34 - The Queen's Jewels

by Fletcher, Jessica

  “And he’s not married and on his honeymoon,” I put in.

  “How’d you find that out?”

  “A conversation I had this evening with the young woman traveling with him. Her name is Marcia.”

  “What’s he up to?” Stanton asked. “Why the lie?”

  “Beats me, Dennis, but I suspect they know something about the Heart of India. She became very defensive when I raised the topic.”

  Stanton digested this before asking, “What about Kim’s lady friend, Betty LeClair?”

  “I haven’t seen her. I meant to ask Michael if he had, but it slipped my mind.”

  “Damn!” Stanton muttered. “We’ve only got two more days at sea. Kensington has investigators working the case in London. They don’t think the diamond is on this ship. Neither does my home office. They’re really putting the pressure on me. They think I’m wasting my time making this crossing. I’d really love to prove them wrong.”

  “Well,” I said, unsuccessfully stifling a yawn, “there’s obviously a lot to be accomplished in two days. I’m going to my cabin.”

  We promised to meet for breakfast, although I had no illusions of how I’d feel having to get up in time. I headed for my stateroom and hopefully a good night’s sleep, as abbreviated as it would be. I was halfway down the corridor from my stateroom when I noticed, far ahead, that the security officer was still posted outside Kim’s door. As I watched, another man stepped into the hallway. He’d come from Kim’s cabin, and there was no mistaking who he was, not with his size. It was Uri. He didn’t see me and walked in the other direction. I picked up the pace, but he’d already disappeared around the corner in the direction of the elevators and staircase.

  Frustrated—I’d intended to confront him—I fumbled for my key in my pocket and had just inserted it when I heard a door open behind me.

  I whirled.

  It was Rupesh.

  Chapter Twenty

  I drew a deep breath and smiled. “I’m relieved to see you,” I said.

  “Good evening, madam.”

  “I was worried about you. I saw you leave with the security men and—”

  He raised a finger to silence me and glanced at the guard, who seemed disinterested in our conversation.

  “Come in. I was intending to call you,” I said, adding for the guard’s benefit, “There’s something wrong with my TV.”

  Rupesh extended his arm, and I preceded him into my stateroom, stopping only to pluck a message from my mail basket as I passed by. I glanced at the envelope. MRS. FLETCHER was typed on the front. The lettering looked the same as the previous message I’d received.

  I turned and held up the envelope for Rupesh to see. “Do you know who delivered this, Rupesh?”

  “No, madam,” he said, allowing the door to close behind him.

  I opened it. The typewritten message was: “LIFE WAS MEANT TO BE LIVED, AND CURIOSITY MUST BE KEPT ALIVE.” ELEANOR ROOSEVELT.

  He must have seen the concern on my face. “Is something wrong, madam?”

  “No, nothing wrong, Rupesh.”

  I swung around the desk chair so that it faced the small couch, and sat in the chair. Rupesh perched on the couch’s arm.

  “When we first met, I said that I’d like to find time for us to have a chat. Is this a good time for you? I know it’s late and—”

  “No, it is not too late, Mrs. Fletcher. I would like very much to speak with you.”

  It was the first time that he’d used my name.

  “I have many questions, Rupesh.”

  “I understand.”

  “You know about the murder of Mr. Kim tonight.”

  “Yes. I was informed.”

  “I have a feeling that you know more about it than having simply been ‘informed.’”

  When he didn’t respond, I added, “And I also suspect that what you know might have come from a friend of mine, Wendell Jones, although that’s not his real name.”

  “I know Mr. Jones’s real name, Mrs. Fletcher.”

  “I suppose you do,” I said. “I saw you with him earlier this evening.”

  “Mrs. Fletcher, I mustn’t stay long, but there is something I need to say to you.”

  “Go ahead.”

  “I’m not at liberty to divulge how I know certain things, but it is enough for you to know that there are bad people on the ship, very cruel people.”

  He had my full attention.

  “Mr. Jones—Mr. Haggerty works for the British intelligence agency MI6. He is on the ship because of these people.”

  My immediate reaction was surprise that this room steward would so blithely reveal to me that Haggerty was an intelligence agent. But he quickly explained. “Agent Haggerty has told me that you and he have worked closely together in the past, and that I am to trust you.”

  “He told you that?”

  “Yes, madam.”

  “I suppose I should be flattered but—”

  “At first I suspected you might have been the one to kill Mr. Kim.”

  “Me?!”

  He nodded. “You were very interested in Mr. Kim’s cabin and its contents. You asked me to tell you if he had a computer and printer.”

  “Oh, yes, but that was because—”

  “However, Agent Haggerty also told me that you have certain—how shall I say it?—that you have certain ideas about some of these people, certain insights.”

  Why Haggerty would have said that was but one of many questions I had at the moment, the most pressing of which was why he would be sharing things with Rupesh. Had this young man come upon some information that was helpful to Michael in the investigation? As a room steward, he would be privy to what went on in his area of responsibility, including passengers Kim Chin-Hwa and Betty LeClair. If that was the case, I was naturally curious to see what it was.

  I asked again about the scene in which Betty was crying in her cabin. Rupesh had said it had to do with something, or someone, missing.

  “The lady claimed that someone had entered her cabin without her permission and taken some papers.”

  “What sort of papers?”

  “That I do not know.”

  “Rupesh,” I said, “when I approached my cabin a few minutes ago, I saw a man leaving Mr. Kim’s stateroom. He was a heavyset man with a beard. He wears a skullcap.”

  Rupesh paused before answering. “That man is working with Mr. Haggerty.”

  “Have you met him?”

  “Yes, Mrs. Fletcher.”

  “He’s another intelligence agent?”

  “I am not at liberty to speculate on that.”

  I didn’t press. I didn’t have to. I already knew that his name was Uri—at least that’s what Haggerty had told me—and that he worked for Israeli intelligence.

  “I appreciate your candor with me, Rupesh,” I said, “but I’m afraid I don’t understand your involvement with Agent Haggerty, or with this other man, whose name, by the way, is Uri.”

  “Then you know him.”

  “I only know of him.”

  He got up, went to the glass doors, and stood looking out for what seemed a long time. When he turned to me, he smiled. “There are things I cannot share with you at this moment, Mrs. Fletcher, but I hope to soon. In the meantime, I must go. I have final chores before going to my cabin for some rest.”

  “Of course,” I said as I walked him to the door. “Is Ms. LeClair next door in her cabin?”

  “I don’t believe so.”

  “Where is she?”

  “With the staff captain and his security officers. They are questioning her. She will not be returning to her stateroom.”

  “Where will she go?”

  “I don’t know, Mrs. Fletcher.”

  “Is Agent Haggerty with them?”

  “I believe so, but I cannot be certain. I must go, Mrs. Fletcher. I hope you have a restful sleep.”

  He was no sooner gone than my phone rang. “Jessica? It’s Michael. Hope I didn’t wake you.”

&
nbsp; “No such luck.”

  “Beg pardon?”

  “No, as a matter of fact you didn’t wake me. I was just having a conversation with my cabin steward, Rupesh. I understand you’ve been talking with him.”

  “I’d like you to come to the officers’ wardroom.”

  “Now?”

  “I’d really appreciate it, Jessica. But if you’d rather not, I—”

  “No, I’ll be there. Give me fifteen minutes.”

  Any thoughts of enjoying even a few hours’ sleep were rapidly dissipating. I freshened up and headed out again. I could easily have begged off, but the lure of adding to what I’d learned so far about the Heart of India diamond, jewel theft in general, and the murder of Kim Chin-Hwa was too compelling. The old adage “In for a penny, in for a pound” came and went as I walked the length of the hallway and eventually arrived at the wardroom, where the staff captain, Michael Haggerty, and the Israeli intelligence agent Uri were seated around a conference table. The captain and Uri stood as I entered, and Haggerty raised himself but settled back down immediately.

  “Thank you for coming,” the staff captain said. “Please, have a seat.”

  Haggerty got right to the point. “I think you know everyone here,” he said.

  “I’m afraid that’s not true,” I said, gesturing at Uri. “I’ve only seen this gentleman, but we’ve never been introduced.”

  Uri reached across the table with a large hand and said, “Uri Peretz, Mrs. Fletcher. I work for Mossad.”

  “It’s about time we’ve met,” I said lightly. “I kept seeing you, in London and here on the ship, but never really knew who you were.”

  “Well,” he said in a deep voice, “now you do, and it is my pleasure. My mother is a big fan of your murder mysteries. She reads the Hebrew editions. She will be excited to learn I have met the great Jessica Fletcher. Perhaps now she will think better of her son and not complain so much that I don’t visit her enough.”

  I smiled. “Thank you. Do you mind my asking why you chose to follow me the day after Michael and I had dinner?”

  His laugh was low and guttural. “Standard procedure, Mrs. Fletcher. When I saw that Michael was with an attractive woman, I was compelled to find out who she was. I must admit that when I discovered that you were such a famous woman, I was taken somewhat aback.”

  “Surely once you knew who I was, your interest in me should have ended.”

  “Not quite that simple, Mrs. Fletcher. It became obvious to me that your involvement with Michael had nothing to do with writing books. You’re working together.”

  “That’s hardly the case, Mr. Peretz.”

  “But here you are, part of the team.” He turned to Haggerty. “Please proceed, Michael.”

  “Could we have Ms. LeClair rejoin us,” Haggerty said to the staff captain.

  He left the room, returning seconds later with Betty. She looked at me with red, puffy eyes and took a chair next to Haggerty.

  “The reason I asked you to come here, Jessica, is Ms. LeClair. As you know, she’s occupied the cabin next to yours since we left Southampton, and you’re also aware of the murder of her companion tonight, Mr. Kim.”

  “Unfortunately, yes.” I turned to Betty and said, “I’m so sorry, Betty.”

  “Thank you,” she managed in a barely audible voice.

  Haggerty continued. “Ms. LeClair is the one who discovered the body. Naturally, she’s the first person we wanted to talk to. This has been extremely upsetting for her, as you can imagine. We’re done with our questioning and are satisfied that she’s told us everything she knows.”

  “I swear it,” she said, her voice stronger.

  I had many questions for her, but assumed they’d already been posed by the others.

  “I’ll get right to the point, Jessica. Besides being understandably upset by what’s happened this evening, she’s also concerned for her safety. Obviously, she can’t return to her cabin for a number of reasons. I’m informed that there is one vacant suite on the ship for Ms. LeClair to use for the duration of the crossing. Her belongings have already been moved.”

  I said, “I think your decision is a wise one, Betty.”

  “I couldn’t possibly go back to that cabin where—” She sniffled and dabbed at her eyes with her handkerchief.

  “The reason I’ve asked you here this evening,” Michael said to me, “is to ask a favor. I’ve suggested that you accompany Ms. LeClair to the suite and help her get settled, you know, engage in some girl talk, make her feel comfortable.”

  Had I conjured a dozen reasons why Haggerty had asked me to join them, this wouldn’t have made the list.

  “Will you, Mrs. Fletcher?” the staff captain asked.

  “Is this appropriate?” I asked. “I would have thought that you’d want a member of the crew to do this.”

  “We discussed various options with Ms. LeClair,” the staff captain said, “and your name came up. She prefers that it be you. Besides, our female crew members of a certain rank are extremely busy with other duties.”

  I looked across the table at Haggerty. A tiny smile was on his lips, and his raised eyebrows called for an answer. Betty LeClair’s expression was also a question mark. Uri Peretz grunted and looked down at his lap.

  “Well, of course, if I’m needed,” I said.

  “Splendid,” Haggerty said, slapping his palms together. “Thank you, Jessica. I knew you’d come through.”

  “Thank you so much,” Betty said. “I didn’t want a stranger with me tonight. I don’t intend to be a bother. It’s just that—” She stopped and blinked back tears.

  “Don’t think a moment about it. I’m happy to help,” I said. “You’ve been through a terrible ordeal.”

  The staff captain escorted Betty from the room, and Uri excused himself, saying he had things to do elsewhere, which left Haggerty and me alone.

  “Michael, why do I have the feeling that your reason for arranging this is about more than simply providing Ms. LeClair female company?”

  He clasped his hand to his chest. “You really know how to hurt a man, Jessica.”

  I waited for a better answer.

  “All right,” he finally said, “having you close to her could reap rewards in the investigation.”

  “Really?” I said. “I had the impression that you’d ruled her out as a suspect in Mr. Kim’s murder.”

  He winced. “Not exactly,” he said.

  “Then—”

  He lowered his head and looked up at me from under his eyebrows.

  “Then she might be a cold-blooded murderer,” I said.

  “Let’s hope not,” he said, brightening and standing. “You’re a trouper, Jessica Fletcher. It was my lucky day when I ran across you on that steamy Caribbean island years ago. We didn’t get anywhere with our questioning of her, but you might.”

  “With some ‘girl talk.’”

  “Exactly.”

  “I’ll do my best, assuming I survive the night.”

  Chapter Twenty-one

  A ship’s officer accompanied me to Betty’s new quarters, a lovely duplex suite. I tried to put her at ease in our first few minutes together, and she seemed eager to do the same for me. I wasn’t sure how to initiate a conversation that wouldn’t further upset her. After all, she’d just discovered the body of her companion, presumably her lover, the victim of a vicious knife attack, and endured questioning that was undoubtedly strenuous and possibly accusatory.

  I suggested that we call room service for tea and an assortment of sweets for us to share. She liked that idea, and I placed the order. Ten minutes later a sharp knock at the door announced that it had arrived. I opened the door, expecting to greet someone from room service. Instead, to my surprise, Rupesh stood behind a rolling service cart.

  “You work room service, too?” I said.

  “No, ma’am, but because I’d been Ms. LeClair’s room steward before, it was felt that she would be more at ease with me. I’ve been assigned here for th
e duration of the crossing.”

  What he said made sense, of course, but something inside me felt at odds with that explanation.

  He rolled in the cart, arranged the pastries and tea service along with napkins and utensils, and quickly left.

  “He’s a nice young man,” Betty said when she emerged from the bathroom. She’d freshened up, having skillfully applied a modicum of makeup and dabbed on a strong and distinctive perfume—Shalini, Dennis Stanton had said.

  “Very nice,” I agreed. “He has family living in my town in Maine.”

  “I would like to know more about Maine, Mrs. Fletcher.”

  “And I’ll be happy to tell you all about it, provided you call me Jessica.”

  As we sipped our tea, I told her about Cabot Cove and my friends there. She listened politely, although I sensed that her attention was elsewhere for much of the time. I couldn’t blame her. She had a lot on her mind at that moment, and I tried to catch an appropriate time to turn the conversation in her direction. That break occurred when she compared Cabot Cove to Paris. “I don’t know if I could ever be happy living in a small town,” she said. “I’ve spent my whole life in large cities.”

  “It must have been exciting being a model in Paris,” I said.

  “It had its moments.”

  “Oh,” I said through a laugh, “I forgot what you’d said at Tom Craig’s dinner party. You found it boring.”

  She managed the first smile since we’d sat down.

  “I’m sure you’re tired from everything you’ve been through tonight. If you want to go to bed, please just tell me to go.”

  “Oh, no, Jessica. I could never sleep.” She shivered at the thought. “Besides, I enjoy talking with you. I like it that you don’t seem to be judgmental.”

  “I try not to be.”

  She looked down, deep in thought. When she looked up, she said matter-of-factly, “I’m afraid I’ve made many mistakes in my life.”

  “We’re all guilty of that from time to time,” I said.