Don't Rock the Boat

by Cathie Wayland

  “Great. Now what do we do? I’m too full to think,” Mike moaned. She trudged to a lounge chair and flopped onto the middle, causing both ends to flip up in the air.

  “I don’t know about you,” I said, “but I think I’m ready to just give up and enjoy the last day with nothing to worry about except the sun and the waves and another sea breeze or two.”

  Mike grimaced at me, and her sunburned nose wrinkled in annoyance. She stretched, popping her vertebrae as she twisted and turned. Never a good sign. It meant she was loosening up for a battle. She surprised me, however, and swung her hips around to balance on the flimsy lounge chair, legs extended, arms propped behind her neck, and sighed.

  “You know, Bernie? I think maybe this time you’re right. Let’s just give it up.”

  I brightened at the prospect that Mike, for once agreed with me.

  “I mean, sometimes we’re just not as smart or clever or intelligent as we think we are,” she continued, gazing at the puffy evening clouds that floated across the darkening sky. “It’s okay to quit. No disgrace in trying something and falling flat on your face. Of all the people participating in the mystery, someone has to be the worst…the loser, the tail end of the donkey, so to speak. Someone else can salvage a little pride and respect because we—you and I—gave up. Yes, our throwing in the towel is a good thing,” Mike added, smugly sure that I was falling for her schmaltzy attempt to rile me.

  “Oookay,” I responded and held my breath.

  “What?” Mike sat up.

  “I said okay, I agree with you.” I swallowed a grin.

  “What do you mean it’s okay to quit?” Mike screeched, and leapt out of the chaise with astonishing agility. Hands on hips, she assumed her best school teacher posture, leaned over me and wagged her forefinger in my face. “No, we are not quitting, Bernadette North. Whatever has come over you? Since when do you quit? Why, you’re so competitive that you compared lunches with me for three years at school before they put in the cafeteria…and you always won. So what’s this crap—pardon my French—about quitting?” Mike stopped to gasp for air, and I couldn’t help but laugh at her serious little perspiring face, as well as her frenzied demeanor.

  “Listen, Kiddo,” I replied after releasing two snorts. “You know I wouldn’t be able to live with myself if we blew this opportunity to solve a riddle. Now don’t rock the boat and sit down. Let’s talk this thing out in a calm and rational manner. You and I are so close to the answer that we’re practically falling over it, like tripping over a dead body in a dark room—”

  “Jeez, Bernie.” Mike winced.

  “Yet, all we’ve been asked to do is locate a missing person. Now, I believe it’s up to all of us who are participating to accomplish that. We all need to use our overactive imaginations, determine not only where that person is, but also what could’ve caused this disappearance. Make sense?” It was my turn to take a breath, and Mike stepped up to bat.

  “Well, what caused his disappearance are the stupid Mystery Cruise people. It’s where he’s been hiding all this time that baffles me. I mean, I realize this is a big ship, but…anyway, I still think we need to locate that meeting, or whatever it is that’s supposed to happen this evening. What if there’re some valuable clues shared and we aren’t there to get them?” Mike wrinkled her nose. “Of course, timing is everything. We may’ve already missed it. That’s a real possibility, you know. You wasted precious time being so enthralled with Hermione Haalstrom at the Sea Monkey.”

  “Tell you what,” I said in my best take-charge voice. “Let’s go back to our rooms and collect all our clues and crazy theories, look at everything we know or think we know, and see if we can come up with where our Mr. Browning is hiding. Now, I’m a little turned around here. Which way back to our cabins?”

  “Follow me,” Mike replied with supreme confidence. “You know, Bernie, after almost a week on board this monstrous ship, I think I’ve developed a keen sense of direction. I’ve looked at the map so many times I’ve practically memorized the layout, and now I can take us anywhere, anytime. I latch onto important details like a steel trap.”

  Mike marched to the second entranceway across from our chairs, entered, and continued down two hallways, then found an elevator. We rode in silence down to our level then disembarked. Head held high, our intrepid Mike bulldozed onward. I followed since I was still direction-impaired. In just a few moments, a few more steps, another left then right then left, down one long hallway then another, and we’d be there. You guessed it. We’d arrived.

  At the laundry room.

  FIFTY-ONE

  After seeking help from at least three deck attendants, we found our way back to our rooms. By then, I didn’t know for sure how we’d arrived at all, since both of us were so confused that our heads ached. Well, at least, mine did.

  Standing outside our cabins, I heard a faint clicking noise. I assumed it came from the cabin next to mine, and then it occurred to me that I hadn’t seen my neighbor to the left the entire trip. One of the all-nighters who spent all their time in the casino, no doubt.

  Mike unlocked her door and disappeared inside. I entered my cabin, scooped up any item that could be considered a clue or a hint or a mere suggestion, and sat on the edge of the bed, waiting for her return. Seven minutes later she breezed through my open door, shut it and dumped her weird assortment of seemingly unrelated stuff onto the bed next to me.

  “Took you long enough,” I muttered.

  “Nature called,” Mike sniffed.

  “Oh? What did she say?”

  Mike only made a face.

  With a throaty chuckle, I began rummaging through our collection of oddities. Detectives on television can look at a random pile of junk and glean sense or meaning from the mess. After a full five minutes of intense scrutinizing, we both drew a blank. Nothing seemed to have any special significance, even when all the items were laid out in neat rows across the dresser in the order they came into our possession. We discussed our conversations and quests, and I bared my soul and told Mike about the times Hernando paid a little too much attention to me.

  “Oh, pooh.” Mike shrugged and wrinkled her pert little nose. “Hernando’s attentions were most likely all a part of the plot to confuse you—us—and derail our efforts.”

  “Maybe so, but it got to be unnerving, all the same.” I kept my voice low. Most of the passengers were in the casinos or bars or restaurants or on the top deck, but the quiet stillness of the cabin made me a bit eerie.

  A brisk tap came on my door. Mike jerked like she’d been stung. I caught my breath. We sat dead still. Another loud rap and I rose, peeked through the security hole at someone who stood off to the side to avoid being seen. Shades of Agatha Christie.

  “Yes?” I managed to get out of a constricted throat. “Who is it?”

  A smooth male voice replied, “It is I, Mrs. North. Hernando.”

  I yanked open the door. Hernando took two steps inside then came to an abrupt halt when he saw Mike sitting on the edge of the bed, surrounded by our motley assortment of clues, trinkets, souvenirs and notes.

  “Pardon me for the intrusion,” he coughed. “But I have come to advise you of a peculiar twist in our adventure.” He looked a trifle upset and was perspiring enough to notice.

  “Say, how come you came by Bernie’s room and bypassed me altogether? This has happened several times, and I’m beginning to take it a little personally,” Mike blurted.

  “Hush, Mike,” I cautioned, afraid Hernando would turn and bolt before we received his message. “Just let the gentleman speak. Go ahead, Hernando.” I offered my most disarming smile.

  He pulled out a crisp white handkerchief and mopped his brow. He paced the tiny room, glanced at Mike and then back to me as he searched for words. Then he stopped pacing, cleared his throat, shoved his hands into his pockets and stared at the floor. “I have received a request, actually, more than one request, that the two of you be removed from our little game,” Hernando said
, refusing to make eye contact with us.

  “What?” Mike and I exclaimed in unison.

  “Why? What did we do?” Mike continued, on the verge of tears. “Why, I can’t believe anyone on board this ship would have even the tiniest reason in the world to want us off this case unless…” Mike paused. “Okay, okay…I can think of one person.” Her head bobbed up and down as if this bolt from the blue made sense.

  “Great. Then explain it to me.” I almost shouted. I glared at Mike. Why was she, of all people, being so understanding and accommodating? An absolute whirlwind of righteous indignation at any other moment in time, but now she does a 180 on me? Up against a faceless nameless challenge, she capitulates? Do wonders never cease?

  Yeah…when pigs fly.

  Hernando folded his handkerchief, stuffed it back into his pocket, turned and exited the room—leaving the two of us open-mouthed and trying to make sense out of what had just happened.

  “Loretta. I know it was Loretta,” Mike said with absolute certainty. “Lord only knows what horrible things she told Hernando and all the others about us. She hates us, especially me, though I don’t think she like you one bit, either. That horrible woman has been a pain in my side since before the trip even began, and I’ll bet she realized we were seconds away from solving the mystery and she didn’t want to lose to us.” She took a breath. “So, she had to take us out of the equation, and now she has the advantage because she has eliminated her most serious competition.” Mike sounded so confident and adamant, I almost bought the story. Then wisdom knocked once again at my mind’s door.

  “We-l-l-l, if all that’s true…and I’m not saying whether I believe it or not…how come one passenger would have so much influence when there are many of us along for the ride?” I tried to sound logical and calm. “We don’t know that for sure, because once again, we’re just assuming Loretta is somehow involved in our ejection. Now, I’ll bet that everyone else is just as confused as we are about the object of our attention, and maybe some of them have also crossed paths with that awful woman. I can’t believe she has enough power and influence that what she says, goes. Hernando implied there were others, but perhaps that was just a smokescreen. Why, when I was a principal, people always complained about a teacher or an incident and said that ‘everyone feels’ or ‘we all think’, when they were truly just trying to shore up a weak case. Why, I remember one time when—”

  “Okay, okay,” Mike interrupted, “nevertheless, we’ve been booted out, bounced out, thrown out. Call it what you want, but I think this is another clever diversionary tactic to discourage us from going public with the answer to our quest when we arrive back in Miami. If they think we think we’re out of the game, then they can relax, knowing we won’t be coming forward with the answers, and then they’ll have a better shot at winning. Get it?” She sucked in some much-needed air and continued. “On the other hand, we can pretend like we accept this ridiculous decision and fly under the radar for the final day, plotting our ultimate winning tactic.”

  I had nothing to add to that so we sat perched on the edge of the bed, staring at all the clues and souvenirs and assorted notes and messages in mute fixation. In tandem, our eyes slipped to my carry-on bag, which protruded from my closet door.

  “That bag doesn’t have a big L on the side of it, does it?”

  “No,” I answered. “Besides, I would know as soon as I unzipped even one pocket, if the bag was mine or not. There are always certain, identifying items when a woman is traveling—” I stopped in mid-sentence.

  As if struck by lightning, we bolted to our feet at the same moment. We stared at each other in disbelief and then smiled.

  “Are you thinking what I’m thinking?” Mike asked.

  “I am if you’re thinking that dear Loretta carried contraband aboard this ship and is afraid we discovered it.”

  “Gosh, you really think she was smuggling something aboard—maybe to sell or trade in one of the ports-of-call? Wow. Double wow. This has nothing to do with poor missing Benjamin. Loretta’s a smuggler.”

  “I think we’ve nailed a bigger mystery than we thought. Damn, we’re good. Come on. Let’s go to the casino. I feel lucky.”

  FIFTY-TWO

  We’d only been to the casino once before that evening, and the sounds and colors and lights and action, along with the punctuation of sirens ringing and bells and whistles erupting at consistent intervals got our adrenaline pumping. Mike clutched a fistful of tokens, purchased from the cashier, and headed off to the nickel slot machines. I feeling daring, resourceful, lucky, went for the dime machines. Nothing could stop us now. We felt the excitement in the air as we faced the taunting, as well as daunting, slot machines.

  All around us, passengers were engrossed in high stakes poker, roulette, and craps. But the key to ultimate success is to be aware, not only of your potential, but of your personal limitations. Yes, we’d stick with the nickel and dime slot machines.

  Slot machines were fun and entertaining without dealing too much in the human element—the element of unpredictability. It’s not as if we hadn’t had enough of the human element already.

  This mystery had been nothing but unpredictable. Yet, riding high on a wave of invigorating self-assuredness, we scarcely knew how to react. Compared to everything we’d been through, slot machines teased us into thinking they were sure things, programmed for ultimate success…provided you persevered. A mystery, on the other hand, came with no such guarantees. The odds weren’t necessarily with you or against you based upon how many people already tried and failed to score, or how many minutes passed since someone came up with a winning solution, or how long and hard you matched wits with one another. No, the human brain would ultimately win over a machine, provided you didn’t run out of nickels and dimes.

  On the other hand, when you did hit the jackpot, you stood to gain less than you had invested in the undertaking. That may’ve been true of our mystery, too. Only time would tell if all those extra hours of plotting and planning enhanced our trip or detracted from it. I decided it’d all come down to one simple answer. Mike and I may or may not succeed. I suspected a victory would solidify our feelings that the mystery cruise had been worth every twist, turn, glitch, grin or grimace…if and when we won. Failure would filter our memories somewhat, and we might even consider some of our adventures as time wasted. Since failure was not an option at that moment, I decided, no matter what the outcome, we had enjoyed an incredible trip, and absolutely nothing would dampen the glow. Come hell or high water.

  Mike flew through her tokens in no time, even though she said she paced herself from the urge to insert coin after coin into the ungrateful and unrewarding machines. I sidled over to her and perched on a tall stool next to hers so we could play the machines and keep an eye on each other’s success and failure.

  After another fifteen minutes, Mike glanced at her watch. “Say, Bernie,” she whispered, “if we want to get a good seat at Hermione’s final show tonight, we need to get moving.”

  “Okay, fine. But why are you whispering? Nobody is listening. We’re not the bad guys, you know. Even though we’re planning to blow the whistle on you-know-who.”

  We slid off the stools and strolled to the cashier to cash in our tokens. We’d recklessly wagered ten dollars and left with $1.80 between us. I sighed and resolved to heed the unspoken message on the evils of gambling.

  A spectacular twilight greeted us on the top deck. The colorful triangular flags flapped in the breeze. Kind of difficult to accept the fact that tomorrow we docked in Miami. But tonight we were two happy friends, content with the knowledge that we knew something nobody else on board this ship knew—except, of course, the object of our attentions. The actual staged mystery had played neatly into the charade.

  Yes, it was a good feeling…to be so very much ahead of the game, and raring to go public. Now, only one teeny little problem had to be surmounted: we’d been thrown out of the competition. Yes, that would be a small hurdle, since
technically speaking, we were no longer allowed to present a solution. Our only hope was that our second piece of the puzzle would have so much weight that everyone would present would have to accept the fact that we’d won the contest—based upon our keen observation and amazing intuition.

  Hermione’s last show had proved to be the icing on the cake. A spectacular finale to our wonderful cruise experience. Tired and at the same time, keyed up, Mike and I ambled out onto the top deck for a breath of fresh air before retiring to our cabins. Leaning over the rail, we watched the phosphorescence glow in the churning water.

  “I really enjoyed that.” Mike turned to lean her back against the rail.

  “Yes, that Hermione is fantastic. I mean, to think that bawdy woman is really a man, well…” I jerked as though hit over the head with an oar. “Oh…my…gawd,” I breathed.

  “What? Lord, Bernie, you look like the ship just hit an iceberg.”

  “It’s been staring us in the face and we never saw it. How dumb. How utterly shortsighted of us. Well, I’ll be…”

  Mike’e eyes widened. “For crying out loud, tell me, Bernadette.”

  “I think I know where Benjamin Browning has been hiding all these days.”

  FIFTY-THREE

  After hours of poring over our clues, subtracting the wild goose chases, adding up the shady details, multiplying the facts times the number of people available to misinterpret them, and then finally dividing the quotient by the dividend—well…