Don't Rock the Boat

by Cathie Wayland

  “I guess I won’t have Ramón and the sea breeze thrown up to me anymore, right Miss Knowzitall?”

  It wasn’t funny. I was really ticked off. I decided to delay telling Mike about Hernando and my newest thoughts on our adventure. Still fuming, I sipped on my more-precious-than-platinum cocktail. But three heartbeats later, a grin spread across my face.

  Okay, it was a little funny.

  THIRTY-TWO

  Determined to enjoy every frothy drop of the expensive beverages, Mike and I lingered for well over an hour. After all, we had palm trees, sand, and sea breezes owed us, and we aimed to collect. Half-dozing in the sultry, shade spangled afternoon sun, I watched Mike nod off, probably dreaming of lovely bottles being tossed and turned by the sea, eventually becoming bits and pieces of treasured sea glass. My mind, on the other hand, paged through the events of the past few days, until I was convinced that the more I knew the less I knew…if you know what I mean.

  We had a nice young man missing…or maybe not. We had random clues, disconnected and bereft of rhyme or reason. Mike and I were not even on the same page when it came to clues, concepts or crimes. How could we ever figure this out? Mysterious notes appeared clipped to menus in swanky restaurants. Little black boxes and padlocked jewelry cases came and went. Bingo cards and cigarettes and God-knew-what-else comprised the menagerie of random incidents and icons. Lots to keep our minds churning and turning.

  Mike stirred, stretched lazily in her lounge chair, and smiled at me over the top of her sunglasses. “I guess we’d better head back to the ship,” she sighed.

  “Oh, I think we have a few more minutes,” I replied, determined to squeeze every ounce of enjoyment from the beach time. “I just can’t seem to get enough of this.” I waved a hand. “Look at it all. Amazing. Especially for a Midwest girl.”

  For several minutes, we watched the endless parade of sun-worshippers strolling along the beach, splashing in the surf, skimming with body boards across the crystal waters, and making their bids for attention. The variety and spectacle was endless. Bodies of all shapes and sizes, men and women, young and not so young, comprised the pageant. Like I said, amazing.

  From the corner of my eye, I noticed that something, or someone, was causing a ripple of reaction from the otherwise self-absorbed crowd.

  “Oh, my gawd,” I murmured, as the crowds parted to allow the passage of a beachcomber, gone mad. “Impossible.”

  “What? What?” Mike sat up and gazed all around until she too gaped like an idiot. “It can’t be.”

  Stalking down the beach, flinging sand left and right from flopping, popping sandals, an absolute explosion of female pulchritude made her way along the shoreline. From the front, the woman’s shock of bright red hair sprang around the corners of her floppy-brimmed hat like rusty corkscrews. Oversized white, heart-shaped sunglasses perched upon her sun-reddened nose. The black spandex swimsuit with its short skirt protested as it tried in vain to hug every curve, roll and bump of her torso.

  The top was several sizes too small for her expansive bosom. Far more assaulted the eye, via skin and reckless femininity, than was technically legal. The back of the suit was even worse. A plunging, protesting strip of black stretchy material, ending in sort of a waistband, then disappearing altogether into a thong—yes, a thong—assaulted any hapless onlooker.

  No wonder the crowd parted in silent awe and stupefaction. The woman’s lips, a bright coral orange, were parted in an enormous smile, which she flashed to the appreciative crowd. Did I say flash? She flashed much more than a mere smile.

  Mike and I held our breaths as Loretta, Mike’s nemesis, and the epitome of what has gone wrong with women in general, strutted her stuff along the sandy beach.

  “I cannot believe it,” Mike muttered. “I am not witnessing this. I’m not.”

  “The woman’s a complete nightmare. I’ll be dreaming of this for years to come.”

  Shaking my head, I followed the incredible vision down the beach. I had to hand it to her, though. I mean, here was one of our own, a sister, a woman among women, who dared to bare more than what good taste allowed just because she wanted to. Part of me felt acute revulsion, while the other part celebrated this vision of independence. Every flamboyant inch of Loretta screamed ‘To Hell with the Scoffers! Down with Disbelievers Everywhere! Enjoy the Sand and the Surf and expose Pearly White body parts to the Unblinking Sun while you Can.’

  Yes, Loretta, I hear you.

  You go, girl.

  THIRTY-THREE

  All things considered, our first venture into a tropical port had been a success. We returned to the Mermaid well before curfew, convinced that a nap was in order before this evening’s gala dining event with our appointed partners in cuisine. We hadn’t seen too much of the group, except for the brief sighting of Charmaine and Veronica Preston, and of course the unsavory encounter with Dr. Kingston Connolly.

  Then again, there was also the occasion when two of our tablemates, Stan and Melanie Wilhelm, rescued us from the brig, admitting they were ship’s security personnel. So, I guess all things considered, it was really only Clarice Juergensmeier we hadn’t seen for two days and nights. You would’ve thought Clarice would be easy to spot since she was so timid and mousy. I doubted she wandered far from her cabin except to dine, or venture topside to gaze into the sunset with chiffon scarves floating on the breeze, awaiting the handsome sailing man of her dreams. Actually, that sounds more like Mike than Clarice, but since Mike had already landed her dream man, I allowed the image to be transferred to the demure Clarice.

  We were trudging toward our rooms, burdened with parcels and purse, when Mike stopped short. Mike was always short, but this time she stopped dead in her tracks, raised stricken eyes to mine, and gasped.

  “What is up with you?” I asked. “Too much sun?”

  “Bernie, it just dawned on me that we haven’t seen that cute waiter Ramón for a while.”

  “Mike,” I sighed, “there are thousands of passengers and personnel on board this ship. So we haven’t seen Ramón. So what? I mean, yes, he’s a cute little guy who sells fancy drinks, is sun-tanned, fit, and drop-dead gorgeous.” Like a ton of bricks, it hit me. “But,yeah…you’re right. Where the heck is Ramón? Please don’t tell me another crew member has gone missing.”

  “Oh, Bernie, this is terrible. Two nice guys disappear. What is going on around here? This mystery was supposed to be fun. Having people just drop off the face of the earth is not fun. I liked Ramón. Didn’t you? I bet that evil Loretta has something to do with all this. I wouldn’t put it past her. One of them probably said or did something to make her mad and she pushed him overboard. Lord, what a way to die.”

  “Slow down. I can’t even keep up with the race your mind is running against itself. Okay, but think about this. Maybe Ramón was just transferred to a different location, or another deck, or works the casino from time-to-time,” I suggested.

  “Well, yes, all of those ideas do contain a shred of sense. However. What if Ramón fell overboard for real, and the crew is covering it up so people won’t panic? I mean, the Benjamin thing is probably all part of the pretend mystery, but Ramón falling overboard kind of throws a spanner in the works, if you know what I mean. It’s up to us to determine what happened and…don’t you get it, Bernie?” Mike ran both hands through her short hair in exasperation. “There’s trouble in River City. Ramón is missing for real.”

  “Hmmmmm,” I drawled as if seriously contemplating Mike’s latest stroll into The Twilight Zone. “Sure, I guess that could happen.” I counted to six. “But, I doubt it did.” I put a hand up to stop the rebuttal I knew was coming. “Just a minute. I know I acted like I thought it strange we hadn’t seen Ramón around lately, but—”

  “Yeah, b—”

  “But. After thinking it through, I really don’t think anything bad has befallen our comely waiter. He hasn’t fallen overboard. He’s either working another station or has a nasty cold or is just plain taking a break
.” Another idea struck. “Or he left the ship in San Juan.”

  “Okay, Miss I-Know-Everything-Worth-Knowing. Maybe you’re right.” Mike’s lower lip formed a pout. “But I won’t be able to relax until I know for sure. Bad enough to think that nice Mr. Browning is missing. Hate to worry whether Ramón is or isn’t—missing, I mean.”

  “Look, Mike.” I let go a dramatic sigh, which I knew would really tick her off. “It’s been a long day, and we’re tired, and we have a lovely dinner in two hours. Let’s just get to our rooms, unwind, and start over again with the wild speculations after a nap and shower.”

  Mike was not so easily derailed from her snit. She ranted and raved all the way down the hall. At our rooms, the toe tapping and the heaving of the chest started. But then she deflated, nodded in resignation and began the battle of the door. I suspected her rant was staged for effect, and that she was absolutely and positively well informed about what was going on because she was at the vortex of this absurd cyclone. Yet, she felt obliged to pretend and play the game, so I would dutifully go along with her seeming lack of direction.

  Frankly, I was impressed and amazed by my own cleverness and ability to manipulate the situation. An absolute joy. Getting into the cabin could be a challenge on occasion, but this time her card slipped in and out of the entry port, and she disappeared. I opened my own door, and noted that, as usual, every detail was in impeccable order. The ship’s daily newsletter awaited me; the carpet was newly vacuumed; a lovely single orchid in a crystal vase brought a soft sweetness to the tiny room.

  Kicking off my sandals, I flopped on the bed with the newsletter to take a moment to read the news of this week’s world, the world of sand and sunshine. The front page contained a listing of the next day’s activities and special events. Maybe something would be just right for the two of us.

  Belly flop contest at the Dolphin King Pool? Nope.

  Rock-climbing extravaganza at the rock-climbing wall? Nope.

  Backward Bowling? We couldn’t even bowl frontward.

  Pastry-eating Contest? Now that one was a distinct possibility.

  I must have dozed off, for I was taken by surprise by pounding on my cabin door. I shuffled over to let Mike in, and was further taken off guard when I was handed a message from a steward. He tipped his cap, wished me a pleasant day, and disappeared down the narrow hallway. No sounds came from Mike’s room so I knew she’d decided to take that desperately needed snooze. I ripped open the small, cream-colored envelope and read the message:

  Trust no one. Suspect everybody. Come to the Sea Winds Ice Cream Parlor immediately for your next clue. Time is of the essence. Do not delay.

  I folded the paper and shoved it into the pocket of my capris. Executing a frantic search for the room card and shoes, I let myself out, careful to avoid any unnecessary noise that might alarm or alert my napping buddy. I dutifully pinned on my Mystery Cruise button and headed for the elevator. A minute later, I was wise enough to determine that it’d be a great idea to know where I was going. I didn’t recall the ice cream shop, so I tapped the shoulder of uniformed young man on the main deck. He turned and flashed a dazzling smile. Ramón!

  “Well, Ramón,” I said, a bit confused and delighted all at once. “We haven’t seen you for some time. I’m happy to see you’re okay.” I smiled so wide it hurt.

  Ramón returned my smile, a look of confusion flitting across his handsome face. “Si. How may I be of service to you, Miss?”

  “Oh, well, uh…I’m looking for the Sea Winds Ice Cream Parlor. Can you direct me?”

  “Of course. It is easiest if you simply follow your friend. I have just given her the directions. See? There she goes.”

  I gazed along Ramón’s pointed finger and spotted—I’d know that derriere anywhere—one Michaela Mercer Rosales. Well, that little stinker. There she was, tooling off to the ice cream place, and she hadn’t even told me…after worrying about him half the night, she hadn’t let me know she’d seen him. Then it hit me that whatever I’d been tempted to say to express my anger and resentment just wouldn’t fly. I was doing the same damn thing. Mike had simply beaten me to it. Well, trust no one included me.

  This promised to be interesting. I set off in hot pursuit, shoving a hand into my pocket to finger the tiny compass, reassuring myself that I had it with me just in case…in case, well, who knew what would happen next. I wanted to be prepared for any- and everything, even when I’d no clue why I’d need a compass on board a cruise ship in the first place.

  Good thing we didn’t sail through the Bermuda Triangle…at least, I didn’t think we did. Wouldn’t that be the frosting on the cake?

  THIRTY-FOUR

  Following Mike wasn’t as easy as I’d expected. She moved pretty well for a woman of her age. Important that I avoid referring to Mike as an older lady or a senior, since she was six months younger than I. Anyway, she was surprisingly agile. She made a beeline for wherever she was headed, and looked neither left nor right along the way.

  I realized, with just the slightest bit of annoyance tinged with a humor that she thought she was so darn clever slipping out like that. It further annoyed me that she hadn’t shared this latest clue or hint or trick, or whatever. As the Queen of the Double Standard, I felt little to no remorse withholding information from her. After all, on the high seas, it was every woman for herself. The justice of the mighty Caribbean overruled the law of mere land.

  Okay…I wouldn’t buy any of that, either.

  Mike dodged in and out among the happy vacationers and paused only once along the way to check her reflection in the window of a shell shop on the top deck. She poked at her hair, adjusted her blousy top over her hips, smoothed her slacks, touched her nose to make sure it was free from oil, smiled at her reflection, then hurried away. As she rounded a corner, she stopped. I was catching up a bit by now, and just as I came within ten feet or so, I realized she was transfixed by the vision ahead.

  Standing on a small, makeshift platform, Hernando—my Hernando—was smiling and waving at a small, curious crowd gathered around him…in front of the Sea Winds Ice Cream Shop. Ah hah. This time, Hernando sported a bright yellow umbrella, covered with small black question marks. What a subtle way to announce that he was the mystery man.

  Mike dug into her tote bag, and fished around until she retrieved her compact, dabbed at her shiny nose and viewed the results. Satisfied, she snapped the compact shut and dropped it into her bag. Was there just a touch of petulance to her actions? Why the concern over her looks right now? I couldn’t help but wonder. Clandestine meeting afterwards, perhaps? With my Hernando?

  Hands on hips, Mike assumed her patented “this better be good” stance she’d perfected back in her teaching days. The look alone was enough to elicit a confession from most kids. Hernando, on the other hand, might be a tougher nut to crack.

  Many of the passengers moved on by, sensing that whatever was happening with this small crowd of cruisers held no interest for them. Others, however, were eager to hear every word, see something amazing, and get some answers. Those, I reasoned, must be fellow mystery cruise contestants. I stood a good ten feet behind Mike so I could hear and see Hernando, and keep an eye on my clever friend at the same time. Glancing at the crowd, and then at his watch, Hernando cleared his throat, smoothed his neat little moustache, and beckoned the crowd closer. Something important was about to be shared.

  “Good afternoon, Ladies and Gentlemen. When last we met two days ago, many of you, I am certain, decided this would not be a typical adventure. You are the curious and the brave. You are the imaginative and creative. You are the ones who have not demanded a refund for the mystery element of the cruise. And for that, I thank you. Yes, we have had to deal with a bit of unexpected commotion. Yet, along the way, we have already finished a substantial chapter of our scenario. To use a cliché, my dear friends, the plot thickens.”

  A ripple of amusement went through the crowd. Mike, however, wore a thundercloud on her face. The Quee
n of Clichés and Hyperbole, annoyed with the suave Hernando? Hilarious.

  Our esteemed leader had more to say. “As we already know,” he continued, oozing importance, “two days ago, one of our crewmen disappeared. I confess that at the time, the staff was so perplexed that we allowed our tongues to wag. We unintentionally stirred up our dear passengers, and that was something we certainly had not intended. For that, we are humbly sorry. Yes, Benjamin Browning seems to be no longer aboard our fine vessel. But let me assure you, he did not, and I repeat, he did not fall overboard as some have speculated. We are not covering up a most horrendous accident.”

  “So, where is he, then?”

  The voice belonged to Mike. I sucked in a breath, fearing what she’d say next. Just what was this penchant for rocking the boat?

  “I beg your pardon?” Hernando hadn’t batted an eye, just stared at Mike as she teetered on tiptoes in her excitement.

  “I asked, where is he? What happened to Benjamin Browning? He is missing, and if he didn’t fall overboard, then where is he? Is he or is he not the mystery we’re supposed to solve? We’ve gotten no leads except for a bunch of cryptic notes hidden all over the place to, I suppose, whet our appetites, but unrelated to the pretend mystery. Is the disappearance of nice Benjamin Browning—and I know he’s nice because I’ve met him—our mystery? I mean, it’s been two days, and I don’t even know what I don’t even know.”

  “Mrs. Rosales,” Hernando continued, perfect teeth flashing, “I shall continue, if I may. Thank you.”

  Members of the crowd mumbled and smiled at my poor flustered Mike, and I wondered if it was time to send in the cavalry. However, I underestimated my pal. She puffed herself up like a peacock, and I swear she grew several inches before my eyes.

  “Now just a minute, my good man,” Mike said. I winced at that last part, wishing she didn’t watch so many vintage movies. “Aren’t all these people waiting for a mystery? Can’t be just me who wants something more substantial to chew on.”