Death In A Deck Chair

by Georgia Kains

  Bebe Bosley traipsed in with her dog trailing behind her. Judging by the sway of her head and slurred speech, the woman was already three sheets to the wind. Tony was nowhere in sight, and I wondered if he’d booked an exorbitantly priced plane ride home after their fight earlier.

  “I guess I’m gonna haf to teach your bartender how to makes a dirty martini again.” Bebe made a face as she slammed her pink glass on the table. She continued on her tirade about how awful everything was.

  Silas sat between his sister and mom. He deflected all of Bebe’s jabs about the ship while Cappy hacked at her prime rib. I couldn’t have been the only one who wondered if she was imagining the slab of beef was the blonde sitting across from her.

  Preston yawned at his step-grandmother’s antics.

  The only one who hadn’t even acknowledged Bebe’s bad behavior was Peg. Her expression remained a prim flake of flint, and she busied herself tidying the salt and pepper shakers on her side of the table.

  There were two situations every wedding planner must be able to handle with supreme grace, finesse, and quick thinking. Drunken brides and belligerent mothers-in-law. Bebe somehow managed to embody both as she sneered at her traveling party like a rabid hyena prowling for an easy kill.

  “I hope you’re all soooo happsy,” she slurred. She jabbed her finger at an email on her phone. “You’re all so boring that they’re airing a new dog wedding show in my time slot.”

  Ooh! Dogs in the wedding? Or dogs marrying each other? Either way, I’d have to set my DVR.

  Poor little Jenna kept trying to interject small talk in an attempt to end Bebe’s drunken ranting.

  “That dress looks nice on you, Piper,” said Jenna.

  “Thanks,” I said.

  “If you need any other clothes, let me know. Or if you want, you can go root around in the hold and borrow anything you want. I’ll get them laundered for you.”

  “Jenna,” Silas said quietly, “Miss Monroe is our guest. She doesn’t need to be down in the cargo hold.”

  “Call me Piper. And I really don’t mind,” I said.

  Amanda, who was apparently determined to spread fun like rabies, walked by at that moment and decided to add her two cents.

  “What’s that about the dusty old hold?” she said. “Why on earth would you want to go to the dungeon?”

  All eyes at the table were now glued on me.

  “I … I don’t. But I need to borrow things to wear.”

  “Why didn’t you go shopping in the market today?” asked Peg. “One seller had perfectly suitable garments for a very reasonable price.”

  “Yeah,” Bebe called over the table, her head swaying off to the side and her eyes unfocused. “His clothes were a real steal.”

  She cackled, and my cheeks burned. It wasn’t enough to take my clothes. She had to dump salt in the wound.

  An awkward silence settled over the table.

  “You look amazing.” Amanda swooped in to fill it with all the subtlety of a concrete truck. “Like a fairy tale princess come to life.”

  I was wearing ill-fitting hand-me-downs, and my hair frizzed out every which way to Sunday in the sea air.

  The rest of the table echoed some vague, limp compliments. I gritted my teeth, praying for the spotlight to extinguish.

  Bebe leaned forward across the table to reach for the salt. A fat sapphire pendant peeked out from her cleavage and dropped into the chocolate mousse that had just been served.

  “Oopsies,” she said.

  Preston Bosley sat up and pointed at the chocolate-covered jewel.

  “Where did you get that?” he said.

  “This old thing?” She dipped her napkin into her water glass and attempted to clean the pendant but only managed to smear chocolate all over her chest.

  “It is an old thing! That necklace is an heirloom. My grandmother’s. It’s worth a cool million. And its sentimental value is priceless.”

  “Well, it’s my million now,” she shouted. “Your grandfather gave it to me on our wedding night.”

  Preston muttered about her being a gold-digging hussy.

  Bebe pulled the soiled sapphire pendant off. She tossed it onto the table but only after turning around and making a big show of it. The entire dining hall had gone silent, every eye glued on her.

  “How about some dancing?” chirped Amanda. She motioned for the jazz trio to play something upbeat and grabbed Preston’s hand. “Would you do the honor of starting us out, Mr. Bosley?”

  Preston grumbled but rose to his feet. Silas invited Peg to dance, and soon the whole room was a swirl of people swaying around. Bebe was one of the non-dancers. She called a waiter over and plunked her giant pink glass on his tray for a martini refill. Not wanting to dance, but also having no desire to spend any more time with Bebe than necessary, I hopped up and sat at the bar instead. The bartender Karl couldn’t have been nicer if he tried. We chatted as he poured my water. He was saving for dental school in Costa Rica. On his days off at ports, he and his wife Ana delivered donated toothbrushes to local schools and orphanages.

  It was hard not to compare him with Bebe, whose pink martini glass had been delivered to the bar a couple more times for refills just while the two of us chatted.

  Karl dutifully set the filled glass on the far edge of the counter each time, his frown deepening as he did it. He’d have no choice but to cut her off soon. There was no telling what her reaction would be.

  Through the whirling mass of dancing bodies, I caught a few glances of Bebe at the table. She sat there ranting and raving to herself about something. Who knew what? The décor? The music volume? A seagull that had flown by? At least she didn’t have her video camera for once.

  Karl fumbled the pink martini glass when it returned to him empty again. It clunked to the floor but landed unscathed on the thick rubber mat beneath him. He handed it over to a busboy.

  “Could you wash this? Thanks.”

  The busboy ran to the kitchen with it but was waylaid by a spill on his return. He set the clean glass on a side table. An order of dessert liqueurs came in, and Karl focused on those. I swiveled on my stool to watch the dancers. They had thinned a bit, but those who remained were still going strong.

  Several minutes later, Bebe wobbled to her feet and staggered over to the center of the room. In her hand, she held a half-full martini in her special pink glass. I glanced over at the side table where I’d last seen the empty glass. Karl was still busily filling after-dinner orders.

  “I wish my camera was here,” Bebe said to no one in particular. If anything, she should be thankful the camcorder was absent and therefore not capturing every trainwreckish moment. The contents of her glass sloshed over the sides as she started to speak, her voice slurred and gravelly.

  She pointed an accusing finger full-circle around the confused room. The dancers slowed, then stopped. The band went quiet. Someone needed to get her out of here, but it was like everyone had frozen into a trance.

  “Yer all the same,” she said, her eyes more unfocused than ever. “Lires and thieves. I’m gonn’ expose the truth.”

  I looked for her traveling party but didn’t see anyone.

  “No one threatens Bebe Bosley!” she shouted. Bebe dredged the remains of her drink with a grimace and dropped the glass to the floor with a loud clunk. Then she stumbled past the stunned onlookers out onto the deck of the boat.

  I glanced at Karl the bartender, and his brow furrowed. His eyes fixed on the pink martini glass that had rolled under a nearby chair. There was a crash from outside. Silas rushed after Bebe to check what had happened, and several guests and crewmembers followed him. Including me.

  Bebe was sprawled out facedown and unconscious across a cushioned deck chair.

  “Go get Dr. Jo,” Silas said to Jenna, his voice calm but commanding. Jenna trembled like a little Chihuahua beside him, but she nodded and sprinted away. He knelt beside Bebe and carefully rolled her over then checked for a pulse and breathing. He positio
ned her for CPR and started applying chest compressions.

  By now, everyone had emptied the dining hall to see what was going on. My fingers hovered to my lips in shock. Almost all the bystanders had the same stunned expression. All except two people standing in the very back. Peg Halloway and Preston Bosley huddled together, worriedly whispering.

  Silas tilted Bebe’s chin and started giving her rescue breaths, but then he gagged and spat. He withdrew for a moment, brows knitted in a frown, but then resumed the chest compressions.

  The doctor reached his side, and he murmured something in her ear. Her eyebrows shot up, and she said, “Are you sure?”

  He nodded.

  They intubated Bebe and used the emergency defibrillator on her, to no effect.

  Slowly, the doctor stood up, her face grave. She shook her head at Silas and gazed around at the waiting passengers.

  “Bebe Bosley is … dead.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  Silence settled over the crowd for a beat. Then a buzz of whispers crescendoed like a plague of locusts.

  “Ladies and gentlemen.” Silas stepped forward with his arms raised reassuringly. “Clearly a tragedy has occurred. Please return to the dining hall and await further instructions. We’ll have complimentary beverages provided to you.”

  Dr. Jo cleared her throat and tried to grab his eye, but whatever misgivings the doctor held, Silas either didn’t share them or had managed to keep them stoically tucked away.

  The crowd filed into the dining room. I moved to follow the herd when Tony approached from the opposite side of the assembled group of passengers.

  “What happened?” he asked. “What’s going on?”

  Then he saw Bebe’s body and let out a theatrical gasp, his eyes bugging as he stumbled toward her.

  “I’m afraid there’s been an incident,” said Silas. “Bebe is dead.”

  “Dead?” Tony threw himself prostrate onto her body. “My precious babykins!”

  Dr. Jo swooped in, trying to pry him off Bebe’s lifeless corpse, now being jostled like a half-set Jello mold.

  “Sir, we have to ask you to—”

  “No!” He grabbed onto Bebe’s limp hand and clutched it to his heart. “Ours was a love for the ages.”

  A snort sounded behind me. Peg Halloway stood there, arms clutched in a brittle embrace across her chest. Her lips had disappeared into nothing more than a disapproving line.

  “Tony, stop making a scene,” she hissed. “It helps nothing.”

  He let go of Bebe’s body and broke into a snotty blubber of sobs, although technically, I didn’t see any actual tears. Peg clutched his shoulder stiffly.

  “I think the family should be alone at this time,” she said and motioned to Preston to follow.

  “Of course,” said Silas. “Please let us know if we can bring you anything.”

  I hovered near the doorway, not wanting to face the craziness of the crowded dining hall, when I noticed something odd. On Bebe’s left ring finger perched a gazillion carat sparkler. Tony’s engagement ring.

  The same engagement ring I’d seen her throw into the pool and Tony dive in to retrieve. Had she been wearing it at dinner or had Tony plopped it on her corpse just now?

  A shiver raced through me at the thought. Crewmembers covered Bebe’s body with a white sheet and loaded it onto a stretcher. Dr. Jo directed them to the infirmary. The whole situation was completely surreal, and I had the maudlin thought that it was too bad there were no cameras rolling. After all the drama Bebe had infused into every episode of her reality show, this seemed a fitting final chapter.

  I made my way into the dining room, where the gossip pulsated through the air like a hum. Did you see how much Bebe had been drinking? Maybe she’d bought drugs on the island. She hadn’t looked well this voyage. Obviously, she’d gained weight. Couldn’t you tell she’d lost weight? Perhaps it was a botched boob job.

  I twisted a swizzle stick through my complimentary margarita but couldn’t stomach so much as a sip.

  After an anticlimactic half hour, Cappy came in, apologized for the wait, and announced that the evening’s festivities were regretfully cancelled. As the evening’s festivities had consisted of a choice between Bunco in the atrium or a limbo dance party by the pool, I wasn’t too sad about it. I stopped by the ship’s library, but I couldn’t find a single mystery novel I hadn’t already read. So much for cozying up with a good book.

  When I got to my room, however, there was a visitor on my bed.

  “What are you doing here?” I closed the door behind me before anyone spotted the purple parakeet hopping around on my pillow like he was fluffing it for me.

  “How did you get in?” I marched over to the bed.

  “How now? How now?” squawked Elton. He flapped up to the air vent, which had a gaping hole at the edge of the slats. Resourceful fellow. I had to give him that. But, nope. He couldn’t stay.

  “I don’t want any more trouble on this ship. You have to go.” I held out my hand for him to hop aboard, but he took that as his cue to perch even higher on the air grate, preening his feathers.

  “You can’t stay,” I said as if he could understand every word I was saying. And I had to admit that his intelligence had shocked me so far. But the last thing I needed was the little stuff I had left on the boat covered in bird poop. Not to mention they’d already given me a warning.

  “You want to do this the easy way or the hard way?” I asked.

  The easy way involved carrying him to the upper deck and letting him flutter around until we passed a suitable island. The hard way would involve a net constructed of dental floss and a lampshade.

  I pulled myself up to full height. I could handle one bird by myself.

  But I’d forgotten just how well this bird could handle himself. After two minutes of chasing him around while he fluttered from perch to perch, I gave up.

  “All right, I surrender.” Let the fluffy menace have his fun.

  I settled onto my bed and opened the one measly book I’d had in my carry on, a beat up copy of an Agatha Christie that I could have recited from memory. It was better than nothing, but I couldn’t concentrate. I kept thinking about Bebe.

  She’d had an awful lot to drink, but Preston had made it sound like she always drank that much. Had she simply had one too many? Or maybe she’d had an undiagnosed medical condition, a weak heart or something like that.

  A dull pounding throb formed at the base of my skull. My nausea would return with the arrival of the headache, so I decided to head it off with an ibuprofen and a motion sickness pill. I felt bad about disturbing the doctor while she was busy dealing with Bebe’s demise, but better to nip it in the bud now than wait until I was puking over the edge of the ship.

  “When I come back, you’d better be gone.” I pointed my finger at Elton, and he flew down and perched on it. Then he climbed up my arm and nuzzled my neck.

  Great. The one decent guy in my life, and he was a fugitive.

  Chapter Fourteen

  The infirmary lights were dimmed. The door was cracked, and I peeked my head in rather than knocking. A curtain had been pulled across the corner of the room, shielding what I assumed was Bebe’s body from sight.

  Silas and Dr. Jo were hunched behind the curtain. The bright light behind them cast their shadows in bold relief across the curtain like a puppet theatre. I opened my mouth to speak, then snapped it shut. They were probably discussing Bebe’s death.

  I might have stopped the door from clicking shut. And it’s possible I tiptoed closer to the curtain so I could hear them better.

  Fine. I was a worse snoop than Encyclopedia Brown.

  “Was it alcohol poisoning?” asked Silas, and I couldn’t help but notice a hint of hopefulness in his voice.

  “Nope.” Dr. Jo drummed her fingers on the edge of a clipboard. “Or at least that’s not what finished her off.”

  “So you ran a tox screen?” asked Silas, the hopefulness gone.

  “What d
o you think this is, CSI?” she snapped. “In case you haven’t noticed, we’re in the middle of the ocean in a plankton-class cruise ship.”

  “I know. I just—”

  Dr. Jo drew in a deep breath and stopped tapping the clipboard. She plopped in her chair with a sigh.

  “It didn’t take my specialization in pathology to use my nose. There’s a distinct chemical smell on her breath. I would guess acetone, simple fingernail polish remover.”

  Silas let out a low curse. “How did it get there?”

  “You’ve got me.” The doctor shrugged. “I can’t imagine Karl making that mistake.”

  “No, Karl’s so careful. He said he was about to cut her off anyway. He didn’t prepare that last martini she drank.”

  “Well, then.” Dr. Jo tilted her chair back. “That means someone else put the acetone in her glass.”

  There was a pause, and when Silas spoke again, his voice had lowered an octave.

  “Are you suggesting it wasn’t an accident?” he said.

  “They’ll have to do an autopsy and tox screen to be sure, but my gut says Bebe was poisoned.”

  Poisoned?

  Who would want to kill Bebe Bosley … other than half the people on this boat?

  The thought of it made my stomach churn and reminded me again why I was there. I reversed out of the door and knocked before sticking my head in and saying, “Yoo hoo! Anyone here?”

  Dr. Jo gave me enough pills to last me the next few days while Silas paced back and forth across the tiny infirmary.

  “Everything okay?” I asked him, knowing full well that everything was not okay.

  “Everything is fine,” he said, but his face was somber. “Will you be joining us at breakfast tomorrow? I’ll have some, umm, announcements to make.”

  I nodded. Oh, I’d be there all right.

  And I’d lock my door tightly tonight.

  At breakfast, the entire dining room was chattering about Bebe’s death. And assuming that someone hadn’t accidentally dumped a glassful of nail polish remover in her martini last night, I’d come to the pretty safe assumption that she’d been murdered.