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

by Jenny Bankhead

  While Lorna snuck off the stage and then out of the ballroom entirely, Betty began conjuring a list of topics that might hold Sandy’s attention: Eton mess, Battenberg cake, Bakewell tart, Butterscotch Angel Delight custard… the list went on and on, making Betty’s mouth water.

  Lorna reached Sandy’s room without difficulty. The staff quarters were easy to find because of all the helpful little signs around the lower deck. Once in the residence hall, Lorna had simply asked a passing crew member for Sandy’s door, saying that she needed to deliver a message to Sandy from the Head of Security, Charlie Wright.

  The ruse worked beautifully, and even more beautiful was the fact that Sandy’s door opened right up. The girl hadn’t locked it.

  Lorna slipped in and then closed the door behind her. With a pounding heart —Is this due to my sneaky activities, or is this my third cup of tea coming back to haunt me? Lorna wondered—she began searching the room.

  Where to begin? The room was a mess, so Lorna began tidying. She felt a real need to restore order to the space. While Sandy’s compulsion lay in practicing her dance routine, Lorna’s was all about cleanliness. She absolutely couldn’t stand the way Sandy had draped her clothes all over the little bedroom.

  Once the clothes were all taken care of—Lorna thought about taking them to the laundry room to start a wash, but decided that there wasn’t time—she began organizing the books.

  Sandy, it seemed, loved romance novels. They were everywhere. Lorna picked up at least fifteen of them that were scattered around the bed and began organizing them into a neat stack next to Sandy’s nightstand. First, she began lining them up according to the first letter of the author’s last name, in alphabetical order of course. This didn’t look right, so she then tried out a color scheme. First in line were all the maroon, mauve, and pink books. Next went violet, purple, and indigo, and then finally blue, green, and a garish yellow one.

  Lorna stepped back to examine her work. On second thought, that yellow one was just too ugly to be on display at all. It was ruining the entire bouquet. Lorna picked up the book and stashed it under the bed, out of sight.

  As she pushed the book under the bed, her fingers brushed against something. What’s this? Lorna thought, reaching in deeper. Her fingers clasped around a leather-bound book, and she pulled it out. A diary.

  It had a lock on it, but when Lorna fiddled with the tiny brass buckle, it popped open in her hands. Sandy, apparently, had something against keys. With interest, Lorna began perusing the pages.

  What an interesting tale! Sandy spoke of first boarding the ship, and how exciting it all was. Then, she went into detailed descriptions of her colleagues and dance troupe members.

  Lorna recognized the honeymoon phase. She had experienced something similar back in Tallahassee when she first started dating Cliff. This was the phase when everything seemed wonderful, and nothing was wrong at all. But once that phase ended, watch out! Within two weeks of boarding the ship, Sandy started finding things to complain about. Drama sprouted up with other dance troupe girls. The food was too heavy. The schedule was too demanding.

  Lorna skipped over some of the girl’s more tedious rants. She was looking for one name in particular: Leon.

  It didn’t take her long to find it. Sandy’s curlicue cursive gave way to long rows of hearts and little smiling faces. “I’ve met a wonderful man named Leon (smiley face).” And then, “Leon says I’m the most beautiful woman he’s ever been with! I think I’m falling in love with him—is that possible? Yes! (heart, heart, heart).”

  Lorna flipped ahead. Sandy was so upset, on the night of the fireworks, thought Lorna. Things obviously had gone wrong for Leon and her, at some point. But when? How? She skimmed more pages. They remained full of smiley faces and hearts right up until the pages went blank.

  It seemed that when Sandy was heartbroken and angry, she did other things besides write in her diary. Like practice her rhumba steps, thought Lorna.

  Lorna set the book down on the nightstand. Maybe Sandy had lost it under the bed and wasn’t writing in it because she couldn’t find it. If it was on the nightstand, easily accessible, she might be more inclined to pick it up and jot down a note about her feelings.

  The girl really could use an outlet for her feelings. Stuffing them all down didn’t seem healthy at all. Lorna opened the nightstand drawer, and found a pink ballpoint pen, with a little sparkly puffball on the top. How lovely! She put that on top of the leather-bound diary. There. Sandy had no excuses now.

  With that done, Lorna stood up from the bed and began pacing. What happened between Leon and Sandy? How did the romance go south? Did the two have a fight? Was Sandy so angry with Leon that she murdered him?

  It was possible. Lorna paced around the little room for a fifth time. Something was starting to stir inside of her. There was more in this room for her to learn. A detail that would help her with the case. Her instincts told her not to leave; not yet.

  Lorna focused on her witch senses. What is it? she asked that witchy part of her that seemed to have so many answers. What is it that you want me to know?

  With her witch senses tingling, Lorna took one more lap around the perimeter of the room. As she reached the door to the bathroom, her nose wriggled. She sniffed. There was a smell in the air, and it reminded her of something.

  What was it?

  She sniffed the air again. Blood, she thought. I smelled this very same smell earlier today when I picked up the snow globe. There was blood smeared onto the snow globe, and I’m smelling blood again now. She’d paused by the bathroom, and she followed her nose and pushed the bathroom door open.

  It was a very small bathroom, about the size of Lorna’s broom closet at home. Not that she kept her trusted broomstick locked up in a closet. Oh, no; she wouldn’t dream of disrespecting her broom in such a way. Instead, she kept her little cottage broom closet packed with other cleaning supplies: rags, dusters, polishes, and the like.

  Straight ahead, as Lorna stepped into the closet-like space, Lorna saw the sink and a mirror. To the left was the toilet. Off to the right were a bath and shower. The curtain was pulled across the bathtub, and Lorna thought that was odd. Why is the curtain pulled? she wondered.

  The smell was stronger. Lorna sniffed the air. Her nose was wiggling around as if it had a life of its own. Her witch senses were going crazy. There was a tingling sensation that traveled from her toes to her scalp. I’m very close now! she thought.

  She stepped up to the curtain and pulled it dramatically to the side with a flourish, not unlike the arm movements she’d practiced alongside Sandy on the ballroom dance floor.

  There, in the tub, was the source of the bloody smell.

  The bathtub was full of water. The water was tinged red. There was a dress submerged under the water.

  Lorna gasped. She wasn’t usually one for gasping, but the sight of all that red water truly made her suck in a breath of air. So much blood! she thought.

  Just then, there was a sound, out in the suite. Someone—is it Sandy?—had just entered.

  Instinctively, Lorna moved to the bathroom door and pulled it shut. The closing door made a loud sound, and Lorna winced. Whoever was out in the bedroom would surely have heard the sound.

  Lorna froze.

  “Hello?” Yes, it was Sandy’s voice that floated through the bathroom door. “Is someone there?” Sandy called out.

  Lorna heard footsteps, and then there was a brisk knocking on the bathroom door.

  “Ocupado!” Lorna sang out.

  Silence hung in the air. Lorna winced again.

  “Is that the crazy lady who was bothering me last night, and again just now in the ballroom?” Sandy called out. “Flapping her arms like a deranged seagull?”

  Deranged seagull?! Lorna reached for the door handle and pulled it open. “Excuse me,” she said. “But I am not crazy, and I was not ‘flapping my arms,’ and I did not look like a deranged seagull!”

  Sandy threw her arms up in t
he air with exasperation. “Why won’t you just leave me alone!” she cried.

  “I can’t,” Lorna said. “Not now, at least. Not now that I’ve seen the dress that’s soaking in your bathroom tub.”

  It was Sandy’s turn to wince. “You saw that?” she asked meekly.

  “Yes,” Lorna said. “And I have half a mind to go to Charlie Wright with it. No, better than that, I’ll tell the police when they arrive. It should be soon.” Lorna had no idea if this was true, but she hoped that it was.

  This threat affected Sandy. “Please don’t,” she begged. There were many emotions crossing her face: fear was the most prominent, but Lorna detected a hint of anger as well.

  Not for the first time, Lorna wished that she was armed in some way. It would be good to have a way to defend myself, she thought. The next time I accuse someone of murder, I’m going to be better prepared. Where is my broomstick?

  At that exact moment, her trusted and ancient broomstick was sailing over Saint Germain Lembron, France, at the slow—but admirable, for an ancient broomstick—steady pace of sixteen knots.

  Lorna watched Sandy’s expression turn from fear and anger to sadness. “Please,” Sandy said again. “Don’t tell the authorities about my dress.” Suddenly, she began to cry.

  This was a surprise to Lorna. Would a cold-blooded murderer dissolve into a puddle of tears in this way? She thought not.

  Sandy was backing up unsteadily. Her toned thighs, wrapped in leggings, hit the side of the twin bed. Sandy sank down onto the mattress. “Oh, what have I done?” she said, between sobs.

  “Well, that happens to be what I’m curious about myself,” Lorna said. “What exactly have you done, Sandy?”

  “Everything was so wonderful at first,” Sandy said. “I thought we were in love. I’ve never been in love before! I was always so busy at school—high school and then the dance academy. I’d never even been on a date. And then, when I met Leon, he made me feel special. I was so happy.”

  “I know,” said Lorna. “I saw all of the smiley faces in your journal.” She sat down on the bed next to Sandy. It felt good to get off her feet for a moment.

  “You…you read my diary?” Sandy asked. She looked around the room for the first time. “What? Did you go through all of my things? Everything looks different.”

  “I tidied up a bit. Doesn’t it look more spacious in here? What you really need is a nice shelf of some sort—nothing too big, mind you. Just a very narrow, low-to-the-ground, unobtrusive shelf right there.” She pointed to the ground near the nightstand, where the romance novels were lined up. “White would be best,” Lorna said. “Very chic.”

  Sandy looked confused. “What is wrong with you?”

  Lorna considered this. “I have a mild addiction to interior design,” she admitted. “But let’s get back to you.” She patted Sandy’s knee. “What happened between Leon and you? You were saying that you thought you were in love with him.”

  This reminder made Sandy start crying again. “It really felt that way,” she said. “When I saw him, I felt like I was flying. Of course, there were problems… He had a wife at home, but I thought that didn’t matter so much. He was with me, after all. He loved me. I really believed this.”

  “And then?” prompted Lorna.

  Sandy’s crying intensified. Tears were now streaming down her cheeks. “He loved other women, too. It wasn’t just me like I thought it was. I wasn’t special. Not at all. Leon didn’t plan on leaving his wife. He enjoyed bedding women while he was traveling for work.”

  “Women?” Lorna asked. “As in, plural? Goodness gracious.”

  Sandy nodded. “I found out that he had lovers at every port we stopped at. He’s been this way for years. All this time, I thought it was just me! What a fool I’ve been.”

  “Did you talk to him about it?” Lorna asked. She was starting to wonder if Sandy and Leon had argued over his many affairs. Had Sandy become so upset that she acted out—violently?

  “I tried,” Sandy said. Her nose was running.

  Lorna looked around for a tissue. Seeing none, she stood and went to the bathroom, where she gathered a foot of toilet paper. In the bathroom, she saw the dress again. Time to stop putzing around, she thought. I might have a killer on my hands!

  Lorna walked back to the bed and handed the toilet paper to Sandy, who accepted it gratefully.

  “Thank you,” Sandy said. She blew her nose loudly. “I thought you were crazy, but you’re actually a nice person, aren’t you?”

  “Nice” wasn’t what Lorna was going for. Intimidating—that was the goal. She furrowed her brow into what she thought might be an authoritative grimace. “What do you mean, you ‘tried’ to talk to him?” she asked, in what she hoped was an “I-mean-business” tone.

  “Well, it didn’t go well. Not at all. At eight o’clock this morning, right when I woke up, I called up to his room. I asked him to meet me on the lower deck at nine so that we could talk things over. I wanted to push him overboard you see—just to teach him a lesson. I knew he would be able to tread water until the crew rescued him, but at least he would feel some embarrassment.”

  Lorna recalled the way Captain Lou Gasparini had looked, being hauled rump first over the rail. “Yes, I can see how you thought that would embarrass him,” she said.

  “That was all it was!” Sandy said emphatically. “I wanted him to feel like a fool—like I felt because of how he used me. But then, right at nine o’clock, I walked up to the place where we were to meet. I saw Leon there, just as I’d asked him to be. There was also another man with him—Raul. He was standing just behind Leon.”

  “Really,” Lorna said with interest. Now we’re getting somewhere, she thought.

  “Yes,” Sandy said. “I was trying to figure out what to do. I couldn’t very well push Leon over the side of the boat with Raul standing right there. Just as I was trying to figure it all out, there was an awful commotion. Somehow, Leon was hit on the head. Blood spattered off of him and onto my dress. I was in complete shock.”

  “Somehow!” Lorna cried in disbelief. “What do you mean, ‘somehow he was hit on the head?’ Did you see Raul strike him?”

  Sandy shook her head. “No. There was an awful glare from the sun. I was blinded. I couldn’t see clearly, and then the blood shower shocked me so badly…I didn’t know what to do. I’m not proud of it, but I ran.”

  Lorna couldn’t blame her. Being showered in blood is never a pleasant or calming experience.

  “I wish you had seen more,” Lorna said honestly. “Do you think that Raul did it?”

  Sandy nodded. “He must have. There was no one else there. But Raul is the owner of this entire cruise ship. If it weren’t for Raul, I would not have a job. My livelihood depends on him. I was so afraid to tell anyone what I saw.” She really did look afraid now.

  “You won’t tell on me, will you?” Sandy asked. “I shouldn’t have run away. I should have checked on Leon, to see if he was alive. But there was so much blood! Oh, it was awful.”

  “I believe he died upon impact,” Lorna said, hoping to relieve some of the traumatized girl’s guilt. “You couldn’t have done anything to save him, even if you had checked on him.”

  “Really?” Sandy asked. She seemed to feel a bit better, and Lorna was glad. “I was so angry with him. I truly hated what he had done to me, and how he made me feel. But I wouldn’t wish death on him. I can’t believe that he’s gone.”

  Lorna patted Sandy’s knee again. “It was good that you were honest with me,” she said. “Now, I must be off to find Raul.”

  Chapter 10

  Lorna intended to go to the ballroom to find Betty, but as she passed by the dining area, she caught sight of Raul. Should I get Betty, and we’ll question him together? she wondered. I can’t chance it, she decided. He might not be here by the time we get back. I’d better talk to him now.

  She headed into the bar.

  The brunch and lunch rushes were over. In place of the lunch bu
ffet, the servers had placed out a long table full of flowers and appetizer trays. The waitstaff was bustling around, setting the round tables with white cloths, and putting out place settings for the more formal dinner ambiance.

  Raul sat at the bar, seemingly oblivious to all of the commotion around him. It looked to Lorna, as she approached him, that the only thing he was aware of was the drink right in front of him. He stared into his glass as if it contained the answers to all of his problems—whatever those problems may be.

  Did he kill Leon? Lorna wondered, eyeing him as she neared. Is he drinking away his sorrows, at having lost a friend, or is he drinking to soothe his guilt? If he did kill Leon, he might be feeling very guilty now, indeed. Oh, biscuits! Here I am confronting another murder suspect, and I haven’t got any way to defend myself. I must stop doing this!

  But it was too late to turn back and make another plan, for at that moment, Raul noticed how near she was. She was only two feet away from him at this point, and he looked very annoyed by her intrusion into his personal space.

  “What now?” he said. His tone was cold. So was the look in his eye.

  “I saw you drinking alone,” Lorna said, deciding to ease into things. No use putting him on the defensive right away, she thought. “Everyone knows that drinking is best done with company.”

  She laughed nervously and then managed to lift her bottom up onto the high bar stool. The move ended up being not quite as graceful as she hoped, but as she slipped, slid, and finally mounted the stool, she tried her best to keep her composure. I shouldn’t let him see my clumsiness, she scolded herself. It is better if he thinks I’m spry and agile.

  Once on the stool, she looked over at Raul.

  He was looking at her with disdain. “No offense,” he said, “but you’re not exactly the company I like to keep when I’m tying one on.”

  Lorna had seen Raul chatting with women on the ship. They were always young, curvaceous, buxom young blondes that laughed at every word he said as he blew cigarette smoke into their pretty faces.

  She tried not to let her true feelings show as she spoke again. “Well, I may not be your type—romantically. But can’t a man and a woman share a drink and a nice conversation, regardless of chemistry?”