Purrfect Cruise (The Mysteries of Max Book 35)

by Nic Saint

  “What is that supposed to mean?”

  “Young John Sunderland is a heartbreaker, honey.”

  “I see what you mean,” said Clara, her gaze landing on yet another new addition to the personnel roster. “Look at that Anton Crotch.”

  “I think his name is Tanton Skroch.”

  “Whatever. That guy gives new meaning to the word mooning.”

  They both studied Tanton for a moment. He was a couple of years older than the rest of the Roast Bean’s young staff, built like a brick wall, with black hair slicked back from a pale and receding brow, and never let John Sunderland out of his sight for even a single second.

  “Puppy love,” said Emily with a smile. “So cute.”

  “Not so cute to me,” spoke a voice behind them.

  Both Clara and Emily looked up. They’d been joined by Teddy Lynett, the coffee shop’s manager. Teddy was a weaselly little man with a distinct overbite and a spotty complexion. And if that wasn’t bad enough, at thirty-four he was fast becoming bald.

  “Don’t you like it when young people are in love, Teddy?” asked Clara.

  “Not when they’re on my payroll I don’t,” Teddy said, darting annoyed glances at both Tanton and John. “I pay those morons to serve the customers, not to act out some hormonal fantasy.” And with these words, he stalked over to John and Justyna, clearly with the intention of breaking up the budding lovefest.

  “Teddy’s right,” said Clara. “We’re here to work, not flirt.”

  Emily laughed. “You mean, Justyna is here to work, not flirt with your crush.”

  “I don’t have a crush,” said Clara. “I just think Justyna is very unprofessional, that’s all.” And with these words, she deftly picked up a tray she’d prepared, and sashayed away.

  John and Justyna, their little tryst rudely interrupted by Teddy, moved in opposite directions. John joined Emily behind the counter, while Justyna took a customer’s order.

  “That Teddy is such a bore,” said John with an eyeroll. “Doesn’t he realize there are more important things in the world than work, work, work all the time?”

  Emily studied her young colleague for a moment. With his strong jawline, clear blue eyes and perfectly coiffed dark hair with fashionable highlights, he could have been a male model. She didn’t know a whole lot about him, except that he was studying at Columbia, and that he’d suddenly turned up at the Community Arts School out of the blue.

  “You don’t like Teddy?” Emily asked now.

  John shrugged, picked up a brownie, and took a bite. “I do not like bullies.”

  John had a strong accent, possibly Eastern European. It was different from Ansel’s, though, who was Ukrainian. “Teddy is not a bully,” said Emily. “He’s just trying to make this place work.”

  “I still say he is a bully,” said John with an intent look at the manager. “Anyone who comes in the way of true love is a bully in my opinion.”

  From the corner of her eye, Emily saw that Tanton Skroch was still observing John intently. John, for his part, ignored the other man blithely. “Are you in love with Justyna?”

  John arched a nicely shaped eyebrow. “Of course I’m in love. Isn’t she the most gorgeous creature you’ve ever seen? That girl is an absolute grade-A stunner, is she not?”

  “She is pretty,” Emily conceded.

  “Pretty?” John laughed. “That is an understatement, Emily Stone.”

  Emily was surprised John was aware of her surname. Then again, if there was any truth to his reputation as a ladies’ man, he would pay attention to small details like that. “Where are you from, John?” she asked now.

  He gave her an amused glance. “If I tell you I was American born and bred, you wouldn’t believe me?”

  “No, I wouldn’t. Your accent… are you Russian?”

  “Silvistanian. It is a small country located in the heart of the Caucasus.” He turned to face her. “Now tell me about you, Emily Stone. Do you have a boyfriend? A lover? Husband perhaps?”

  She laughed. “Not exactly.”

  “But you do have a roommate. Is he not your lover also?”

  “Ansel? No way.” She could have told John that Ansel played for the other team but that wasn’t her story to tell.

  John’s attention didn’t waver and she felt her cheeks redden under the scrutiny. “I don’t understand. A beautiful young woman such as yourself. Why don’t you have a boyfriend? Don’t you like to love and be loved?” Then he snapped his fingers. “You and… Clara. You are girlfriends, yes? You are lovers?”

  “No,” she said with a frown. The last thing she wanted was to discuss her love life with a guy who’d just professed his undying love for one of her colleagues. “Let’s just say I haven’t found the right one yet.”

  John smiled a knowing smile. “Go out with me tonight, Emily Stone. I have lots and lots of friends. I’m very certain you will find the right one amongst them. They are all very handsome and very rich.”

  “I’m volunteering at the school tonight, remember? And you’re modeling.”

  “Afterwards. We will paint this town blue and you will fall in love and be happy!”

  “Paint the town red, you mean.”

  He did the jazz hands thing. “All the colors of the rainbow for you!”

  She had to smile at his enthusiasm. “Won’t Justyna be jealous if you ask me out?”

  “Oh, but Justyna is coming, too.”

  “What about your admirer?” she said, indicating Tanton Skroch.

  John made a throwaway gesture with his hand. “Oh, don’t mind him.”

  Clara had joined them and Emily thought there were actual stars in her friend’s eyes as she stood staring at John.

  “Can I come, too?” Clara asked, a little piteously.

  “Of course! The more the better,” said John. He tapped Clara on the nose. “You will find love tonight, Clara Collett. We will all drink and be merry and live happily ever after.”

  “I would like that,” said Clara, gushing.

  “Oh, for crying out loud,” said Teddy. “When are you people going to understand that you’re here to work and not pretend you’re the cast from Mamma Mia?”

  John gave Emily a wink. “What did I tell you? Work, work, work!”

  “Chop, chop, chop,” said Teddy. “Or else you’ll all live without a job ever after.” He directed a scathing look at John. “And who’s going to pay for your highlights then, sunshine?”

  Chapter Two

  That night, Emily saw a lot of familiar faces at the art school. John was there, of course, and so was Justyna, whom apparently he’d invited to join the class. Tanton Skroch was there, clearly as fixated on his male crush as he’d been at the coffee shop, and Emily even though she recognized a Roast Bean customer in a young and stern-faced young man with a hooknose and eyes so dark they almost appeared black.

  Possibly another one of John Sunderland’s many admirers, be they male or female.

  The place where the life drawing class took place on a weekly basis was a large, airy and cozily cluttered room on the ground floor of the Community Arts School, tucked away near the back, with a view of a small inner-city garden, and the red-brick back walls of neighboring houses. Easels had been placed in a semi-circle around a dais where a table had been placed for the model to relax for the two hours that the class usually ran.

  The walls were covered with artwork from current and previous students, some accurately depicting the human form, others… not so much. There were a few drawings of John’s backside, according to some his most fetching feature, and a lot of other models. The school’s janitor Adelric Lidd, a bushy-browed rail-thin septuagenarian, shuffled in and out of the room, helping Emily and Judyta Kenworthy, the art teacher, to organize the class.

  Judyta was a striking woman of middle age, with remarkable green eyes, sharp-cut features, and invariably dressed in brightly colored kaftans. Today she was resplendent in turquoise, accessorizing her garb with a string of pearls and a
burgundy headdress. Emily, dressed as usual in jeans and a shapeless but comfy sweater, felt positively underdressed.

  “I thought we were going out?” asked John when he caught sight of her.

  “I live just around the corner,” she explained. “I’ll just pop home and change.”

  “Of course you could always go out in that,” he said, casting a critical eye at her orange Brooklyn College sweater. “I’m sure it’s very… American.”

  And with these words, he turned away from her and joined Justyna, who was looking more like Barbie than ever, with her platinum hair and her immaculately made-up face.

  “Are you and John going out tonight, dear?” asked old Sylvia Koss, who was the class’s most loyal pupil. She’d been coming to class for many many years, and was one of its most gifted students, her artistic talent unrivaled after so much practice.

  “Yeah. He wants to introduce me to some of his friends,” said Emily, setting up the extra easels Adelric had just hoisted in. John’s popularity had created a unique problem: not enough easels for all the new signups. So Adelric had raided one of the daytime art classes for extra easels and chairs.

  “Oh, lucky you,” said Sylvia with a twinkle in her eye. She was a kindly old lady with cotton candy white hair, a cheerful pink face and a perpetual smile.

  Emily smiled. “I’m not so sure. If all of John’s friends are like him, I’ll have to beat them off with a stick.”

  “Yes, he is very affectionate, isn’t he?”

  “That’s one word for it,” she said as she watched John turn up the flirtatious energy full-tilt, Justyna simpering under the onslaught.

  “I used to know a young man just like him,” said Sylvia. “I used to be a shopkeeper’s assistant, you know, before my retirement. We had temps coming in all the time—many eager to learn the trade, but also many just so they could be near the other, female temps.” She nodded knowingly. “And of course girls just so they could catch the eye of the boys.”

  “It drives my manager crazy,” said Emily.

  “Oh, well, what can you do,” said Sylvia philosophically. “Love turns us all into fools.”

  Just then, Judyta came waltzing up, her kaftan rustling. “Please take your positions,” she said, clapping her hands sharply. “We’re about to begin. You, too, John, dear, please.”

  John seemed reluctant to part with his conquest, but he did as he was told, and moved towards the partition placed in a corner of the room where he could undress.

  Sylvia brought out a small thermos of herbal tea and poured out a cup.

  People had been chatting and moving about the room, most of the activity centered around the rickety plastic folding table that the janitor had set up near the door and that carried large push button thermoses filled with coffee and tea. Plates with cookies and even a chocolate cake accompanied them, all home-baked and provided by the attendants.

  Usually by the time the class was over only dregs and crumbs remained. One of the reasons people loved Judyta’s art classes was that she provided a fun, relaxed atmosphere. No pressure to be perfect. Even people without an ounce of talent were most welcome.

  John emerged from behind the partition, not wearing a stitch, and Sylvia hurried towards him, carrying the cup of tea. He took it gratefully, gulped it down, and handed back the cup. It was a ritual Sylvia had perfected: a cup of herbal tea to relax the ‘talent,’ so they could last the long session on the podium.

  All eyes had turned to John as he mounted the stage, hopped onto the table and stretched himself out, buttocks to the audience, front to the high windows, and adjusted his position until he was perfectly comfortable.

  He then shot a quick look over his shoulder. “Ready when you are, Mrs. Kenworthy.”

  A collective sigh went through the room at the sight of all of this male perfection, and people were quick to take their position behind their easels.

  “Best buns in the business,” one of the attendants whispered to her neighbor.

  “I heard that,” said John with a grin. “And you’re right, of course, Mrs. Franklin.”

  Mrs. Franklin, an elderly lady with four grandchildren, blushed appropriately.

  “Shush, John,” said Judyta Kenworthy sternly, adjusting her kaftan. “Class, begin.”

  John flexed his buttocks good-naturedly, drawing gasps from his captive audience, and then he relaxed into his pose, and only the scratching of pencil on paper was heard.

  Emily joined Judyta in circling the class, giving encouragements here and little tips and tricks there, and generally allowing the students to settle into their own process of transferring the male form to the canvas in front of them. It took Emily only a glance to know that Tanton Skroch, for instance, was a lost cause. His frantic slashes had already resulted in three pencils being massacred, as well as a sheet of paper, and all he had to show for it was a stick figure that in no way, shape or form resembled John Sunderland.

  The guy Emily had recognized as a regular customer of the Roast Bean was furiously stabbing at the paper with a passion that was probably better spent on a worthier cause. The end result was a Picassoesque monstrosity. Then Justyna was doing a much better job at it. Though she seemed entirely focused on John’s buttocks, drawing them in increasingly widening circles and completely neglecting the rest of the young man’s anatomy. Nor was she alone in this fixation. Other women, too, seemed fascinated by John’s backside.

  The only person who was creating something approximating realism was of course Sylvia, but then she’d seen so many male backsides the novelty had probably worn off.

  “Very nice, Sylvia,” whispered Emily, admiring the woman’s lifelike drawing style.

  “Thank you,” said Sylvia, blushing happily. “I’m getting better at this, aren’t I?”

  Sylvia’s modesty touched Emily. “I think you’re aces,” she said.

  Sylvia gave her a confused look. “Aces is good, right?”

  “Aces is excellent,” she said, giving Sylvia two thumbs up.

  Just at that moment, John coughed, and they all looked up. When he didn’t stir, the work continued. People rose from their chairs for a refill of coffee or tea, or a slice of cake and a cookie, but apart from that, a companionable silence filled the room, accentuated by the soft classical music Judyta liked to play as background sound for her classes.

  The two hours passed by quickly, and soon the time came to wrap things up.

  Judyta clapped her hands again. “That’s it, people. Great job. I’m proud of you.”

  All eyes went to the front of the class again, where John was now expected to descend from his throne, and put some more of that male goodness on display for his eager audience to see. Instead, John didn’t move a muscle.

  “John, dear,” said Judyta, “you can come down now.”

  When John still didn’t make any attempt to disengage, giggles went up.

  “I think he’s fallen asleep,” said Mrs. Franklin.

  “Better wake him up, Em,” said Judyta.

  Emily walked up to the stage, a smile on her lips. It wasn’t the first time a model had dozed off in the middle of a session. Judyta always arranged for the thermostat to be turned up, so resident models didn’t get goosebumps or, worse, pneumonia, and the warmth, combined with the murmur of activity and Sylvia’s herbal concoction, had a soporific effect.

  “John?” she said as she approached the stage. “You can get up now. Class is over.” When he didn’t respond, she mounted the dais and bent over him. “John? Did you fall asleep?”

  And that’s when she saw it: something was sticking out of his eye.

  She frowned, at first not understanding what she was seeing.

  When she did, her blood suddenly ran cold.

  John wasn’t sleeping. He was dead.

  Chapter Three

  The police arrived in short order. They took down the class participants’ information and then herded them all into an adjacent classroom while they descended upon Judyta’s ro
om which was now, outrageously enough, deemed a crime scene.

  “I can’t believe this,” Judyta said, pacing the room, her kaftan flapping about her heels. She was wearing sandals, Emily now saw. Not that it mattered. She’d gratefully accepted a cup of Sylvia’s tea and was taking healing sips. According to the old lady it would soothe her nerves. She was, after all, the one who’d discovered John’s body.

  The moment she had, the others had all moved forward in tandem, and the cries of dismay and horrified shock had quickly rent the air, until Judyta had had the presence of mind to call the emergency services. Tanton Skroch had been most shocked of all. His eyes had practically popped out of his skull when he saw what had happened to the object of his affection. He’d uttered a blood-curdling scream that seemed quite out of character, and had immediately grabbed his phone and started spewing a stream of words in a strange language into the device, raking a distraught hand through his hair and looking very upset.

  He wasn’t looking much better now, seated on a chair, leaning forward, a distant look in his eyes, his mouth set, his right leg shaking. The man was obviously very rattled.

  Justyna, too, appeared unnerved. She still looked like Barbie in the flesh, but she was pale and drawn now, and chewing her lip as she gazed out of the window into the dark night. The class participants had settled down in clusters of threes and fours, and were talking in hushed tones about the tragic events that had put an abrupt end to the evening.

  “Who could have done this?” Judyta addressed the question at no one in particular.

  “And how?” added Sylvia. She turned to Emily. “Did you see anyone going up to that poor young man?”

  Emily shook her head. She’d been going over the evening in her mind, but at no point had she seen anyone approach the front of the class. She would have noticed if anyone had.

  “It’s a mystery,” said Judyta. “An absolute mystery.”

  “They must have shot that bolt through the window,” said Emily.

  “But the windows are intact,” said Sylvia. “Aren’t they?”