Crime (and Lager) (A European Voyage Cozy Mystery—Book 3)

by Blake Pierce

Or maybe I am about to be fired.

  Finally the CEO spoke again.

  “I decided it was time to switch astrologers.”

  London’s eyes widened.

  Is he joking? she wondered.

  Mr. Lapham continued, “Noelle, my astrologer of some thirty years, has been highly reliable in the past. She even predicted the recent downturn of my ocean cruise line business. And she assured me that now was an opportune time to launch a smaller-scale European river travel enterprise.”

  He sighed again.

  “Alas, Noelle hasn’t kept up with the times. She simply didn’t take into account the discovery of Eris in 2005, much less the dwarf planet’s rather impish influence on my birth sign of Aries. Eris has brought a fair amount of strife and discord into the equation. I’m sure you can understand my concern.”

  London wondered whether she was expected to reply, but she had no idea what to say.

  Then the CEO continued, “Alex, my new astrologer, has brought my chart up to date, but I’m afraid I’ve got some damage control to attend to.”

  “Damage control?” London managed to ask.

  “I’m talking about business matters. Hopefully I can make some better-informed decisions in the near future. I’ll keep you in the loop, I promise. In the meantime … well, I fear you might have some rather bumpy times. I’m dreadfully sorry.”

  London didn’t know what to say for a few seconds.

  “Mr. Lapham, you have nothing to apologize for,” she finally said.

  “It’s kind of you to say so. And I don’t want you to think that I’m beating myself up about all this. No one could have precisely anticipated people dying all over the place! Astrology isn’t an exact science, after all. But I didn’t become the businessman I am by not taking appropriate responsibility for my enterprises. I’m dealing with things in my usual pragmatic, realistic manner.”

  Mr. Lapham sighed deeply again and continued.

  “Meanwhile, I don’t want you to worry yourself unduly. The last thing I want you to do is go playing ‘Nancy Drew’ again, like I ordered you to do back in Gyor. My Lord, I almost got you killed! Let’s never make that mistake again. Crime-solving is what I hired Bob Turner to do. And judging from what Bob told me about his cunning detective work solving that murder in Salzburg, I made a wise choice.”

  London managed to refrain from laughing.

  Bob had certainly played a role in capturing the Austrian tour guide’s killer, and he’d even come to London’s rescue when her life had been in danger. Still, “cunning detective work”? Those weren’t the words London would choose. But she was perfectly happy to let Bob claim the credit for solving the mystery. And she’d rather not go playing “Nancy Drew” again if she could possibly help it.

  “Keep the passengers happy,” Mr. Lapham added. “That’s what you’re best at. And from what Captain Hays has told me, you are very good at it indeed. I made a wise choice in hiring you.”

  London felt a flood of relief. Thinking her job might be in danger had reminded her how much she actually loved working on this ship.

  “Thank you, sir,” she said. “I always do my best not to disappoint you.”

  The call ended, and London sat staring at the computer screen.

  Astrology? she wondered.

  It didn’t sound like Mr. Lapham was really dealing with the current issues in a “pragmatic, realistic manner.”

  But what do I know?

  She’d really never given astrology a lot of thought or attention, so she figured maybe she shouldn’t jump to judgment.

  For all I know, maybe there’s something to it. Maybe there’s a lot to it.

  Something else Mr. Lapham said rattled through her mind.

  “The last thing I want you to do is go playing ‘Nancy Drew’ again.”

  Although she had to admit that she’d gotten some thrills out of investigating two murders, she didn’t look forward to plunging into another case. But she wondered—did she have any choice, especially since Detektiv Erlich had reason to suspect her? Surely the police would clear her of suspicion pretty soon …

  Or will they?

  Could she really leave the investigation entirely to the local police—and to Bob Turner?

  She shuddered at the very idea. If Bob got involved, his blundering ways might make things a whole lot worse. She wondered whether he even had any idea what was going on. She hadn’t seen him or Mr. Tedrow since well before the murder had happened. She guessed that they’d come aboard the ship before she’d even found the body, and that Bob knew no more about the murder than the passengers who had gotten the captain’s announcement over the PA system.

  And maybe that was just as well. Bob’s investigative skills left a lot to be desired. Her best hope was that the local police would clear things up quickly. Then maybe the Nachtmusik could get back on schedule.

  Then London reminded herself of what she’d been about to do just before she’d been ordered to video chat.

  I’ve got to check in on Audrey Bolton.

  Sir Reggie had apparently gotten bored during the chat. He was curled up on the bed and didn’t look interested in going anywhere, so London left the room alone. She walked up the spiral stairs to the Adagio deck and along the passageway to Audrey’s apartment.

  She knocked on the door but got no reply.

  “Audrey, are you in there?” she called out.

  “Yes,” came a voice from inside.

  “May I come in?” London said.

  “This is not a convenient time.”

  London stood there for a moment feeling stymied.

  “Uh, Audrey,” she finally said. “I assume you know that someone just got killed at the festival.”

  “Yes, the captain announced it.”

  Audrey’s voice sounded tense and anxious.

  “Do you know who got killed?” London asked.

  A silence fell.

  She doesn’t want to know, London realized.

  Even so, London knew she had to tell her.

  “Audrey, the victim was the man who spilled beer on us. Naturally, the police … well, they can’t help suspecting the two of us. I explained everything I could to Detektiv Erlich. But naturally he’s going to want to hear your side of the story.”

  There was another silence.

  “I expect you’ll be hearing from him tomorrow,” London said.

  “That’s fine,” Audrey said. “I will be prepared.”

  London stood there wavering for a few moments.

  “Audrey, can I come in?” she suggested again. “Maybe we could talk about what happened.”

  “There’s nothing to talk about. I’m really rather busy.”

  London couldn’t think of anything else to say. It was getting late, and she figured she’d better make a final tour of the ship and see how passengers were dealing with this new turn of events.

  But as she continued on her way, she kept hearing what Audrey had said about Herr Forstmann.

  “I don’t think he’ll be rude to anyone from now on.”

  Was it possible …?

  No, London told herself. Surely not.

  Don’t let your imagination run away with you.

  She decided she’d pick up a sandwich as she made her rounds and return to her room to eat and settle in for the night.

  She had no idea what tomorrow might bring, but she had a bad feeling that things were going to get worse before they got better.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  Suddenly, the bottom of the throne-like chair fell out from under London. Her paper crown fell off as she slid down a chute and splashed head over heels into some pungent liquid.

  Beer, she realized as the taste stung her tongue and nostrils.

  She coughed and choked and thrashed her arms, but she was soon completely submerged. She kicked downward, but her feet didn’t hit the bottom.

  She sensed that she was sinking deeper and deeper.

  This isn’t the festival vat, she realized
, starting to panic.

  It was something much deeper.

  Maybe it’s a river …

  … or a lake …

  … or an ocean.

  She thrashed harder and more desperately as her throat filled up with beer.

  London’s eyes snapped open when something cold nudged her cheek.

  Sir Reggie had poked her with his nose. Now the little dog was staring into her eyes and whining anxiously.

  She was all tangled up in sheets and blankets and had apparently been groaning and thrashing over that strange dream.

  The morning light pouring in through her stateroom window was a welcome sight.

  “Don’t worry,” she said to Sir Reggie with a reassuring pat on his head. “I just had a bad dream. Everything’s OK.”

  But is everything really OK? she wondered.

  Yesterday a prominent beer critic had drowned in a vat of beer, and London herself was a potential suspect in his murder.

  And today …

  Well, she didn’t know what might happen next. She could have a really rough day ahead.

  Then, as she got out of bed …

  “Ow!” she groaned, discovering that she ached all over.

  That was from helping the man out of the beer vat, which had turned out to be a useless effort.

  As she dressed in a fresh uniform and got ready to go to work, London couldn’t shake off the feeling that she was still soaked in beer. For one thing, the whole stateroom seemed to be full of the smell.

  That wasn’t surprising. She’d been dripping wet when she came in last night. And her nice festival outfit was still wet and smelly and hanging in the shower stall.

  As she pulled a brush through her hair, the smell seemed to get stronger.

  Didn’t I shampoo all of it out? she wondered.

  She even thought she could still smell beer on her hands and arms. Had it gotten so far into her pores that she couldn’t get rid of it?

  She briefly considered taking another shower—not only to get cleaner, but also to relax her sore muscles. But then she would have to deal with those smelly clothes hanging there and it probably wouldn’t do much good.

  Anyway, it was time to get her day going.

  She poured fresh water and food for Sir Reggie. As she watched him eat eagerly, she realized she was pretty hungry herself.

  She asked him, “Do you want to join me for breakfast in the Habsburg Restaurant, boy?”

  Sir Reggie let out an affirmative yap.

  As they headed out of the room, London felt grateful for the loyal animal’s company.

  On their way up one flight of stairs to the Adagio deck, London found herself worrying about Audrey again. She remembered the peculiar conversation they’d had through Audrey’s stateroom door.

  “This is not a convenient time,” the woman had said.

  Now London wondered—what could Audrey have been doing that was more important than talking about a murder?

  I’d better check up on her again, London decided.

  Instead of going into the restaurant, she and Sir Reggie headed down the passageway that ran among passenger staterooms on that level.

  When she knocked on Audrey’s door, there was no reply. Remembering how hard it had been to get the woman’s attention yesterday, London wasn’t especially surprised.

  She knocked again and called out.

  “Audrey, it’s me, London.”

  But there was still no reply. She wondered if maybe Audrey wasn’t awake yet. After all, she, too, had had a tough day yesterday and was probably tired.

  Maybe I shouldn’t bother her, she thought. She could be sleeping late.

  But she reminded herself that Detektiv Erlich was probably going to be here soon, and he was going want to talk to Audrey as well as to London.

  “I will be prepared,” Audrey had said yesterday when London had mentioned Erlich’s impending visit.

  But that visit was likely to happen soon, and if Audrey really was still sleeping …

  She knocked on the door again.

  “Audrey, are you there?” she asked.

  There was still no reply.

  London felt a tingle of worry. She wondered whether she should use her master key to let herself inside just to make sure …

  Make sure of what? she asked herself.

  She didn’t even know exactly why she was worried. Again she wondered—did a part of her imagine that Audrey had had something to do with Herr Forstmann’s death?

  What a ridiculous idea, she told herself.

  Anyway, she certainly wasn’t going to make matters better by entering Audrey’s room and invading her privacy, especially if she found her still in bed. And if Audrey wasn’t in her room, she was probably somewhere on the boat, perhaps even having breakfast in the restaurant.

  She and Sir Reggie went back down the passageway and into the attractive restaurant in the bow of the ship. Sunlight glowed through the Habsburg’s big windows, sparkling on clean white tablecloths and silver serving dishes, but only a few passengers were there to enjoy the morning’s offerings.

  She didn’t see Audrey anywhere. She did, however, see Bob Turner sitting alone at a table, wearing his ever-present mirrored glasses and hunched over a red beverage that London was pretty sure must be a virgin Bloody Mary.

  London remembered that the ship’s security man and his friend the would-be mystery author had seemed to be putting away a lot of beer at the festival yesterday. It looked like the poor guy wasn’t feeling too great this morning.

  In fact, several other passengers that she’d seen partying quite enthusiastically yesterday also looked pretty haggard.

  Things might be kind of subdued on board today, she thought.

  Then she saw that at least two of the ship’s staff appeared to be unaffected by the hangovers that afflicted others in the room. Captain Hays and Elsie were sitting together at a table with well-loaded breakfast plates. The captain was talking on his cell phone while Elsie was devouring her meal. London knew that the captain had the good sense to exercise moderation and that Elsie was generally unaffected by whatever she chose to imbibe.

  When Elsie saw London, she waved her over and then whispered so as not to disturb the captain’s phone conversation.

  “Hey, London! It’s good to see you! Sit down with us!”

  Pulling an empty chair up next to Elsie, London sat down and Sir Reggie jumped up in her lap.

  Elsie dug around in a pocket and then gave Sir Reggie one of the dog treats that Bryce had specially made, and that everybody seemed to be carrying around these days.

  Then Elsie pointed to the captain and whispered to London, “He’s talking to the boss.”

  London nodded uneasily, wondering what Mr. Lapham might be saying this morning. The drift of the conversation was hard to pick out from the captain’s minimal statements.

  “Yes, sir … That sounds like an excellent idea, sir … Yes, I suppose that is a possible consideration … If you say so, sir …”

  While the captain continued in this mode, Elsie leaned toward London and whispered again.

  “I heard about the murder,” she said. “Are you holding up OK?”

  “I guess,” London said. “I’m glad Bryce was there when it happened.”

  “Was he?” Elsie asked eagerly. “I happened to see you and that Australian hunk heading away from the festival together. So tell me—what happened then?”

  London rolled her eyes at Elsie’s nosiness.

  “Nothing happened,” she said.

  “Why do I find that hard to believe?”

  “It didn’t.”

  Elsie glared at London as if she knew better.

  London sighed. She knew that Elsie was remarkably perceptive and usually helpful, but she didn’t want to discuss how close she and Bryce had come to sharing their first kiss before disaster had struck. At least, not here at a breakfast table with the captain.

  Elsie took one last bite of her breakfast and put her sil
verware down.

  “Well, I don’t have time to torture the truth out of you right now,” she hissed. My bar staff is flooded with orders for hangover cures.”

  Before her friend could go, London whispered, “Uh, Elsie …”

  “Well?”

  “Do I … still smell like beer?”

  Elsie sniffed and grimaced slightly.

  “Now that you mention it … maybe a little.”

  London stifled another sigh.

  At least I can count on her to be honest, she thought.

  Elsie wagged her finger at London and said, “We’ve still got some talking to do.”

  Then she got up and left the restaurant.

  London sat there, uneasily listening to the captain’s side of the conversation with the CEO. The part that she could hear was not particularly encouraging.

  Neither was the wrinkled brow on the captain’s forehead.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  By the time Captain Hays finished the conversation with CEO Lapham, his expression was one of complete bewilderment. London couldn’t remember ever seeing the captain look so mystified.

  What had the CEO said to him?

  But as the captain put his cell phone back in his pocket, he looked at her and smiled cheerfully.

  “Well, hello there, London!” he said. Pulling out a treat of his own and tossing it to Sir Reggie, he added, “And you too, my aristocratic friend.”

  He asked London, “How are you doing this morning? Yesterday was rather hard for you, I’m sure. Did you get a good night’s sleep?”

  “It was fine,” she replied, not exactly truthfully. She hoped to find out what was on the CEO’s mind this morning instead of discussing yesterday’s events.

  “Excellent,” Captain Hays said. “As it happens, I just got off the phone with Jeremy Lapham.”

  London nodded and looked at him attentively.

  The captain added, “He said he talked to you yesterday.”

  “Yes, he did,” London replied, wondering whether she had said something wrong during that odd conversation.

  “Well, I’m glad to say he’s coming up with excellent ideas concerning how to deal with our run of bad luck. Fortunately he doesn’t think we’ll need to skip any of our planned destinations. But he’s going to offer vouchers and discounts, deals for meals and drinks and services and such, that will sweeten the trip for our passengers. It will cost money, of course, and it will be hard on Epoch World Cruise Lines. But it may help pull our company through—as long as nobody else gets killed, I suppose.”