“Ye-es,” he said with hesitation, clearly debating how much he should actually tell me.
“Was he killed by the blow to the head? With the lamp?”
“In my opinion, that is almost certainly how he died, yes.”
“Not poison?”
He shook his head. “While that’s possible, I find it extremely unlikely. If he was killed by poison, then he must have been hit over the head at almost the same time as the poison took effect. It would make the poisoning rather pointless, no?”
“Yeah. I figured it was the lamp. I just wanted to hear your opinion. There were rumors going around the ship that he was poisoned.”
“There are always rumors going around a ship. And most of them are garbage.”
“You can say that again,” said Cece.
“Thank you very much for your time, doctor.”
“Please, just call me Ryan.”
“Thank you, Ryan,” I said with a smile. I nudged Cece, who was just staring at him.
“Yeah. Thanks.”
“It was good to see you, Cece.” The sincerity in his voice was almost too much, in my opinion, though Cece seemed delighted by it.
“Yeah,” she said softly.
Flicking my eyes across the both of them, I counted four red-tinged cheeks. How cute.
“Come on.”
I led Cece out onto the constitutional deck, which was the outdoor area closest to sickbay.
“I think you need some fresh air.”
“Do not,” said Cece, sucking in the ocean air in deep breaths.
“So when are you two going to get together?”
She tried to put on a look of befuddlement, but failed, and heaved a loud sigh as she stopped fighting.
“I don’t think a housekeeper and a doctor are going to ever get together.”
I shook my head. “No way! Don’t say that. It would be romantic.”
Cece snorted. “Romantic? No such thing.”
“Oh, Cece,” I said squeezing her shoulder. “You can’t say that. You’re too young to be that cynical.”
Internally I cringed at myself. I was sounding like an old grandmother. I wasn’t even thirty!
“Girl, I was born cynical,” said Cece with a smirk. And she was back to normal. Her sassy, sarcastic self had come back to life now that we’d left the doctor.
“So. Now what am I going to do? My leads seem to be drying up.”
“What? We knew he was whacked with the lamp. That didn’t change anything, did it?”
I shook my head. “Not that. The other thing he mentioned. About Murphy’s medical condition. If what Ryan said is true—”
“Of course it’s true,” said Cece, interrupting, defensive of any possible tarnish on the doctor’s sterling reputation.
“Right. Yes, I’m sure it is. But if what he said is true, then it means that he wasn’t having an affair with Sylvia. He couldn’t have an affair with Sylvia. And that also means his wife had no reason to be mad enough at him to kill him. So that’s my two best suspects gone.”
“Nah. There’s plenty more reasons a wife might want to kill her husband, apart from having an affair. And who knows what goes through that fruit loop Sylvia’s mind?”
Gripping the railing with my hands, my shoulders shook as I chuckled. “Yeah, I guess so. I just need to keep looking.”
Cece nodded. “Something will turn up. I’m sure it will.”
She was right.
“I’ll cast my net a bit wider. If I know a bit more about Murphy, maybe I can find some other suspects or motivations.”
Cece nodded. “Yeah. You do that. Speaking of which, I better get back to it. I’ve got another six rooms to do.”
“Hopefully they’ll all be jello-free,” I said, squeezing her shoulder for solidarity.
“If there is, I’m calling you. You were a lifesaver.”
“Yeah... I might be busy,” I said with a grin.
“Figures.”
“I’m kidding. Seriously, if there’s another bathtub full of jello, you can call me anytime.”
“Awesome. Thanks, Addy. I appreciate it.”
“No worries.”
While I meant what I’d said, I really hoped there wouldn’t be any more jello-filled bathtubs. For both our sakes.
Chapter 20
I headed back down to the grand ballroom to get a few more pictures now that the preparations for the ball had hopefully progressed a little further.
I was pleased to find a table covered in about fifty different masks, and I took photos of almost all of them, along with the various banners, hangings, ornaments, and other decorations that had been hung in the room.
While I was mostly thinking about the murder, I still had to work, and I needed to start generating some real buzz about the masque ball before the big event on the final night of the cruise.
I tried taking some selfies holding up the masks in front of my face and was reasonably pleased with the results. While I didn’t want to be plastering my own face all over social media, with the mask I didn’t mind.
On another table I found the swan napkins, dozens and dozens of them expertly folded by someone who actually knew how to do it. I crouched down next to the table and got a shot that looked like there was a whole bevy of swans gliding across the table.
Pleased with my pictures, I headed off. I planned to go and sit outside and type up a couple of short articles and start drip-feeding a stream of posts that would create some hype for the masque ball. And once I had a nice chunk of content in the hopper, I was going to get back to my investigation.
“Adrienne, darling!” came a familiar call just as I was about to exit the ballroom. It was coming directly from the other side of the room, so I didn’t feel too bad about completely ignoring it, as if I hadn’t heard it at all. I didn’t want to hear from Sylvia about anything.
Once I’d escaped the room, I sprinted down the hallway I, rounded a corner, and flew up two more flights of steps.
I exited the interior of the ship and emerged near the Boulevard Café, a cute little coffee shop that’s defining feature was the large number of potted trees around it.
I found a nice seat in a ‘corner.’ It wasn’t really a corner, but there were potted trees on two sides of me so it felt like one. Corner seats are good because they let you watch everything that’s going on, and you don’t miss out on what’s happening behind you—at least that’s what one of our professors once told us back in college.
In fact, it was because of my well-chosen seat that I spotted Mrs. Murphy, though even if I’d been facing in another direction, I may very well have heard her.
I was sitting down, typing away, my buffet-plating story complete and my overly-excited piece about the masque ball coming along nicely when the wife of the deceased walked into the seating area of the café.
Walked was probably too generous a word. She stumbled into the café, and then after losing her balance dropped into a chair. She straightened herself up and tried to look for all the world as if she had meant to sit in that exact chair.
Hmm, I thought to myself. Should I?
Then I slapped my knee. Of course I should! What kind of journalist wouldn’t?
I closed the lid of my laptop; I didn’t want any nosy passersby getting an early look at my killer ball piece.
“Mrs. Murphy? Hi. I just wanted to see how you’re doing. Are you okay?”
Her head snapped up to stare at me, and her eyes narrowed. “You again.”
I nodded at her, nervous that she was going to be angry for some reason. It can be hard to judge people who’ve been drinking. Especially when that drinking’s done before lunch.
“Sit!” she screeched, then her hand whipped up and covered her mouth. She lowered her hand again. “Sorry. Sit, please.”
I took the seat across from her, wanting to have the whole table between us. Just in case.
“What,” Janice began and then paused for several seconds. “…is your... job?” s
he finally finished.
“My job?”
She nodded, and then not waiting for an answer, she leaned across the table and grabbed at my chest, grasping hold of my name badge and pulling me toward her so that she could read it. I figured she was short-sighted, but being grabbed in such a manner was a bit of a shock to my system. If she hadn’t been a sixty-something lady whose husband had just been murdered, I would have been seriously angry. Instead, I was just mildly angered and fairly alarmed.
“Social... Media... Manager,” she read, with furrowed brow and words slurring.
“Right. I’m the social media manager.”
“And what, pray tell, is that? It doesn’t sound like a real job.”
I gently removed her fingers from my badge and sat back in the wicker chair, far enough away that she couldn’t reach me again.
“It’s a new position. I take pictures and write little articles about what’s going on aboard the ship.”
“Oh! Like a journalist!” she said.
I beamed at her. “Yes! A journalist. That’s what I trained as. But I don’t just write articles, I have to post pictures and little stories about what’s happening onboard as well. I post them to Instagram, Twitter, the ship’s website, and the Facebook page.”
“My husband was on The Facebook,” she said with a nod. “But I refuse.”
“You’re missing out on lots of great information about our cruise.”
She shook her head as if she was not disagreeing with me, but actually correcting me. “No. The Washington Post. The New York Times. And if I’m feeling masochistic, the LA Times. That’s all the information I need.”
I smiled happily. It was nice that someone still appreciated some real journalism. If I had my way, that’s what I would be doing instead of social media managing.
Mrs. Murphy clasped her hands together on the table in front of her and a gleam appeared as she narrowed her eyes.
“So how’s your little ‘investigation’ going?” She unclasped her hands and used two fingers of each hand to make little air quotes around the word investigation, before returning her hands in front of her.
“I... uh...”
Janice began to cackle with laughter, then slapped her hands on the table. “A cruise ship is like a small town. There are no secrets here. That’s why you were with the first officer before. You’re like a spy. But that’s what journalists are, anyway.”
“Okay,” I said nervously. I’d never been called a spy before. “We’re still trying to find out exactly what happened that night.”
“Yes, I bet you are. Aren’t we all? Aren’t we all? I don’t remember any of it.” She frowned. “Or do I?” She shook her head. “Nope, not a thing.”
I wasn’t quite sure how to deal with her erratic behavior, but luckily she made the decision for me. Out of nowhere, she flew to her feet.
“It’s no good here. Coffee, coffee, coffee. And not even an Irish one. Can you believe it?”
“What?” I said, confused, as I slowly rose to my feet as well. When she started to make her way around the table, I did the same, keeping it between us. Just in case.
“It’s cocktail time and this so-called café doesn’t have a lick of vodka in it. Goodbye, Media Maid.”
Confused, I watched as Janice Murphy made her way through the seating area, mumbling to herself as she did so, off to scrounge up a pre-lunch cocktail.
I returned to my own table.
A moment later, a large coffee was placed in front of me.
“I didn’t...”
The large, jolly-looking woman who’d brought the coffee over interrupted me with a deep, chortling laughter. Almost like ‘ho ho ho.’ If Santa Claus had been a large Caribbean woman instead of a myth, then I imagine he would have been exactly like her.
“I tink you could do with a coffee after talking to her. I’m Minnie. Welcome aboard.”
“Thank you,” I said, feeling cheered. Not only was Minnie’s laugh infectious, but her voice had a rich timbre that oozed kindness. “I really appreciate it.”
“You’re new. I didn’t see you on these cruises before. Social media? I don’t know a ting about it but I bet you’re great at it. I can tell.”
I almost felt tears welling behind my eyelids. I wasn’t used to such lavish compliments from strangers. “Thank you, Minnie. This is a wonderful café you have here.”
She let out another long, ho-ho-ho-ing laugh before she responded. “Oh, you can thank Swan Cruises for that. I couldn’t choose the decor, but I just try to fill the place with love, and with cheer and with laughter.”
“Well, then I wish I could stay here all day!” And I actually meant it.
“Was that Mrs. Murphy bothering you?”
I shook my head. “Not really. She’s had a rough time of it lately. It kind of looks like she might be drowning her sorrows at the moment.”
Minnie just gave a small, rather sad chuckle. “I’ll say. She’s been on one since yesterday.”
“Did something happen yesterday?”
“Oh yes. She found out her husband’s business partner was on the ship. She says he followed her and Mr. Murphy. Like a stalker.”
“Goodness,” I said, my mind whirring. A business partner? On board? Why hadn’t anyone told me?
“She’s more upset about that than her husband dying!” Minnie was shaking her head and chuckling in disbelief.
“Grief affects us all differently, I suppose.”
Minnie gave me a smile. “You’ve a good heart. Now enjoy your coffee dear, and you come back any time.”
“I will. I’ll come back often!”
As Minnie walked away, her shoulders bouncing up and down as she continued to laugh, I decided I would indeed be coming back here just as often as I could get away with.
If I kept this job, anyway. If I couldn’t clear Sam, I’d be leaving when she did.
My brief moment of happiness marred, I took a photo of my coffee and decided to try and promote Minnie’s café as best I knew how.
And at least now I had another lead to follow up on. There were two suspects I wanted to focus on now: Greg the food tamperer and the mysterious business partner.
I tapped my phone against my chin thoughtfully and sipped my coffee as I devised my next course of action.
Chapter 21
After finishing my delicious coffee, I made my way up to Ethan Lee's office, where an orderly let me in to see him after only a very brief consultation.
Ethan Lee was standing already and met me by the door of his office with a smile that seemed to be genuinely pleased. He held the door for me, closed it behind me, and then guided me to our two usual sofas with a strong hand gently pushing the small of my back.
"So how are you doing, Adrienne?"
"Oh, yeah, fine, fine. Listen, I think I've got something."
He frowned. "About the murder?" he asked with what sounded like disappointment.
"Umm, yes," I said.
"Right. Straight to business. Very good." It didn't sound very good the way he said it.
"I just learned that Murphy had a business partner."
"Right..."
"You knew about that?" I couldn’t hide my annoyance.
"That information has come to my attention," he said circuitously.
"Right. And so you've talked to him?"
He shook his head. "I have not."
I was infuriated. If I was going to get Sam out of the bind she was in, I had to find out who killed Murphy—and fast. We would be back in New Orleans in two days and then it would all be over. Everything.
"Well? Why not?"
"As first officer, unfortunately I have a whole range of duties to fill my day. My schedule doesn't have a lot of room for murder investigations on top of everything else I have to do."
I wanted to strangle him, but settled for letting out an exasperated sigh instead. "But this is important!"
"Of course it is. But I honestly think that this investigation is going t
o be completed by the authorities landside."
I glared at him.
He shifted in his seat. "But I do have a few minutes now. Why don't we go and see if we can find this business partner and have a chat with him now?"
"Better."
He laughed, amused. But I wasn't kidding around. He could sit there looking handsome and prattling on about his duties all he wanted; there were serious stakes on the line for me and Sam.
"This is important. If we don't find out who did it, me and Sam will be off this ship for good."
He couldn't stop his eyebrows shooting up. "You're leaving?"
I tilted my head. "I don't want to leave, but if my friend is kicked off the boat for a murder she didn't commit, I can't in good conscience stick around, can I? What would Sam say? What would our families say? What would I feel like?"
I could see the understanding dawning across his face. He stood up smartly, brushed down his uniform pants and shirt, and said, "Let's go and visit this business partner and see if we can't learn something new."
I followed him out of the room, slightly amused. He didn't seem pleased at the idea of me leaving the ship.
Interesting.
Very interesting.
Not that I could ever be interested in someone who was happy to lock up my friend.
Chapter 22
The business partner, a man named Carl Turner, had a stateroom in the VIP section of the ship, though it was one level lower than the Murphys’ cabin.
“Adrienne, actually, I have a confession.”
“Oh?” He had definitely piqued my interest. As a (kind of) journalist, confessions were a special treat. I mentally licked my lips in anticipation.
“The reason I hadn’t talked to the business partner yet was that I was waiting for you.” He pressed the doorbell.
“Really?” I said skeptically. This confession wasn’t sounding too exciting.
“Really. You were so mad when I suggested talking to Mrs. Murphy alone that I thought you’d be furious if I went to talk to the business partner without you.”
“You didn’t tell me,” I said with a rather snooty sniff.
He shrugged. “I figured you’d drop by sooner or later.”
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