by Cindy Brown
“Hi again,” I said to the manager. He looked at me blankly. “You outfitted me for dinner at the captain’s table the other night? A green brocade dress—you convinced me to wear a corset?”
“Sorry,” he said. “I get literally hundreds of people through here. And most of them should wear corsets.”
“No worries. I’m really here about Theo Pushwright’s costume.”
“That was disposed of, of course.”
“But even if it wasn’t—which I would never tell anyone about in a million years—someone had to handle it, right?”
The costume shop manager pursed his lips, appraising me. “You know, I suddenly have the urge for a cigarette and some chocolate. Would you go next door and get me a box of Godiva chocolates and some vaping liquid? I like Dead Man’s Party.”
“You do?” Visions of the black-robed costumes danced in my head.
“It’s a vape juice flavor. Blueberry lemonade.”
“Got it.” I started out the door.
“And don’t forget to bring me my change.”
“But you didn’t give me any mon—Oh. Right. Sure thing.”
I went next door to Mrs. Chickenstalker’s Sundries and got the chocolates and the vape stuff.
But now I had a problem. I dialed Timothy.
“Hey Tonto, do you have any cash on you?” Since everything was paid for by my onboard account, I didn’t bring much actual money. I had only about thirty dollars in cash left, and it was back in my cabin.
“I’ve got about fifty dollars.”
I hoped that was enough. I’d never bribed anyone to tell me about a barfed-on Ghost of Christmas Future costume before. “Great. Meet me in the costume shop as soon as you can.”
“Perfect. I need to go there anyway. Need a new Fagin beard.”
I went back next door and gave the goods to the manager. “Your change is on its way.”
“Good.” He took an e-cigarette out of his pocket and carefully filled it with the vaping fluid. Something niggled at the back of my mind. “How do you work those?” I pointed at the gadget.
“You just suck on it to activate it.”
“I’ve heard that before,” Timothy said behind me.
The manager smiled a slow smile at my sidekick. “Want to try it?” he said, offering the cigarette to Timothy.
“Aren’t you supposed to use those outdoors?” I said.
“I’ll try anything once, twice if I like it, three times to make sure,” Timothy said in his best Mae West voice. He took a long sensual drag on the cigarette.
“Timothy,” I said pointedly as he fluttered his eyelashes. “Don’t you have something for the nice man?”
“Do I ever.” He slid a hand into his front pants pocket while blowing out a stream of fruity-smelling vapor.
“Cut it out. I want to talk about dead people.” I stopped. “Wait, do that again.”
“This?” Timothy slid his hand slowly into his pants pocket, leering at the manager.
“No. Blow that vapor at me, would you?”
“Sure.” Timothy complied and I finally realized what had been bugging me.
And what had killed Theo.
I ran back to the sundries shop. “Forget something?” the clerk asked me.
Even though I didn’t see anyone close by, I lowered my voice, just in case. “Wasn’t there a story in the news not too long ago about some kid accidentally getting killed with vaping liquid?”
“Yeah. Vape juice can be pretty dangerous. That’s why we keep it behind the counter. I heard as little as a teaspoon can kill a kid.”
“It smells like candy too, so it’d be easy to slip into someone’s drink, I guess,” I said, thinking out loud. “But that doesn’t explain the burns.”
“I don’t know exactly what you’re getting at,” said the clerk. “But this stuff is toxic if you get it on your skin too. A couple of months ago a guy ended up in the infirmary. Had a seizure after spilling some liquid on him. Doesn’t take much, I guess.”
“Right.” Things were falling into place. “Who has access to vaping liquid?”
The clerk shrugged. “Anyone over eighteen.”
Damn, that let Oliver off the hook. I really wanted to nail him for something.
I wished I could talk to Uncle Bob, but he hadn’t replied to the apologies I texted him earlier. I should probably let him cool off. And my idea wasn’t well-formulated or urgent. Still, I wanted to talk it through while it was fresh in my mind.
Matt. I could call Matt. He’d listen, and he’d tell me the right thing to do. He always did.
I pulled out my phone. No bars. No Matt. I sighed, thanked the clerk, and walked next door, where Timothy was still flirting with the manager. “Come on, Tonto,” I said. “We’ve got some thinking to do.”
CHAPTER 47
A Fit of Professional Enthusiasm
“Looking forward to wearing your beard next to my skin,” Timothy called to the manager as I dragged him out of Madame Mantalini’s, a bag tucked under his arm.
“How do you make everything sound dirty?” I said.
“It’s a gift.”
I hauled him down the hallway. “Let’s go back to your cabin.”
“Oohh, baby.”
I stopped. “Are you flirting with me?”
“Sorry,” Timothy said. “Force of habit.”
“Who’s gay, who’s straight—it’s all very confusing right now.”
“You don’t seriously think that I could be strai—”
“Of course not,” I said. “Hey, let’s stop by the kitchen first. I need some butcher paper.”
About ten minutes later, Timothy unlocked the door to his cabin. I stepped in, a nice clean roll of paper under my arm. “Let’s get to work.”
I was a visual thinker. I needed to see things in front of me. Investigations were especially tricky, what with all the clues and suspects and such. Back at Uncle Bob’s office, I used a whiteboard. Here onboard the ship, I was going to have to make do with what was at hand.
I unrolled the piece of butcher paper and duck-taped the edge to the frame of the top bunk.
“The famous duck tape.” Timothy pronounced the name carefully ever since I’d told him the story of the tape’s real name (it was used to keep ammo dry in World War II, and worked “like water off a duck’s back”). “I guess it does come in handy.”
I always kept a roll in my purse. I used it to repair flip flops and car hoses, and…“Did you know I could tape someone’s mouth shut with this?” Timothy zipped his lips as I taped the other edge of the paper to the frame underneath the bottom bunk. “Makes a nice temporary set of handcuffs too.” I stopped back and admired my taped-up handiwork. “Ta-da. Instant whiteboard.” I grabbed a Sharpie out of my purse.
“What can you do with those? Sharpies?” asked Timothy.
“Um, write?” I hadn’t had much time to ponder Sharpie’s possibilities. Yet. “You said there’s no chance your roommate will walk in on us, right?” Timothy roomed with the actor who played Pip in Great Expectations.
“Nah, he’s on character duty all day. I would be too, if it hadn’t been for Oliver.” He stepped toward me and stroked his cheek. “See how smooth?”
The left side of Timothy’s face was hairless as a baby’s bum. He turned the other side of his face toward me. It had what looked like a three-day growth of beard, Timothy’s typical five o’clock shadow. “The little turd put Nair on one side of my fake beard. When I took it off last night, I also took off all the hair on that cheek. Brat ruined my only beard too.” He shook his new beard out of the bag from the costume shop.
“You’re just lucky he didn’t put it—”
“Oh, he thought of that too,” said Timothy. “He must have soaked my underwear with it
or something. I am even smoother than normal down there. Like a cucumber. A cucumber with a rash.”
“Oh, oh, oh!” I was so excited I dropped my Sharpie.
“I know, it really itches.”
“You just helped me figure out how Theo was murdered.” I grabbed the pen and stood back up.
“Theo was murdered?”
“Sorry. Let me back up.” I wrote “Theo” on the paper as I explained about the burns on Theo’s face. “But I couldn’t figure out how anyone could have smuggled poison onboard the ship. Plus, when he died, he had an odd sweet smell I couldn’t identify—until a few minutes ago at the costume shop.”
“The e-cig vape.”
“Right.” I wrote “poisoned by vape juice” underneath Theo’s name. “It’s straight nicotine. Can kill you pretty easily.”
“And it’s available to anyone onboard.”
“Anyone over eighteen,” I said.
“Crap,” he said. “I was really hoping we could pin something on Oliver.”
“You and me both. I figured someone slipped some in Theo’s drink at the ball, but I couldn’t figure out the burns on his face. But your baby face—”
“Baby face,” sang Timothy. “I’ve got the cutest little baby—”
“Hey, Tonto.” I zipped my lips for emphasis.
“Sorry,” said Timothy. “Sometimes a boy’s just gotta sing.”
“You want me to get out the duck tape?”
He shook his head.
“Okay, so now I think someone tampered with Theo’s costume. His Ghost of Christmas Future mask was made of fabric that fit tightly over his face. Someone could have doused the fabric with the nicotine and—omigod, we have to make sure no one else wears that mask.”
Timothy took out his phone and texted someone. “Done.” He smiled. “I just happen to have the costume shop manager’s phone number right here. What’s next?”
“People who had a reason to kill Theo, I guess. Bette sure seemed to hate him.” I wrote down her name. “I overheard her say he ruined her life. Oh, and Madalina too. She was his, um, paid companion.”
I wrote her name next to Bette’s.
“Is that a reason to kill someone?”
“No, but something happened between them to change her mind about him.”
“Maybe he carried a roll of duck tape with him.”
“Timothy.”
He grinned an innocent Oliver-type smile.
“I guess I need to add Jonas,” I said, writing his name on the butcher paper.
“Right,” said Timothy. “He just inherited a buttload of money. And don’t forget—”
“Val. Yeah.” I put his name down too. “If Theo’s murder is connected somehow to the thefts, and if Val is a pickpocket, he could have…” I shut my eyes, the better to think. “Yeah, I guess he would have still had time. I was thinking he couldn’t have done it, since he wouldn’t have had time to get dressed. But of course, he could have poisoned Theo’s drink and costume earlier.”
“Did you just say get dressed?”
“Remember you said he likes to get naked when he’s drunk? I came back that night to find him in my bed, in just what he was born with.”
“Ooh…is it true?” said Timothy. “Does he have a big—”
“Tattoo? Why yes, he does.” I went on before Timothy could ask another question about Val’s physical attributes. “It’s a family tree—a really sad one, actually. There are just two names on it, his cousin’s and his dog’s. He doesn’t even know his parents’ names so he can’t put them on…” I stopped.
Val had been duped.
Or he was lying.
CHAPTER 48
A Creeping Sickness at His Heart
I wanted to talk to Val immediately, but first things first. “You sure this will be safe?” I folded the butcher paper “whiteboard” and handed it to Timothy.
“Yeah,” he said, tucking it inside a magazine. “There’s no way my roommate’s going to flip through the pages of Inches.”
“Great. I need to get going.” We’d talked through the investigation for a few more minutes, but it was painfully obvious I didn’t have much to go on. And it was painfully obvious where I needed to begin.
Val was the best lead we had. He was Eastern European, Timothy saw him steal T-shirt Dad’s wallet, and he was the only one obviously connected to Harley. I couldn’t see a connection to Theo, though. Maybe Theo had learned about the theft ring? Or he was involved in it? After all, Theo was rich before he started writing his positivity books. That money had to come from somewhere. Maybe Val knew?
After changing into my Nancy costume (ambient character duty again), I headed for the indoor swimming pool where Val often hung out.
Yep, there he was, dressed in costume, talking to two young women in bikinis standing near the edge of the unfortunately named Little Nell’s Natatorium—I mean, c’mon, who names a swimming pool after a poor little dying girl?
“Bill Sikes!” I put my hands on my hips, Nancy-style. “I don’t care for this, not one bit. What do you think you’re playing at, with all these women? I thought I was your—”
“Stand off from me, or I’ll split your head against the wall.”
Whoa. I stepped back.
“That’s right,” Val continued in his Bill Sikes voice, “you be quiet now, or I’ll quiet you for a good long time to come.” He stared at me with the flat eyes of a killer, then turned back to the girls, all charm. “Now if you’ll excuse me, ladies.” He doffed his hat and took my arm roughly. “Pretty good, you think?” Val whispered to me in his own voice as he pulled me away from the group. “I do that for the play tonight. Now they come. Nice foreskin, yes?”
“Foreski—I think you mean foreshadowing. Oh. You knew that, didn’t you?” Val grinned at me. No sign of Bill Sikes now. He pulled me closer. His aftershave was somehow familiar. “Is that bay rum?” I said, trying to get his murderous look out of my head.
“No. Something someone gave me. You are okay from last night? Your fall?”
“Yeah.” The few bruises and fabric burns I had were piddly compared to what might have happened.
We strolled for a minute while I tried to figure out how to get him talking.
“You are quiet,” he said. “Are you worried about your brother?”
“I can’t believe I didn’t tell you. They found him and Stu.”
“He was eating stew?”
“What? No. My brother’s friend—the one who he went after—is named Stuart, but Cody calls him Stu.” Ah, here was a way into the conversation. “Did I tell you he calls me Olive-y?”
“Because you like martinis?”
“No. Because my real name is Olive.”
“Olive?”
“Olive Ziegwart. My dad says it means ‘victory nipple’ in German.”
Oops, mistake. Val’s attention moved to my chest.
Though my breasts sometimes proved useful in interrogation (e.g. Mr. Brick Bungalow), I really wanted to see Val’s eyes. When interviewing subjects, Uncle Bob had taught me to begin with a question people could answer truthfully. I would note where they looked when they told the truth. Then with further questions, I’d watch to see where their eyes moved. I stopped walking and tipped Val’s chin back up so his eyes met mine. “Do you know what your name means?”
“Valery means brave.” Val puffed out his chest and looked up and to the right.
I was pretty sure that was correct (think about the word “valor”), so right was Val’s truthful place.
“Also a girlfriend told me it means ‘a deep inner desire for a stable loving family or community.’” As he spoke the memorized words, his eyes stayed where they were. Good. True.
“Was the girlfriend Harley?”
/> “No.” His eyes flitted back to me, then to the left. “She was not a girlfriend.”
A lie. “So she never saw your tattoo?”
“That is only for special girlfriends. I show it to you again tonight.”
“I was trying to remember the names on the tree’s leaves. There was Tuzik, your dog, and…”
“Nikolay. My cousin.” His eyes moved to the right.
So he hadn’t been lying about his cousin. Huh. I needed to proceed carefully. I began walking again, his arm tucked under mine. “I think I’ve heard his name before. Oh, didn’t someone tell me you were going to meet him in Ensenada?”
“Who told you that?” Val’s voice had changed again. Not exactly Bill Sikes, but someone to be wary of.
“I don’t remember.” I shook my head and moved to safer ground. “He’s your cousin?”
Val nodded.
“It’s so cool that you found some of your family. It must have been hard to do.”
“What do you mean?” Val stopped walking and looked at me.
“You don’t know who your parents were, right?” The bare branches on Val’s tattooed family tree haunted me. I really didn’t want to do this to Val, but I forged ahead. “So how do you know that Nikolay is your cousin?”
“He found me. He knows we are cousins because of my eyes. He has two-colored eyes too. Is family trait.”
Oh. Phew. Maybe I was wrong about this whole thing with Val’s cousin. But didn’t Uncle Bob say…Dang. I sighed before I could stop myself.
“What?” Val said. “What is wrong?”
“Um. What you have—the bicolored eye? That’s really rare. And your type isn’t usually genetic.”
“But Nikolay has a brown eye and a blue eye. He must be family.”
“So he doesn’t have an eye like yours? His eyes are completely different colors?”
“Yes. That is rare too, no?”
“It is rare, but…Didn’t you say he found you? Did he know you had a bicolored eye?”
“Everyone knows. What is ‘but’?”
I didn’t want to go ahead with this. I chewed my lip instead.