Dying for a Diamond

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Dying for a Diamond Page 3

by Cindy Sample


  “You’re sure you weren’t dreaming? You had a few drinks tonight. Alcohol can do strange things to your imagination.”

  “Have I ever imagined any dead bodies before?”

  He winced and shook his head. “Unfortunately, no.”

  I explained what I’d seen, not that there was a whole lot of explaining to do.

  “It’s not that I doubt you, honey, but it’s difficult to picture someone falling overboard without causing any commotion. You said there were no cries for help from the victim or anyone else.”

  “Correct.”

  “Unless someone decided to commit suicide that seems kind of far-fetched.”

  “How many of the murders you’ve solved initially seemed far-fetched to you?”

  Tom sighed. “Too many.” He stood and stretched. Clad only in his black boxers, he headed for the closet.

  I admired the view for a minute before asking. “What’s next?”

  “We try to find the head of security.”

  Good. We had a plan.

  “But there is something we need to take care of first,” he said.

  Men! Even with a potential dead body floating in the middle of the Atlantic Ocean, my new husband had just one thing on his mind.

  I slipped back under the covers and waited for Tom to join me. When he continued to get dressed, I called out his name in my most sultry voice.

  He turned and a puzzled expression crossed his face. “What are you doing back in bed?”

  “You said we had to take care of something first.”

  Tom laughed. “I meant coffee.”

  We quickly dressed then set out on our mission. The cruise ship, unsurprisingly, was almost devoid of activity at four in the morning. We passed through the eerily quiet casino. A few stalwart gamblers claimed seats in front of the slot machines. The lack of smiles on their faces confirmed my opinion that gambling on board ship was akin to throwing dollar bills into the ocean.

  I stared at the gambling night owls wondering if any of them might throw a person overboard as casually as they threw their money away.

  One of the crew walked by, and Tom stopped him to ask the location of the Security Office. He told us to go down to deck two where someone would be able to assist us.

  Tom pressed the elevator button, and the car arrived in mere seconds. We stepped in and I noticed that the beige carpet covering the elevator floor had Monday written across it in bold black letters. How clever. In case the passengers forgot what day of the week it was. With no pressing needs other than to wine, dine and play in the sunshine, I could see how the days could slip by while on vacation, one day blurring into another.

  Except for today.

  Did Monday stand for murder?

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  One would think that the possibility of a passenger falling overboard, whether intentional or not, would be a priority to the ship’s staff.

  Not so much.

  Tom and I patiently waited in line behind a couple who had lost their keys, a woman who claimed her wallet was missing, and a short, portly man who had imbibed far too much and couldn’t remember his stateroom number.

  By the time it was our turn, I was so exhausted I could barely summon enough energy to share my story. The clerk was not impressed with my flat recital of passengers flying through the air. He suggested I go back to my room and sleep it off.

  “But I’m positive I saw someone go overboard. Well, almost positive,” I reluctantly admitted.

  “Sometimes, when the moonlight shines on the ocean, it can play tricks on you,” the clerk suggested. “Especially,” he eyed me, “if you’ve been drinking.”

  “Yes, but…”

  “We haven’t received any other reports.”

  “Just because no one has reported a missing person doesn’t mean it didn’t happen,” Tom said curtly. “Maybe the person was alone when they fell over.”

  The clerk pointed to the tipsy passenger who was now arguing with another crew member. “And just because that gentleman claims he saw Mr. Spock lying on a chaise lounge on the pool deck, doesn’t mean he did.”

  “There’s a Star Trek convention on board?” asked a familiar voice.

  I whirled around to see Gran and Mabel behind me.

  “What are you two doing up so late?” I asked the women.

  “We closed down the disco.” Gran waved a rubber chicken in my face. “I won the chicken dance competition.”

  I pushed the pathetic poultry aside. “Congratulations. So why are you down here instead of up in your room?”

  Gran looked shamefaced. “My purse wandered off while I was dancing. They told me to report it, although someone could have taken it by mistake.”

  Since Gran’s collection of pastel patent leather purses ranged in size from huge to gargantuan, it was highly unlikely anyone accidentally mistook it for one of their own.

  “I hope you didn’t have anything valuable in there.”

  “Her ship card and cash for the casino,” Mabel said.

  “And a five-dollar-off coupon for some special seaweed product they sell in the spa. Guaranteed to keep you regular,” Gran added wistfully. Then she shifted her gaze to me. “So why the heck are you two down here? You’re supposed to be doing the horizontal hula.”

  “Laurel thinks she saw something fly past our balcony,” Tom explained to the women.

  “Not something,” I corrected him. “Someone.”

  Gran’s faded blue eyes lit up. “You saw someone get pushed overboard? You mean there’s a murderer on this ship?” she asked, her voice barely a few decibels lower than the Celebration’s intercom.

  Heads swiveled at Gran’s remark. The drunk guy even stopped yelling and turned toward us.

  “And now there’s a serial killer running around,” he proclaimed.

  The couple behind us began arguing. “I told you we shouldn’t have booked a Nordic American cruise, Henry. There are too many lowlifes on this ship,” the woman said to her husband.

  Gran spun around so fast her rubber chicken connected with the guy’s I-love-a-buffet-sized belly.

  “Ooph,” he said bending over.

  His wife glared at Gran and muttered, “See what I mean.”

  Gran immediately apologized. “Sorry about that. But don’t worry about the serial killer. My granddaughter is a famous detective in California, and she’ll ferret him out.”

  Tom cleared his throat.

  Gran added. “And her hubby ain’t no slouch either. They’ll catch the murdererin’ SOB.”

  “There is no serial killer on board,” stated the clerk with clenched teeth. From behind him, a tall statuesque woman in her late forties intoned, “There is nothing for any of you to be concerned about. This is merely a misunderstanding with one passenger.”

  The tall blond met my eyes. “You’re all grown up, but it looks like you’re still creating mischief, Laurel.”

  “Hi, cuz. Nice to see you, too.”

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Five minutes later, Tom and I were seated in front of Chief Security Officer Sanjay Radhakrishnan. His office wasn’t as plush or expansive as the executive offices at the bank where I work, but the cruise ship likely spent their pennies on guest amenities and not on employee offices. The officer brought in an extra chair for Sierra who chose to join us.

  “You certainly don’t get much sleep, do you?” I asked my cousin, noticing the dark circles under her eyes.

  “There’s always a multitude of things to attend to when we first set sail,” she replied. “Plus we’ve kicked off a new show on this particular cruise, so there are lots of last minute details to be addressed.” Sierra turned to Tom. “We haven’t met but congratulations on your marriage. It’s been quite a few years since Laurel and I’ve gotten together so we have some catching up to do.”

  The officer cleared his throat. “Perhaps you can postpone your family reunion until after we’ve resolved this situation. What did you wish to report?”

  “
I’m not sure how you plan on resolving this situation, as you refer to it. The ship has cruised far beyond where the person went overboard.” I explained in great detail what I had seen. An explanation that took all of ten seconds.

  The well-groomed officer splayed manicured hands on his desk. Not a strand of his jet-black hair was out of place. In his starched shirt and perfectly pressed uniform, he bore a commanding presence. “With no other reports, I’m not certain what you expect us to do. We can’t turn the ship around based on what you think you might have seen. May I ask how much alcohol you consumed last night?”

  I bristled at his suggestion that I was too intoxicated to know what I was seeing, although I’d lost count of the frothy drinks I’d imbibed in the disco. There was always the possibility he was right.

  Tom leaned forward, mirroring the security chief’s authoritative stance. “My wife does not make a habit of inventing scenarios like this. If she says she saw someone go overboard then she saw it.”

  “That’s right, Mr. Radakra…” I fumbled with the correct pronunciation of his name.

  “You can call me Sanjay,” he said.

  “Maybe you can check the twelfth-floor observation deck,” Sierra suggested. “See if there’s any sign of unusual activity. I’m sure it would reassure my cousin.”

  “Will that satisfy you?” he asked. His supercilious grin seemed to mock me and my good intentions.

  I could tell by the tone of his voice that the officer did not expect to find anything, but it was better than nothing at all. I thanked him and the three of us left his office.

  “I appreciate your help,” I said to Sierra.

  “Any time.” She looked at her watch and yawned. “I can get in two whole hours of sleep before I begin today’s activities. I suggest the two of you go back to your room and get a good night’s rest, at least what’s left of it.”

  We agreed to meet up later in the day. Sierra went off to her stateroom, and Tom and I headed for the elevator. I had an inkling how Tom wanted to occupy my time, but the sooner I took a much needed nap, the sooner we could engage in some creative stateroom activity.

  If there were any missing persons to be found, I was leaving it up to the ship’s staff to locate them.

  The last thing I planned on adding to the daily list of activities was a murder investigation.

  CHAPTER NINE

  Tom and I woke with the sun shining in our eyes and someone pounding on our stateroom door. I reached for my robe, opened the door and peered into the narrow corridor.

  “Hey, Stan,” I said, pulling the door partially shut behind me. I tied my sash and ran my fingers through my unruly curls. “What’s up?”

  “Evidently not you.” Stan’s shoulders shook with laughter. “Are you going to sleep the cruise away? You’ve already missed bingo, the kitchen tour and the Champagne art auction.”

  Good. We hadn’t missed anything important except maybe a phone call regarding the missing passenger.

  “We had a late night,” I explained.

  Stan smirked. “I certainly hope so.”

  “It’s not what you think. I saw a…” I stopped as a couple scooted past, the husband staring at my shorty robe. “Listen, why don’t Tom and I meet you for lunch, and I’ll update you then.”

  “How about on the pool deck? The Seaview Grille offer burgers and pizza made to order. And the steel band is playing for a couple hours.”

  This ship certainly didn’t stint on entertainment. But some soothing Caribbean music might help dissipate the stress of the previous evening. I assured Stan we’d be there then slipped back into our stateroom.

  The sound of the shower combined with off-key singing provided an excellent clue that Tom was getting ready. I decided to step out onto our balcony. Maybe if I stood there for a few minutes, I could recapture that terrifying moment of the previous night.

  Or possibly confirm that I dreamt the whole thing after all.

  I eased the heavy door open. The midday sun created warmth, but the balcony remained shaded from the noon rays. I grasped the railing with both hands and peered below.

  My stomach plummeted as I gazed down at the white-crested waves. The crystalline blue waters that normally would have soothed my soul appeared almost frightening, as if a magnetic force tugged at me. Was I the last person to see someone’s fatal fall into the sea?

  The more important question––was there a next-to-last person and if so, why hadn’t they reported the incident?

  I jumped a foot when two muscular arms circled my waist and interrupted my reverie.

  “Are you okay, hon?” Tom asked, his voice gentle and calming.

  I nodded, comforted by his presence and the sense of security he gave me. “I can’t help questioning what I saw and wondering if there was something I should have done.”

  “There is nothing you could have done, regardless, so don’t let that bother your pretty…” Tom paused when I sent him a look, “…and very competent head.” He gave me a long kiss that almost distracted me until our stomachs growled in unison.

  First things first. Time to check out the poolside cuisine.

  A few minutes later, Tom and I walked past the spa on our way to the outside café. A young woman, whose nametag read Andi from the Philippines, stood in the corridor passing out discount coupons for spa products, including a special seaweed digestive cleanser. I took one, knowing Gran would be thrilled to replace her missing five-dollar coupon.

  We all wanted Gran to be “regular” for the duration of the trip.

  Tom and I spotted Stan, Mother and my stepfather seated at a poolside table for six. We weren’t the only ones to opt out of a formal lunch in the main dining room. The smell of burgers sizzling on the grill combined with the tangy salt air almost made me relax. I decided to lay off any alcoholic beverages for now and stick with diet cola. Life was almost perfect.

  Almost. Unfortunately, my new Miracle swimsuit was creating a few problems. The salesclerk had assured me that I looked ten pounds thinner when I donned it for all of thirty seconds in a dressing room. What she didn’t share was that after wearing the fat-sucking instrument of torture for more than a minute, I would barely be able to breathe, much less chow down on a half-pound burger.

  “Your face is turning red,” Mother said. “This tropical sun may be too strong for you.”

  “It’s fine.” I reached for a French fry then gasped as one of the built-in stays jabbed my rib. It might take a miracle for me to finish my lunch.

  Bradford lifted a beer to his lips. “Tom told me about your commotion last night.”

  Stan raised both brows. “Time to dish, sweetie.”

  I shared what happened and waited for their reactions.

  “Are you certain you saw a person?” Mother asked. “Maybe a large object fell overboard, like a chair cushion?”

  “Inflatable doll?” Stan suggested. I rolled my eyes but shook my head.

  “Crate of drugs,” Bradford added.

  All eyes turned to the retired detective. “Hey, it’s happened several times on board cruise ships. A crew member obtains the drugs from one source, drops the package overboard at a pre-arranged place. The rest of the gang locates it by tracking the crate with their GPS.”

  Tom placed his palm over mine. “Does that make you feel better, hon?”

  “I won’t feel better until the head of security confirms that no one is missing. Until then, I’m keeping my eyes open for anything and anyone acting in a suspicious manner.”

  At that moment, I spotted Danielle, the significantly younger half of the Montreal couple we’d dined with the previous evening, engaged in conversation with a male companion, who looked to be in his late twenties. Once they reached the lounge chairs, he stripped off his polo shirt to reveal a muscled chest that would make a Calvin Klein model envious. When Danielle removed her cover-up, the rest of the men onboard turned to ogle her perfect figure.

  Including my husband and stepfather. Good grief, even Stan. M
en!

  “Isn’t that Danielle from Montreal?” Tom asked me.

  “Yes,” I said. “But that is definitely not her husband.”

  CHAPTER TEN

  After a quick lunch, Tom and I returned to the stateroom. I was in a hurry to remove my uncomfortable bathing suit. Not surprisingly, Tom was equally anxious for me to do so. The flashing red voicemail light greeted us as we walked in.

  Tom picked up the receiver and listened to the message. “The chief security officer would like us to come down to his office. He wants to update us.”

  I couldn’t decide whether I was relieved that the head of security wanted to see us again or not. I quickly changed into a pair of comfort-waist capris and matching striped top, and we set off on our mission.

  The majority of the ship’s passengers seemed to be either going up or traveling down. We finally snagged a place on a downward elevator. When we stepped out of the car, I was surprised at the number of people milling around. The hospitality area seemed twice as busy as the previous evening.

  “Should we wait for a clerk to tell Sanjay we’re here?” I asked Tom. At the rate the lines were moving, it could take the entire afternoon.

  We were saved from making a decision when the security officer’s door opened. Sanjay ushered out a couple dressed in cruise-appropriate clothing, from the man’s logo-trimmed shirt to her multi-colored floral sundress. As we approached him, we overheard his parting words.

  “I’ll report back to you as soon as I discover anything,” he said to the couple.

  Sanjay beckoned us into his office. With a grim look on his face, he closed the door and motioned for us to be seated.

  “Are there more missing persons?” I asked, wondering if a serial killer had snuck on board.

  He grimaced. “No, but there are several missing wallets as well as jewelry. The ship sailed less than twenty-four hours ago. Someone has been busy.”

 

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