by Nic Saint
Dinner came to an end, and Odelia and Chase escorted us back to the cabin, then went out again to enjoy the concert.
Dooley and I settled in with the tablet computer, which Odelia had set up so we could skype with our friends if we felt like it. Harriet and Brutus must have stepped out, though, for they were offline.
So I started surfing a little on the tablet, googling the different members of our company who could possibly have taken that earring and planted it in Ruby’s bedroom.
I found several videos the influencer couple had posted, and all of them were lively and colorful and fun. They also had plenty of likes and shares. Their career had begun three years before, and their early videos showed how devoted they were to try and save the planet, and further their environmental endeavors. The more I progressed through the chronology, though, the more commercially motivated the videos became, which told of the rift between Chiquita and Oren.
Next up was Ruby and her folks. Ruby herself had a nice Facebook, filled with the pursuits a teenage girl of her age would go for: she seemed to be into sports big time, as there were plenty of pictures of her in a soccer outfit, kicking the ball around. Her parents, on the other hand, didn’t seem to have any discernible social media presence.
And finally I googled the Biles family: Bertha, of course, but also David and Laura.
“Who’s that?” asked Dooley, who lay next to me and followed my search with interest.
“Bertha Biles,” I said. “With her first husband.”
“The one who died?”
I nodded, and studied the picture. It had been taken at some kind of society event.
“She used to be a real socialite,” I said. “And a benefactor to several charities. Her husband, too.”
Tony Matz, Laura’s dad, was a heavyset man with a receding hairline and a pasty, pockmarked face. He was holding aloft a glass of champagne, but looked a little bored in the picture, and clearly not all that interested in the opening of the new opera season. His wife, though, looked very much alive, and appeared to be having a ball.
David Biles was easy to find, and most of the pictures featured him in a physical therapy setting. He owned his own business, and was clearly a well-respected and talented professional.
Laura Matz was well represented on the World Wide Web, with plenty of pictures and websites referencing her. The company she worked for designed self-driving bicycles, and she was an important member of the design team.
Dooley suddenly reached out and tapped the screen with his paw pads, typing ‘Liltack.’
“Who’s Liltack?” I asked.
“The murder victim.”
I smiled and typed ‘Lil Thug,’ and a picture of the rapper popped up.
And as I studied the man’s face, suddenly the smile was wiped from my own face as if with a squeegee. “Well, I’ll be damned,” I said.
“Please don’t curse, Max,” said Dooley.
“I’m sorry,” I said absentmindedly, as I backtracked through the browser history until I reached a picture I’d seen earlier. I hadn’t been mistaken. “Oh, dear,” I said, as a shiver ran down my spine.
“What is it?”
“I think I’ve just figured out who killed Liltack.”
25
This whole thing needed careful thinking through, and so I walked out onto the balcony, took up my now customary position underneath one of the deck chairs, and gave myself up to thought. Dooley soon followed me out, and lay down underneath the other chair, and studied me carefully.
“I still think we need to do something for Salvatore,” he said finally.
“Mh?”
“Okay, so parakeets are out of the question, and so are cats and dogs, but what about gerbils? Gerbils are nice pets. Or even a pet pig. One of Gran’s friends has a pet pig, and she’s crazy about it. Though it’s becoming really big.”
“I don’t think Salvatore would like a pet pig for a friend.”
“Maybe we’re looking at this all wrong, Max. Maybe Salvatore likes small things, since he’s very small himself.”
“Hey, I heard that,” suddenly a voice sounded through the night.
We both looked up, and saw that our friend had walked out onto his own balcony, and was grinning at us.
“Salvatore! What is your position on pet pigs?!” Dooley yelled, as if to cover the distance from balcony to balcony, which wasn’t much of a distance at all.
“My position on pet pigs is that I don’t have a position. Why?”
“Dooley is still trying to come up with a friend to keep you company,” I said.
“I already told you not to bother, Dooley. I’m fine all by myself.”
“But it makes me so sad!” said Dooley.
“Then you get another friend,” said Salvatore with a chuckle.
“Aren’t you going to the concert?” I asked.
“Not a chance. All that noise and all those people? I’m basically a homebody, never happier than when curled up on my human’s lap. Which is exactly what I’m going to do right now. Goodnight, you guys.”
“Goodnight,” I told Salvatore.
“How about a turtle?!” Dooley yelled.
“No, thank you!” was the swift response.
“Turtles are nice,” said Dooley.
“I know. We’re friends with one, remember?”
“That’s why I thought of a turtle for Salvatore.”
He placed his chin on his paws and I could tell this notion of setting Salvatore up with a pet friend wasn’t going to leave him just yet. Probably not until this trip was at an end, in fact. And it touched my heart. Dooley is probably the nicest cat I know. He likes everybody and everybody likes him, and that’s because he wants nothing but the best for his friends. And as I smiled in the darkness, my mind soon returned to the question vexing it mightily: how to catch a killer who thought they could kill with impunity, and try to destroy a young girl’s life in the process?
Out on one of the ship’s many decks, the concert was in full swing, a reggae band giving of its best. Odelia found that she couldn’t throw herself wholeheartedly into the revelries, though. Her mind kept returning to the problem Max had suggested: that a woman had been wrongfully accused of the death of her employer, and that the real killer was still out there—and was in fact among them right now. On this boat, thinking they got away with murder.
Chase didn’t seem convinced that this was the case, and he was enjoying the concert while sipping a beer.
The singer performed all kinds of vocal acrobatics while the band poured an electrifying blend of pop and reggae over the crowd. Hundreds of happy vacationers swung to the rhythm and had the time of their lives.
Chase said, “Pretty great, huh?”
“Yeah, she is,” said Odelia without much excitement.
Chase studied her for a moment. “That murder business still bothering you?”
“Yeah, it is,” she confessed. “I can’t shake the feeling that it’s not over yet, Chase.”
“It’s over if you decide it’s over. And besides, it’s none of our business, babe. We’re here to enjoy our vacation—our honeymoon, in fact. Let other people deal with this stuff for once. Garth is a capable guy. He’ll figure it out.”
“But he won’t, will he? He thinks the case is closed, and he’s not bothered with such details as who stole that earring or why.”
“And you know who stole it? And why?”
“No, I don’t, but I know it’s probably got something to do with Lil Thug’s murder.”
“Look, we’re far from home, babe. This isn’t Hampton Cove, where I have jurisdiction, and you have a responsibility toward the people of your community. So just let it be already. Just try to have some fun.”
“I’m trying.” But she wasn’t exactly succeeding, was she? Not until she knew who killed Lil Thug, and she’d been able to secure the killer’s capture. “I’m sorry, Chase,” she said. “I’m ruining things for you, aren’t I?”
“Don’t b
e silly,” said her husband as he placed an arm across her shoulders and pulled her close. “You couldn’t ruin it for me if you tried. Look, how about we sit down with Garth tomorrow, and thresh this thing out once and for all?”
Her face lit up with a smile. “You’d do that for me?”
“No, I’d do that for Lil Thug.” He grinned. “Of course I’d do that for you. So you can stop worrying!” He tousled her hair and she laughed.
“Thanks, babe,” she said, hugging him close.
“And now let’s enjoy the concert, okay? I have no idea what kind of music this is, but it’s pretty great.”
“It’s reggae,” she said.
“Who’s gay?”
“Reggae!”
“If you say so!”
And so for the rest of the night, she tried to forget about rappers and twenty-million-dollar diamonds and earrings and have a good time. As Chase had pointed out this was, after all, her honeymoon!
26
The next morning we were all sitting together for breakfast: Odelia and Chase, the Bileses, the Ketterings and even the influencers, who seemed to have made up and were as lovey-dovey as I’d ever seen them.
“So is it true?” asked Bertha. “Did someone break into the captain’s cabin yesterday?”
“It wasn’t the captain’s cabin but the guy in charge of security,” said Chase. “But yeah, someone broke in and stole an earring.”
“What’s going on?” Chiquita cried. “First Lil Thug and now this? Security on this cruise is seriously lacking if they’re allowing this kind of thing to happen.” She directed a stern look at her boyfriend. “Maybe we should shoot a video about that: the lack of security aboard these luxury vessels. I’ll bet we’d get plenty of views.”
“It’s not exactly on-brand, though, is it, sweetie?” said her co-vlogger. “I think we need to stay on-brand and try to remain upbeat and, you know, do more of the happy peppy stuff.”
“I guess you’re right,” said Chiquita. “Thieves and killers are so depressing. Who needs that kind of energy?”
“She has a point, Max,” said Dooley. “Thieves and killers are depressing.”
“Especially if you’re the person being killed,” I said.
“Not really. If you’re dead you can’t be depressed, because you’re dead. And dead people don’t get depressed.”
It was a kind of infallible logic I couldn’t find fault with, so I merely smiled.
“You know what I heard?” said Odelia, as she speared a piece of watermelon and brought it to her lips.
“No, what?” said Laura. At this point everyone knew how involved Odelia and Chase were with the murder inquiry, and any news they had to impart was usually greeted with interest.
“The captain told me they finally discovered who killed Lil Thug.”
“But… I thought they already caught the killer?” said the girl, darting a look of confusion in the direction of her stepdad-slash-illicit-boyfriend.
“They got the wrong person. The assistant had nothing to do with the murder after all. She just saw a chance to sell some of the stuff she stole from her employer, but she wasn’t anywhere near the cabin when the fatal event took place.”
“So… who is it?” asked Ruby, scooting her chair a little closer. “Who’s the killer?”
“I’m not sure,” said Odelia. “The captain didn’t want to tell me. He did say he was about to apprehend the person today—during breakfast, in fact.”
This had the whole group break out into excited murmuring.
“But… you mean now? Right now?” asked Ruby.
“That’s what he said,” said Odelia with a shrug. “He wants to get it over with before the ship sails.”
All eyes turned to the shoreline, where the tops of the roofs of houses were clearly visible. The ship had docked early that morning in Willemstad, Curacao, but instead of allowing its passengers to disembark, it looked as if the Queen of the Seas was about to leave any minute now for the next stop on its ten-day itinerary—a highly unusual occurrence. Surprised murmurs rose up all around us, as other passengers had noticed the same thing.
“Is Curacao closed for business today?” a portly little gentleman called out with distinct surprise.
“The captain doesn’t want the killer to jump ship,” Chase explained. “Cause he knows that Curacao has a no-extradition policy, and if the killer goes ashore, he or she will never be brought to justice. They’ll be able to live out their lives on this island paradise, which of course wouldn’t be fair.”
“But… but that’s horrible,” said Laura.
“Yeah, so if one of you killed Lil Thug, you better run fast,” Odelia quipped with a grin. “Cause in five minutes the ship will leave port and then it’s open season on the killer.”
More excited murmurings rippled through her small audience, and even I felt the hairs on the back of my neck stand up as anticipation put me on edge.
“Oh, there they are now,” said Chase, and gestured with his fork to the two men now making their way toward us: the captain and Garth. They were striding along with purposeful steps, their faces decorated with no-nonsense expressions, and clearly on a mission to nab whoever they thought was responsible for one of their passengers’ premature demise.
“They’re coming this way,” said Laura. “They… they’re looking at us!”
And indeed they were. Garth and the captain both had their eye on a certain person in our current entourage, and Chiquita let out a slight scream. “Oren, take out your phone and start filming. This is happening—it’s really happening!”
“It’s not on-brand, honey,” said Oren, but still did as he was told. On-brand or not, or happy or even peppy, this was news in the making, and so he started filming the events as they unfolded in real time.
“Who—who are they arresting?” asked David nervously.
“Can they even make an arrest?” Charles Kettering speculated. “Is that legal? Do they have the authority?”
“The captain can detain a person,” Chase confirmed, “and then transfer them to the proper authorities.”
The captain and Garth were now only thirty feet away from us, and it suddenly dawned on the small gathering that they had one very specific person in mind. That person had sat completely motionless, but now started twitching slightly, as realization dawned that her time was up and that she was for it.
“Mama?” said Laura, her voice betraying her extreme bewilderment. “I think they want… you!”
And suddenly, and much to everyone’s surprise, Bertha Biles bolted from her wheelchair and was racing—flying along the deck in the direction of the staircase that would bring her to Curacao’s shores. In fact I don’t think I’d ever seen a person run as fast and with such nervous fervor as I now saw Bertha run.
“Mama!” Laura cried. “What are you doing?!”
“Damn,” said Oren. “Look at her fly.”
And fly she most certainly did. Unfortunately for her, two security officers suddenly materialized out of nowhere, and abruptly halted her progress by taking position in front of that oh-so-important staircase and Bertha’s last hope for freedom.
So she changed course, and for a moment it looked as if she was going to dive straight into the water! But luckily more security showed up, and before she could leap overboard, they cornered her, then apprehended her, and now were leading her back to us—and certain doom.
“Mama!” Laura was saying, still as flabbergasted as the rest of the onlookers, which comprised the entire breakfast contingent. Bertha’s daughter had risen from her chair, and was staring at her mother, hands cupping her face in consternation.
Necks were craning, and tongues were wagging, since everyone had seen the miracle happen: Bertha had thrown off her shackles and had walked! Well, not walked but run the 100-yard dash. Quite a feat!
“I–I didn’t know she could walk,” said David. “I mean, I knew she could walk a little, but not without assistance.”
“Nobo
dy knew,” said Odelia, then cast a quick glance at me, and gave me a wink.
“You knew?” asked Dooley.
“I assumed,” I said.
Dooley then turned to Salvatore. “You knew?”
“Of course I knew,” said Salvatore. “After the accident Bertha couldn’t walk, but over time she slowly regained the use of her legs, though she has her good days and her bad days.” He shrugged. “I guess today is a good day.”
“I don’t think Bertha would agree with that qualification,” I said.
Dooley gave Salvatore a hurt look. “You knew all this time and you didn’t think to tell us?”
“I didn’t think it was important. She shuffles around the house sometimes when no one is home. She doesn’t like people to see her like that.” He glanced in the direction of his human. “Guess the cat’s out of the bag now.”
Dooley turned back to me. “But how - and why - and when? And why didn’t you tell me!”
“I wasn’t one hundred percent sure,” I told him, “which is why I suggested this little performance this morning.”
“We’re sure now.”
“Yes, now we are,” I agreed, and we watched as members of Garth’s team led Bertha away. She didn’t even ask for her wheelchair, and left us all looking stunned at this surprise denouement—most of all her own daughter and husband. Laura was crying, and David looked white as a sheet. They’d both sunk down onto their chairs again, and under the table they were clasping each other’s hands for support. Support they would surely need from now on.
“Well, I’ll be damned,” said Adele, cutting a quick glance in Odelia’s direction.
Suddenly Garth appeared before her, and said, “Adele Brzeczek, please follow me.”
“What?!”
But she took one look at the security man’s face, arranged in a hard expression of determination, and her resolve quickly dissolved. She hung her head, and then got up to follow Garth.
And so, in one fell swoop, Lil Thug’s murderers were apprehended.