“Then people will get nervous that it’ll sink!” Ivy protested.
“Not if you say it’s a simple but necessary adjustment to the engine,” Nora explained. “Half the major ships have had at least minor problems on their maiden voyages. People will understand.”
“The only problem,” Luke said, “is that if Tony Pinto is on board and counting on getting to Fishbowl Island, when he realizes we’re turning around, what might he do?”
There was no answer to that question.
“There’s Dudley,” Regan said suddenly and hurried out to stop him. “We need to talk to you right away. We’re right here in the piano lounge. Where’s the Commodore?”
“The Commodore is at the entrance to the dining salon inviting people to the sunset service.”
“Get him.”
Dudley knew better than to ask why. “Right away, Regan,” he assured her as he dashed off. A moment later, Dudley was entering the lounge followed by the Commodore and Alvirah and Willy.
Regan wasn’t surprised to see Alvirah. Like a bloodhound, she could track down a trouble spot.
The Commodore’s face brightened at the sight of Ivy, a look that lasted only seconds when she blurted out, “I’m sorry, Randolph, but the man I saw the other night is a criminal, and he’s on this ship!”
“What?” the Commodore asked as the color drained from his face.
Regan closed the door to the lounge and apprised everyone of the situation.
“We’ll never live this down!” the Commodore said. “But we must consider the safety of the passengers first. What do you suggest we do?”
“We really must go back to Miami, have the passengers disembark, and then the police will make a thorough search of the ship without the danger of some innocent person being hurt,” Jack answered.
“What do we tell the passengers?” the Commodore asked him.
“That there’s minor engine trouble, we are returning to Miami for a replacement part for the engine, and then we’ll cruise the local waters off Miami until Thursday.”
“We can always promise the passengers another free cruise,” Dudley volunteered hysterically.
“Bite your tongue,” the Commodore snapped. “You and your free cruise idea got me into all this trouble. From now on, keep your suggestions to yourself!”
Dudley wilted. “I just thought . . .” he began. “I was just trying to be helpful. . . .” He longed for the moment when he had thought falling off the rock-climbing wall was going to be the worst thing that happened to him on this ship. He wondered if other cruise lines would be hiring after the New Year.
“Dudley, get Captain Smith,” the Commodore ordered. “I know he’s already in the dining room.”
Once again Dudley dashed off. Less than a minute later, he returned with Captain Smith, whose expression did not change when he heard the saga of the probable stowaway.
“I remember on one of my ship’s maiden voyage we lost all power during a particularly vicious storm and were battered unmercifully by the waves for two days—”
“Yes, yes,” the Commodore interrupted impatiently.
Dudley knew that only the Captain could match the Commodore in relating every last detail of an event that had happened years ago.
“So it is feasible that we could have an engine failure that could be temporarily corrected,” the Captain continued. “I will go directly to the bridge now, begin to slow the ship, then toward the end of the lunch hour bring her to a complete stop. Then I will come up to the dining salon to ostensibly report the problem to you, Commodore.”
The Commodore was thoughtful. “At which time I will explain what is happening to the passengers. I will also make the announcement that in view of the circumstances my dear mother’s ceremony will begin at two thirty.”
“I thought you wanted to have it at sunset?” Dudley interrupted.
“Not anymore! If we are turning back this is the nearest spot to where I had planned to leave Mother.”
With a brief nod but without speaking, Captain Smith left them.
Alvirah was debating. Should they warn the Commodore not to say anything to Eric about Tony Pinto? But what would the reason be for it? Should she explain that Eric was looking for a deck of cards and might possibly be connected to Tony Pinto? That there were traces of mysterious potato chips on the carpet of his room that he never would have eaten? We can’t tell him that, she decided. If Eric was guilty, his uncle would find out soon enough.
The Commodore squared his shoulders. “Our guests are beginning to have lunch. I must join them. Ivy, there’s a place for you at my table.” Taking her arm, he steered her to the door.
The others watched them leave.
“That’s a classy guy,” Luke commented.
“This could be the ruination of his cruise ship,” Dudley said sadly. “His back is against the financial wall.”
Nora sighed. “Well, we’d better go inside.” She turned to Maggie. “Why don’t you sit with us?” With a wry smile she added, “You’re our coconspirator.”
“Thank you, but Ted is planning to sit at my table for lunch.”
“Jack and I will be right back,” Regan said as they started walking toward the door.
“I have to call the office and let them know what’s going on.” Jack’s voice was crisp.
“Bring the cards back,” Alvirah directed them. “Eric is bugging us for them.”
“We will,” Regan assured her.
Regan and Jack turned toward the elevators. The others walked into the dining salon. Fifteen minutes later, Regan and Jack were hurrying toward the table.
“What?” Alvirah asked before they even sat down.
Regan’s voice was low. “We just learned that there is a close connection between Bull’s-Eye Tony Pinto and Barron Highbridge, the classy crook from Greenwich who ran a huge investment scam and was about to be sentenced. Highbridge disappeared last week, and his ex-girlfriend is sure he called her from Miami. His gofer is a cousin of Bingo Mullens, the guy the police are sure arranged Bull’s-Eye’s escape.”
“What does Highbridge look like?” Alvirah asked.
“Tall and thin,” Regan answered.
“Like the one-belled Santa who left me high and dry on the deck!” Alvirah cried.
Jack took the cards out of his pocket and slid them across the table. “You can give the cards back to Eric,” he said. “My office is pretty sure these are numbers of Swiss bank accounts. They’re working on it and will know soon.”
Alvirah said flatly, “The big question is, ‘What were those cards doing in Eric’s room?’ ”
49
Eric could not believe what was going on. The ship was now at a complete stop and would soon be turning back to port. I’m a dead man, he thought despairingly. If I can’t get those two off the ship, and they get caught when we dock in Miami, Bull’s-Eye will definitely have me killed. Even if I’m in jail, he’ll find a way. . . . Eric could not believe how stupid he had been. If I had just helped Uncle Randolph make this operation work, I could have had a good life, he thought. I’m his only heir. There would have been lots of money, lots of single girls on the cruises—I could have had everything.
No matter what, I’ve got to get those two off the ship!
He hurried up to the suite and opened the door of his room. While he was still debating what to tell the two escapees in his closet, Eric heard the door from the corridor open and realized that the Commodore had followed him.
Eric turned to him. “Uncle Randolph, I can’t tell you how sorry I am that we have to go back to Miami. I know how awful it is for you, with the bad publicity we’re already getting.”
The Commodore sat heavily on the couch and buried his face in his hands. “My boy,” he said, “it’s worse. Much worse.”
What could be worse? Eric wondered as he felt his entire body burst into a sweat. “What is it?” he managed to croak.
“We are virtually certain we have a mobster on board as a
stowaway—the so-called Bull’s-Eye Tony Pinto.”
“Wha . . . wha . . . what?” Eric stammered.
“There is no engine problem. We’re only saying that to avoid a panic among the passengers. As you must know, Jack Reilly is the head of the Major Case Squad in New York City. We are following his advice. We will return to Miami, and the police will search from one end of this ship to the other. Wait till I find out where he’s been hiding and who’s been hiding him.” The Commodore’s voice rose. “Give me two minutes with that crook in a locked room! I’ll show him what a Bull’s-Eye is!”
Eric cringed. Bull’s-Eye and Highbridge are listening to this, he thought. At least I don’t have to break the news to them. He remembered an expression of his grandmother’s, “We get comfort wherever we can find it.” Eric looked at the locked glass case where his grandmother’s ashes were reposing in the silver box. You never liked me, he thought. That’s why I turned out the way I did.
The Commodore stood. “The ceremony will begin very soon,” he said. “We are going to make it short and sweet, then the Captain will start the engines and we’ll head home. I’m going to spend these last precious moments with Grandma in the chapel.”
As soon as his uncle was gone, Eric went into his room and shut the door. His palms so sweaty he could barely open the door of the closet, he braced himself and turned the handle.
“I’d kill you now, but we still need you,” Bull’s-Eye said with no emotion in his voice.
“We have to get off the ship while it’s stopped,” Highbridge told Eric. “Give me your satellite phone. Get the reading of the latitude and longitude. We’ll call our people and tell them to find us in your dinghy. They can figure out how far we’d drift.”
Bull’s-Eye reached in the pocket of his Santa suit and pulled out Crater’s gun. “All the cash we gave you is coming with us, too.” Eric looked up at the shelf and realized that his locked suitcase had been pried open.
“We were looking for our clothes,” Bull’s-Eye explained. “Too bad you weren’t smart enough to put our deposit for this trip in the bank. Forget about it. It would have been easier to swim than to put up with your plans. And I’m not leaving without my cards,” he said flatly.
Eric ran out to his uncle’s desk, checked the latitude and longitude of the ship, then hurried back and reported the readings to Highbridge. “While you make the call, I’ll get the cards,” he promised desperately. He closed the doors of the closet and of his bedroom, hurried through the suite, and went out into the corridor. He was about to go to the Meehans’ door and knock when he glanced down toward the elevator bank. They were just stepping off the elevator. He waited for them and to his vast relief he didn’t even have to ask about the cards.
“Oh, Eric,” Alvirah said, “we have your friend’s cards.”
Willy piped up. “Tell your buddy if he’s getting together a game, I’d love to join him.”
Eric’s palms were sweaty as he closed them around Bull’s-Eye’s cards. “Sure, sure, I’ll tell him. Thanks.” His eyes briefly registered the chocolate syrup stains covering the front of Willy’s shirt.
Willy laughed. “Don’t think I’m a slob. The waiter was being generous, but in my case he missed my bowl of ice cream when he was ladeling out the hot fudge sauce. I’m on my way to change.”
“Sorry about that,” Eric said, his grip on the cards so tight that they were cutting into his palm.
“See you at your grandmother’s ceremony,” Alvirah said as they continued down the corridor.
Eric waited until the Meehans were safely inside their stateroom. I need thirty seconds to get Bull’s-Eye and Highbridge to the crew companionway, he reasoned. It led directly down to the stern, where he had hidden the dinghy. It was risky using the stairs now, but even if they passed a crew member he would know better than to question Eric or anyone with him. Eric worried that Winston might be a problem—he used those stairs all the time to get down to his cabin and had a way of appearing out of nowhere.
Eric knew that he had to get Bull’s-Eye and Highbridge down to the open area on the lowest deck at the stern where nets, hooks, and assorted waterproof paraphernalia for the ship were stored. There was no concealed locker or closet, which was why he had not even considered hiding the two men there. But there was an overhang, which meant no one from the upper decks could see what was happening there from above. The risk was that someone would spot them when they threw the inflatable dinghy over the stern in broad daylight. Once the two men were in the dinghy, Eric had a canvas cover they could pull over themselves so that anyone who saw the dinghy would assume it was empty. But hopefully everyone would be at his grandmother’s ceremony.
Eric went back into the suite, strode to his room, and opened the door of his closet. He handed Bull’s-Eye the cards. “Let’s go,” he snapped, noticing that Bull’s-Eye had the briefcase he must have stolen and Highbridge was holding Eric’s duffel bag to which they’d obviously transferred the cash they’d given Eric and their clothing.
“Coming,” Bull’s-Eye snapped back.
By the grace of God, they made it to the crew companionway without running into anyone. What they didn’t know was that Alvirah’s ear was at the slightly opened door of her room. When she heard the Commodore’s door shut, she poked out her head just in time to see Eric and the two Santas disappear behind the unmarked door at the other end of the passageway. It was the door she had seen Winston use, and she was sure it was intended just for the crew.
Merciful heavens! she thought. That has to be Bull’s-Eye and the Santa I was chasing. Eric is hand-in-glove with them! I can’t waste a second. Willy’s in the shower, but if I take the time to tell him what’s up it’ll be too late and I’ll lose them. She bolted down the corridor as fast as her arthritic knees would permit, silently opened the door they’d gone through, and could hear their footsteps in the distance, echoing several decks below. She grabbed the railing as she hurried after them.
When she reached the bottom deck, there was a metal door to her left. She opened it a crack. A rubber dinghy was being inflated, and two men were strapping life jackets over their Santa suits.
I’ve got to get help, she thought. She turned and started up the stairs, but before she had gone six steps the door flew open behind her. She tried to run faster, but it was impossible to escape. She felt a strong hand clamp over her mouth, a muscled arm pull her back, and heard Eric say, “You’re not that good an amateur sleuth, Mrs. Meehan.”
50
Crater had panicked when Fredericka and Gwendolyn had informed him once again that the time of the ceremony had been changed. He had placed an urgent call to his people. “There can be no delays!”
“Don’t worry. We’re almost there,” he was told.
Crater had then informed Dr. Gephardt that he had sent for his helicopter. “With the breakdown of the ship, I don’t feel comfortable, and I can tell from previous experiences that a major asthma attack is building up. My breathing is getting shorter. I want to go home, where good medical care is close at hand.”
What a load of bull, Dr. Gephardt had thought, sitting in his office and twirling a pencil as he listened.
“But I am looking forward to the ceremony for the Commodore’s mother. Those lovely children who have been so kind to me will be singing, I understand.”
“So I heard,” Dr. Gephardt said, thinking how glad he’d be when Crater was gone. Whoever tried to smother him could have another go at it. Jack Reilly might be interested in this, Gephardt thought as he hung up. He dialed the Reilly’s stateroom, but there was no answer.
On the top deck, at the bow of the ship, people were already gathering for the ceremony. Crew members had placed rows of folding chairs on either side of a makeshift aisle through which the Commodore, Eric, and the Santa Claus guard of honor would march. A small table from the Commodore’s suite had been placed in front of the crowd, a bouquet of flowers and a hand microphone on it. Stereo speakers had been set up to play “A
mazing Grace.”
The sun was bright, the sea calm, the only movement of the Royal Mermaid being caused by the waves gently lapping against it.
In the distance, the sound of a helicopter approaching caught everyone’s attention. A buzz went through the ship, and in an instant the deck was full. Dudley came running out and rushed to pick up the microphone. “There is no need for alarm!” he began. “Our friend Mr. Crater,” he nodded to Crater sitting in a wheelchair at the end of the front row near the rail, “needs to get home to consult with his family physician.”
“Louder!” someone yelled. “We can’t hear you!”
Dudley put his fingers to his lips and pointed at the helicopter. They all watched as it slowly settled on the helipad—engines roaring and blades whipping not far from where the ceremony was to take place.
Fredericka and Gwendolyn, standing on either side of the wheelchair, covered Crater’s ears with their palms. The remaining seats in the left front row were reserved for the Commodore, Eric, Dudley, and Winston. The front row on the other side of the aisle was reserved for the Santas.
The roaring of the helicopter’s engine abruptly stopped and the rotation of the blades slowed until they no longer moved. Dudley quickly repeated what he’d explained before and then said, “We’ll be starting our lovely tribute to Mrs. Penelope Weed in just a few moments. Please take your seats.”
The four Reillys, Ivy, and Maggie were seated in the second row. They had saved two seats for Willy and Alvirah, but Willy came out on the deck by himself. His face fell when he saw that Alvirah wasn’t with them.
“Where’s Alvirah?” he asked worriedly.
“We haven’t seen her,” Nora told him.
“She was gone from the room when I got out of the shower. I was surprised, but I figured she’d come out here.”
“Oh, I’m sure she’ll be right along,” Nora said soothingly.
All eyes focused on the helicopter as three men in medical scrubs climbed out. Dudley ran over to greet them.
“Something doesn’t feel right,” Regan whispered to Jack.
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