Haunted Destiny

by Heather Graham

  “I’ll make the arrangements with Clara and Alexi. I’ll join you after that,” Jude told him.

  Alexi was stirring, but Jude knew he had to get up, even though he didn’t want to. Alexi looked like an artist’s dream, sheet pulled down below the base of her spine, the curve of her body elegant, the sweep of her hair vivid against the white of the sheets.

  He climbed out of bed. “I’m going to shower, then get to work,” he said briskly.

  When he emerged, she was in a terry-cloth robe, sitting at her little desk. She glanced up at him, her expression bleak.

  “It seems to me that any of our current suspects could’ve rigged something in the kitchen—and then gotten away with the murder of Maria Sanchez. Every one of them—Roger, Hank, Jensen and Simon—might’ve had the opportunity. Neither the ship’s security nor the Mexican police believed you and Jackson. No one in authority believed the killer could be on this ship until Maria Sanchez turned up dead in that Mexican church,” she said. “If only...”

  “If only?” Jude echoed.

  “If only we knew what the medallions meant to the killer.”

  He leaned down to kiss her neck. “Go shower,” he said huskily. “I’m escorting you and Clara to the Egyptian Room.”

  He dressed as he waited for Alexi.

  They were in a battle with time; they had to reach port with Alexi, Clara and every other entertainer safe. All the women on board were in danger. And if they didn’t determine who the killer was by the time they docked, he might strike again elsewhere.

  At least once they were on land, the FBI and local authorities would have the personnel to watch each of their suspects, follow in their footsteps, research their comings and goings.

  But they’d known who their suspects were from the start of the voyage. They’d known when they were in Mexico. And yet the killer had still managed to elude them and rig the explosion. Which had given him the opportunity to kill Maria...

  When Alexi had emerged and dressed, she called Clara to tell her they were on the way to pick her up.

  Jude could hear Clara’s response. “More bingo!” she said loudly and with feigned enthusiasm.

  “People love bingo,” Alexi reminded her.

  “I wish I was one of those people,” Clara muttered.

  As Alexi hung up, there was a knock at her door. Jude looked out and saw Jensen Hardy.

  He opened the door, and it was immediately clear that Jensen hadn’t expected him there, judging by the way the man scowled at him.

  “Morning,” Jude said cheerfully.

  “Good morning,” Jensen said, just as cheerfully. He thrust a paper at Jude. “Notices for day duty to the entertainment crew. Alexi has the Egyptian Room again.”

  “Yes, I know,” Jude said pleasantly.

  “Of course you do.” Jensen smiled grimly. “Bingo.”

  “Bingo,” Jude agreed. He took the paper and closed the door.

  “You really don’t like him, do you?” Alexi asked.

  “He’s fake. His smile is fake,” Jude said.

  Alexi shrugged. “Well, he has to have that enthusiasm going all the time. No human can be that constantly happy.”

  “Ah, yes, but have you seen the way he looks at me? His eyes become daggers!”

  “Hmm. Maybe he doesn’t like you.”

  Jude laughed. “Hmm. You think?”

  She grinned, but then her expression grew somber. “That doesn’t make him a murderer, though,” she said. “I can’t really see it.”

  “Which of these four men do you see as a murderer?” he asked her. “Simon, Mr. Song and Dance? Hank, the awkward wizard, just lookin’ for love? Roger Antrim, married father and grandfather?”

  “No, I don’t see how it could be any of them.”

  “Serial killer Ted Bundy worked at a help line,” Jude told her. “If he’d looked like some kind of monster, people might have suspected him sooner. That’s just it. We never want to accept that the boy next door could actually be a killer.”

  Alexi nodded. “I have a hard time believing any of these men could be monsters—but I know that one of them must be. And...” She paused for a moment.

  Jude waited, curious.

  “And I want to stay alive!”

  So did he, Jude thought. He recalled the pain he’d felt when they’d lost Lily. Nothing could have been worse. Yet, even then, he had never contemplated suicide.

  Now he knew, more than he ever had before—he didn’t want to survive just to catch the bad guys.

  He wanted to live. Maybe now, for the first time in years, he could really live.

  “We’re going to get through this,” he told her.

  “Of course we are.”

  She kissed him. A quick kiss.

  He smiled, thinking that neither of them dared to go any further. Out in the hallway, Jude saw another of Beach’s men dutifully watching over his section of the ship. As Alexi tapped on Clara’s door, Ralph and Larry stepped out of Ralph’s cabin.

  “Egyptian Room?” Ralph asked.

  “That’s where we’re heading,” Jude replied.

  Simon left his cabin. “Egyptian Room?” he, too, asked.

  “On our way,” Alexi murmured.

  “Bingo, yay!” Clara said.

  “Well, if we could win the big bucks,” Simon said, “it might be fun. But since all we do is look at the cards...”

  “Cheer up. Maybe there’ll be another wet T-shirt contest,” Alexi told him.

  Simon grinned. “A bunch of cute girls squirting me with water? Not so bad.”

  He started singing “Master of the House” from Les Miz as he led them down the hall.

  * * *

  Alexi found it difficult to maintain a smile and an air of casual pleasure while working that day.

  She couldn’t help being acutely aware that every man on the suspect list was in the Egyptian Room.

  Hank was there with Ginny, the two of them sitting at the bar. While Hank might not want the girl of his obsessions and dreams involved in a wet T-shirt contest, he wasn’t at all averse to bingo. In fact, they had dozens of cards between them.

  Roger was there with his wife—and with Flora Winters, the woman whose husband had owned a collectibles business. Alexi made a point of going over to chat. Flora was happy to meet her; she’d never been to the piano bar on the ship, she said, but since Roger and Lorna thought it was so wonderful, she’d decided to come by.

  Flora seemed very nice, and she and Lorna seemed to get along well, Alexi observed after she’d talked with them. The two women engaged in conversation and laughter, some of it—or so it appeared—at the expense of Roger, who just smiled and shrugged.

  Happy. Domestic. Friendly.

  Alexi looked around the room whenever she could, trying to keep an eye on everyone.

  It seemed ridiculous that a killer, the Archangel, could be among them.

  They were all so...normal.

  Simon appeared to be having fun.

  Jensen was a little beleaguered, possibly because Bradley was in the room as they began their storm-swept day, arms crossed over his chest as he watched.

  Alexi didn’t care that Bradley was there. She realized she didn’t care about his opinion of her work that day. She was a good employee, and if he didn’t appreciate her, well...

  Well, what she wasn’t sure. But she knew this cruise had changed her.

  She didn’t need to escape anymore. Whatever happened in the future, she prayed Jude would be part of it.

  She didn’t believe she was just a diversion to him—or just someone he needed to keep safe.

  But everything, even having a future, seemed to hinge on these last few days on the ship.

  The bingo games went on. She a
nd the others ran around, checking cards, helping out, improvising interactions with the guests.

  After bingo Jensen announced a break before the trivia games.

  First prize for trivia would be from Artiste, the ship’s jewelry store.

  Alexi considered their break a great opportunity to have a conversation with Hank Osprey and Ginny.

  There was no empty bar stool near the two of them so she pretended she needed a glass of water and slipped by them to ask the bartender to hand her a glass.

  She turned to them and shook her head sadly. “All those cards—and no bingo!” Hank laughed. “We didn’t care. The challenge was keeping track of all the cards.”

  “Actually,” Ginny said, “I think we did have bingo once. There were so many cards, we must’ve missed it.”

  “Ah, well. Next up is the game I’d like to be on.”

  “Ah, yes, jewels! The way to a woman’s heart, right?” Hank teased.

  “The main prize is a diamond necklace,” Alexi said. “Although—and you may not believe this—I prefer funky jewelry to diamonds. I like unusual designs. Or things that have some meaning. I inherited a pewter coat of arms from my mom’s family. It’s Italian. And an old cross that meant a great deal to my grandmother. Oh, and some weird dragon pieces I bought at a Ren faire.”

  “I know what you mean!” Ginny said. “I have some spider stuff a lot of people might think of as nothing but Halloween costume attire, and yet I love it.”

  Hank had risen, offering Alexi his seat. She shook her head. “Thanks, but I have to be back on the floor in a second. What do you think about jewelry? If you were trying to impress a woman, I mean. Are diamonds the way to go or would you opt for something else?”

  Hank was thoughtful. “I’d consider the woman. I’d try to know her—and know exactly what kind of jewelry she’d like. Now, Ginny—”

  “Trivia!” Jensen Hardy boomed over the microphone, interrupting whatever Hank had been about to say. “If my lovely singing and dancing assistants will please join me down here?”

  Alexi set her glass on the bar and hurried down to the stage.

  So much for her attempt at subtle interrogation.

  But as she walked across the room, she saw that the ghost of Byron Grant was in the room, as well, leaning against the far wall.

  Just watching.

  He seemed confused, and Alexi quickly realized why.

  Simon and Hank remained in the room, ready to play whatever game Jensen announced.

  But Roger was on his way out, accompanied by his wife—and Flora Winters.

  * * *

  “There’s nothing like working with charts,” Jackson was saying. “Physical charts, that is.”

  “Actually,” Jude told him, “there’d be nothing like it—if we had some more information to put on our charts.”

  They’d written their list of suspects on one side of an eraser board.

  The list of medallions and the known dead was on the other side.

  Jude stared at the two, thinking of the conversations he’d had with the men on the list. Something, some idea, was forming in his mind. Something to do with the medallions. As if reading his mind, Jackson said, “The medallions are the key. We know which saints they represent, and we know that they were made prewar in a small church in Italy.”

  “I’m not sure that where they were made really matters. What they mean to the murderer is what’s important,” Jude responded. “Now, we know that Flora Winters’s husband sold a set of the medallions but that, too, could mean nothing.”

  “It would be a big help to have our communications up and running,” Jackson murmured. “Angela always works like this—everything on a chart. But usually, our researchers are available to answer any questions that might arise from looking at the lists!”

  “If those medallions were bought at auction or from an antiquities dealer like Flora’s husband, that would indicate someone with money,” Jude said. “Hank Osprey or Roger Antrim, in other words.”

  “But if the buyer of the medallions sold by Sam Winters turns out to be John Smith or David Jones or someone entirely unrelated, the Archangel might have inherited his—or even found them at a flea market,” Jackson said. “Or, who knows, stolen them...”

  “But what do they mean to the killer? Are they just a way to taunt the police, or do they mean something personal to him? He obviously chose his victims, one for each of the medallions. He had to know who they were. He had to know about their lives and their work.”

  “As far as we can tell, the victims had never met one another. We couldn’t find anything in common among them. The only connection was through the medallions. Each woman who was killed had a profession that correlated with the medallion left on her body,” Jackson said.

  “Maybe it has to do with the fact that they were professional women,” Jude suggested. “Maybe this guy has something against working women.”

  “That’s possible. Could be he was spurned at some time in his life by a professional woman—and the medallions somehow emphasized the fact that, in his mind, women shouldn’t be working,” Jackson said.

  “Because—in his mind—they should be giving their attention to the men in their lives?”

  “One would think that would leave our Roger Antrim out of the equation, since he’s been married to the same woman for almost thirty years,” Jackson mused.

  “You’ve had profilers in Quantico on this. Remind me what you’ve got from them so far.”

  “He’s between the ages of twenty-five and thirty-five, male, white, heterosexual. They believe the killer is either wealthy or someone with reason to travel frequently. This pretty much fits all our suspects, except for Roger, of course, who’s a little older than the other men.”

  Jude didn’t get a chance to respond because there was a tap at the door, and David Beach poked his head in. “Agents, the Reverend Mike has asked to see you, down in the chapel.”

  Jude and Jackson looked at each other and quickly rose. Beach nodded solemnly as they thanked him. He was ready to help them now, in whatever way they might require. Sad, Jude thought, that it had taken the death of Maria Sanchez to make everyone so willing to cooperate fully.

  “You coming with us?” Jude asked him.

  “I’m checking in with my staff regularly. That’s a lot of people,” Beach said. “But...”

  His words trailed off. They knew he was thinking about Nathan Freeman.

  They didn’t know for a fact that he was dead; his body hadn’t appeared anywhere.

  But none of them expected to find his body. It was somewhere in the vastness of the sea.

  The Reverend Mike was sitting in one of the rows of cushioned chairs in front of the altar. He jumped to his feet when they entered.

  “Thanks for coming. I don’t like to be away from the chapel right now. People are coming in here every few hours. They’re praying that we make it through the storm,” he told them. “And praying that they stay safe...”

  “Only natural,” Jackson said. “But you wanted to see us? Has something happened?”

  “Someone was in here. And I’m not sure how that person got in. I definitely didn’t leave the door unlocked last night and security officers have been patrolling the ship. But someone was in here. Someone looking through the Bibles.”

  “How can you be sure?” Jude asked.

  “It might mean nothing, but one Bible was open to what I thought was an unusual reference for someone to be seeking out these days. It referred to the role of women. Titus 2:5. ‘To be self-controlled, pure, working at home, kind, submissive to their own husbands, that the word of God may not be reviled.’”

  Jude and Jackson exchanged glances. “‘Submissive,’” Jackson said.

  “‘Working at home,’” Jude quoted.


  “Reverend, you have no idea who was here?” Jackson asked. “Based on any previous conversations or anyone you might have seen hanging around?”

  “Nothing that I recall. I must’ve been in my office or perhaps sleeping when this person got in. I have no idea who, how or when. All I can tell you is that the Bibles were moved. And that, as I said, the King James Bible was open to the page I just told you about. I thought you should know. Especially because of what happened the day we left NOLA—and in Cozumel.” He studied Jackson and Jude. “And you’re not with the Celtic American line, are you? You’re investigators of some kind. There’s a reason you were on this ship when we left New Orleans. That’s obvious.”

  “Yes,” Jackson said. “You’re right. We’re FBI.”

  “Figures.” Mike nodded. “This guy, whoever he is, this so-called Archangel—he’s down on women. Hates women. He attacks successful, professional women. And he was in my chapel last night. Gentlemen, I will not be leaving my chapel again. If he comes back, I will know it.”

  “Reverend,” Jude said urgently. “If he comes back, remember he’s an adept killer. Don’t confront him yourself. He’s killed a man, as well.”

  “That young man was unsuspecting. I intend to be ready for him,” the Reverend Mike said.

  “If he comes—” Jackson began.

  “There’s an alarm button on the wall there, below the painting,” the Reverend Mike interrupted him. “Trust me, I will hit that alarm.”

  “I believe my colleague was about to ask that you not try to take him down yourself,” Jude said. “We’re not doubting your capabilities. It’s that we’re just closing in on this killer and we know he’s dangerous. And chances are you won’t recognize him as the killer when you see him.”

  “If I suspect anything, like I said, I’ll hit that alarm,” the Reverend Mike vowed. “Now, you have suspects on this ship. So, I’d appreciate knowing who they are.”

  “Reverend, this is an ongoing investigation,” Jackson said.

  “And you, sir, should remember that I answer to a higher authority than the law. What you tell me will stay with me. I swear I will keep your information to myself.”

  Jackson nodded thoughtfully. “Then I’ll trust you. There are four men we’re looking at. Two are employees of the cruise line, and two are passengers. A new man in the entertainment department, Simon Green. The cruise director, Jensen Hardy. And passengers Roger Antrim and Hank Osprey.”