by Cindy Sample
“My sister and I live in Vancouver.”
“A lovely city,” he replied. “I’ve visited there several times. You must be enjoying a break from your cold winters.” Tom continued to chat with the two women as they headed to the fort. I trudged along behind them, not interested in conversing with Mrs. Peabody any more than necessary.
Plus the view of my hubby’s posterior was far preferable to looking at Mrs. Peabody’s yapping mouth.
“He’s like a young James Bond, isn’t he?” said a strong baritone from a few feet behind me. I slowed down so the elderly man could catch up. “Reminds me of myself at that age.”
The original James Bond winked at me. I imagined he must have been quite the charmer fifty years ago. Upon reflection, Jimmy was still a very personable man.
“If we walk faster, we can catch up to Mrs. Peabody,” I said.
Jimmy reduced his speed to slightly faster than a snail’s crawl. “There’s no hurry, my dear. Those two ladies have received more than enough attention from me.”
“I hope they’re nicer to you than they have been to my cousin. Or anyone in my family, for that matter.” I gazed at Tom’s disappearing back. “Although my husband seems to be winning them over.”
“Your Tom is quite the dashing dick.”
I laughed. “And that’s quite the compliment. Who told you Tom was a detective?”
Jimmy’s bright blue eyes sparkled with humor. “I keep my ear to the deck, so to speak. Rumor has it the captain utilized the skills of two former policemen experienced in homicide investigation. I recalled a comment your grandmother made the other night at dinner and concluded that your husband must be one of the men.”
“You’re not a bad detective yourself,” I said. “Are you a retired bobby? Or a spy, like your namesake, with one of those mysterious MI5 or MI6 departments?”
“No, no, nothing like that. I will admit to thirty years with Lloyds of London.”
“Now that sounds glamorous.”
“The words glamorous and insurance should never be used in the same sentence, my dear. It provided a comfortable living and a nice pension for me to enjoy the occasional holiday.” He pointed to where Tom stood waiting for us to catch up. “Your husband awaits.”
We sped up our pace and met Tom at the entrance to the national park.
“Hi,” I panted, “honey.” I desperately looked around for a water fountain since I’d forgotten to fill my own water bottle before we left the ship. “Do you have any water?” I croaked.
“What’s mine is yours,” Tom said. He reached into his backpack and pulled out his own bottle. I took him at his word and swallowed the majority of the refreshing liquid.
“Thanks, now I feel normal again.”
“Honey, you’ll never be normal to me.”
I frowned at him, and he swung his arm around my waist. “And that’s what I love about you.” He turned to Jimmy. “What were you two gabbing about?”
“Just getting to know one another,” I said. “Jimmy used to work for Lloyds of London.”
The two men scrutinized each other. “Ever work on any diamond thefts?” Tom asked him.
“Primarily actuarial tables. Dreary stuff. Nothing that would interest a homicide detective.” Jimmy smiled. “But tell me more about the ship’s latest mystery. I understand you’re consulting for the cruise line.”
“That’s news to me,” Tom replied. “My former partner and I just happened to be among the first passengers on the scene. We did the best we could to maintain everything before the feds took over. I doubt there is anyone on the ship who hasn’t heard the news by now.”
“As a frequent cruiser, be forewarned that shipboard gossip travels faster than norovirus.”
I made a face at Jimmy’s comment. I was about to ask if he’d heard of any norovirus outbreaks on board the Celebration when Mrs. Peabody called out to him. “Yoo-hoo, Jimmy. We saved a spot for you.”
Jimmy muttered “brilliant” under his breath although I gathered he meant just the opposite. He ambled down the path and joined the two women.
“Looks like I’ve been replaced,” Tom said. “And by a senior citizen no less.”
“I can explore the fort by myself if you’d rather spend time with your new fan club.” I pointed at Mrs. Peabody and her sister.
“No, no, no. Kidding.”
I plopped a kiss on his cheek. “Besides, no one can replace you.”
“He’s one smooth gent, though.” Tom’s gaze moved to Jimmy Bond and his companions. “I bet he’s had a far more interesting past than he let on.”
“I got that impression, too.”
“Don’t let his age or his charming facade deceive you,” Tom warned me. “I believe your grandmother referred to Jimmy as one sharp cookie. I would watch out for him if I were you.”
I promised to heed Tom’s advice. If there is one thing I’ve learned in life, it’s that cookies can be far more dangerous than you think.
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
With so many people converging at once, it took some time to pass through the entrance gate to Castillo San Cristobal. My Spanish consisted of only five words: hello, please, thank you, cat, and the most important of all, bathroom. I was pleased to see signs for both female and male baños near the entrance.
The bathroom was large and filled to capacity with women on a mission. Once I completed my own, I washed my hands. As I reached for a paper towel from the dispenser, my wet palm bumped into another one.
“I’m sorry,” I said, before looking up and recognizing the cruise veteran. “Oh, hi, Margaret, I haven’t seen you for a few days. Is Fred feeling better?”
“No,” she pouted, “he’s still laid up in our stateroom.”
“What a shame. Have they officially diagnosed him with,” I moved closer and lowered my voice, “Norovirus?”
She shook her head so vigorously that her sunglasses almost flipped off her silver hair and into the trash can. “I’m sure it’s just food poisoning or something.”
“Has the doctor looked at him?”
“Fred didn’t want to bother the ship’s doctor. He’ll be fine. Nice to see you again, Laurel.”
She threw her paper towel in the wastebasket and dashed out the door. Margaret certainly was in a hurry to tour the fort. She also seemed amazingly calm about her poor husband being laid up for the majority of the cruise.
Unbelievably calm. If Tom were sick and stuck in our stateroom, I’d be by his side, nursing him or trying to cheer him up. But Margaret blithely bounced from one cruise excursion to another.
One of the stall doors opened, and Danielle walked out.
“Bonjour, Laurel.” She paused, possibly noting my confused expression. “You are okay?”
“Yes, just thinking about Margaret. Her husband has been sick, and I was curious how he was doing. But she doesn’t seem worried about him. Are you and Pierre enjoying the excursion?”
“Yes, this fort is, what you say, handicap okay for persons needing wheelchair.”
“Is Jacques also with you?” I asked for no reason other than being a nosy Nancy.
“No, he stayed on board. Just my sweet husband and I.” She threw her towel in the wastebasket and said “au revoir.”
I walked out of the restroom thinking about the difference between Danielle’s thoughtfulness toward her elderly husband, as opposed to Margaret’s indifferent attitude to her sick spouse. I was so deep in thought that I walked past my own husband.
Tom tapped me on the shoulder. “Missing anything? Or anyone?”
“Sorry, sweetie. I carried on a rather unusual conversation with Margaret. Remember the older Daytona Beach couple we ate dinner with the first night?”
“Sure. Nice folks. What’s the problem?”
“Well, Margaret doesn’t seem to think there is a problem. Her husband is sick, and he’s been cooped up in their stateroom since the first night. They haven’t called the doctor yet, and she doesn’t seem to feel any compunctio
n about gallivanting all over the place while he suffers in his cabin.”
“Don’t you think you’re being a little melodramatic?” Tom asked. “Maybe she feels that since they’ve paid for the cruise, one of them should enjoy it.”
“She acted oddly. Plus the minute I began to question her, she practically ran out of the restroom.”
“Next time you decide to pry, try to find a more luxurious venue,” he teased.
“Well, the next time you get sick, don’t expect me to sit by your bedside spoon-feeding you chicken soup,” I said in a huff.
Tom clasped my hand and we headed for the tunnel leading to the upper level. I remained silent, pondering whether I was overreacting to my conversation with Margaret or following my intuition. Sometimes my intuition is incredibly accurate. Other times, it has led me straight into the arms of a killer.
I hate when that happens!
The centuries-old tunnel wound up, down and around. We passed an ancient dungeon with beautifully carved graffiti on the stone walls. After what felt like a mile trek, we finally reached the main viewing area at the top of the fort. The bright sun blinded me, and I shaded my eyes while I took in my surroundings. Tom discovered a large detailed drawing of the Castillo hanging on a wall. The sketch even included the elevator that somehow had eluded my notice.
We walked along the perimeter and peeked into rooms depicting the living quarters when the fort was in use. Uniforms from 250 years ago as well as fully-set dining tables and bedchambers helped us to imagine a soldier’s life at that time.
With the fort at 150 feet above sea level, a full harbor and city view spread out below us. We strolled over to the ramparts to check out the old cannons and ran into Rick snapping a photo of his wife next to a huge cannon. With her dark hair blowing in the breeze, a wide smile on her face, and long legs modestly displayed in a pair of linen shorts, Claire could have been a cover model for the AARP.
“Have you tried lifting one of these cannon balls?” Tom asked Rick. “I read they’re a mere two hundred pounds each.”
Rick chuckled. “I work out as often as I can, but I think I’ll skip the cannonball toss today.”
“You better,” Claire scolded her husband. “We don’t want you to strain your back again.”
“I threw mine out two months ago merely by sneezing during …” I paused trying to come up with something other than the actual answer––sex.
“Backs can be fragile.” Tom rescued me from any additional faux pas. “And we don’t want to spoil the cruise.”
“This cruise has already been ruined for me,” said Deborah who had come up behind us. “I feel like I’m looking over my shoulder all the time, wondering when a killer will strike next.” The plump worry-wart peered over her shoulder to reinforce her point.
“You have nothing to worry about,” Tom reassured her. “It’s far more likely that the motive for the officer’s death was a personal one.”
“Love, money or revenge,” I stated emphatically. “Isn’t that what you always tell me, honey?”
Tom shook his head. “Uh, no.”
“Oh, maybe that’s what they always say on Law and Order. You have to admit those are the primary reasons behind most murders.”
“Except when it’s a sociopath,” Deborah added.
“There is that,” Tom agreed. “But please don’t let this isolated incident ruin the cruise for you.”
Claire shivered. “I feel like a ghost just walked over my grave.”
I thought about the men who had lived and died within these castle walls. Did their spirits wander through the tunnels late at night?
Ghosts I could deal with.
It was the live killers who worried me more.
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
On that somber note, our group split up and went various directions. Tom wanted to check out the lookout towers located at the corners of the outer walls. A sign pointed to the Garita del Diablo, the Sentry Box of the Devil. Legend said that guards on duty in that particular garita would suddenly disappear, as if they were spirited away by the devil.
Or maybe the soldiers found a discreet way to go AWOL. Tom walked off to ask a question of one of the docents. I decided to take some photos of the magnificent view with my new camera. I snapped some wide-angle shots of the old buildings painted in vivid shades of pink, yellow, blue and green, and gardens equally brilliant in color.
I zoomed in on one shot of a colorful café decorated in a parrot motif. Two men conversed at a small table. When the dark-haired one looked up, I recognized Jacques, the physical therapist. I waved at him, but apparently he didn’t recognize the crazy woman flapping her arms at him from the top of the fort.
Now where was my husband? I scanned the area and found Tom still conversing with a docent. I crossed the enormous expanse to the opposite side to snap shots of the harbor and the dry moats that comprised the defensive network. Margaret was also taking photos, so I stopped to chat with her.
Or grill her. It all depends on your interpretation.
“Hi, Margaret,” I said. She must not have heard me come up behind her because she almost dropped her camera over the parapet at my greeting.
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you. This is such a great vista point for taking photos of the city and harbor, isn’t it?”
“Yes.” She turned to leave. I stepped in her path and tried to think of an approach that would get me some answers without scaring her away.
“I feel awful about Fred missing out on everything. I’d like to drop off a get well card to perk him up. Maybe a bottle of rum for when he’s recovered. What’s your stateroom number?”
“Oh, that’s lovely, dear. What a kind thought.” She slowly backed away from me. “But you needn’t bother. I must be off. Don’t want to miss the bus.” Before I could protest, Margaret zipped away and stopped to talk to Glenn and Lucille.
“What did you do to scare the lovely Margaret off?” asked Jimmy who’d magically appeared at my side. The man was as light-footed as a cat.
I turned to face him. “I merely professed my concern for her sick husband, and she got all weird on me.”
“Some people are more reserved than others,” Jimmy suggested.
“Meaning I’m not?” I grinned as I said it. Jimmy was probably right. “I guess I need to work on my investigative, I mean, my conversational skills.”
“It can take decades of practice,” he replied. “So what have you learned so far? Any thoughts as to the killer? Or the jewel thief?”
“I’m only an amateur sleuth. My primary goal is to make sure my cousin isn’t charged with any crime.”
“Be careful, my dear. Sleuthing can occasionally lead to a deadly result.” The quiet was suddenly shattered by Mrs. Peabody’s foghorn voice. She and her sister scurried to his side.
“Jimmy, we’ve been looking all over for you,” she bleated.
“Ah, of course you were.” He threw out his elbow and she tucked her arm in his. “Lovely chatting with you, Laurel.” He winked as the threesome walked away.
I peeked at my watch. Our tour group still had half an hour before we needed to reconvene. I swiveled my head left and right but couldn’t spot my husband anywhere in the viewing area. Now where had he gone off to?
Then I remembered he wanted to check out the devil’s parapet. I could snap unobstructed photos of the harbor from that angle. I headed for the turret closest to the sea, expecting to find my missing husband when I arrived.
The ancient turret was empty. As I gazed at the harbor far below, an ominous gray cloud suddenly blocked the sun, leaving the narrow tower in complete shadow. I’m only five-feet-four inches tall but long-legged. The sentries from years gone by must have been on the short side because the wall around the tower barely seemed high enough to provide a sufficient barrier to keep someone from falling through the large opening.
And it was a very long fall to the ground.
I couldn’t resist snapping shots of the panoramic
scenery below me. The wind whistled through the turret, and a thick strand of hair fell into my eyes, temporarily stabbing my cornea. I closed my eyelid and gently rubbed my eye, trying to get my contact lens settled. Normally I would remove it and put it in my case, but with such a strong wind, it might blow out of my hand and over the parapet. And I’d become accustomed to seeing out of both eyes.
A firm hand pressed against my back. Tom had finally arrived. Maybe he could block the wind while I got my contact lens settled. I relaxed, expecting him to begin nuzzling my neck.
Suddenly I was shoved against the short barrier wall. I cried out as my camera flew out the open window. What was Tom thinking? This wasn’t like him at all. If he didn’t stop pushing me, I would be following my camera over the wall, falling 150 feet to my certain death. A low voice whispered in my ear, “la curiosidad mato al gato.”
“What?” I said before a searing pain shattered all conscious thought.
Then everything went black.
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
I woke with my head cradled in my husband’s lap, his anxious brown eyes peering down at me. I could tell from the pain pinballing through every nerve in my head that I was still alive.
“What happened?” I asked.
“That’s what we all want to know,” he said. “Did you trip and hit your head? Do you remember anything?”
I shook my head, which turned out to be a very bad idea.
“Maybe we should save the questions for when she’s back on the boat,” said a familiar voice.
“Sierra?” This time I braved the pain and forced myself into a sitting position, my head resting against a hard surface. I glanced down at my shirt. Rust-colored blobs dotted it like a Jackson Pollock painting. My bangs felt glued to my forehead. When I attempted to brush them aside, a sticky substance covered my fingers.
A wave of nausea engulfed me, and I fought hard to keep from fainting. What exactly had happened to me? When I glanced down, I noticed my purse beside me with some of its contents scattered around. I gathered everything up before remembering. “My camera is gone. It fell over the parapet.”