Death In A Deck Chair

by Georgia Kains

  It could also, of course, be a crew member. Every one of them stood to lose their job if Bebe’s vitriol went public.

  “What do you think, Elton?” I held out my hand, and he flapped over for me to pet him. “Do I have a murderer running scared?”

  “Run, braawk, run.” And then he flew to his shredded toilet paper in the bathroom and dropped both a bird poop and the F-bomb.

  “Elton!” I really did need to work on that potty-mouth of his, er, potty-beak.

  “All right.” I chewed on my thumbnail. “I know I have a murderer getting nervous, but who?”

  And for once, Elton didn’t have a wise-crack retort.

  I could still feel the searing flash of fire in my lungs as the chemicals sprayed in my face, stealing the precious oxygen I take for granted every moment of every day.

  It was maddening. Miles and miles of wet nothingness surrounded us, yet I felt claustrophobic. I could feel every molecule of space between this boat and the nearest slice of land pressing in on me.

  What I wouldn’t give to move.

  As if it had been a spoken prayer, and God had answered with an audible, “Okay then,” the floor beneath me began a low rumble, and the walls shook slightly as the ship’s engine roared to life.

  We were moving.

  As we lurched forward after sitting still for so long, it was like my whole body sighed—relief. But then a quick reality check set in.

  We were moving.

  Toward police investigators, forensic teams, jails. Toward justice.

  But real justice or a mockery of it? My cousin could be facing a lifetime in a filthy, cramped prison cell on some microscopic island nation. Or—gulp—worse. And thanks to my vile ex-fiancé, I could be going down in her place.

  I was running out of time. I needed to solve this. Now.

  But how? I’d exhausted every avenue. I was missing something, but what?

  I crossed and uncrossed my legs. Not knowing our destination was torture. Elton flapped over to my shoulder and nuzzled my neck. I stroked his head and fed him the corner off a cracker.

  I sat there another few moments, fidgeting, until something in me snapped.

  “Enough of this.” I stood up so quickly that Elton ricocheted off my shoulder. He flew to the broken air vent, squawking obscenities in my general direction. The least I could do was find out where we were headed.

  I gathered every bit of dignity I could muster in my quickly tangerine-turning body and marched to Silas’s office. I was about to knock, but the door flew open, and I found myself rapping my knuckles against his chest. Instinctively, my fingers splayed out in surprise, leaving the tip of each one brushing his ribcage as his heart hammered underneath in its own startled state.

  “Ahem.” He let out an awkward cough and glanced at my hand, which was still plastered against his pecs.

  “I’m so sorry.” I shuffled to the side, upsetting the folding chair in the narrow hallway. My cheeks burned as I rearranged it into place. Combined with the overdone orange, my blushing face must have looked like a jack-o’-lantern that had gone up in flames.

  “Don’t worry about it.” He stooped next to me and then, getting a good eyeful of me, lifted me by the elbows gently. “Are you okay?”

  “I’m … I’m fine. I just noticed we were moving and wanted to know where.”

  “Oh. Of course.” Silas kept his tone neutral, but he was unable to hide the pucker of concern between his eyebrows at my bizarre appearance. “I was actually headed to make that announcement over the all-call right now.”

  He gestured for me to accompany him. We reached a small alcove with an intercom box set into the wall. He pressed the button and began speaking.

  “Ladies and gentlemen, we’ve lifted anchor and are moving once more. The involved countries have given us tomorrow by noon as a deadline by which they’ll make their decision of jurisdiction, but they’ve all agreed to give us permission to dock in the Bahamas in the meantime to refuel and stock some needed supplies. We’ll arrive at port by six a.m. tomorrow, but I’m afraid that no one will be allowed to leave the ship at that time. It will be a brief stop in our journey, and we apologize deeply for all the inconvenience.”

  “Inconvenience?” I cocked my brow after he had finished.

  “Sounded a little better than ‘nonstop mayhem.’”

  “Indeed. So still no word on who will be handling the case?”

  “Miss Monroe … ”

  “Piper,” I reminded.

  “Piper.” He took a deep breath and blew it out slowly. “It almost sounds like you’re still sticking your nose into this investigation. I was really hoping—”

  He stopped himself from saying whatever it was he was about to say.

  “Hoping what?”

  “I was hoping that your time spent redecorating—which we very much appreciate, of course, but—I was hoping it might help you focus on something other than this murder case.”

  “Ahh. So that was the real reason you agreed to it?”

  His lip curled into a half-grin. “Maybe.”

  At least he admitted it. He gestured for me to walk with him again, and we headed out to a running track that circled the ship on deck four.

  “You really would have let me keep the parakeet either way?”

  “I’m not heartless.” He slipped a sideward glance over my stained skin. “And apparently, you’ve figured out other ways to keep yourself occupied.”

  “There was a … mishap. In the spa.” I scratched my ear. I was tempted to tell him the truth, that I’d been attacked, but something gave me pause. It wasn’t that I thought Silas was behind this. I truly didn’t, no more so than I thought Tammi was. Even having only known him a few days, he struck me as the type that was too noble and, well, too straightforward to go about poisoning anyone.

  The timetable before we reached our final destination was a matter of days if not hours, though, and I couldn’t chance him locking me up to protect me. I needed every one of those hours to figure out who the real killer was.

  “The spray tan booth malfunctioned,” I said. “Dr. Jo said she’d notify maintenance about it.”

  “If I know Jo, she’ll notify them to chuck it overboard.”

  He stopped at the aft rail and watched the ripple of waves that danced out behind us in the ship’s wake. On and on they went until they were swallowed up in a white cap, absorbed into the energy of the sea.

  “Not gonna lie.” I held out my über-orange appendages for my own inspection. “I’d find that splash pretty satisfying.”

  “Honestly? So would I. From the moment Jenna had the idea to offer self-tanning as a spa service, I thought it was ridiculous. But she did the research, found a device small enough to fit the space. And I have to admit that it’s been popular with our guests.”

  “Really?”

  “Yeah. I bet we’re not the only cruise line who could say that either. People come on vacation, and they look forward to all the jealous comments of, ‘you’re so tan,’ when they get home. Then they hit the last day or so and realize that they actually spent a lot of their time indoors.”

  “Not if your cruise director has anything to say about it,” I grumbled, and before I could stop myself added, “Sorry, but it’s like she swims laps in espresso every morning.”

  “True.” Silas laughed. “If we do our jobs right, every guest goes home with pleasant memories and a slightly sunburnt nose.”

  I’d been attacked twice and had a nose that looked like a satsuma. Apparently, I wasn’t one of their success stories.

  Yet crazy as it sounded, I’d still had a lot of fun. Crafting and solving mysteries. I was in my zone.

  A pinch of worry clamped the skin between Silas’s eyebrows as he stared out at the ocean. The media would bombard every passenger on this ship the moment they stepped onto dry ground. How many of them would be able to say the same thing as me? How many would say they’d found this trip fun?

  We stood there, side by side
, and I mused over how long it had been since I’d been this alone. And at the same time, I also couldn’t remember the last time I’d felt this connected to someone. Silas’s thoughts and worries practically shouted themselves into my ear as he stood there next to me, not uttering a word. Silas Goode-Tripp seemed the type to carry every failure, whether rightfully his own or not, squarely on those broad shoulders.

  I was about to say something to break the silence when someone jostled by us, whistling.

  Preston Bosley clipped my heel with his foot, and I yelped. His nose was buried in his phone, and his thumbs flew across the tiny keyboard. A wide grin stretched his face like the Cheshire Cat.

  “Sorry.” He did a double take when he saw it was me, and his smile faded ever so slightly, but he quickly recovered. Hmm. Was he surprised to see me alive and conscious?

  Whatever had put him in this improved mood was apparently so good that even the memory of my nosiness couldn’t tarnish it, though.

  “Mr. Bosley.” Silas nodded in greeting. “I’m sure you’re as glad as the rest of us to be moving again.”

  “That I am,” said Preston.

  At first I planned to politely let him pass on by, but this would probably be my last shot to get any information from him.

  “I’m sure your family has a lot to sort through after Bebe’s death,” I said.

  Silas shot me a warning glance, which I promptly ignored.

  “That we do,” said Preston, unaware of the quiet battle Silas and I were waging with our eyeballs. “But Peg’ll manage everything. She always does.”

  “Anything we can help with, let me know,” said Silas.

  “Me, too,” I blurted out.

  Silas and Preston both gave me the same quizzical look.

  “What I mean is … ” Desperate. Money. “Umm, my WiFi reception is kind of patchy at times. You may have experienced the same thing yourself. Earlier at Bebe’s service, especially, you seemed upset about something with your phone. I didn’t know if that might have been the reason. So if you want to try mine instead for email or texting or anything, let me know. Maybe it would work better.”

  “That’s awfully generous of you.” Preston spoke the words in a polite, flat tone, but his body language bristled. Ah. I’d rattled him.

  “Yes, quite generous.” Silas cast an astute eye my way. “But if Mr. Bosley needs assistance with communications, I’m sure the crew would be able to handle it.”

  “I’m sure they would.” Preston hesitated for a moment then plowed on. “But I assure you, everything is fine. Whatever you think you witnessed at Bebe’s service, Miss Monroe, you were mistaken. You’d be best to put it out of your mind.”

  Preston excused himself and was barely out of earshot before Silas wheeled around.

  “All right, Piper. What are you up to?”

  “Nothing.”

  “You’re a terrible liar.”

  Busted.

  “Loaning Preston your phone?” he asked. “What was that about?”

  I shrugged.

  “We literally just finished discussing the fact that you’re to stay out of this.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I didn’t even bring up Bebe’s death.”

  “Other than inquiring about their family’s legal affairs and then whatever that was about her memorial service. And WiFi? Last I checked, our WiFi works fine.”

  Yeah, my unfortunate pillow talk video chat with Addie had actually been crystal clear.

  I shrugged again. My intention had been to rattle Preston and see if I could get a reaction out of him.

  Well, I had.

  “I was testing out a theory,” I said. “I may have seen something on his phone—accidentally—that’s pertinent to the case. I’m not sure exactly how it fits in, but I feel like Preston keeps acting fishy. In the death of a rich heiress, the most likely suspect would be another family member, don’t you think?”

  “It doesn’t matter what I think. Or what you think. And besides … ”

  “Besides what?”

  Silas stared at me a moment, then sighed.

  “I shouldn’t be telling you this, but the U.S. will be conducting the investigation. There are still some formalities and paperwork to complete. That’s the delay. But while I’ll admit that I had some concerns about who might be handling the case, those concerns are gone now. A slew of FBI agents will be crawling all over this boat in a few days time. If there’s a sliver of evidence to clear your cousin, I’m sure they’ll find it.”

  A sliver.

  An eyelash. Or a single strand of hair that I had shed while I was hiding in Bebe’s closet.

  Lance’s half-baked accusation would carry all the more weight.

  I could feel all the blood drain from my face. Good thing the orange camouflaged it.

  “Piper?” Silas squeezed my shoulder gently. “You okay?”

  “I’m fine.” If by fine, you meant terrified of becoming the newest cast member of Orange Is The New Black. Literally.

  “But I think you should keep an eye on Preston,” I said.

  The second I uttered the words, I regretted it.

  “What are you not telling me?” asked Silas.

  “Nothing.” I gulped.

  I couldn’t tell him about my forensic fears without confessing to breaking into Bebe’s cabin. Which, maybe I should have. Argh. I couldn’t think. It was like I was missing something obvious, right in front of my orange nose.

  I needed to get away by myself. Someone had already cleared away my craft supplies by the pool, but this kind of pondering would require glue sticks. I parted ways with Silas and went to get the keys to the cargo hold from Jenna.

  She stood at the guest services desk, clicking away at her computer, deep in concentration.

  “Hey, Jenna,” I said.

  “Oh, hey, sorry,” she said, placing a hand over her screen to block it from my view. Probably hiding a game of solitaire. “I didn’t see you—ahhhhh!”

  Her jaw pulled back in disgust as she beheld my day-glo skin.

  “Never seen a talking yam before?” I asked.

  “It’s, umm, it’s barely noticeable. In the right light.”

  “You mean pitch dark?”

  “No, of course not. What I meant to say is that it’s a little more daring than I expected you to, umm … ”

  “It’s okay,” I said. “I know it’s atrocious. I came for the keys to the cargo hold. I wanted to get some more projects done.”

  “Oh, of course.” She handed them to me, smiling timidly.

  I started to thank her, but her nose was already buried in the computer again.

  Someone had stacked my craft supplies into a tidy pile in the corner of the hold, situated on top of a canvas cloth which made them all the easier to scoop up and move close to an electrical outlet. I plugged in my glue gun. The tangy, pungent scent of melting plastic filled the air, and I set to work finishing the rope-framed mirror I’d started earlier.

  I settled into a steady rhythm—squirt, press, hold, squirt, press, hold—and as I did, my thoughts fell into a similar steady cadence. The snippets of pertinent information I’d gathered were all right there, yet when I tried to pin them down, they flew out of my grasp. Camcorders and lockets, cell phones and tanning beds, precious jewels and martini glasses. I couldn’t make any of it fit together.

  It felt like some of the actions were committed by a reckless, cornered person, but others seemed like they were committed by a hardened schemer.

  Maybe two people were in on it—one plotting and the other carrying out the commands.

  The idea had merit. Yet it was difficult enough to believe that there was one murderer aboard this tiny ship, much less two.

  “Owww.” I burnt the tip of my forefinger on a strip of glue. I yanked my hand away so fast, it toppled my stash of glue sticks and sent the lot of them rolling. “Son of a Fahrvergnügen.”

  The burn welted up immediately, gruesome against my orange sk
in. I grimaced in pain. One more casualty of the trip. Best to get some ointment and a bandage over it. I surveyed the walls and walls of abandoned cargo searching for a first aid kit.

  I spotted the telltale red cross of a stash of emergency supplies in a cabinet attached to the wall.

  After bandaging my finger, I hunted for the runaway glue sticks. The gentle rock of the boat wasn’t that noticeable until something round was set loose across the floor. They’d gone everywhere. I crawled along picking them up, my head to the floor. They’d be the perfect tripping hazard. Ahh, my little wedding planner brain whirred, thinking of every last detail. I pushed aside a box labeled “fake flowers” and another filled with what seemed to be wooden balls in random sizes.

  “Oh, the things I would craft with you,” I whispered to the balls. “You wouldn’t know what hit you.”

  Bolted to the far wall was a wire mesh-front cabinet for liquids and chemicals. Presumably to keep them from spilling in choppy seas. One of the glue sticks had rolled under the cabinet. As I dug around under the shelf, my hand brushed against something large and smooth tucked in the shadows. I pulled it forward. It was a bottle half-filled with liquid. I reached to put it back in the cabinet, then I saw the label … and sucked in an excited breath..

  Acetone. A huge jug of it, probably half a gallon of nail polish remover in there.

  This might be the missing poison used to kill Bebe Bosley. I snatched my hand away. The last person to touch it had been the murderer. Oh my gosh. I needed to show this to Silas immediately.

  Or did I? I’d been waiting for another clue—another piece to fit in the puzzle—and this most definitely fit that bill. But what did it mean?

  The cargo hold was kept locked. You had to have a key to get in it, which would mean that the murderer had access to the keys to it. It also meant that they would have been at least minimally familiar with this space, to even know that it was a place where you could store something. And that would mean that the murderer had to be a crew member.

  Bebe’s rants about the cruise line had been brutal, and that was what she said in public. Who knew how caustic her private video diaries had been? Any of the crew members could have easily switched out Bebe’s cocktail. But it still seemed like a big jump to me. There were many ways to silence Bebe other than killing her.