Don't Rock the Boat

by Cathie Wayland

  “No way,” I gasped, appalled yet amused by the way Mike and Loretta seemed destined or doomed to cross paths again and again. “Serendipity?”

  “Not hardly,” Mike snapped. “Serendipity implies a happy event that comes about quite by chance, and you’re delighted by an unexplained lack of planning that results in pure, unadulterated joy.”

  “Never travel with a former English teacher unless you want a lecture on word meanings at the very stupidest of times.”

  Mike ignored me, as usual, and went on with her story in her own animated style, complete with facial expressions, hand gestures, and numerous body tics that were beyond her control. She was merely excited, but to the less experienced eye, she appeared either possessed or involved in some mysterious ritualistic dance or other.

  “There I was, dashing all around the boat—”

  “Ship,” I interrupted, correcting her.

  “Yes, of course, ship. And just as I was removing the teensiest little piece of felt from one of the lifeboats—”

  “You did what?” I interrupted again. “You were shredding material off a lifeboat?”

  “Felt. Felt was on my list, and anyway—say…stop interrupting me. Now, where was I? Oh, yeah, Loretta. Oh, and by the way. You know that word I didn’t understand? Mai haini? Well. I asked this stupid clerk if she knew what it was and where I could find it, and she had the nerve to explode with laughter. She said, and I quote, ‘Your hiney? I guess it’s where it should be—right behind you.’”

  I choked back a cackle and she continued, “Anyway. I took just the teensiest piece of felt from underneath one of the seats in the boat, and when I turned around, I smelled—yes, smelled—smoke. Someone was sneaking a cigarette on board the ship, and my sensitive bloodhound nose detected the scent and…well, a cigarette just happened to be the next item on the list of impossible stuff I’m supposed to find, and of course it’s so absolutely ridiculous, seeing this is a smoke-free ship except in that one place designated for the nasty habit, and there by the lifeboats sure as heck wasn’t it—s” Mike paused to take a life-saving breath.

  “Go on,” I encouraged but glanced at my watch to remind her that time was not standing still aboard the Caribbean Mermaid while she recounted every nano-second of her life during the past hour.

  “Okay, okay. So, I tiptoed around the lifeboat to peek at the rule-breaker and maybe ask him or her to give me a cigarette in exchange for my silence, when I came face to face with her.” Mike paused and wrinkled her nose. “Can you believe it? Her.”

  “Oh, for God’s sake, Mike, just give me the punch line and get on with the story.”

  “Loretta.” She stated as if that one word settled everything. “Of all the could-be smokers aboard this ship, it had to be Loretta. That awful woman once again crossed my path when I least expected it. And—here’s the worst part—I needed something from her. After all our horrific encounters, I had to humble myself and ask her for a cigarette, so I could complete my list.” With that revelation, Mike dropped onto the edge of the bed and stared at me, waiting for my reaction.

  “And?” I asked, just a little annoyed at this point.

  “What do you mean, and?” Mike whined. “Don’t you see where all this is going? I’m doomed. I’m doomed to be haunted by Loretta throughout this entire trip. So, there I was staring at her smoking like she hadn’t a care in the world. I didn’t know what to do next, but I did know that I was doomed to being humbled—brought to my knees like a penitent servant in the Middle Ages during extreme serfdom.”

  Mike also taught social studies.

  “For crying out loud, Mike, don’t be so damned theatrical. Did you get the cigarette or not?”

  “Wait. There’s more.” Mike grimaced. “So, there I was, forehead to triple chins with Loretta, a giant Amazon of a woman—”

  “Watch it. Some of the best people you know are giant women.”

  Mike rolled her eyes. “Bernie, please. Let me finish.” She cleared her throat. “Okay. Where was I? Oh, yeah. I stepped forward and looked up at Loretta, and she positively glared down at me. If looks could kill, Bernie, it would be my corpse the Mystery Club would be trying to resurrect. Anyway…I said something clever and original like, ‘Lovely afternoon, isn’t it,’ and she just kept glaring at me. And then that’s when all hell broke loose.”

  Knowing that this was my clue to encourage her, I stared at her with no expression, just to rile her up. It worked.

  “Bernie!”

  “I’m listening.”

  “Okay. Well, I looked at her and tried to talk, but she made the ugliest face like she was so annoyed and perturbed, and then guess who arrived on the scene?” Mike’s eyes lit up.

  I continued to stare, not moving a muscle.

  Mike made a face then blurted, “Hernando. You remember the dashingly-handsome Hernando, who gave the introduction to the mystery cruise, don’t you?”

  “Ye-e-e-s-s.” I wondered how my Hernando fit into Mike’s little encounter with Loretta. “Yes, I remember him. So what?”

  “Well, just when it looked as if Loretta was going to take a swing at me, Hernando sidled up, kissed both our hands, asked us if we were enjoying the cruise so far, and then disappeared into the lounge.”

  “But did you get the cigarette?” I asked in my best annoying principal-in-charge tone.

  “That’s the funniest part, Bernie. After Hernando walked away, Loretta took out a cigarette, handed it to me, and then waddled off into the sunset. Just like that, she disappeared. I had the cigarette. And Hernando knew both of us, or acted like he did. How’s that for excitement?”

  Not wanting to burst her bubble, I decided to pass on telling her my own tales of the dashing Hernando, or even mentioning my new clue. I would tell her about the bingo card if it came up, but for now, Mike was back in the game, and happy. Sometimes it’s best to leave well enough alone and…well, I’d had enough for one day. I was exhausted.

  THIRTY

  In just a little over an hour, we were scheduled to arrive at the Starboard Star, a very elegant, steak and champagne-style dining experience, as advertised on our well-worn travel brochures. Now, everyone knows that cruises are an eclectic mix of elegant and campy, casual and formal, unexpected and predictable, but tonight we dressed for dinner.

  That meant we left the too-cute capris and blousy but chic tops behind. At 6:05, we donned our drop-dead gorgeous sequined cling blouses over elegant filmy, flowing organza trousers. For an added dramatic effect, I chose sultry black, while Mike was a shimmering vision in dazzling white. Yes, salt and pepper never complemented each other as well as the two of us. 6:45 found us strolling toward the posh restaurant as though we had the world in our pockets.

  Arriving early, we stood at the headwaiter’s stand and waited to be seated. From behind, a myriad of voices chatted about inconsequential things. Could anything be lovelier than a cruise?

  “You know,” Mike sighed, “this is just so nice. We’ll have a wonderful dinner then turn in early so we can be up and ready tomorrow for our first port of call.”

  Before I could comment, the waiter motioned for us to follow him. With flair and a choreographed poise, he ushered us to a sparkling table for two.

  Mike beamed as she eased into her chair. “Gosh, Bernie, I feel like royalty. Let’s enjoy this evening and put this tiresome day behind us. Just for tonight, let’s forget about nasty ol’ Loretta and clues and mysteries and enjoy our dinner. Okay?”

  “Okay with me.” I laid my dinner napkin across my knees and reached for the champagne flute. We tapped glasses and downed the champagne like two thirsty pirates, home from a month of pillaging. Our waiter handed each of us an elegantly embossed, black satin-covered menu, and we opened them to peruse the delightful delicacies awaiting us.

  Mike’s head bobbed up and our startled eyes met over the tops of the parchment-like pages. Clipped inside our dinner menus, right smack dab above the scrumptious descriptions of petite filet mignon and peca
n encrusted tilapia were identical notes written in an impressive calligraphy.

  In unison, we read, “Trust No one. Suspect everyone. You are on the verge of a discovery.”

  Mike pursed her lips, lay her menu down and frowned. “Whatever.”

  “Whatever? Whatever? Is that all you can say?”

  “Yes. They’re probably watching us this very minute. Let’s not give them the satisfaction of knowing how much their little theatrics are bothering us.”

  “So you agree this bothers you.”

  “Of course, Bernadette. You know I hate being left out of the loop. This day has been nothing but one big headache for me. I want to enjoy my dinner. I may even have two desserts. Slip your pretty little note into your purse, and we’ll discuss it later…alone…where there’s no chance of someone overhearing us. Okay?”

  Feeling like a heroine in a grade-B movie, I did just that.

  * * * *

  Two hours and thirteen minutes later found me back in my cabin, in my nightgown, more than ready to unwind. I sat on the edge of the bed and stared at the tiny box with the even tinier padlock. I picked up the key—the key that promised discovery and intrigue—and glanced once over my shoulder as if expecting someone to burst in on me at any moment. What was this—The Orient Express?

  With the delicate skill of a surgeon, I inserted the key in the lock; one quick twist and the padlock snapped open. I removed the lock and ever so cautiously lifted the lid. Inside was a folded piece of ship’s stationery. The message was simple but significant.

  As close as next door, the person of interest resides.

  Give me a break. After all that hype, my amazing message revealed nothing more profound than that my own little buddy, my pal, Mike, might be a person of interest? Oh, please. I mean, really! Couldn’t they come up with something better than that? Then doubts started pecking at my resolve. Could it be possible?

  Oh, for crying out loud! No! Heavens, no!

  My mind reeled. Okay…I’d bite. I’d suppose for a minute that Mike was in on this deception—which was rather like supposing Martians built Disney World. Mike, in league with the perpetrators? Could that even be in the same universe of probable happenings? The same Mike who couldn’t get away with a lie if her life depended on it?

  Okay, I’d opened the door on that line of thinking, so…supposing Mike was involved, did she even know she was the subject of my inquiry and quest? Of course, since I’d been warned over and over to trust no one—and I’m sure that meant Mike—and to suspect everyone—again, including Mike—wasn’t there just the inkling of doubt that she and I were following random yet highly specialized clues?

  Or maybe all this cloak and dagger stuff was just a test. Would Mike have set me up on this mystery cruise just to have the ultimate last laugh between friends? That seemed highly unlikely. But, for the moment, the image of her smiling face and smug expression tweaked my competitive nature. I decided the chase had officially begun, and I fully intended to win.

  But.

  Not if it was at the expense of my friend.

  Somehow I’d afford her the chance to save face, graciously acquiesce and acknowledge me as the winner. To do that, I’d need to play the game a bit longer. I could only imagine what was going on right next door at that very moment. It crossed my mind, for an eye-blink, that perhaps Mike was as deeply involved as I, and that she suspected me of some sort of subterfuge. Suspecting her was one thing, but Mike suspecting me was an entirely different story.

  A sudden moment of clarity flashed as I realized I was blowing this entire situation out of proportion. How could Mike ever, in a million years, think she could put anything over on me? After all, we were the best of friends. Right? We’d decided to come on this cruise together and attack the mystery, together. There was no way we could be or should be working against each other at all.

  So, if she had clues and I had clues, and the story was all about a jolly crewman who’d disappeared, then why would the Mystery Cruise personnel suggest to players that suspects were hiding in every corner? Plain as the nose on my face. If we were distracted from the real goal and put all our energy toward suspecting our nearest and dearest, then we’d never get anywhere. Clever. Very clever.

  That settled, I set the box on my nightstand and got into bed. Tomorrow loomed on the horizon and I needed my sleep. The damn mystery wouldn’t let go, however, and I lay there in the dark listening to the night sounds aboard the Caribbean Mermaid. I couldn’t trust Hernando or Marco or Margarita. I couldn’t trust anybody. Maybe it was best to hide the fact that I was wise to their diversionary tactics. Let the Mystery Cruise crew concentrate on someone else. Let them think they had me in a quandary. They probably wanted Mike and me out of the way since it was obvious we knew what we were doing—had experience with solving mysteries. Yes. That was it. I’d just have to see what tomorrow would bring, and play dumb along the way. I was qualified for that role.

  THIRTY-ONE

  Bright and early, we tumbled onto the Promenade Deck to disembark for fabulous Puerto Rico. Overnight, the Caribbean Mermaid had glided through tropical waters and made port. Cruise ships are magical, transporting you from one paradise to another, connected by sea breezes and sunshine and smiles. And now, the sun was shining in all its glory as hundreds of anxious passengers impatiently awaited their turns to explore the wonders of this tropical heaven.

  From my lofty view, the sea of bobbing heads, festive hats, and brilliant colors danced and sashayed toward the gates. Mike, on the other hand, had a limited view of the backside of a portly gentleman in a sleeveless shirt, khaki shorts listing dangerously low beneath his belly, white tube socks and canvas deck shoes.

  “What’s going on up there?” Mike fretted. “Why aren’t we moving? Is there a traffic jam of some sort?”

  I laughed. It was sort of like traveling with a small child who whined “are we there yet?” every two minutes or so. I threatened to place her on my shoulders so she could see better, but she balked at the idea. I really was sympathetic to her limited view so swallowed a sarcastic retort. Anyway, the line moved ever forward, and soon we all tumbled into the melee that was marvelous San Juan.

  Palm trees swayed in time to the music of the streets. Vendors shouted to us from brightly decorated stands. A thousand-and-one sights, sounds, and smells soon overloaded our senses. At one point, we stopped just to take it all in. An amazing place.

  We’d read all the travel brochures, of course, so had been warned about spending all our money at the first souvenir stand we reached. Sort of like rushing to the gas station nearest the highway. Tourists often paid premium prices thirty yards from the ship when a few blocks down the road bargains galore awaited the clever shopper. Mike and I sauntered down the dusty but scenic roads—purses pressed close to our sides. Eager vendors beckoned us into their shops to inspect their wares, but we charged through the common areas, eager to find something unique and inexpensive, cute and crafty, delightful beyond words, and worthy of purchase.

  We’d also been cautioned to avoid the side roads and the less traveled paths for safety’s sake, and we would. We’d use the Easter Egg Hunt approach. In an old-fashioned Easter egg hunt, everyone always stops and scoops up the first eggs they find, going for the sure thing, and the egg supply dwindles rapidly. However, if you charge to the absolute back edge of the egg field, ignoring the obvious little gems along the way, you can grab lots of eggs and maybe even come across the grand prize. You merely had to be clever.

  So many incredible treasures to seize and inspect, turn and twist and hold up to the light. I thought we’d never be able to arrive at an item to actually purchase. However, two hours later, Mike and I each were the proud owners of worthless, gaudy trinkets. Jack would shake his head in disbelief when he saw I’d purchased a scantily clad mermaid perched upon a dried starfish—in remembrance of the Caribbean Mermaid, of course.

  Mike had already started planning how to explain to Joe that she’d spent real dollars
on yet another piece of sea glass jewelry, which, the clerk assured us, was one of a kind and an original. Right.

  As soon as we walked away, she probably replaced the sold item with an exact duplicate, made in Taiwan. At least my souvenir was trash and I admitted it. Mike, on the other hand, was extraordinarily pleased with the shrewd deal she’d struck with the salesclerk. She’d paid at least two dollars less than the quoted price—a whopping thirty-dollar purchase. Joe’d be sick if he only knew the extent of her careless, albeit shrewd, abandon.

  Making our way back in the general direction of the dock, we looked for some cute bistro for lunch. Both slaves to the clock and schedules, we were already worried about missing the ship’s departure time, even though we’d at least four more hours to enjoy lovely San Juan.

  We decided to stroll all the way down to the gorgeous white sand beach, stretch out on a lounge chair under some dancing palm trees, and enjoy a liquid lunch served to us, complete with tropical fruit and parasols. Yes, life was good, and about to become even better. We located our picture postcard niche along the beach and after settling in and ordering drinks let the conversation drift to the inevitable: the mystery.

  Time to tell Mike about Hernando and my strange excursion into the bingo world. Before I could begin, however, our lithe, tanned young waiter appeared with two gorgeous drinks, umbrellas and all. Mike and I took the drinks and clicked our glasses together. I inquired about the charge.

  “Thirty dollars, senora,” the young man without so much as batting an eye.

  “Thirty dollars! Are you kidding me? These drinks are fifteen dollars each?”

  “But, si, senora. You ordered two Grande Supremos.”

  I winced but dug into my purse. “Oh my gawd. I suppose you can’t take them back? No, I didn’t think so. Fine. Here.” I peeled two twenties from my diminishing wad of spending loot and practically threw the money at the poor waiter, while Mike burbled and bubbled with mirth.