Dying for a Diamond

by Cindy Sample

  Tom shrugged. “More or less.”

  “Seems like less to me,” said Mrs. Peabody.

  That was the last straw. “There are a few things more important than your stupid watch,” I said curtly. “Like a dead security officer and a missing person.”

  Vera looked startled by my pronouncement. “Who’s missing?”

  “We’re not sure.” I stared at Margaret who stared back. Although her face appeared impassive, her right hand clutched the string of pearls around her neck. “But we won’t stop investigating until we find out.”

  The silence at the table would have been deafening were it not for the sound of tiny oyster-white pearls scattering across the marble floor.

  CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT

  In the scramble to retrieve the tiny pearls before someone slipped and crash-landed on the glossy surface, we failed to realize that both Margaret and Chet had scattered even faster than the obstreperous pearls.

  I dropped the smattering of pearls I’d recovered on my empty bread plate and Tom did the same. “Where the heck did they go,” he complained as the tiny gems clanked against the fine china.

  “I don’t know. Was it something I said?”

  Evelyn Peabody poked at the red snapper on her plate. “Looks like you scared them off. They must be up to no good.” She wolfed down her fish and smacked her lips. “Good stuff. So you two going after them?”

  “We don’t really have cause to chase them,” Tom explained. “Perhaps they misinterpreted something my wife said.” He patted my thigh and smiled at me. “That happens––frequently.”

  “Innocent people don’t run,” I replied.

  “That’s right,” Lucille said in agreement. When Tom stared at her, she amended her statement, “Well, that’s what they say on all the crime shows.”

  Tom and Glenn both rolled their eyes at her remark, but I mouthed a verbal thanks to her.

  “There’s not much we can do, Laurel. It’s not like I’m going to use my list of the passengers to track them down.” Tom’s face suddenly closed up as he realized he’d made a major oops.

  I dropped my fork on the table. “You possess a list of all the passengers? Since when? And why didn’t you tell me? That list could help me with my investigation.”

  “Laurel, I am in the middle of an investigation,” Tom said firmly. “You are not.”

  Evelyn replied before I could come up with a smart retort of my own. “Your wife seems to have a mind of her own. And you’re wrong. She is involved in an official investigation.”

  “I am?”

  “Yes. My missing watch and jewels. Now stop worrying about that missing body of yours and focus on something really important.”

  Tom stifled a grin at her remark. I decided to ignore both of them for now and concentrate on my delicious salmon entrée. Afterward, my husband and I were going to have a serious discussion.

  After a full day of sightseeing and a considerable amount of detecting by each of us, Tom and I were more than ready to jump into bed together.

  And sleep.

  We lay parallel to one another. Tom in his black boxers and nothing else. Me in my royal blue satin chemise and shorty bottoms. Tom kissed me goodnight then stretched his arms around me. I leaned back against him. We fit so well together.

  “Honey,” I began the conversation that had been formulating in my brain since Tom’s accidental disclosure at dinner.

  He snuggled closer. “Not tonight, sweetheart. I’m bushed.”

  “Poor baby. Do you have to go back to the captain’s quarters early tomorrow to review those passenger lists?” My heart thumped almost as loudly as if we were doing something more vigorous than spooning. “I’d certainly hate for you to miss that kayak trip we booked.”

  “No, no,” Tom murmured into my ear. “The captain emailed them to me in case I needed to cross reference a name with a stateroom. We’ll be able to kayak tomorrow and…” His voice dropped simultaneously with his arm falling below my waist. The gentle snores that filled the room were music to my inquisitive ears.

  I waited a few minutes before slipping out of our bed. Since we were on our honeymoon, we’d seen no need for each of us to bring a laptop on the cruise. In case of an emergency, we’d decided to play it safe and had exchanged passwords.

  An excellent decision as it turned out.

  I lifted Tom’s laptop out of his backpack. Then I opened the heavy door and crept out on our balcony, making sure his computer was secure under my arm. The seas were calm. The almost full moon lit the night sky as well as our balcony. Perfect detecting weather.

  I had no desire to interfere with the murder investigation. My sole goal was to locate Margaret and Fred Johnson’s cabin number and determine if the man was okay. I convinced myself that I wasn’t prying, merely doing a good deed for a fellow passenger.

  I entered Tom’s password and the screen lit up. The passenger list proved easy to access since it was the newest document reviewed by Tom. The list contained four columns: name, address, cabin number, and each passenger’s individually assigned Nordic American number. I scrolled down the alphabetical list until I arrived at Johnson. There were five Johnson couples listed on board. Not surprising considering the number of passengers on the ship. But only one Fred Johnson in cabin 10046, three decks above us.

  Nice. The tenth floor offered the larger suites on the ship. I vaguely remembered Margaret mentioning the first night we met that she and Fred qualified for special status due to them cruising more than ten times on this particular line.

  It would be a shame if Fred missed most of the cruise because he was ill.

  But it would be even more of a shame if he missed most of the cruise because someone had thrown him overboard.

  CHAPTER FORTY-NINE

  Tom woke early the next day and left to meet with the captain. I wouldn’t have minded a few more hours in the sack, but I also had detecting to do before our scheduled kayak trip at noon. I debated whether to climb up to the tenth floor and knock on the Johnson’s cabin or get breakfast. My stomach chimed in, making that an easy decision. I decided to make the Lido Café my first stop. Besides if Fred was still sick in bed, it would be rude of me to wake him too early.

  It might be considered rude to disturb the couple at all, but if something had happened to Fred Johnson, I would never forgive myself if I didn’t make one attempt to ensure he was alive and well.

  Or, at least alive.

  I walked into a filled-to-capacity Lido Café. The passengers must be trying to squeeze in an early breakfast before whatever excursion they had arranged for Sunshine Cay, the private island in the Bahamas that the cruise line leased for its passengers.

  I maneuvered around dozens of people lined up for the make-your-own omelet station and headed for something healthier. Oatmeal. By the time I finished loading it with brown sugar and sweet golden raisins, it wasn’t quite as nutritious, although it was definitely tastier. I added a small bowl of mixed tropical fruit then wandered around looking for a seat somewhere.

  Gran’s yodel caught my attention. As well as most of the people waiting in line for an omelet. I tried to follow the sound of her voice since it could be difficult to find the small woman. Plus one never knew what color her hair would be on any given day. I finally tracked her down to a large table. Seated at the table were Mabel, Margaret and an unexpected face.

  I almost dropped my tray upon seeing Fred Johnson. He was alive.

  Fred gave me a weak smile at my greeting. “Nice to see you again, Laurel.”

  “And it is very nice to see you,” I replied. “I was worried about you.”

  “So Margaret said.” Although Fred’s skin tone was a grayish milk chocolate in color, his dark eyes twinkled at me. “Margaret told me you were concerned she might have thrown me overboard.” He chuckled. “I’m not that easy to get rid of, norovirus notwithstanding.”

  “We don’t know for sure if that’s what you had,” Margaret chided her husband. She turned to me. �
��We were trying to stay low key about Fred’s situation. Once the ship suspects someone might have norovirus, even if the passenger hasn’t been officially diagnosed, they have the right to implement a quarantine.”

  “And cancel the whole cruise,” Mabel added, displaying chunks of pineapple between the gaps in her teeth. “I read about that. Appreciate you keeping mum about it. I wouldn’t have wanted to go home early. It’s snowing back there.”

  “Are you feeling better?” I asked him.

  He nodded. “I’m on the mend. We’re going to plop ourselves down on some lounge chairs on the beach. Take it easy for today.” He clutched Margaret’s hand. “My poor wife hasn’t experienced a very good trip either. She’s been a real sport about everything.”

  Margaret remained silent. As did I, even though I possessed some qualms about what and whom Fred’s wife had been doing. I was just pleased to see him up and around for a change.

  So that meant I must have imagined someone was thrown overboard that first night on the ship.

  Right?

  With one mystery solved, that only left two more. Or was it three? I felt like I was juggling more crime-filled plates than usual.

  “What’s on your schedule today?” Gran asked me. “Playing tourist or detective? Don’t forget Mabel and me is here to help. Probably would have solved all these cases by now if the captain woulda’ let us assist him.”

  Mabel nodded. “I was thinking maybe we should follow that Peabody woman. Find out if the jewel thief is stalking her.”

  I blinked. “That’s not a half-bad idea, Mabel.” Plus it would keep both women occupied and out of my hair. “Don’t do anything dangerous though.”

  Gran harrumphed. “I’m eighty-eight, Laurel. Just breathing can be dangerous at this age. Let me have fun while I still can.”

  I threw my arms around her and gave her a hug. I hoped I would have as much energy when I got to be her age.

  Actually, I wished I had her energy levels now. I snatched a chocolate chip cookie on my way out of the café. A mid-morning endorphin boost. I bumped into Deborah and Sharon near the entrance to the spa.

  “What are you ladies up to today?” I asked them.

  “We’re just grabbing a bite to eat before our kayak trip,” Deborah replied.

  “The one at noon? Tom and I are taking that. It’s my first time kayaking so I’m a little nervous about it.”

  “You’ll love it,” Sharon said. “I’m sure the scenery on the island will be breathtaking.”

  “Is your husband kayaking?” I asked Deborah. “I haven’t seen him since that first evening.”

  Sharon and Deborah exchanged glances. “Oh, you know how men are.”

  As far as I was concerned, it would take the rest of my life to understand the male psyche. But Deborah’s husband, Darren, had to be one of the worst examples. She was lucky she’d run into her friend on board the ship, and they could hang out together.

  I walked away from the two women, reflecting on the absence of Deborah’s husband on this cruise. Why would you go on a cruise with your beloved wife and then disappear for seven days?

  I stopped suddenly. Not the wisest thing to do when two elderly women in walkers are hot on your flip-flops. One of them almost knocked me over. Instead she scooted around me, cussing me out under her breath.

  My brain was spinning and so were my feet as I headed for my room. How could I have been so blind? Deborah’s stateroom was two floors above ours. I’d noticed it the other morning when I’d stopped at my mother’s cabin. Her friend Sharon was a large, solid woman. The two of them could easily have pushed Darren off the balcony. Never to be seen again.

  Except by one person.

  Me.

  CHAPTER FIFTY

  I burst through the door of our stateroom, fueled by the affirmation that I really had seen someone go overboard. I couldn’t wait to share my theory with Tom. But as I entered the empty room, I realized I would have to wait. Something I was not particularly good at.

  I opened the door and walked onto our balcony overlooking the shoreline of Sunshine Cay. The ship’s tenders filled with a constant stream of people. The boats would take the passengers to the island, offload them, and then return to the Celebration to collect some more folks. I thrummed my fingers on the railing. Surely there was some way I could entertain myself until Tom returned.

  A brilliant thought came to me. Or, so it seemed at that very second. Since Mother and Bradford’s stateroom was only two rooms away from the Abernathy’s room, maybe I could talk to their cabin steward to see if he had seen Darren recently. If so, I could remove the missing husband from my missing person’s list.

  Armed with a reasonable plan, I left our cabin and headed for the stairwell. I flew up the two flights of stairs, exhilarated by my new theory. When I arrived at their corridor, no one was around, including any of the cabin stewards. I banged on Mother’s door but received no response. They were most likely eating breakfast. Or maybe they’d already set off for Sunshine Cay. They had opted for a more tranquil tour of the island’s lagoon––via a motorized boat.

  I glanced at my biceps. Or lack thereof. I might need a motorized boat to bring me back to shore if we ended up kayaking out too far. The only time I exercised my upper arms was when I opened up a bottle of wine with my stubborn corkscrew.

  I debated what to do next. My indecisiveness was rewarded when Deborah and Darren’s stateroom door opened. A room service attendant struggled to hold the door open while she exited, her arms weighted down with a huge tray of dishes.

  I held the door open for her, and she smiled her thanks before walking away. With no actual plan in mind, I entered their cabin, the heavy door slamming shut behind me. There was no sound other than my heart thumping louder than a bass player. I called out Darren’s name, but there was no reply. A half hour had passed since I’d bumped into Deborah and Sharon so I needed to be quick.

  Given the size of the staterooms, it wouldn’t take long for me to do a cursory search. I walked onto their balcony, an identical replica of ours. I lifted both cushions and checked for bloodstains or anything out of the ordinary. Although any self-respecting murderer would have covered up the evidence before the steward cleaned the room the next day.

  I peeked in the tiny but efficient bathroom. A man’s razor rested by a can of shaving cream, but I couldn’t tell how recently it had been used. Small sample-size moisturizer bottles were scattered across the narrow counter.

  I moved to the closet and slid the door open. Wow. Deborah owned a closetful of glitzy clothes. And Tom thought I was a closet hog. Poor Darren only had…three shirts? I quickly rummaged through the drawers built into the closet. One drawer with two pairs of men’s slacks and a pair of shorts.

  Deborah’s husband certainly traveled light. As opposed to his wife. Who needs six formals for an eight-day cruise? I eyed a full-length red sequin gown. Wasn’t Sharon wearing that the other night? Did she and Deborah exchange dresses or…did her friend move into the cabin after they dumped Darren overboard?

  I slammed the closet door shut and leaned back against it, my breath coming fast and furious. My heart beat so loudly I almost didn’t notice the sound of voices in the hallway outside the cabin door. Deborah and Sharon were back.

  I moved to the bed, bent down and lifted the spread. Suitcases completely covered the floor from one end of the bed to the other. What should I do?

  The voices grew louder and my hands grew clammier as the truth sank in.

  There was nowhere to hide.

  CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE

  After struggling with the keycard, Deborah and Sharon entered the room. Grateful that the women appeared to be as keycard-challenged as I am, I’d hidden on the balcony behind the folds of the drapes on the other side of the glass pane. If they decided they needed a full view of the island, my hiding place would be discovered in an instant.

  The bathroom door slammed shut. Not long after the television blared on. Both women were temporar
ily occupied. I peered around the partial privacy wall of their balcony to the next stateroom. By my calculations, my mother’s room was less than two balconies over.

  An easy climb. For Simone Biles.

  For Laurel McKay, it was a heart-stopping drop if I made a wrong move.

  That could be the title of my biography if I didn’t survive this cruise. I peered down into the sea far below. The extra height of this deck made the view down even scarier than from our balcony. I tried to comfort myself with the fact I could swim. And one time I even dove off the high board in high school.

  Although now that I reflected back, my ex-husband had pushed me off that high board. Why on earth I ever married that man is beyond me. But, irrelevant now. More relevant was the phone call I was making to the kids, regardless of the expense, once I survived my current challenge.

  The sound of the bathroom door banging open startled me. It was now or never.

  I quietly dragged the chair over to the wall, climbed on top and lifted my left leg over the barrier. I swung my right foot out, and it collided with the balcony railing. My flip-flop slipped off my foot and tumbled far below.

  I shivered. Better a rubber shoe than me landing in the ocean. I slid down the adjoining wall onto their neighbor’s balcony. My landing was less graceful and far noisier than I’d envisioned. A familiar bald head peered around the privacy wall on the opposite side.

  “What the hell?” Bradford bellowed.

  I placed my finger against my lips and shushed him. I peered through the plate-glass window but didn’t see any signs of activity in this particular stateroom. The occupants had obligingly left their balcony door unlocked assuming no one in their right mind would be balcony hopping. I waved goodbye to Bradford, slipped through the glass door, crept across the carpet, and was out the cabin door before you could say––

  “Laurel?” My mother and my stepfather stood at the entrance to their stateroom, arms folded, almost identical frowns on their faces.