A Witch On The High Seas - A Paranormal Cozy Mystery (Merryweather Mysteries Book 2)

by Jenny Bankhead

  “Why you blubbering…fat…drunk…idiot!” Lou shouted.

  Charlie’s face fell. He smoothed his Hawaiian shirt against his protruding belly. “Fat?” he said. “I’m portly. Big boned, yes. But fat?” He really looked like he might cry.

  At the sight of Charlie’s crumpled expression, Lou took a deep breath and closed his eyes as if he was trying to rein his temper in.

  When he opened his eyes, he spoke. “I apologize. That was uncalled for. But you accused me of murder. You can’t just run around accusing people of murder, Charlie! Besides...”

  He paused and looked out at the little crowd gathered around. He was not just defending himself to the head of security, after all. Everyone was now eyeing him with suspicion. “Even if I fought with Leon—which, I admit, I did—that hardly makes me unique. Everyone here fought with the man. He wasn’t exactly easy to get along with.”

  “No, not easy at all,” one crew member said.

  “Impossible, actually.”

  “...always complaining…never happy!”

  “Come to think of it, I had a row with him just yesterday morning.”

  The murmur of agreement swelled to a peak, and Charlie silenced the chatter by yelling loudly. “Fine! Fine! Can you blame a bloke for trying? Don’t we all want to wrap this thing up by the time happy hour comes round?”

  Lorna shook her head. She was fond of the head of security, but really. This was no way to go about an investigation.

  The little crowd dispersed, leaving Lou to wring out his jacket. As he pulled a strand of seaweed from his sleeve, Lorna raised her hand. “Excuse me, Captain?” She stepped tentatively forward. Hopefully, he’d taken out his anger on Charlie, and would spare her.

  “What is it?” Lou snapped. He gave his jacket a violent shake and then began working his arms back into the sleeves.

  “We’d love to ask you just a few quick questions.” Lorna gave what she hoped was a friendly smile.

  Betty chimed in before the captain could refuse—which he was surely about to do if the annoyed tone in his voice was any indication of what was going through his mind. “Captain Gasparini, tell us about your snow globe.”

  Lou stopped trying to work his left arm into his jacket. It was stuck at the elbow; the material was still soaking wet and had formed a sort of suction cup. “What about my snow globe?” he asked, now looking back and forth between Lorna and Betty with suspicion.

  Lorna spoke. “We’ve heard you owned one. As it happens, there was a snow globe at the scene of the crime. Was it yours? Did you use it to kill your vice-captain?”

  As soon as she said the words, Lorna wished she could take them back. If Lou Gasparini wanted to attack, now would be an opportune time. She and Betty were alone with him, unarmed and entirely vulnerable.

  I wish I had my broom, thought Lorna. Though her broom was centuries old and rather slow on the uptake, it could be used as a weapon in a pinch. Mentally, Lorna sent out instructions to her trusty broomstick. Come to me! she called.

  Instantly, she felt the answer in her bones. The broomstick was on its way—though when it would actually arrive was completely unknown to her. Seeing as the stick had been slow lately, it could take hours or even days. She had no idea.

  Luckily, Lou did not attack. Instead, he gave another sudden attempt at jamming his hand through the wet jacket sleeve. His efforts paid off. He was finally able to pull the jacket up and around his neck. With it on, he looked more captain-like.

  He seemed to know this because when he spoke again, his tone was more professional. “There is absolutely no way that I could have used my snow globe to kill Leon,” he said.

  “No?” Betty asked.

  “No. Absolutely no way.”

  “Why not?” asked Lorna.

  “Because.” Lou smoothed his lapels, and then his sleeves. Little droplets of water showered off of him whenever he ran his hand over the wrinkled material. “My snow globe was stolen,” he said. “Last night, during the fireworks display.” He looked out into the sea as he spoke.

  “Really?” Lorna asked. She didn’t like the way the captain would not meet her eye when he spoke.

  “Yes,” he replied, still averting his gaze. “That globe was worth a great deal of money. It is very, very valuable. A family heirloom. Someone must have been using the fireworks display to cover up a spree of burglaries.”

  Lorna looked at Betty.

  Betty’s eyebrows were raised. She, too, seemed to be doubtful of the captain’s story.

  Lorna turned back to the captain. He was now running his hands over his hair, trying to comb it to the side. Yes, he was hiding something. But what? And what could she do about it? Without her magic or her spell book, she was feeling quite powerless. Perhaps Betty had some ideas that would help them get the upper hand, but they couldn’t very well discuss it here, in front of the captain.

  Lou spoke. “Now, if you will excuse me, I need to get myself above deck. Someone has to steer this ship and get us all home safely, after all.”

  The ship was still dead in the water, not moving at all due to the broken-down engine. But now did not seem like a good time to remind the captain of this. Lorna and Betty didn’t protest as he pivoted and began marching away from them.

  “Well, how about that?” Lorna said, watching the captain disappear.

  “He’s going to be a hard nut to crack,” Betty said. “He seems to be hiding something, but I don’t know how we’re going to get it out of him.”

  “Did you bring your turban? Or your cards?” Lorna asked. Maybe Betty had access to her own psychic powers and could use her unique ways to get the information that they needed.

  Betty shook her head ruefully. “I thought we were going on vacation. I didn’t expect to need them.”

  Regret filled Betty’s heart. From now on, she vowed, I’ll never leave Tweed-upon-Slumber without a magical kit. I brought everything except my most prized possessions! How foolish of me.

  “I guess we’re going to have to do this the old-fashioned way, then,” Lorna said.

  “And what way is that?” Betty asked.

  “Legwork,” Lorna said.

  Betty stooped over and rubbed her bum knee. “Are you quite sure that’s the only way?”

  “Yes, I’m sure of it,” Lorna said, heading for the stairs.

  Betty followed her. “All right then, but if I’m going to climb up these stairs again, I’m going to need a cup of tea as a reward. And possibly a crumpet or a biscuit to go along with it.”

  Twenty minutes later, the two were once again in the bar room. This time, as they sat down at a mahogany table with two steaming cups of tea and a plate of biscuits, they were determined to actually drink their tea and not run off before even taking a sip.

  Lorna mixed a small dash of cream into her cup of Earl Grey. The tea was steeping nicely and becoming a beautiful chestnut brown. It was still overcast outside, and along with a steady breeze and all of the moisture in the air, the lack of sunshine had given her a slight chill. Nothing like the chill of March in the English countryside, but a slight chill just the same.

  The tea was delicious. They’d sat down at a table with Carol Anne and Earl.

  “Isn’t this awful?” Carol Anne said in her high and reedy voice. “Stuck here on this ship with no way to get off, and now someone is dead.”

  Apparently, news of Leon’s death was beginning to circulate among the guests.

  “Murdered,” Lorna said, setting her teacup down onto the saucer. It gave a little clank.

  “Now, now. It could just be an accident,” Earl protested.

  “No,” Betty said. “He was hit on the head. We all must watch our backs.”

  Carol Anne’s thin lower lip trembled. Lorna wanted to comfort her, but what Betty had said was true. Everyone on the ship needed to be very careful.

  Lorna sipped her tea as Betty fired off a round of questions. “Carol Anne, Earl, where were you at ten o’clock this morning?”


  “In our room,” Carol Anne replied, narrowing her eyes. “Why do you ask?”

  “In your room, at ten in the morning? Now, go on and tell me what the two of you could have been thinking, sleeping in that late.”

  “I was waiting on Earl. He was still in bed with a headache,” Carol Anne said.

  “Splitting headache,” Earl said. “Still have it, actually. Why are you asking us questions? You don’t suspect us of killing the vice-captain, do you?”

  Betty shrugged. “This is legwork,” she said. “Everyone must be questioned.”

  “We didn’t do anything,” Earl said. “It seems obvious, anyway. Raul did it. Raul’s always been a backhanded guy. He probably got into it with Leon and then thought nothing of cracking him over the head. I could see it. He has mean eyes, Raul does.”

  “Mean snake eyes,” Carol Anne seconded.

  Earl pointed across the dining room. “Look, Carol Anne, there’s Tom McMillan. Let’s see if he’s up for a few rounds on the courts.”

  When the couple left, Lorna sighed. “Well, that didn’t get us anywhere,” she said.

  “This legwork is about as fun as it sounds,” Betty said, echoing Lorna’s sigh.

  “We can’t give up,” Lorna said. She fortified herself by gulping down the rest of her now lukewarm tea and then stood. “On to the next guest!” she said.

  Betty stood, warily. “I do hope they have more information for us than ‘snake eyes.’”

  “Something a bit more concrete would be nice,” said Lorna.

  They then moved table to table, peppering guests with questions, trying to gather any information that they could. The efforts proved futile. The passengers and crew members were eager to point fingers, but no one illuminated any solid evidence that could lead towards the killer.

  Lorna was on her third cup of tea. Betty was polishing off her fourth biscuit. They sat alone at a large, round table with room for a dozen, both feeling frustrated at the lack of progress that they had made. However, their afternoon in the dining hall was not a waste. They were about to receive a hot lead.

  “Excuse me?” A slender girl in her twenties approached. “Did I hear you asking questions about the murder?”

  “Yes,” Lorna said. She’d been deep in thought, mulling over all of the dead ends they’d come across. Now she jumped to attention. Her hand twitched with excitement, and she almost knocked over her teacup. The investigation had her feeling quite jittery, and the caffeine from three cups of tea hadn’t helped matters. “Sit, please,” she suggested.

  The young woman shook her head. “No, I can’t just now. I have to be off. But I wanted to ask you—have you talked to Sandy?”

  “Sandy Owens, the dancer?” Lorna asked. As far as she knew, there wasn’t another Sandy on board. But she wanted to be certain.

  The young woman nodded, and then looked around the room nervously. It was apparent that the girl didn’t want to be seen talking to the two nosey women, who were getting quite a reputation for asking prying questions.

  “Are you a part of the crew?” Lorna asked, trying desperately to keep the girl engaged so that she didn’t run off.

  The slender girl shook her head. “Not the crew, exactly,” she said. “I’m with the dance troop. It’s my first year.”

  “And why are you here, talking to us?” Lorna asked.

  The girl looked even more frightened now. “Because,” she said, “it’s awful, what happened. We’ve all been talking about it, you know. It’s all I can think about. We’re stuck out here in the middle of the ocean, and the police aren’t anywhere near us to help. Everyone knows that Charlie won’t do anything to keep things safe. So when I saw you asking questions…”

  “You want to help us,” Lorna finished.

  The girl nodded. She looked very frightened. “I have to go,” she said again.

  “Wait!” Lorna wanted to ask one more question. “Why should we talk to Sandy? What does she have to do with Leon?”

  The girl blushed. “I really shouldn’t be talking to you. This is none of my business.”

  “But you want to help, don’t you?” Betty asked. “You want the killer brought to justice, just as we do, dear. So spill the beans.”

  “I—I can’t…” The young dancer frowned.

  “It’s all right,” Lorna said. “Betty and I are going to get to the bottom of this. You don’t need to worry. Please, tell us what you know.”

  “It’s just a rumor,” the girl said in a whisper. “I haven’t seen anything for myself. And I hate to spread gossip in this way. My mother told me never to spread gossip. But if it might be important, I better tell you…” She bit her lip.

  Go on, Lorna thought. Tell us!

  The dancer looked all around her again. If she bites her lip any harder, thought Lorna, she’s going to draw blood.

  Finally, the dancer spoke. Her voice was hushed. “I’m telling you, it’s just a rumor. But you’d better talk to Sandy because, well, you see—Sandy knew Leon better than any of us. Much better.” The girl emphasized the word “much.” Then, her blush returned. “That’s all I’m going to say.” She turned on her heel and rushed away.

  “Well,” Betty said. “How about that! Who needs magic, when you have legwork?” This time, she was the first to push herself up out of her seat. She reached for a cookie to take on the road.

  Lorna took a cookie for the road as well. This kind of detective work burned a lot of calories, and she wanted to keep her energy levels up. “Looks like we need to talk to Sandy,” she said.

  While munching on cookies, the two headed off, leaving a faint trail of crumbs on the floor behind them.

  Chapter 9

  Sandy was in the ballroom, practicing the rhumba backstage. It always helped her, in stressful times, to focus on dance. “Oh!” she cried when Lorna cleared her throat. Her eyebrows shot upwards, and she stopped mid-box-step. Her hip was jutted out to the side, and her arms were up as if she was holding an invisible partner.

  “We don’t mean to interrupt your practice session,” Lorna replied. This was a false statement, but Lorna felt the need to be cordial. In fact, she did mean to interrupt the practice session.

  Betty chimed in. “Do you have a moment to chat?” She was still polishing off her cookie, and Sandy eyed the treat in Betty’s hand enviously. Sandy hadn’t eaten a sugary, calorie-packed treat in years—since entering dance school at the age of thirteen.

  “I’m in the middle of practicing a routine,” Sandy said, her eyes not leaving the cookie as Betty lifted it for another bite. “Maybe later?”

  “It’s a pressing matter,” Lorna said. “It has to do with Leon Thomas’ tragic demise.”

  Sandy’s breath caught in her throat. A moment passed before she could speak. “Oh! I—I don’t want to talk about that. Not now. I need to focus on my dance.”

  “Now Sandy,” Lorna said, hoping that she could reason with the young woman. “I know this is difficult for you. But it’s no use denying that it’s happened. We heard you were very close to him. You must be upset.”

  Sandy lifted her arm and pointed her toe. She seemed intent on ignoring Lorna’s plea.

  As Sandy began dancing around the stage, Lorna followed after her. “Sandy, what was going on between you and Leon? You must tell us.”

  The dancer’s feet floated across the stage to an inaudible Cuban beat: slow-quick-quick, slow-quick-quick. “I don’t have to talk to you!” she shouted at Lorna.

  Lorna continued to follow her. Because the dancing looked like fun, Lorna tried a step herself. She flapped her arms just like Sandy was doing and shuffled her feet. Slow-quick-quick. “You can’t ignore us forever, Sandy!” she shouted.

  “Oh yes, I can,” retorted Sandy. She spun around in a graceful, practiced twirl.

  Lorna attempted the same but suddenly became quite dizzy.

  When Sandy danced off once again, Lorna found herself too winded and disoriented to follow. I’d need another cookie in order to keep th
is up, Lorna thought. She could feel her blood sugar plummeting. Instead of continuing to follow the star dancer across the stage, Lorna walked back to Betty.

  “That dancing is more difficult than I thought,” Lorna said.

  “I hear you breathing quite hard,” Betty noted.

  “The spinning is a challenge,” Lorna admitted.

  Betty decided to be full of encouragement. “It will come with practice. Regular, dedicated practice—just like tennis. Just like pickleball. Any athletic endeavor requires a true devotion to the sport—discipline of the mind and body and all that.”

  Lorna wished to steer the investigation back on track. “Let’s put my commitment to ballroom dancing on the backburner for now,” she said. “What should we do about Sandy? She’s intent on ignoring us.”

  “She’s compulsively burying her emotions, covering them up with a focus on her routine. I’ve seen it before,” Betty said.

  “You have?”

  “Of course! Everyone buries their emotions into this or that. Remember Elizabeth Larkin, how she would grade those papers as if her sanity depended on it? Or Muriel, with her vintage clothing... Sometimes I think all of our hobbies are crutches to help us numb unpleasant emotions.”

  What was wrong with numbing unpleasant emotions? Lorna wondered. When I get a tooth pulled, I ask for novocaine. Sometimes numb is good. But now was not the time to engage in philosophical debate with Betty. There was a murder to solve. The debate could wait until they returned to Tweed-upon-Slumber, where long rainy days spent sipping tea were best spent discussing philosophical matters.

  Lorna had an idea. “I’ll go search around in her room. You stay here and distract her if she tries to leave.”

  “How?” Betty asked.

  Lorna looked over at the dancer and thought. “Well, she looked very distracted by the cookie you were holding when we first walked in. Get her talking about baked goods.”

  “I love talking about baked goods!” Betty said, grinning.

  Lorna knew that she did.