Don't Rock the Boat

by Cathie Wayland

  “Be my guest.”

  Mike disappeared into my cubbyhole of a bathroom. I stayed on the couch, my feet on the edge of the bed. Out in the hall, sounds of passengers scurrying about and the wheels of suitcases clicking along brought back the harsh reality that we’d just a few hours left to enjoy each other‘s company. Today’s lunch would be our last time to catch up with our cruise companions. I had to admit I’d grown fond, in a weird way, of our motley group. What an eclectic slice of humanity. And, even more entertaining, each had his/her own story to tell…his/her own set of dramatic problems. So many unanswered questions.

  Would Clarice Juergensmeier, spinster-extraordinaire, find true love with the dapper, debonair Dr. Kingston Connelly? Or would he forsake her in the final hour and dash into the arms of a fair-haired floozy waiting for him on the dock in Miami?

  The stuff of soap operas.

  How about the outlandish Charmaine and Veronica Preston? Would Veronica realize her dream? Would fiancé Zak be released from prison in time to celebrate a down-home wedding free-for-all? Would a honeymoon cruise with the roguish Zak erase the memories of taking this dream trip with her dear mama? Who in their wildest dreams would guess that sawing the heads off of parking meters in downtown Martin, Kentucky, would land someone in the pokey and cause him to miss the social event of the season?

  Did I say soap opera?

  And what about the stoic couple, Stan and Melanie Wilhelm? Would they at least pretend to be somewhat interested in each other or maintain their façade as an unmotivated married couple—doubling as ship’s security? Pleasant dining companions and knowledgeable about everything on board the ship—such as the location of the brig—but boring, nevertheless.

  That, of course, left us. What about that delightful duo? Mike and Bernie, who captivated the hearts and imaginations of all those who crossed their paths. Would people remember how they’d put their heads together, sifted through a thousand-and-one clues and came up with the correct answer to the puzzle? Would Bernie and Mike realize their quest for fame, fortune, and a free cruise in the not so distant future? Would they succeed in blowing the whistle, lifting the veil, unwrapping the package—

  I was jarred from my wandering thoughts by an enormous blast from the ship’s piercing horn. The in-ship intercom came on and somebody announced that the Mermaid’s sister ship, King Neptune, was passing on the calm seas. I hoped those passengers would have as marvelous a time as I’d had.

  Mike emerged from the bathroom. “What was the horn blast for? Couldn’t hear with the fan on.”

  “Our sister ship, King Neptune, is passing and the captain gave a salute.”

  “Lucky folks just beginning their voyage.”

  “Yes. You know, Mike, I’d like to think the two of us have made a positive impression on board this ship. Yes, I know it was a vacation, but kind of a working vacation. We’ll never see any of these people again, ever. Rather sad.”

  “As far as I’m concerned, never is too soon to see that awful Loretta woman again,” Mike sniffed. “I mean, of all the people on board, why in the world did she ever have to single me out?”

  “Well, put her out of your mind and let’s go have lunch.” I chirped. “The Crescent Moon Café beckons for our final lunch.”

  We gathered purses and headed for the elevator and managed to arrive on the right level without taking the laundry room detour. Entering the restaurant, I paused to gaze about the crowded room, searching for the now familiar faces of our dining companions. Yes, our group had already arrived. I grinned as Mike waved a greeting. Nobody seemed to see us even though we practically jumped up and down in line trying to get their attention. Why wouldn’t they make eye contact?

  As we barged our way through the labyrinth of tables, we caused our usual ripple of entertainment. Flopping onto our chairs, I greeted everyone as Mike fanned herself with her napkin.

  “It’s hot in here,” Mike complained. “Is it hot in here? How about the rest of you…anyone hot?” Clarice bowed her head, face flushed, and then cast a furtive glance at Kingston. Obviously Clarice thought Kingston was pretty hot, but the innuendo was lost on Mike.

  Charmaine and Veronica nudged each other and thrust plump chins at the two lovebirds. Stan and Melanie smiled and returned my greeting, then each looked away in opposite directions, avoiding future conversation with each other, or any of us, for that matter. Soon, the buzz in the room settled into the pleasant banter of muted conversations and laughs, clinking glasses and cheerful interjections.

  Charmaine glanced at Veronica, smiled, and launched into her interpretation of clever dining conversation. “They say that them oysters on the half shell, them raw ones ’re good for lovers,” she drawled in her pseudo-southern twang. “Kind of a aphrodisiac or somethin’. Now I wonder what that means. Miss Clarice, do you know anything about oysters and how they affect folks who’re in love?” Charmaine giggled, thinking herself subtle and clever and witty, and that we’d all follow the gist of her homespun humor at Clarice’s expense. Both she and Veronica sputtered and snorted, making me long to pick up the decorative vase in the middle of the table and throw it at her.

  “Well, I-I don’t know anything about oysters,” Clarice replied, eyes wide and ingenuous. “However, I do recognize an ass when I see one.”

  Everyone at the table looked up, glanced at each other, and then burst out laughing. Clarice had done it. She’d put the annoying, boorish Charmaine in her place, and she’d done it with quiet dignity and good taste. Mike and I nodded at each other, winked, and had a good laugh at Charmaine and her obnoxious clone. I wished Clarice knew about the thong underwear the two purchased on board and delighted in imagining how our little butterfly would’ve responded to that bit of knowledge.

  Clarice had her folded hands in her lap. She radiated self-confidence and when Kingston leaned over, kissed her lightly on the cheek, and actually smiled at all of us, I almost fell out of my chair. He raised a glass of iced tea and toasted the table, sending an appreciative nod to his ladylove. Clarice looked like she might float away in joyful exuberance at any moment, and once again the nagging fear returned that Kingston was, like so many others, not what he appeared to be. I repressed this awful thought. For the moment, love bloomed in plain sight, and a smart aleck had been put in her place.

  Lunch was incredible. We’d become accustomed to spectacular food and gorgeous decorations. As we wove through the tables, plates laden with delicacies and piled with delights, I caught sight of Hernando. A shiver ran down my spine when I realized he wasn’t alone. He was dining at a table with…could it be, Hermione Haalstrom, herself? The two were deep in conversation—Hermione listening and talking while shoveling food into her gaping, crimson mouth. I’d give my eyeteeth to be able to hear what they talked so animatedly about.

  Mike and I ate our wonderful lunch, speaking only now and then. As soon as we finished, we stood and beamed at everyone. We shook hands, wished them all health and happiness, and hoped aloud to see them again some time, some way, perhaps on another cruise. Walking away from the table, I glanced back and noted that only Clarice and Kingston remained at the table, hands locked, eyes staring into each other’s eyes. I sighed.

  “Love is beautiful,” I whispered to Mike.

  “What?” she replied with a start.

  “I said love is beautiful. You know…Clarice and Kingston. I sighed, and you sighed so we both must be thinking how wonderful it is to be in love. Right?”

  “I guess…sometimes…maybe,” Mike answered, staring off into space.

  “Well, for goodness sakes. What’s gotten up your craw?”

  “I was just thinking about the grease Joe got all over my carpets.”

  I had to grin. Perhaps she didn’t realize it at that particular moment, but Michaela Mercer Rosales, too, was a woman in love. Could be no other reason on the face of Mother Earth for her to put up with Joe, except the simple and obvious fact that she loved him. And, in my book, that was as beautiful as an
y love story anywhere.

  FIFTY-SIX

  Strolling back to our cabins, I realized we could no longer postpone the inevitable packing. “Sweetie, we needed to have our luggage out in front of our cabin doors by 5:00 p.m. The ship stewards need to get everybody’s everything to the unloading dock.”

  “Gosh, I miss this ship already,” Mike moaned.

  Yes, an air of finality—the concept of closing up cases, snapping, zipping, locking and rolling the gear. Still, try as we might, we couldn’t calm the building excitement. “This evening will go down in infamy,” I smacked my lips. “This evening we blow everyone out of the water, if you know what I mean.”

  Mike grimaced then popped her neck. “Yeah…but there is the slightest possibility, you know, that one or two or ten other passengers have arrived at the same conclusion.”

  “Pshesh. Don’t even think it. We’re much more perceptive and clever than most, having honed our skills teaching junior high. I’m confident that most have long ago forsaken the entire goofy premise of the Mystery Cruise.”

  “Well, yeah…there’s that…” Mike puffed out her cheeks and exhaled.

  “Wouldn’t it be hilarious if you and I arrived at the correct conclusions—including our top-secret, ace in the hole, number one trophy winning factoid—and were the only ones to do so? Think of the respect we’d garner at that point. Even Hernando would have to admit, in the presence of Loretta the Loon, that we were winners. And Senora Margarita Conchita and Senor Marco de Guacamole would be forced to extend their heartfelt apologies in doubting us. Then again, perhaps we’re getting a bit ahead of ourselves, and we should just shut up and show up and see who won. It could be us. Stranger things have happened before, but not very often, I admit. We’ll see…”

  Mike stood and stretched. “Okay. We have only a little time to take in one more special activity or something before the infamous meeting. Want to try the ice skating rink?”

  “Sweetie, crawling around the ice on hands and knees is probably not the most enjoyable pastime for gals like us.”

  “The wave pool?”

  “Since I already claim a love/hate relationship with the ocean—or any body of water larger than a good-sized bathtub—the idea of that pool is pretty daunting.” Mike opened her mouth to protest but I pushed on. “I know, I know…you consider the ship’s wave pool Mickey Mouse compared to what you’ve experienced, but I’m a different kettle of fish. Sure, I’d handle the wave pool for about three or four minutes, and then I’d be tossed head over heels with little or no ceremony, to the delight and mirth of the teens that crowd the pool clutching boogie boards and drooping trunks.”

  “Oh, Bern—”

  “Don’t oh, Bernie me. You know that’s what would happen.”

  Most of the remaining options didn’t interest us, except maybe the bowling alley. Mike considered herself a pretty good bowler, having joined a league with Joe when they were dating. I admit I’ve avoided bowling alleys since the days of my youth when your rental shoe size was prominently displayed on the back of the heel. Some things a lady needs to keep to herself: shoe size, hair color, weight and age. While age and weight may be more or less obvious to the rest of the world, one can always pretend to be within a normal range when it came to shoes. Mike wore a size five, and her main complaint was that she sometimes had to wear children’s shoes. Such a problem. My only consolation to having been doomed to wearing men’s shoes is that their shoe sizes run larger than women’s, so I can dance about in a size nine and no one will be the wiser.

  After a great deal of discussion and haggling, we finally decided to bowl. The ship offered only six lanes, and by the time we arrived, the window of opportunity slammed shut. No way did we want to spend the remaining two hours watching a movie in the theater, but to our utter amazement, Hermione Haalstrom had a final extravaganza show set to begin in five minutes…a Farewell to her Cruise performance. We’d enjoyed Hermione’s show, and the prospect of seeing her in full costume one more time tantalized.

  By a stroke of luck, we squeezed into the packed auditorium before the doors slammed shut, and the show began with headliner Hermione strutting her stuff back and forth across the stage. An amazing show. Hermione was, without a doubt, the most impressive female impersonator either of us had ever seen. She looked the part, acted the part, and sounded the part. On top of all that, she was just plain fantastic as an entertainer. What a way to end the afternoon. As the final curtain fell to thunderous applause, Hermione took an encore bow. Her crooked grin sent a slight shiver down my spine. Why did her smile send my mind spinning? Her exaggerated makeup, garish in the footlights, no doubt.

  We filed from the hall and headed toward the Voodoo Lounge. Excited and nervous now that the hour was near, Mike popped her neck and blinked several times, while a horde of butterflies invaded my stomach. The moment of truth, near-truth, or total bust. No matter what, Mike and I would make a valiant stab at solving the mystery tonight.

  Maybe “stab” isn’t the best choice of words.

  FIFTY-SEVEN

  Desperate to appear casual, we still couldn’t help walking with purpose toward the meeting site. The Voodoo Lounge was somewhat deserted, since many of the passengers were enjoying parties and formal dinners, as well as attending the Final Night Costume Ball. We’d arrived at least ten minutes early for the 6:00 p.m. meeting. A cluster of chairs, around thirty or so, were arranged in a semi-circle near the piano bar.

  I nudged Mike. “Let’s take a lap around the deck. I don’t think it’s prudent for us to arrive first, since it’d give Hernando an opportunity to get rid of us without a scene. If we want to make a pre-emptive strike, we need the element of surprise on our side.”

  “Whoa,” Mike grinned, “your principal side is showing.”

  “Stifle it.”

  As usual, we underestimated the amount of time it took to get from one place to another on this enormous floating city. Before long, we had to huff and puff as we raced to get around the deck and back to the lounge in time.

  “After all this planning and plotting, don’t tell me we’re going to be late for this stupid meeting,” Mike complained.

  “Oh, so I suppose it’s my fault?” I shot back, realizing our nervousness was provoking the snide remarks.

  “No, no…I didn’t mean that,” Mike panted.

  It took almost twenty minutes to arrive back at the Voodoo Lounge. A small crowd had gathered around Hernando, who leaned against the piano bar as he spoke to the attentive patrons. Just as we suspected, the number had dwindled from the initial meeting, kicking off the Mystery Cruise. As soon as we crossed the threshold, Hernando stopped in mid-sentence and drilled us with narrowed eyes. We slipped into seats in the back row and sucked in air. Hernando frowned for a moment then forced a smile. With a flourish, he welcomed us to the meeting. What else could he do under the circumstances?

  Clarice waved and smiled then returned her attention to Hernando. I scanned the room for Loretta, and sure enough, found her sitting at the back of the crowd, near a potted palm. Her unblinking eyes never left us.

  Before I could tell Mike, a surprise visitor startled everyone—even Hernando—with his entrance. The captain of the Caribbean Mermaid, Captain Lance Roberts, took brisk strides into the room, white cap tucked under his left arm. He saluted the small audience, who gasped with appreciation at the dramatic entrance.

  “Greetings, all,” he boomed. “Since this is our first opportunity to be involved in a Mystery Cruise on board the Mermaid, I wanted to be here to witness, firsthand, the excitement of unwrapping the mystery. I would be most anxious to hear how you all enjoyed the puzzle. And how our good friend Hernando and his counterparts treated all of you. But go ahead, sir, I do not want to delay the momentous occasion another minute.”

  Hernando looked like a deer in the headlights, and his face resembled blancmange. For some strange reason, he appeared nervous—perhaps because of the captain’s unexpected appearance.

  Hern
ando was explaining that each of us should write down our conclusions, sign the declaration, and deposit it in the black box he held in his hands. The box looked exactly like the one that’d held our initial clues, only considerably larger. Loretta sat with fleshy arms folded across her massive bosom, glaring at Mike and me. She didn’t write a single word. Rather, she only sat and watched.

  “Looks like Loretta’s skunked,” Mike remarked under her breath. “I guess she just couldn’t figure it out.”

  “Yeah, but check out Clarice,” I countered. “She’s writing up a storm.” I looked over my shoulder and all around. “Quite a few people are already finished.” I felt like the student who’d just begun taking a test and found half the class was turning theirs in already. Panic was about to set in.

  “Listen, Bernie,” Mike frowned, “it wouldn’t take very long for any of these people to say they couldn’t figure it out. They’re just waiting around to find out the answers, since they, themselves, hadn’t gotten it.”

  One by one, the contestants dropped their forms into the box. Hernando smiled and nodded to each in turn. The captain sat in an overstuffed, leather chair near the front of the room, smiling at each of us in his warm, ingratiating manner. Mike snatched our paper, marched toward Hernando, and attempted to drop our form into the box. Hernando took it, and without looking at it, bent a corner before dropping it in the box. I knew he was marking it, so he could feel which one was ours before he even took it out of the box. Clever, but not as clever as the two of us. We had a thing or two up our sleeves.

  Hernando thanked everyone present for participating in the Caribbean Mermaid’s Mystery Cruise, and the crowd watched in silence as he removed the papers, one by one, announced the name of the contestant, and read aloud his or her theory. I was floored by the far-fetched suggestions. Benjamin Browning was identified as a waiter, fellow passenger, even the captain of the Mermaid. Captain Roberts smiled at this one and shook his head. Hernando was a suspect, which, I’m embarrassed to admit, seemed a pretty clever theory in retrospect. Several intimated that Ben hadn’t existed in the first place.