Haunted Destiny

by Heather Graham

  “That’s gratifying to hear,” Jude said. Alexi had wandered over to the side, where a number of holy books were displayed, including beautifully bound versions of the Old Testament, the Bible in Latin and a King James edition of the Bible.

  “Are you available every day, Reverend Mike?” Jude asked.

  “Yup. All day, every day. And please, call me Mike. There’s a buzzer to reach me if I’m not in the chapel or my office. But...somehow I’m not getting the feeling that you’re looking for spiritual consultation.”

  “Just asking about the chapel,” Jude said. “With all the valuable art here...I was thinking that, unfortunately, it might be dangerous to leave it open.”

  “I keep an eye on the chapel,” Mike assured him. “So do our security people. David Beach, our head of security, as I’m sure you know, has a special affinity for the chapel. He had an uncle who served here as chaplain when the Destiny was being used as a hospital ship during World War II. But as far as access to the chapel goes, I have a key, David has a key and the captain does. When I’m not nearby—my office is the cabin right next door here—the chapel is locked. And only three people can open it.”

  “Good to hear,” Jude said.

  “So, that’s really it? You two didn’t steal up here in hopes of a whirlwind wedding? An elopement?” Mike asked.

  Alexi almost dropped the Bible she’d been holding.

  He was astonished to find himself stuttering.

  “We—we’ve actually just met.”

  “I’m... I’m giving him a tour,” Alexi murmured.

  “I mean, she’s wonderful, of course,” Jude said quickly.

  Mike laughed, raising his hands. “Sorry, sorry! You’re an attractive couple and I get the impression you’d be well suited. But I didn’t mean to put anyone on the spot. It’s the way you seem to communicate... Anyway, I’m always around, if you do want me for anything. And it’s been a pleasure to meet you.”

  Mike thrust out a hand, and Jude shook it. “Thank you for your time.”

  “Absolutely. That’s part of the job description. Listen to people, and give them all the time they need,” Mike said cheerfully.

  Alexi gave him an awkward smile, and Jude realized they were both flustered, a little off.

  “The infirmary?” she asked as they left.

  “Sure,” he said.

  “It’s just down here, past the Egyptian Room.” The Egyptian Room was one of the larger lounges where private functions were held—along with bingo and a few other shipboard offerings. It was a beautiful room, more like an old adventurers’ club than anything, with shimmering gold and glass and marble.

  Jude hadn’t noticed that there was a hallway directly to the side, but that might’ve been because of a sign hanging from the ceiling that said Staff Only and the velvet rope that served as a barrier.

  Alexi had no problem unhooking the rope. “I am staff,” she told him with a shrug. “Jensen Hardy arranges tours of the ship and he or his people bring guests here. Other than that, it’s cordoned off because it’s been maintained in its historic state.”

  “I see.”

  Down the hall Alexi opened a door that led to a reception area with a nurses’ desk and right behind that, a glass-paned room with the word Triage on it.

  Jude didn’t look farther than the desk, though, because it was occupied.

  The woman sitting there wore a white nurse’s cap over short curly brown hair, and a white nurse’s uniform. Jude wasn’t much on style, but he knew that the outfit was long outdated, nothing like the hospital attire in different colors or decorated with cute pandas or monkeys that nursing staff seemed to wear in the twenty-first century.

  “Alexi!” the woman said, smiling broadly. “How nice.” She stared at Jude, obviously curious, and then grinned slowly. “Well, hello, handsome!” she said. The nurse looked back at Alexi.

  “He knows I’m here,” she said. There was the merest hint of a question in her words.

  “Clear as anything,” Alexi told her. “Barbara Leon, I’d like you to meet Jude McCoy. People on the ship believe he’s a Celtic American executive, masquerading as a tourist, but he’s really an FBI agent. Jude, Miss Barbara Leon, one of the finest nurses to serve on this ship, in wartime or anytime.”

  Jude felt a split second’s freeze; Alexi was so comfortable with this. She introduced Barbara Leon with the same ease and warmth she might use when introducing Clara Avery.

  The woman was dead! In reality, there was no one sitting at that desk. There was nothing but air...and the whispered memory of a life. It was like the scent of perfume on the breeze when someone had already passed by.

  He snapped out of it quickly. “Miss Leon,” he said. “A pleasure.”

  “Who’s here?”

  He heard another voice, the sound raspy.

  It wasn’t real, either. Not to other people, anyway. Not to most people. It was something that sounded in his head.

  A man in a World War II private’s uniform had come to lean against the doorway. He looked warily at Jude and said, “Alexi, what are you doing?”

  “I brought a friend to meet you. He needs help with...a situation. Jimmy, this is Special Agent Jude McCoy of the FBI. A serial killer has been at work in the United States, and we believe he’s on board this ship. Jude, this is Private Jimmy Estes.”

  “Pleased to meet you. I’d offer to shake, but that usually just upsets people,” Jimmy said.

  “Pleased to meet you, too,” Jude responded.

  Another man came up behind Jimmy. Alexi introduced him as Private Frank Marlowe.

  “I was a cop before I joined the service,” Marlowe said. “How can we help?”

  “We’d greatly appreciate any observations you can make,” Alexi answered.

  “Of course,” Frank said. “I haven’t seen anything suspicious yet, but I’m not sure what we’d be looking for.”

  Later, Jude would wonder about the fact that he’d taken one of the chairs at the desk and told the three ghosts in the infirmary what he knew. They listened gravely, promising they’d find a way to monitor the suspects.

  “Those medallions...my dad had a set,” Jimmy said. “He was so proud of them. He bought them for me. Said with all those saints, no matter how hard the days were, I could find some comfort. He was right. Unfortunately, I lost them at a camp near Paris.”

  “Small world,” Barbara said.

  “Do you think the medallions are objects he uses just to make his kiss-my-ass displays for the cops?” Jimmy asked. He blushed. “Sorry about the language, Barbara, Alexi. It, uh, slipped out.”

  “That’s okay,” Alexi said.

  Nurse Barbara Leon was shaking her head. “Those medallions have to mean something to this killer.” She turned to Jude. “I assume someone is looking into that?”

  “The best behavioral scientists in the world,” Jude replied. “Plus, we’ve had our offices working with all the technological resources at our disposal, and law enforcement all over the US and in Mexico—because of the situation in Cozumel—has a hand in it.”

  “I’d put my money on the medallions,” Barbara said thoughtfully. “They have to be the clue you need.”

  “What else can you tell us about them?” Alexi asked, glancing at Jude. She herself knew almost nothing about them.

  And he’d been struggling with whether or not to tell her and Clara that the saints’ medallions for musicians and actors hadn’t been used by the killer yet. There were, of course, many other singers and actresses aboard the ship, but he happened to know the two of them.

  It shouldn’t matter.

  It wouldn’t influence his work ethic, but it did matter.

  “There’s a new fellow on board, by the way,” Jimmy said suddenly, swinging around to face Alexi.

&n
bsp; “Yes. He was one of the killer’s victims,” Alexi said.

  Barbara appeared perplexed. “And he’s here? Does Captain McPherson know?”

  Captain McPherson. The captain who’d died at his retirement party on the ship!

  “I’m not sure,” Alexi said. “His name is Byron Grant. But I haven’t seen him since he managed to communicate with Jude and me.”

  Jimmy nodded. “Ah, a beginner. Yeah, it takes some time. Well, don’t worry, we’ll be courteous and welcoming. Captain doesn’t like new folk aboard, though, unless they pay their respects.”

  “I’ll tell him that when I see him again,” Alexi said. “Thank you all.”

  “We’ll be especially vigilant,” Barbara promised.

  Jude looked back as they left; he felt that he’d entered a time warp. The men lounged against the door frame. Nurse Barbara sat at her station. If he’d had a camera and taken a picture, anyone would’ve sworn that it was shot in the 1940s.

  Except there would’ve been no one in it. Or maybe there would... He’d heard a story—one he’d ignored or chalked up to a prankster—about John Brown, hanged at Charleston, West Virginia, after he was captured at his raid at Harpers Ferry. The long-dead man had apparently shown up in a picture taken there, a photograph that should have been a shot of a tourist couple—and no one else.

  Prankster? Park ranger? More than likely.

  And yet...

  He turned to Alexi. “I’ll get you back to your cabin.”

  As he spoke, the ship lurched, at a far greater angle than it had taken before.

  Alexi was thrown against him; he was thrown against the wall.

  For a moment her eyes met his.

  And he wanted to stay where he was, just stay there and feel her body close to his.

  The captain’s voice came over the ship’s loudspeaker. “Sorry, folks, we’re hitting a bit of weather. We’ll do our best to skirt around it. Seems a storm has whipped up in the Gulf. We’re asking that you all take care when you move throughout the ship. Nothing to worry about. The Destiny has often weathered harsh wind and pelting rain. Still, take care moving about and I’ll keep you informed.”

  They heard a flurry of voices coming from the hallways and lounges.

  “Let me get you back to your cabin,” Jude said urgently. They straightened, both flushed—and both, obviously, feeling a bit awkward.

  “Sure,” she said huskily, and they set off.

  The waves continued to be hard; they walked like a pair of drunks.

  As he lingered just outside her cabin door, he realized there were many things he wanted to say to her.

  None of them came to his lips at the moment.

  He smiled. “I’ll be back for you later,” he said.

  She smiled halfheartedly, nodded, then closed and locked her door.

  7

  Alexi had an hour or so before Jude would come back to escort her to the piano bar. She sat down in front of her computer, determined to research the set of medallions the Archangel was using. She had to type in a few key words before she found what she was looking for, and that was on an auction site. A set had been sold a few years ago to a museum in Texas, and it was still right there, in the institute’s Hall of Religion.

  She did, however, find information on the various medals.

  They’d been manufactured by the Church of the Little Flower just outside the Vatican as a fund-raiser to support the orphans who’d been pouring in from all over Europe. The church had resolved that no child be turned away from their orphanage, but that pledge had been extremely expensive.

  Sister Angelina had been the artist behind the medallions, and she had worked with a parishioner to see to their execution. Five thousand sets had been made. The funds raised had seen to the care and feeding of orphans through the war years and beyond.

  Sister Angelina had chosen saints that the working man—and woman—might call upon to intercede.

  Alexi found a pad and pen in her desk and started a list.

  St. Catherine—patron saint of artists.

  St. Michael—patron saint of police officers.

  St. Matthew—patron saint of accountants.

  St. Barbara—architects and builders.

  St. Christopher—drivers, travelers and pilots.

  St. Bernardino—advertising.

  St. Luke—physicians.

  St. Francis—animals.

  St. Joan of Arc—soldiers and military.

  St. Thomas Aquinas—teachers.

  St. Lawrence—cooks.

  St. Genesius—actors.

  St. Cecilia—singers and musicians.

  As Alexi looked at the list, a chill settled over her. Thirteen medallions. A medallion had been found on each of the female victims, but not on Byron Grant.

  The ship’s security, as well as Jude and Jackson Crow, were protecting her and Clara, she knew that. And the other actors and musicians, of course.

  On this ship, performers were plentiful.

  So were cooks. She closed her eyes, wincing as she thought of the female cooks she knew who were on board. Lucy Tamarin, Maria Octavia, Brenda Isley...

  And many more.

  Singers... Dozens, between the shows and the various lounges. And most of Jensen Hardy’s assistant cruise directors had to at least be able to carry a tune.

  But Jude had zeroed in on her.

  Only because I see ghosts.

  Still, as she reminded herself, she wasn’t the only potential victim on the Destiny.

  There was a killer on board. The Archangel. And there were three medallions left. One was that of St. Cecilia, patron saint of singers and musicians.

  Yes, she was in serious trouble.

  And so was Clara and every woman in the cast of the ship’s production of Les Miz.

  Her breath was coming too quickly. She picked up her cabin phone and called Clara’s room number. She felt the pounding of her heart; it sounded like a cacophony in her ears.

  One ring, two, three, four, five...

  A feeling of panic, of fear for Clara, almost overwhelmed her.

  And then...

  “Hello?”

  Relief flooded Alexi as her friend answered the phone.

  “Clara,” she said breathlessly.

  “Alexi? You okay?”

  “Yes, yes, I just wanted to make sure you were okay.”

  “Hell of a day, right? I was lucky. Jackson Crow found me in the crowd at the restaurant and got me back to the ship. And then we had to delay sailing for an hour. Did you realize that?”

  “No, I didn’t. I was back on board—”

  “I know. I was frantic when we all got separated. But Mr. Crow, Jackson, told me you were fine, that you were with Jude McCoy. I called your cabin and left you a message.”

  Alexi saw the blinking light on her phone. She hadn’t noticed it before.

  “I’m sorry.”

  “No problem. I knew you were okay.”

  “I’ll be going to the piano bar in a few minutes. Want to come with me?”

  “Sure. I’m due at rehearsal, but that’s down the hall on the St. Charles Deck, too. Meet in the hallway?”

  “In a minute. I’ll come and get you. We’ll come get you. Jude McCoy is walking me up.”

  “Oh,” Clara said, a trace of amusement in her voice.

  “I’ve just been showing him around.”

  Clara laughed softly. “Then you’re a fool. There aren’t a lot of men like him around.”

  “He has a different kind of life,” Alexi said.

  “We all have different kinds of lives,” Clara said.

  “We’ll return to port, he’ll get off the ship and—”

  “
So what if he does? He’s here now.”

  “Well, sorry, but he hasn’t come on to me.”

  He hadn’t, had he? No, he had a reserve about him. He kept his distance. Clara laughed. “Come on to him, then.”

  “Clara, I haven’t even flirted in ages. I don’t think I remember how.”

  “Trust me. It’s like riding a bike.”

  Alexi rolled her eyes at the cliché. “Anyway, I’ll see you in a few minutes.” She hung up the phone.

  And she looked at the list she’d written again.

  What did the medallions mean?

  * * *

  Jude hurried to the office David Beach had arranged for him and Jackson.

  Jackson, who was at his computer, glanced up when Jude entered the room. “According to the captain, we’re in for some bad weather and there’s no way he can make a safe docking in time to avoid it.”

  “Yeah, I heard. But there was nothing coming across from the coast of Africa,” Jude said. “My phone has weather conditions and warnings. I checked it earlier.”

  “Check it now,” Jackson told him. “Angela called a few minutes ago. They’re monitoring the situation from headquarters. Seems this is one of those wicked Gulf systems that just spins into existence.”

  “Great,” Jude murmured.

  “Right now we’re bypassing it. But, since no one really knows where this system is going, there isn’t much the captain can do, other than get away from Cozumel, where it’s forming.”

  “I’m assuming this ship has weathered her share of storms at sea,” Jude said.

  “She’s a good ship, although her stabilizers aren’t on par with those on some of the newer ones. Still, she’s made it through some rough weather. I’m not too worried about this storm,” Jackson said.

  “Jackson,” Jude began then hesitated. “I met a few other ghosts today. A couple of WWII servicemen and a nurse.”

  “And?”

  “They got me thinking about Word War II—and about the medallions. We know this guy is using them for some specific reason. But what the hell could the medallions mean to him? Are they just for effect? Or is there some connection to the war? Or to the church that sold them?”

  Jackson shrugged. “The problem is, there were five thousand sets and there’s no way of knowing where they all went. I’m sure they were considered great gifts by servicemen, to send to their loved ones back home. Or, of course, to keep themselves. But over the past decades, the medals that survived might have gone through dozens of hands. People might still find them in forgotten trunks in attics.”