Remorse overwhelmed me. Mike had spoken the truth. We’d been cautioned so often to trust no one that I was actually keeping secrets from her, and she was doing the same to me. The best of friends, yet this stupid little game was driving a wedge between us.
“You know, Mike, it’s time we had a talk. There are a few things I need to tell you,” I said on an exhalation of air.
As we shuffled in the general direction of the Caribbean Mermaid, I tried to figure the best way to tell Mike about the secret little rendezvous with Hernando. Just as I faced her for a serious heart to heart, I noticed the corner of a rolled-up paper protruding from her hip pocket. Ordinarily that pocket would be under cover of a blousy top, but the fragrant breeze rippled the gauzy material and revealed a little something tucked away.
Something hidden…hidden in Mike’s pocket.
Well, I’ll be. The little smoothie’d almost pulled it off. Here I was about to tell all, and she had a few secrets of her own. Was Mike sincere and real, or was she playing me to learn what I knew so far? Hmmmm. An interesting dilemma. The answers would have to wait a bit longer.
“Tell you what, Mike,” I offered. “Let’s get back to the ship right now, shower and put our feet up and talk about all this later.”
“But…” Mike protested, sensing the moment to spill guts had come and gone.
“My feet are killing me,” I half-lied.
Mike sighed, smiled up, squinted into the sun, and nodded in agreement. “Yeah…okay. I can’t wait to see Charmaine and Veronica in those ridiculous braids and beads.” She laughed, already forgetting that we’d been on the verge of taking the same plunge.
“Well, we do have some great pictures for souvenirs,” I said, brightening at the prospect of the years of torment I could inflict on Mike with the goofy dolphin photos. In the meantime, I’d be in my cabin by 4:00 p.m., and Lord only knew what would happen next.
FORTY
3:45 p.m. by the time we made our way through customs and back on board the Mermaid. Mike seemed aware of my sense of urgency and kept sending me cryptic little eye-messages. After a barrage of eye blinks and frowns she voiced her bafflement and curiosity. “What is the hurry, Bernie? For crying out loud, you’re acting really weird.”
“I told you. My feet are killing me. You know I have bad feet. After a shower and a lie-down, I’ll feel like myself again and we can talk. Okay?”
“Fine.”
Relieved, I slowed my pace and tried to act nonchalant, even though I felt certain an excellent clue would materialize in my room and put some direction and drive into the events on board this damn mystery cruise. Passengers streamed on board, and the aromas of suntan lotion—coconut and banana—and island perfumes purchased at bargain prices—jasmine and gardenia—and tourists in need of showers after baking in the sun—no description necessary—filled the promenade deck.
We waited an epoch for an empty elevator to whisk us to our deck. One by one the elevators arrived, sucked in passengers, closed and disappeared. After three had come and gone, we scrunched into a packed car, more than ready to ascend to peace and quiet and a shower. Before we had a chance to move, the door flew back open, and one more passenger insisted on squeezing in.
No. Yes. Our esteemed Loretta, once again pushing and shoving her way into our lives. As we watched in stupefaction, the immense woman did her best to back in. The doors attempted to close one, two, three times; the elevator emergency buzzer engaged. That elevator wasn’t going anywhere.
Loretta turned and smiled a ghastly grin directed at Mike, who made a brave attempt to return the smile, but succeeded only in conjuring up a grimace.
“If you will step out for a moment,” Loretta purred to poor Mike, “I can rearrange my parcels so we may all use the elevator. Would you be a dear and do so?”
Every eye in the elevator locked onto Mike. Mike whimpered a bit, tugged at her blouse, glanced up at me, and extricated herself from the elevator.
“Thanks so much,” Loretta murmured. Then, in one quick motion, the awful woman pointed a knobby finger adorned with gigantic crimson fingernails and pushed the button to close the door. Watching Mike’s face as the elevator doors closed was like watching the hero sink down into the waters around the Titanic. Her expression was a curious combination of bewilderment and seething annoyance.
I winced when Loretta chuckled. Not one passenger uttered a peep, probably unwilling to incur the wrath of the venomous bully. One by one, the passengers popped from the crowded car to the safety of their respective levels. Not too difficult to imagine the conversations that took place after that curious ride, but Loretta had once again thrown down the gauntlet, and I knew that somehow, somewhere, Mike would make Loretta pay. It’d probably be an accident or a strange twist of fate, but Loretta would get what was coming to her…eventually.
When the elevator arrived at my deck, I exited and scurried toward my room, glancing over my shoulder as the doors snapped shut. What? Did I think Loretta would follow me? Sheesh. I checked my watch and realized I’d only a moment to spare. Had to be in my room by 4:00 p.m. Closing the door, I took a quick survey of the cabin and saw that nothing had been touched, added, deleted or rearranged since this morning. Out in the hall, Mike muttered and grumbled as she wrestled with the door to her room. Then a loud slam. Okay. That problem was taken care of.
While I waited for whatever was coming my way, now past the appointed time, I read the ship’s newsletter. The Belly Flop Contest was scheduled for 9:00 a.m. tomorrow morning. I made a mental note to catch that high-flying act. It was Disco Night at the Nautica Room. Dance contestants were encouraged to dress accordingly. The Volleyball Tournament would begin at noon, and teams would compete for casino tokens. This place was a blast…always something going on in tandem with our mystery.
I sat on the edge of my bed and waited.
And waited.
I’d been directed to cut our port visit short, rush back to the ship, ensconce myself in my cabin, and then? Nothing happened. Nothing at all. So sure that somebody, maybe Hernando, himself, would’ve stopped in by now with another juicy tidbit about Benjamin Browning—to get things percolating—I felt cheated. Didn’t know whether other passengers were receiving clues, but assumed they were. Still, always the option that we’d been misled on purpose so we’d look away from the obvious answers just to prolong the process.
The ship’s enormous horn blew loud and long, signaling our departure from St. Thomas. A final call for passengers indicated that one or more passengers had yet to check back in. I knew Mike was on board so was curious about how anyone could miss the ship. Amazing, what some people will put themselves—not to mention others—through just because they aren’t thinking.
6:00 p.m. arrived. I met Mike in the hallway for our trek to dinner. Mike still fumed about Loretta and her apparent vendetta against her. Now, you’d think Mike would be accustomed to this. She’d been a junior high teacher, after all. Few creatures on this earth are more conniving and sneaky than early teens. Mike had been snookered on more than one occasion, as had I, since teachers make pretty easy targets. After years of ducking practical jokes and defusing potentially volatile situations, we were adept at identifying suspected terrorists and setting into motion proper survival techniques. But this Loretta-vendetta-thing had taken both of us off-guard. What was with that woman, anyway?
As we strolled toward our evening feast at the Gilded Oyster, we caught a glimpse of one of the many monitors aboard the ship that ran a continuous loop of schedules, world news, weather reports, and, once in a while, something of interest. To my utter shock, Hernando’s picture flashed on the screen. He was identified as a passenger who’d not returned to the ship prior to departure.
Hernando? Missing? No longer on board the Mermaid? Is that why 4:00 p.m. came and left, and nothing happened? Mike was still mumbling about Loretta, referring to her as “that awful woman”, and insisting that although she loved the cruise, Loretta had gotten on her nerves.
>
“…and when she gave me that look, well, my blood just boiled,” Mike fumed. “Didn’t yours?”
I nodded, my mind a million miles away. I may’ve been the last person on board this ship to see Hernando. How could someone so intimately involved in the ship’s mystery miss departure time? I admit my imagination was running wild, but what if something sinister had happened to him?
Of course, this could be just another twist and turn in the craziness.
It appeared that almost everyone free-styled in the mystery department. Mike chased her own clues, while Hernando and I met almost daily for some cryptic exchange or other. The days were slipping away, and if an obvious crime or problem or culprit loomed, neither the dilemma nor the solution had taken up residence in my head. Still, it had been entertaining and intriguing. But now, with Hernando missing in action, the plot thickened—to use a now very tired cliché.
Mike, oblivious to my mind wandering, chatted away as we made our way to the Gilded Oyster. The interjected comments from me at appropriate intervals had been adequate to make her feel that I was, indeed, listening. I sensed that Mike carried on many of these one-sided discussions with her husband who probably struggled to get a word in edgewise. On the other hand, Joe may have stopped listening some time ago, and Mike was blissfully unaware that her witticisms, pithy observations, and insightful comments fell on deaf, or, at the least, preoccupied ears. Nevertheless, our dinner companions waited. Time to enjoy another glorious feast.
But, damn. What had happened to Hernando?
FORTY-ONE
Our table glowed that evening. Aside from the rich suntans and sunburns, this was a formal dining event. Mike and I looked radiant. Mike’s tea-length, frothy green cocktail dress was beautiful and fresh. I’d chosen an off the shoulder beige number that skimmed the floor just above my sandal-shod feet. Yes, we exuded comeliness as we approached our table, drinking in the smiles from our tablemates. We assumed no other possible reason for the grins and comments, and nodding of heads. I felt that the white orchid tucked seductively behind my right ear was especially attractive, and Mike sparkled in her beloved sea glass jewelry.
As soon as we approached the table, we sensed excitement and tension. At first glance, it could’ve emanated from Charmaine and Veronica. Both were beet red from over-indulging in beach time, coupled with beaded and braided hair, which exposed their delicate, pale scalps to the brilliant sunshine. I must admit I took some pleasure from their discomfort, since they could be such royal pains. They were stuffed like plump, little sausages into halter-type dresses, alike in style and hideous in garish colors.
Stan and Melanie wore vapid smiles, gazing about the room, seldom looking at or speaking to each other or to us. Although typical behavior for them, it was a little troubling, nonetheless. How about a few smiles and laughs? But the topic du jour was definitely Dr. Kingston Connolly and Miss Clarice Juergensmeier. Somehow, some way, these two lonely people had discovered each other. They sat shoulder to shoulder, holding hands under the white tablecloth. They gazed into each other’s eyes as if nobody in the world existed besides the two of them. Clarice radiated unadulterated adoration. Love, or the promise of love, had transformed her from a mousy, drab little innocent into a vibrant, lovely woman. Her curly hair fell softly onto bare shoulders.
Kingston reeked with infatuation over this vision of loveliness at his side. What’s more, he’d lost the stuffy necktie, and had opted for an open collar, Hawaiian style shirt, which allowed his curly little chest hairs to spill over in a definitive expression of virility. Dress shoes had given way to woven loafers, the type my husband always referred to jokingly as wicker baskets. He’d even shed the socks. A breathtaking and heartwarming transformation. I nudged Mike under the table, and noted her instant comprehension, followed by a little smirk. Free entertainment, to say the least.
“You know,” Mike leaned over and whispered. “They do make a cute couple.”
“A couple of what?” I responded with just a smidgen of cynicism, more than a little confused by the turn of events. In a few brief hours, while we wandered all over St. Thomas, Clarice and Kingston had become a couple; the universe had gotten even with Charmaine and Veronica; Hernando had been misplaced; and who knew what Mike’s husband had done back home. Add to that the fact that timid little Clarice had perpetrated a crime of sorts. Stop the world. I want to get off.
“You know, this had better start making some kind of sense within the next two days, or I’ll spend the remainder of the summer either trying to figure it all out or get my money back,” I stage-whispered to Mike. But Mike didn’t hear. Elbows on the table, hands clasped, chin in hand, she couldn’t pry her eyes off Clarice and Kingston, lost in their own personal reverie of shipboard romance.
Then it hit me. If Clarice was working for, or with, Kingston, teaming up to tackle the shipboard mystery, then that would explain the good doctor distracting Mike while Clarice came to me with a wild story, checking out and pilfering my clue along the way.
Hmmm. Love could make a person do strange things. After all, Mike had married Joe. Stranger still, Jack had married me.
All in all, it was a wonderful evening, followed by a beautiful sunset. Mike and I considered tackling the Disco scene, tempted by the pounding pulse of the disco beat as we approached the Purple Palm. Yet, exhausted from our day’s adventures, we decided to take the long way home, walk along the top deck in the fading sunlight, and head back for a nightcap poolside. Just as we reached the Dolphin Pool, I caught a glimpse of a familiar face. I couldn’t quite be sure because of the deepening shadows and the distraction of the crowd, but I could’ve sworn I saw Hernando weaving among the happy passengers.
In a flash, the apparition disappeared into the throngs of people, leaving me wondering if I’d actually seen him or whether my overactive imagination teased my senses. Yes, time to turn in. If I was going to start seeing things, I could certainly conjure up better subjects than the elusive and confusing though debonair Hernando. Better yet, maybe I should conjure a way to avoid Loretta, who now barreled straight toward us.
“Quick,” I hissed in Mike’s ear. “Park it there.” I pointed to a chair beside a potted palm. Mike hadn’t seen the impending iceberg looming on our horizon, but Loretta was straight ahead and closing in. I could only guess what the female Godzilla had in mind, but somehow, I suspected Mike might be involved. As Loretta got closer, I noticed her attention focused on something other than my sidekick. We had time to make our escape if we played it right. Then I realized the domineering woman had one of the ship’s crew in tow as she executed wild gesticulations. They approached our area, near enough for me to catch the gist of her soliloquy.
Loretta pointed to the television monitor, and then flailed her arms, making a well-honed point. “He was right here, I tell you, just a few moments ago. I saw him myself. It was that Hernando fellow. The one you’ve been announcing had missed the departure from St. Thomas. He’s on board, I tell you. Now, what kind of security do you have on board this boat—”
“Ship, ma’am,” the crewmember interrupted. “The Caribbean Mermaid is a ship, not a boat,” he continued with a straight face.
“Whatever,” Loretta growled. “My point is this: if you think this Hernando person did not come aboard, and he is aboard—I saw him myself—then Lord only knows who else you have let on board this ship, incognito. Why, there could be terrorists, or disreputable thieves, or even dirty stowaways who have no business on board with the rest of us and…” Loretta’s voice rose a few decibels, “perhaps our mystery-man, Mr. Browning, is here, too. Hmmmm?”
“Yes, ma’am,” the beleaguered crewman nodded, keeping his eyes from rolling with sheer will power.
“He was just here, I tell you, and I demand you locate him immediately. I mean, just imagine what a person could do if nobody knew he was here, or expected to see or hear from him. Why, he could move among us like a ghost!” Loretta’s dramatics were wearing thin, and the polite young
man tried to convey his most sincere regrets over her concerns, but wasn’t it the least bit possible she was mistaken?
Mike and I glanced at each other and grinned. The poor crewman looked like he’d be happy to jump overboard just to rid himself of this insane passenger. But forget all that, amusing though it may be. Loretta had seen Hernando, too. I hadn’t been hallucinating.
Mike nudged me with her pointy elbow. “Bern? Bernie? Earth calling Bernadette.”
“Huh?”
“Let’s get out of here before her majesty sees us.”
“Yes…sure. Of course.”
Regardless of the interesting drama unfolding, the softening night was closing in, and we had another wonderful day ahead of us. I spied Ramón, waved to him across the crowded deck, then followed Mike to the elevator. As we passed the open door to the outside deck, I caught the silhouette of two lovers in the moonlight, standing next to the rail, arms encircling each other, eyes locked. It was like a scene from a pricey perfume commercial, the kind in which your fragrance alone could knock that special someone off his feet. I pulled Mike to a stop and leaned down to whisper, “Look. Isn’t that sweet? Cloying, maybe, but sweet?” I chuckled.
Mike sighed and grinned up at me. “Like in the movies.”
“I can’t see their faces, but wouldn’t it be nice if it was Clarice and Kingston, soaking up the ambiance of a fragrant, caressing breeze of a romantic Caribbean evening?”
Mike made a most unbecoming face.
FORTY-TWO
The fifth day of our unbelievable cruise, an incredible sunrise exploded over the turquoise ocean. I knew all about the sunrise firsthand since I’d hardly slept a wink. I’d first stared at the darkened ceiling of my room until I decided to sit up on the deck and greet the sunrise. Today we would arrive in St. Maarten, a gorgeous little island, by all accounts, historically claimed by both the French and the Dutch. No matter what else happened during this amazing week, the Caribbean was a joy and a living tribute to nature. Too bad nature’s price tag was so dazzling.
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