Death In A Deck Chair

by Georgia Kains

  Anger.

  The ocean beneath me wasn’t fearsome. It was powerful. And that power seeped into my bones. No one threatened Piper Monroe and got away with it.

  I scooted Elton over to his makeshift nest on the nightstand.

  “If you’ll excuse me, I have a murderer to bust.”

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  When I finally located Silas’s office, I knocked and peeked my head in. He was sitting at his desk across from a female crew member who wore a cabin steward’s uniform. A deep scowl marred his handsome features. His fists were clenched atop his desk. The woman’s shoulders were slumped and shaking.

  I slipped out of the room before they noticed me. Silas must have been dealing with some staff discipline issue.

  I sat on a metal folding chair out in the hall. It squeaked as I scooched around on it, searching for a comfortable position—a position which didn’t exist.

  The longer I sat there, the more convinced I was that my suspicions were correct. Under his sleazy tough guy persona, Tony struck me as intelligent. And impetuous. He’d proven those two characteristics didn’t mix well if he was provoked.

  I picked at a fleck of old paint on the chair next to me. All it would take was a fresh coat of spray paint—I was thinking a light shade of coral for a pop of color—along with a seat pad and slipcover, and this sad, little waiting area would be transformed. I could whip it out in a half hour if I had the supplies. Come to think of it, I’d seen a bolt of fabric in the cargo hold that would be perfect for the project.

  As I plotted the next episode of Extreme Makeover: Chair Edition, the female steward in Silas’s office let out a sob. Oh, dear. Whatever he was dealing with in there, I was sure the last thing he wanted to hear next was that one of his cruise line’s most long standing and valued guests was a probable murderer.

  But then again, I also wouldn’t feel safe on this ship until Tony was locked up.

  My left knee jostled, and my cuticles were raw from gnawing at them.

  A few minutes later, the door opened, and Silas emerged with his arm around the young woman.

  “I’m so sorry about this, Cara. And I’ll take care of this personally. You have my word, okay?”

  She nodded and sniffed. “I’m sorry I had to—”

  “No,” he said, his voice strong but gentle. “You have nothing to apologize for.”

  “Thanks, Silas.” She hugged him, and an unexpected tightness clenched my core. I brushed it aside, unexamined, as quickly as I could.

  “Piper?” He looked genuinely startled. “What are you doing here?”

  A weariness settled over him that I hadn’t seen before, even since he’d been dealing with the aftermath of Bebe’s death.

  “Hi,” I said. “I, umm, I need to talk to you about another passenger.”

  “Are you okay?” He took a step toward me. There was an urgency and intensity in his voice that took me aback.

  “Yes, I’m fine,” I said, although that wasn’t true. At all. “Actually, could we go into your office to discuss this?”

  “Oh.” His cheeks reddened, but then he quickly added, “Of course.”

  As Silas ushered me in, I glanced around at the not-quite-glorified broom closet that served as his office. It was refreshing to find a more miniscule room than my cabin existed after all.

  The other thing that struck me about the room was that it was messy. No, not messy. Sloppy. The entire surface of his desk was covered with random papers, a half-built model of a schooner, a chess board that seemed to have been paused mid-match, and books. So many books.

  It smelled like a library in the tiny room. That familiar scent of faded paper and worn out spines relaxed me.

  Crates and crates of them were stacked high against the wall in makeshift shelves. I inspected the spines, expecting to find legal thrillers or military suspense. Nope. Floor to ceiling, they were all the same. Pulpy, paperback romances. There were ripped bodices and shirtless Scots. Moody billionaires and Fabio in all his hairy glory.

  “Sorry.” Silas blushed as he brushed a pile of brawny cowboys off of a squashy chair in the corner so I could sit. “There’s a lot of time to read out at sea.”

  “So I see.”

  “You, uhh, you’re welcome to borrow anything you want while you’re on board,” he said, taking a seat behind the desk.

  “Unh huh,” I murmured, still gazing around me in awe.

  And then it hit me.

  I gasped.

  “You’re crème brûlée,” I said.

  “Pardon?”

  “You are. You’re crème brûlée.”

  “I’m afraid I don’t know what that means.” His forehead wrinkled in confusion.

  “No, I’ve met guys like you. You try to make everybody think you’re Mister Uptight, Buttoned-Up, Stiff-Upper-Lip, but it’s not true. You may have a hard outer shell, but it’s thin as a layer of burnt sugar. All someone has to do is whack you with the edge of their spoon, and they’ll break right through. And underneath is a big, ooey-gooey, sloppy saucer of custard.”

  I picked up a mail-order bride and whacked him on the knee with it.

  “Silas Goode-Tripp, you are crème brûlée.”

  “Miss Monroe.” He shifted uncomfortably in his chair and steepled his fingers together on his desk. “What can I help you with?”

  Back to my last name. Fine. I’d keep whacking.

  “I think I know who killed Bebe Bosley,” I blurted.

  Silas’s eyebrows shot skyward, and he pushed himself away from his desk. “Are you talking about your cousin Tammi?”

  “No. We’ve been other this. I know how it looks for Tammi, but I also know that she’s not capable of something so vicious. What I mean is, I know who really killed Bebe Bosley.”

  “I don’t follow.”

  “Well, I’ve been talking to other people who might have had reason to want Bebe dead—”

  “Wait. I gave you explicit instructions earlier to stay out of this. This is a serious situation, and we need to leave it to the professionals.”

  “I know that. I do. And it’s not like I’ve been running around with a bloodhound and a magnifying glass. I’ve simply been chatting with people. Reading between the lines of our conversations. You know. Paying attention. To clues.”

  “And what”—Silas pinched the bridge of his nose, his eyes squeezed shut in either frustration or exhaustion, it was hard to tell—“clue caught your attention?”

  “It wasn’t so much a clue as it was Bebe’s ex-fiancé grabbing my arm and threatening me.”

  Silas’s eyes shot open.

  “He what?”

  I launched into a full explanation, how I’d seen Bebe break off their engagement right before she’d been killed. And then I went over my theory of how he’d skipped dinner, run to get the nail polish remover, switched out her drink, then slipped the ring back on her finger so no one would be the wiser. Finally, I told him about my altercation with Tony in the hall earlier.

  “Well?” I said after I’d finished. Silas hadn’t met my eyes the entire time I spoke. Instead, he’d stared at a Chewbacca bobblehead doll on the corner of his desk, flicking its forehead with intensifying taps.

  “You don’t believe me, do you?” I said.

  “Oh, I believe you.”

  “You do?” I’d done it. I’d found the real killer. “So you’ll let Tammi go free?”

  “No, I believe you that Tony accosted you in the hall. But he didn’t kill Bebe.”

  “How can you say that? He practically confessed to twisting the ring onto her dead body.”

  “And I also believe he did that.” Silas flicked the bobblehead so hard it flew off his desk. “But unfortunately, he has an alibi for when the murder was being committed.”

  “An alibi? And you believe him?”

  “No, I wouldn’t believe a word out of that man’s mouth, but I believe my crewmates.”

  “What do you mean?”

  Silas pointed to his o
ffice door.

  “That woman in my office, Cara, was with Tony while Bebe was at dinner that night.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “She was assigned Tony’s cabin and was in it, making up the room for the night. He came in and tried to”—Silas ground his teeth together—“force himself on her.”

  “He attacked her?” My hand flew to my mouth, and I could still feel Tony’s harsh grip on my arm. “Is she okay?”

  “Thankfully, she was able to get away from him. She sprayed him in the face with a can of furniture polish.” Silas’s lip tugged up at the corner then fell. “But timing-wise, there’s no way he would have had time to poison Bebe.”

  “I’m so sorry,” I whispered.

  “You have nothing to apologize for.”

  “No, I do. He made a pass at me on the first day of the trip. It gave me the creeps, but I didn’t report it. Maybe if I had—”

  “No. I’m so sorry that happened, but it’s not your responsibility to maintain a safe environment on this boat. It’s mine.” The frown on Silas’s face told me he believed he was failing miserably at the task.

  “Maybe,” I said. “But the fact is that he’s a vile, criminal sleazebag. And that’s neither of our faults.”

  “True,” said Silas, though he seemed to take no comfort in the thought. “Needless to say, Tony will be confined to his quarters for the rest of the voyage under lock and key. And the moment we reach land, we’ll arrange to have charges pressed against him for assault.”

  I nodded, relieved that I didn’t need to worry about Tony’s threats anymore. But at the same time, this took me to square one again on the list of suspects.

  “Was there anything else?” Silas asked.

  “No, that was all.” I stuck my hand in my pocket, and my fingers curled around a piece of paper that I’d completely forgotten about. I looked around the jam-packed office. It was almost as bad as the cargo hold. And that was when inspiration struck.

  “Actually, one more thing,” I said. “Can I redecorate your lobby?”

  “What?”

  “Your lobby. By the info desk. I’d like to redecorate it. It’s kind of a hobby of mine. I can use stuff that’s in your cargo hold.”

  “I’m … I’m not sure where this is coming from, but I’m afraid my answer is no.”

  “Oh, come on! It’s a great idea. Your ship is clearly run well and everything is in tip-top shape.”

  “Thank you.”

  “But your décor is stuck in the Bush administration,” I said, blunt as a butter knife. “The first Bush administration. And whoever picked that awful lamp by the info desk--”

  “I picked the lamp.”

  “Sorry,” I said.

  “Don’t worry about—”

  “I’m not sorry!” I clamped my arms over my chest.

  “While I appreciate your input, it’s improper to have one of our guests down in the cargo hold working when they should be relaxing and enjoying themselves.”

  “But don’t you see? It’s a win-win. I love crafting. That’s something I find enjoyable. I’ll be bored as sin if I have to sit by the pool all day. Crafting helps me relax. I get the joy of creating something beautiful out of junk, and then you’d get an updated lobby area. See? Win-win.”

  “Or you might simply make a huge mess in the cargo area that I will then have to clean. Which I do not have time for right now. Lose-lose.”

  “I won’t. I promise. You won’t even know I’ve been there. And actually, it will be a win-win-win because you can repay me in kind by letting me keep the parakeet.”

  “That again?” He shook his head. “I already told you—”

  “That I need a doctor’s note?” I whipped Dr. Jo’s note out and waved it in Silas’s face.

  “Hmph.” He drummed his fingers on his desk. “I feel terrible about the experience you had with Tony. What do you say I just waive the pet fee?”

  “No.”

  “No?”

  “It’s a kind gesture. But no thank you. This is something I truly want to do.” I thought about the jobless, homeless, powerless future that awaited me the moment this ship docked. “This is something I need to do.”

  Silas sighed. “You promise this is something you’ll truly enjoy doing?”

  “Absolutely.” I could practically see the two sides of the scale tipping in his brain.

  “And you’re going to keep asking until I agree to let you do it?” he said, barely masking the grumble in his voice.

  “Yup.”

  He got up from his desk, shaking his head, then muttered, “All right.”

  “All right? As in yes, I can do it?”

  “Yes.”

  Before I could think about what I was doing, I jumped up, tossed my arms around him and squeezed the breath out of him. He patted me awkwardly on the shoulder then leaned away with a cough.

  “You can use anything on the aft end of the hold. It’s all abandoned cargo that I have to process if it leaves the ship, so I guess win-win-win-win. You’ll be saving me some paperwork headaches by finding a permanent home for it here.”

  “Yay!” I said. “You won’t regret this. Thank you.”

  Technically, it would be a win-win-win-win-win because getting up to my elbows in craft supplies would help me focus my thoughts surrounding the murder. With Tony out of the running, I’d need to rethink my next move.

  “And”—Silas pointed his finger at me like a stern parent—“You have to keep the bird in your room and away from other guests at all times. I heard about the incident at the pool with your cousin. You’re welcome to get food for it from the buffet line, but it’s your responsibility. And you’ll be accountable for any damages.”

  “You do realize I’m a thirty-two year old woman, right?”

  “I am well aware of that, Miss Monroe.” He stared at his shoes so hard, you’d have thought they were streaming Netflix.

  “I won’t let you down. And call me Piper, remember?”

  “Piper.” For a moment, Silas looked like he wanted to say something else. Instead, he gave a curt nod and excused himself.

  “See?” I called after him as he walked away. “Crème brûlée!”

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  “Have at it.” Jenna handed over the key to the cargo hold and the hideous brass lamp. “We’ve been trying to save up to refurbish more rooms, but it’s slow-going. Redecorating is so expensive and … ” Her voice trailed off, and she bit her lip.

  “And … ?”

  “Sorry,” she mumbled. “You don’t want to hear about the woes of running a cruise ship.”

  “Actually, I find your family’s story fascinating. It’s adventurous.” That would be so freeing, to set fire to my files and leave it all behind—take to the open seas, a new destination every day.

  Clearing Tammi’s name and now redecorating the lobby had given me something to focus on for the moment, but a harsh reality awaited me when we finally docked. I had no choice but to rebuild my business from scratch. And truth be told, I wasn’t entirely sure I wanted to rebuild it, at least not as it had been.

  Running away on a cruise ship sounded pretty darn good.

  “Adventurous, yeah.” Jenna widened her ever-present smile, but another emotion battled its way behind it. I still couldn’t quite identify it. Worry or … something.

  “Do you miss living on solid ground?” I asked.

  “Do I—? Oh, no. I love the ship. I mean, I was so young when my parents started talking about their dream. I think it became mine, too, by default. When my dad died, it was awful, but my mom had this opportunity, so it made sense for her to take it. I don’t think it was as big a change for me as it was for Silas. I was still in high school. Besides, I’d do anything for my family.”

  It wasn’t exactly what I had asked, but I nodded.

  Jenna got called away to the dining room for emergency napkin-folding, and I promised to return the key to its hook when I was done.

  Ten m
inutes later, I was in my happy place. Okay, actually, I was in a cramped cargo hold that was quickly filling with spray paint fumes, so I might have also been getting the teensiest bit high. But I was planning and crafting and … ahhh.

  I finished the lamp in no time. And then a stack of old, weathered pieces of wood in the corner called my name. After fashioning some stencils from discarded brown kraft paper, I traced an Isak Dinesen quote on it.

  “The cure for anything is salt water: sweat, tears, or the sea.”

  I stood back and admired my handiwork. Hmm. I’d had so much of all three this week.

  Tears. I was all cried out before I’d even gotten on the boat.

  The sea. Sitting out here in the middle of it, one would think that I’d have had about all the ocean I could handle, but actually, after I’d gotten over the initial motion sickness, the waves and rocking had become soothing. It would be easy to feel tiny out here, bobbing amongst the ripples and foam, but instead, being out here on this immense and unending sea made me feel almost huge. Strong for the first time in a long time.

  And sweat. I hoisted the pallet upright once it had dried. It looked awesome.

  I touched up a letter E on the sign. It would be perfect propped in front of the info desk, especially once I was done with the ottoman and the light fixtures. I pulled out some antique light bulbs I’d discovered while scrounging for the right shade of spray paint and laid them in a basket next to several spools of copper wire. Wrapping the wire around the cord would give a modern boost to the aesthetic. That was one trick I’d learned during my early wedding planning days—add in a few refined details and it elevated the whole design.

  In those days, of course, I’d just used copper spray paint, not the real thing. The genuine stuff didn’t come cheap. One of the first weddings I’d ever done solo, Annalise Linn’s, I clipped the tops off three hundred Coke cans, sprayed them with copper paint and poked holes in the side of the aluminum. I placed a tea light in each one, and it transformed the reception into a warm, shimmering fairy garden.