thought a bit of distraction was in order.” He stroked her cheek with the back of his hand. “Unfortunately it diverted my attention a bit too much. Let’s chuck it all and retire early.”
“Scoundrel!”
“Flirt!”
Kayla noticed the Bollards and their entourage at the entrance. “They’re here!”
She nodded at the door. Steven rose from his chair and strolled toward his target. Faking a trip, he brushed against Vincent Bollard, apologized and continued out the door. A few minutes later, he sat next to Kayla with a satisfied grin.
“Tally now has a trinket to deliver to the mark. We’ll sit back and enjoy the show.”
“I never thought I’d marry a pick pocket.”
Steven shot his jacket sleeves and adjusted his tie—a perfect James Bond move. “In some quarters the cut-purse is a respected professional.”
“Only in prison!”
His eyes twinkled and he wiggled his fingers. “I’ll have you know my nimble fingers are the envy of the magician’s guild.”
“They’re a bit sticky for me.”
The lights darkened. “Here we are. Shhh! Tally demands our concentration.” Steven grabbed Kayla’s hand and leaned back in his chair.
Smoke billowed across the floor while eerie musical notes chimed discordantly. The crowd hushed. A tight beam of light cut through the mist, first from the back of the theater, again from the left, and finally from the right. The combination of lights pulsed rapidly repeating the sequence, changing in color with each new repetition. The focus of the lights rose into the air until they struck a mirrored ball. Blue, red, and gold light shattered into a starburst of color that danced through the theater.
Abruptly the burst of light ceased.
The audience exhaled in unison as a back light illuminated a stationary figure at center stage. Natalia stood with her back to the audience, silhouetted. The filmy fabric clinging to her outstretched arms resembled the iridescent wings of a butterfly. The swirling folds arched toward the ceiling as if caught in a stream of wind as she turned to face the crowd.
A disembodied voice announced, “Constellation Cruise Lines presents Natalia! Descended from the Russian mystic Rasputin, Natalia can see into your past, your future, and read your very thoughts.” As the voice spoke, Natalia brought her hands together in a steeple then bowed. The crowd erupted with applause. Kayla allowed herself to breathe and glanced sideways at Steven. He mouthed the word, bravo, and clapped enthusiastically.
Natalia smiled seductively and walked toward a gentleman sitting at the foot of the stage who was ogling a shapely blonde at his table. “It doesn’t take a mind-reader to know what you’re thinking! Shame on you.” She turned to the young woman.
“You, my dear were born in Ohio. Your twin brother, John is attending college on a football scholarship. The travel agent you work for became ill, allowing you to take a free trip in her place.”
Natalia cast a sidelong glance at the man. “I’d be careful. Her brother is twice your size and it’s all muscle.”
Walking down the steps, Natalia stopped at a table filled with middle-aged women. She lifted the pudgy hand of one lady and squeezed it. “Don’t worry. Your children are behaving splendidly with your sister, Maggie. Jeffery got an A on his science project and Alice is a finalist in cheerleader try outs.” The woman gasped then turned to her friends giggling like a teenager.
As Natalia continued to work the crowd, Kayla sipped her drink and willed her stomach to remain calm. How could Natalia act composed and self-assured in front of all these people? Kayla understood Natalia’s methods—gathering information about passengers from stewards, waiters, and pursers—but the mystic certainly knew how to deliver. Kayla could hardly sit still waiting for Natalia to approach Vincent.
Natalia said, “I have a few personal items to return to their owners. Do not become alarmed. Your belongings have merely wandered.” She pulled a wristwatch out a black velvet bag. “The engraving on the back reads ‘To Billy, Love Ingrid.’ I believe Billy sits at the third table from my left.” As the house lights rose, Natalia walked toward a chubby man who examined his bare wrist. She handed him the watch. “This earring has no inscription but I believe Ingrid is missing one.” She returned the jewelry to the astonished owner.
Natalia dipped into the velvet bag. “This cellular phone is calling . . . you!” She swung around and slipped the phone into the pocket of a man. “We’re finally out of range and will appreciate the phone’s silence.” Walking further down the aisle, Natalia stopped to return two more possessions.
Natalia dipped her hand into the velvet bag to retrieve a gold watch. The case opened and the watch chimed. Natalia froze. Vincent Bollard stood. He grabbed the watch and fingered the gold case, lovingly. “It was from my wife!” he barked. “What right do you have—?” His eyes flashed with anger until he glanced around and realized everyone was staring at him.
Natalia said, “Celeste was the last person to love you. Why did she need to die?” Her hushed voice carried only a few feet, but Kayla heard each word punctuated by the pounding of her own heart.
“What?” Vincent blanched. “I didn’t . . . she jumped . . . I don’t have to stand here and take this!” He spun around and rushed from the theater, Buster Northrup close on his heels.
Paula c
lutched Natalia’s arm. “You leave him alone, you hear? I won’t let you take him away from me!” Natalia jerked away from Paula’s grip. The blood drained from Natalia’s face and she staggered back, inhaled deeply, and flashed a fake smile at the audience.
“Sorry for the interruption. I seldom deliver personal messages.”
Paula sat down, her face an unreadable mask as her eyes flashed with anger. Angela Hearns slumped in her chair, trying to hide her face. The other members of their entourage fluttered around them, whispering and glaring at Natalia.
The disturbance provoked murmurs through the crowd, but Natalia walked brusquely back onstage. She launched into the telepathy sequence of her act, calling for a volunteer from the audience. As the volunteer picked a playing card from the deck, Kayla and Steven unobtrusively slipped out the side exit.
“So? What did you get from that?” Kayla asked.
“He seemed justifiably upset by the reminder of Celeste’s death. It could mean he really believes she committed suicide, after all he had an airtight alibi.”
“Yes. If he had an accomplice he could’ve altered the time of death.”
“He might. What do you have in mind?”
Kayla paced. “Angela Hearns reported the time of the suicide. Maybe Vincent killed Celeste and Angela gave him an alibi by reporting the suicide later.”
“But the steward saw Celeste in her cabin at eleven.”
“Maybe Angela impersonated Celeste to give Vincent an alibi. Maybe he tossed her overboard during the fifteen minutes he left the game.”
Steven nodded. “It’s possible. Now that Celeste’s death is on their minds, it might be a good time to ask questions.” He headed down the corridor.
“Where are we going?”
“To snoop—Vincent headed for the bar with Buster. Maybe they’ll talk about Celeste.”
The men sat at the counter of the piano bar. Vincent’s face looked red and puffy and his eyes focused with difficulty. Kayla and Steven took a nearby table.
“I can’t take it any longer!” Vincent said. “Every time I look in her face I could pop my cork.”
“Easy, easy,” Buster cajoled. “You’re about to sign a whopping contract. Do you want her to walk away with half?”
Vincent laughed. “You think I care about money? I love my work. It’s all I’ve got left and she threatened—well never mind.” Vincent downed the last swallow of his drink. “Bartender, another round! Buster, I’ve finally decided. I’ll sign your contract and move out tonight. I’ll start a new career, even if I have to be the best character actor there ever was. What do you say? I can be free of that blood-sucking leech.”
Buster beamed. “Okay! That’s talkin’! I’ve got the contract in my suite. Come by, sign the deal, and I’ll get a purser to find you another cabin.”
Vincent wobbled as he slid from the stool but he downed the final drink with the skill of a heavy drinker. “Independence day, that’s what this is,” he said, plunking the glass onto the bar. “I can’t believe I’ve waited so long!”
The two men staggered out, hanging onto each other for support. Kayla and Steven followed, keeping a few paces behind.
“He’s leaving his wife?” Steven asked.
Kayla nodded. “He obviously doesn’t love her. The way he talks to her, I’m surprised she hasn’t divorced him and raked in the money.”
“Women put up with a lot of abuse when they love a man.”
“There she is, hide!” She pulled Steven behind a potted plant in the lobby.
“Waiter!” Vincent called out, banging his fist on the front desk. “I need another room.”
The purser on duty tried to quiet the drunk as Paula stormed up to the counter. “What are you doing?” she asked.
Vincent swayed, trying to stick his hands into uncooperative pockets. “I’m leaving you!”
“You can’t leave me! I’ll ruin you!”
Vincent threw his arm over Buster’s shoulder. “I’ve got a contract to sign. This time I’ll make up my own mind and I’ve already got work! I don’t need to be a leading man. Character actors are valuable commodities these days.”
“I’ll take you for millions!” Paula’s hands clenched into fists and the vein in her neck throbbed.
Vincent shrugged. “Don’t care. Take the money.” He turned back to the purser, grabbing the counter for support. “Waiter, can you get me a cabin with a view? I need to see the horizon, need to see where I’m going.”
Paula grabbed his shoulder and hissed something into his ear. Vincent pushed her away, his mouth contorted. “Do your worst woman! Do your worst. You’ve never really loved me, not like she did—” He turned away, gesturing wildly for her to leave.
Buster stepped forward and spoke to Paula. She nodded. Buster snapped his fingers, and one of his assistants appeared at his side. The assistant guided Paula away. Her shoulders sagged but her light blue eyes narrowed with anger.
Back in Emily’s suite, Kayla explained the explosive events they witnessed. Natalia had removed her stage makeup and sat cross-legged on the floor combing her hair.
“It was weird. I didn’t mean to tell Vincent that Celeste was the only woman who ever loved him. It just came out.” Natalia gazed at the ceiling. “Do you still love him, Celeste? Is that it? How could you love such a brute?”
“Do you still think he killed Celeste?” Emily asked.
Natalia’s face, devoid of makeup, looked young and innocent. She bit her lower lip. “I felt something when he grabbed the watch. He’s part of it but I can’t tell if he’s the killer. He might feel guilty, announcing that he doesn’t care about money. I found out that Celeste was an heiress to millions and Vincent got it all.”
Steven said, “An old adage says that murder is committed for either love or money. If Vincent killed his first wife for money, what kind of danger does his second wife face now? She’s threatening to take him for millions in the divorce. Do you really think he’ll let her get away with that?”
Natalia frowned.
“What is it Tally?” Steven asked. “You look as pale as you did tonight after Paula grabbed your arm.
Kayla nodded. “You had a strange look on your face. And now, your eyes look like the time you saw a vision of me floating in water. What did you see when Paula touched you?”
Chewing her lower lip Natalia said, “I got a quick flash. You have to realize that I don’t always see a whole scene, sometimes it’s nothing reliable. I never know if it is real or my imagination.”
“Tell us!” Kayla demanded.
“Okay. I saw Paula—at least I think it was Paula. Her hair was different and she wore lots of makeup, so maybe it wasn’t her. In my vision she lay sprawled on the floor with her head cocked at an odd angle and her eyes open, staring. She was so pale. There was a trickle of blood from her nose and she didn’t blink.” Natalia sighed. “Paula looked dead.”
They all glanced at the ceiling. If Celeste wanted to prevent a murder, they’d better work fast.
Chapter 6 ~ At Sea
Emily seemed exited when she joined Kayla and Steven for breakfast the next morning. “I read the rest of the testimony in the log and found something interesting.” She opened her spiral notepad. “A cocktail waitress testified that Angela left the bar at 10:30 p.m. and returned fifteen minutes later. A woman wearing a long black coat entered the bar about 11:00 p.m. The waitress said the woman looked familiar but wore a new hair style or the color was different, so she couldn’t say who it was.”
“Did anyone else know the woman’s identity?” Steven asked.
“No. When they decided Celeste committed suicide, they let it drop.” Emily shut her notepad.
Steven drummed his fingers on the table. “Where did Angela go?”
Emily shrugged. “No one asked about that. The waitress rambled on describing everything, the clothes customers wore, the drinks they ordered, and the tips they left.”
“Anything unusual about their clothes?” Steven a
sked, his fingers drumming faster.
“The woman in the black coat wore a green dress underneath. The bar was hot and the waitress wondered why she kept her coat on. She only saw the green when the woman crossed her legs.”
Abruptly Steven scraped his chair back from the table and headed to the door. “Let’s see if anyone’s up and about.”
“Is he always this intense?” Emily asked Kayla.
Gulping her coffee, Kayla grabbed a sweet roll and said, “When he’s hot on the trail, he’s like a bloodhound.”
Emily smiled. “I think it’s cute.”
They followed Steven to the poolside deck, two flights up. Sun glared off the white decking and polished brass rigging, while gently rolling swells of sapphire blue water stretched uninterrupted to the horizon. On the far side of the bustling deck, crew dressed in crisp white shorts and navy shirts announced bingo numbers to entrenched gamblers. Surrounding the pool, sun worshippers exposed spindly white arms, flabby bellies, and oiled thighs like offerings to the sun god. Industrious waiters maneuvered through a maze of chairs to deliver “morning after” beverages to lethargic patrons.
Kayla spotted Vincent and Buster stretched out on canvas lounge chairs at the pool’s edge. Vincent resembled a walrus sucking Bloody Mary elixir through a straw. Sunglasses failed to conceal folds of dark skin under his eyes as he balanced a cocktail glass on his bulging stomach with unsteady hands.
Buster exuded merriment. His lively smile, bold gestures, and boisterous remarks punctuated a one-way conversation. “It will be an unmitigated triumph! Have you noticed how Angela radiates health and energy?”
Vincent nodded.
“The photographer should start right away. We’ll do a full layout on the ship—this deck would be ideal—then we’ll get some exotic shots in the Azores. Do you think we should shoot near the volcano, or would you prefer the seaside? It’s so exciting! I’ll prepare a press release.”
Vincent frowned. “No. You agreed to keep the press away from us.”
“Of course, we’ll avoid your personal situation but advance publicity is essential to promote the film. You understand—”