Don't Rock the Boat

by Cathie Wayland

  “Michaela, you’re just being melodramatic. Stifle it. I think you just like rocking the boat.”

  “Oh, would you quit the rocking-the-boat mantra. You say it all the time. And, anyway, I do not, Bernadette North. Okay. Fine. I’ll shut up. I just don’t see what bingo has to do with the disappearance of poor, happy-go-lucky Benjamin Browning.”

  “That, my dear Watson, is what we call a conundrum.”

  TWENTY-SIX

  Alone on the breezy deck, I clutched my bag and my bingo card—not to mention my flapping clothing—close. My cute straw hat had already escaped to be one with the ocean, happily bobbing up and down on the waves. Mike had dashed back into the gift shop for one more postcard, promising to be only a minute. Didn’t matter. I had my mind on the ambiguous bingo card. I knew there were bingo games, as well as many casino-type games on board the ship to titillate the gambler in all of us. But bingo? Seemed way too obvious to be a viable clue. So, I decided the numbers on the card must somehow add up to a direction or a secret code, a message—anything but a silly innocuous game of bingo.

  Glancing at my watch, I realized I’d been preoccupied with the damn card for quite some time. What in the world had happened to Mike? As if reading my thoughts, Michaela Mercer Rosales skipped onto the scene, all smiles and a bit disheveled, like she’d been rushing. She waved something in the air as if I could recognize the significance of the treasure from that distance.

  Panting, Mike skidded to a stop and beamed. “See?” She shoved the small parcel under my nose. “Didn’t I tell you all along that I’d have a clue, too? And I was right. Here it is.”

  “No wonder it took you so long. What happened to, I’ll-just-be-gone-a-minute?”

  She made a face. “I didn’t know I was going back to the room. It just happened. I was picking out a postcard when—bam! My guardian angel told me to high-tail back to my room. I hurried. Honestly, I did. Here I am. And I have my clue.”

  “Your guardian angel. Right. Fine. So open it, already.”

  Mike held the envelope up to the brilliant sunlight, trying to see through to the contents.

  “Here’s a news flash, Mike.” My impatience was getting the best of me. “It’s okay if you go ahead and open the damn thing.”

  Mike wrinkled her nose and ripped open the flap of the envelope. She whipped out two pieces of paper that looked very much like tickets. Well, damn. They were tickets.

  “Weird,” Mike frowned. “You get invited to play bingo, and I get two tickets to-to…” she paused as she squinted at the two-inch rectangles. “Two tickets to the Magic Moment, presented tonight at the Grand Palace.” She looked up, eyebrows in a knot. “Interesting.”

  “Very. But, why? You don’t need tickets for any of the shows. You just arrive, get a seat, and that’s that. So, if you have some sort of tickets, it’s probably because we’re being set up to be cut in half or squirted with seltzer water or forced to levitate from our seats in front of hundreds of people. Believe me, it’s no clue. It’s a set-up.”

  Mike chewed her lower lip for a moment, mired in thought. “Bernie…”

  “Yes?”

  “You are my best friend, right?”

  “Of course,” I responded without hesitation.

  “I mean, I can totally trust you, right?” She already knew the answer. “What I mean is…I shouldn’t suspect anything strange or out of the ordinary from my very best friend, should I?”

  “Oh, for crying out loud, Mike, have you gone completely insane?”

  Mike read my thoughts. “I’m sorry. It’s just that, well, I’m so confused.”

  The poor thing was taking this whole mystery cruise experience to a new level of anxiety.

  “Look, Mike,” I said in my best teacher-knows-best lecture voice, “it’s just a little glitch. This is our first time on a cruise, a mystery cruise at that, and we don’t know what to expect. Remember the letter when we first arrived, the one that said to expect the unexpected? Well, this is it. Now, get hold of yourself, immobilize the girls, and let’s just figure this thing out. This is supposed to be fun. Got that? F-U-N, as in having a good time.”

  “Okay,” Mike replied, mollified for the moment. “But if we go and play bingo, and you win big, I may volunteer you for the part of the show in Magic Moment where they make someone disappear. And in your case, my towering friend, that would take some magic.”

  Yes, we were back to being as near to normal as possible. Recalling these strange events in a few years, I know we’ll howl and joke about these experiences, but not today. Not here…not now…not yet.

  TWENTY-SEVEN

  Tomorrow we’d go ashore at San Juan. The entire day was planned. Even after a full day on board the Mermaid, we hadn’t yet begun to explore our floating city. So much yet to see. The four-lane bowling alley amazed us; the ice skating rink dazzled us, not to mention the miniature golf course right there on the ship’s deck. Yes, impressive, to say the least.

  Endless rows of trendy stores and services beckoned as we window-shopped. Even with our voracious appetites and our incredible will to try everything at least once, it soon became obvious that even we wouldn’t be able to indulge in all the wonders of this enormous ship. At least not on the first full day. After several hours of reconnaissance, we paused in the amazing lobby, the pulsing heart of the ship, near the fountain, to kick off shoes and soak-in the glitz. Then Mike saw her name, along with a list of others, streaming across the message board behind the concierge.

  “Lord, what now?” Mike moaned.

  “Well, go find out,” I said with an exhalation of air.

  Mike hurried to the desk while I sat with my shoes off under the gorgeous palm trees that shot thirty feet straight up to the ceiling in the awesome lobby area. I listened to the chatter of happy passengers, catching an occasional melodious note or two from the mariachi band that strolled along the deck promenade. I must’ve dozed, for I awoke with a start.

  Taken aback and a little annoyed, I found Hernando sitting beside me, smiling his enigmatic little smile. He tipped his Panama hat with the flowery purple hatband, touched the back of my hand, then placed a key in my open palm. With a slight bow, he got to his feet and melted into the crowd just released from the movie theater.

  To say I was stunned would be an understatement. The second time I’d met with Hernando and Mike nowhere in sight. No small wonder she was suspicious of me. I would be, too, under similar circumstances. And now, she was off retrieving some ridiculous emergency message or whatever, and was already feeling left out of the game. Wait until she learned about the key.

  Gawking about, I spied Mike, striding toward me with purpose, confidence, and, dare I say it? Smug superiority. She waved a medium-sized brown envelope like a banner. I palmed the tiny key and placed my hand behind my back. No point antagonizing her right now. Let her have her moment.

  “Bernie!” Mike shouted. “Bernie. Another clue. Waiting for me at the concierge desk. Whew. Now I’m being deluged with clues. Don’t know how they manage to keep all the details straight, with thousands of passengers on board. But here I am with yet another clue.” Mike almost broke into a dance.

  She tore open the brown envelope, withdrew a single piece of paper, and scanned the page. When her eyebrows retreated into her wispy bangs, I knew something was up. She groaned. “Oh, for crying out loud.”

  “What? What does it say?”

  “The stupid thing is a cryptic message about some sort of scavenger hunt. I’ve been instructed to go from place to place, collecting items along the way, and will be rewarded with another piece of the puzzle when I’m finished. Oh, and I’ve been cautioned to do it alone.” She looked at me and bit her lip. “Darn it all. I don’t want to do it by myself. And, I don’t see how going on a scavenger hunt will help me collect information about Benjamin’s disappearance.” Mike puffed out her cheeks and blew out a lungful of air.

  “Well,” I interjected, “maybe there’ll be other people to talk to along the
way, or maybe you’ll bump into someone who witnessed something, and you’ll cleverly put it all together.” I tried to sound positive.

  “Yeah, that’s possible,” Mike agreed. “But what will you do while I’m on a wild goose chase? Play bingo? What if you come across some evidence that proves that Ben didn’t really disappear after all?”

  Before I could comment further, a booming announcement over the loudspeaker invited all males to line up for the Men’s Sexiest Legs Contest. Mike and I looked at each other, wrinkled our noses, shook our heads, shrugged our shoulders, and then practically shoved each other out of the way to bolt for the elevator to the upper deck.

  TWENTY-EIGHT

  The most hilarious thing I’d ever witnessed. The Men’s Sexiest Legs Contest. Males of all ages, shapes, and sizes. Bony legs, hairy legs, skinny, lumpy, bumpy, tanned, shaved, pale and bowed legs posed for the event. Men and women and even some children circled the pool area, ready to be entertained…and shocked. The contestants gathered at the far end of the Dolphin King Pool. The judges—five volunteers from the crowd of onlookers—sat at a small table with number cards for flashing scores.

  Bawdy music heralded the parade of hopefuls, and the men strutted their stuff up and down the pool deck area, many improvising with hysterical dance steps designed to sway the crowd and influence the judges.

  Everyone cheered favorites, and a few were fairly respectable and legitimate contestants. Still, the real crowd-pleasers were among the senior set, and the winning legs belonged to a septuagenarian whose milky white legs had probably never ever seen the light of day before that very moment. He impetuously threw caution to the Caribbean trade winds, fueled up on a margarita or two, hiked up his droopy, baggy swimming trunks—baggy everything, for that matter—and sashayed to the throbbing music, bumping and grinding along the way.

  I know he got the sympathy votes, but he obviously got the popular votes as well. I marveled at his youthful enthusiasm until I saw him join his trophy wife for a congratulatory smooch as he accepted his banner and crown. His youngish wife was suffering from poppage in her too-tight, too-bright, protesting bikini, but Mr. Legs didn’t seem to mind one bit.

  Mike and I laughed until we cried, probably because we both envisioned Jack and Joe posing for the cheering crowds. “Oh, Lord, Lord. My Jack would be absolutely mortified if I asked him to do that,” I chuckled.

  “Yeah? Well, I suspect my Joe would consider himself a viable and legitimate contestant. Gosh, I’m glad he’s not here.”

  Wiping away tears, we vowed to write that story on a postcard for general enjoyment back home. Still chuckling, we strolled along the vast deck, absorbing some glorious sunshine. Mike glanced at her watch and let out a puff of air. “Darn. I guess I’d better accomplish my mystery task before dinner and the Magic Show. Wish you could help.”

  “Me, too, but we’d better stick to the rules for now.”

  Mike fished the piece of paper from her pocket and stared at it. “Okay, fine, but before I go…what the heck is a Mai haini? It’s the first item on the list.”

  “Hell if I know.”

  “Fine. I’ll just go from shop to shop, searching for it.” She made a face and marched off toward the gift shops.

  Feeling adrift, I headed for the Blingo Bingo Lounge, determined to ascertain why I’d received the card. So far, we were both totally confused. I do believe that was the object of this entire mystery cruise: to confuse us, entertain us, challenge us, guide and misguide us, tease, taunt, and tempt.

  I approached the lounge with misgiving, but as I hesitated at the threshold, the cheerful attendants welcomed me and showed me to a comfortable table.

  When I reached into my bag and retrieved the card, I realized it was quite different from the ones everyone else was using. The smiling attendant noticed my confusion, glanced at my card, nodded, and asked me to follow him. Aware I was the center of attention, I arose from the comfy seat and followed the young man to a table behind an imposing fern. You guessed it: Hernando. Why was I not surprised?

  Once again, just the two of us. These cozy tête-à-têtes were beginning to annoy me. Mike was off on some wild goose chase or other, while I kept having all of these up-close-and-personal encounters with the dapper Hernando. Was my bingo card only an invitation—ridiculously dramatic—to meet with the Mystery Cruise Director? I couldn’t imagine how the Caribbean Mermaid could possibly have dedicated all this time and attention to me, to Mike, plus all the other hapless participants in this crazy mystery game.

  “Ms Bernadette, I presume?” inquired Hernando, dripping with honey.

  “You know who I am.”

  “Ah, yes…indeed.” The hint of a smirk? “Please, senora. Sit down.”

  A tiny bit embarrassed, yet fascinated by the progression of events that had lead me to a clandestine rendezvous in a Bingo Lounge aboard the Caribbean Mermaid, I dropped into the chair across from him. The whole bizarre thing made me want to laugh, too. And just thinking about poor Mike, rattled and stressed as she rushed from one end of this enormous vessel to the other, in search of trash and treasure, was enough to bring on hysterical mirth.

  But back to Hernando.

  “Senora,” His voice purred. “I have something of value to share with you.” He reached inside his immaculate white jacket and withdrew a small seashell-adorned box. Latched with a tiny padlock, the gaudy thing glistened in the iridescent glow from the chandeliers.

  I dropped my eyes to the elegant box, and then squinted back at the, oh-so-debonair and dashing gentleman. Without a word, he placed the box in my extended hands, stood, bowed from the waist and turned to leave. Just like that.

  “Wait! I have a question. Actually, I have several questions.”

  Hernando looked at me over one broad shoulder. A crooked little grin twitched his mustache. “I am but the messenger, dear lady. My task here is accomplished.” With a salute, Hernando disappeared among the throng of people.

  From across the room, a loud, screeching “Bingo!” startled me back to reality. I stumbled to my feet to get the heck out of the Blingo Bingo Lounge. I realized I no longer needed the card, and tossed it into a nearby trash container. Clutching my new bejeweled box, I headed for my cabin to open the treasure in private.

  Wending my way through the moving mob, I caught a glimpse of the mother/daughter duo, Charmaine and Veronica Preston. The two were radiant in matching hot pink shorts and cropped tops, exposing their muffin-top abdomens for all the world to see. So funny how some women are determined to wear whatever is in style regardless of how the clothing looks on their time-ravaged torsos. These two had obviously perused the pages of current fashion magazines but hadn’t zeroed in that having a body to match the styles was prerequisite to actually appearing in public wearing said styles.

  Before I could ditch, they spotted me and behaved as if I was a long-lost cousin. Waving wildly, flashing toothy grins, and calling all sorts of attention to themselves, they rushed over.

  “Hey, girl.” Charmaine sidled up to me and gave me an enormous hug.

  Veronica managed a scary leer. “Hey, there, Miss Bernie. How’re you and Mikey doin’?”

  “Good, good.” I smiled and nodded, already looking all around for an excuse to escape. “Mike and I have split up for a little bit, but we’ll be meeting soon to get ready for dinner. What have you two girlfriends been up to?”

  “Mostly shoppin’ but we did check out the Limbo Contest on the Serenade Deck. Mama an’ me stole the show, didn’t we Mama? Getting’ down lower and lower, bendin’ and bumpin’, scared to death that somethin’ was gonna bust open right out in public and all…and finally the activity director just declared us winners rather than have us bend over any more. I guess he knows winners when he sees ’em, right Mama?” Veronica rattled without breathing.

  “So,” Charmaine barged in, smiling broadly as if we actually liked each other, “If y’all want to tease your hubbies when you get back home, they got more of these sexy little n
umbers.” She pulled a flimsy piece of gauzy material from her bag and held it up. The ridiculous thing wouldn’t have covered my left foot. Then the woman had the audacity to give me a saucy wink. “I mean, you’re never too old for some hot nooky. Right?”

  O-o-okay. I decided to remove myself from the situation before I slapped both of them silly. “You know, I just remembered something I need to take care of back in my room. Got to go. See you both at dinner.”

  I left the two bimbos and their mirth. Airheads.

  TWENTY-NINE

  When I arrived back at my room, I found Mike struggling with her cabin door. She juggled her purse and a new hemp shoulder bag with a gaudy pelican emblazoned on the front and assorted plastic bags protruding from the unzipped flap. Mike seemed more than glad to see me. I opened my mouth to rant about the annoying Charmaine and Veronica duet when Mike launched into a verbal barrage.

  “Bernie. Oh, Lord. You just won’t believe what happened. I can’t believe it…the world’s gone bonkers…and damn this thing,” Mike huffed while pushing against the door, twisting the knob, and zipping the plastic swipe card in and out of the slot.

  “Mike,” I interjected, “Just slow down and do one thing at a time and you’ll be okay.”

  The seventh swipe did the trick, and Mike almost tumbled into her room. She flung her bag on the bed, spilling most of the contents onto the spread and the carpet. She faced me, poised for dramatic effect.

  “Well?” I asked, hands on what were once hips, eyebrows raised with impatience and amusement—subtle innuendo all lost on her, of course.

  “Lo-ret-ta.” Mike announced, in much the same way one would introduce the Pope, or announce that dinner is served at the White House.