Death on the Diversion

by Patricia McLinn

  Certainly took the edge off his motive.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  “Sheila!”

  Catherine came toward me along the exterior walkway beside the indoor pool. I waited for her to reach me.

  I’d wrapped up with Imka after the receptionist knocked on the door and asked with unconvincing meekness when Imka might be available to take an appointment. The receptionist also stared suspiciously at the lack of equipment in sight.

  “All set,” I said cheerily. I splayed my fingers and raised my hands. “Imka did a beautiful job, didn’t she? You can hardly tell where she made the fix.”

  Under my breath, I murmured to Imka that I’d be in touch and told her to text me if something else came up, while I pressed a tip into her hand with my cell number on it. I held it so my thumb pointed to the numbers. She’d seen it.

  Turning off the music, I nattered to the receptionist about how much I loved getting into the Christmas spirit early. The suspicious woman accompanied me out past the desk and beyond the confines of the spa.

  I’d barely shaken her off when Catherine appeared.

  “You are the talk of the ship,” she said.

  “Great,” I grumbled.

  “Only good is being said about you. How calm you were. How you kept your head.”

  “I was screaming on the inside,” I admitted with a grim smile.

  “I’m sure, dear. But what matters is what you did on the outside. Bob was impressed by you.”

  “I’m grateful he answered my shout and got the officials.”

  “They kept you such a long time. You and that woman’s husband. Who, apparently has been spinning a tale of marital sweetness and light, even though he also says she never returned to their cabin last night.”

  “No.”

  “Yes. He says he fell asleep and didn’t wake until they came to find him this morning. And only realized then that she had not slept there.”

  “They suspect—?”

  She shrugged in slow-mo. “Though, even if they don’t, I understand why they kept him. They needed time to search their cabin for any clues.”

  “Is that where she was killed?”

  As I asked, I recognized I had full confidence Catherine would know. She did not disappoint.

  “No outward sign of it. No sign of a struggle or blood or such. They have now moved him to another cabin, allowing him only the fewest personal items from their luggage and checking it all quite thoroughly, whilst they have supplied him with toiletries and such from the shops. They even had the doctor inspect all their prescriptions — his and hers — before allowing him to take his regular medications.”

  “How do you find out all this stuff?”

  She waved that off as trivial. “What I don’t understand is why they kept you so long when they believe they know who did it.”

  “The killer often is the one who finds the body. Not this time. I swear—”

  “Ach, I never doubted it.” I’d never heard her sound more Scottish. I was touched that strong feelings about my innocence brought it out.

  “What do you mean they believe they know who did it?”

  “They have video from those closed-circuit cameras around the ship. But I understand the quality’s not what one would hope.”

  “Then why do they think they know who killed Leah?”

  “Because, they say, that grouchy young man giving out the towels is the only one with a motive. Because Wardham’s been telling them that not only he, but everyone loved Leah.”

  “But I told—” I broke off, realizing announcing I’d pointed out a bunch of people with potential motive might not make me popular. Not that Catherine would blab, but things could slip out — I looked around — or be overheard.

  She nodded agreement with my unspoken belief that there were lots of potential suspects. “But the officers investigating appear to be full speed ahead with one view. Nice and neat. All wrapped up. Turn it over to the authorities as done and dusted when we next dock.”

  “But that’s… That’s the day after tomorrow.” We were scheduled to cruise tomorrow, then spend the next day on a Bahamas beach used exclusively by the cruise line. We’d leave there in time for dinner, sail one full day, then arrive in Tampa early the next. “Can’t they wait until we get to Tampa?”

  “Can or can’t, they aren’t going to.”

  “That’s not—” I hesitated over the final word to swallow down the what-am-I-getting-myself-into foreboding that rose in my throat. “—right.”

  She took me by the arm and turned me toward the elevators. “It’s not. It’s not at all right. So, get about your work.”

  “Me?”

  “You help your great-aunt with solutions to her made-up murders. Apply that here.” It was like a Scottish echo of Aunt Kit.

  “How do you—”

  “Petronella told us of how your great-aunt has been a not very successful writer for so long and you’ve helped her.”

  “That’s not—”

  She pushed me on my way.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  “Madam,” Henri Lipke started, patient but weary.

  Not letting him get a head of steam, I interrupted. “You need to hear what I have to say.” I’d fought like crazy to get through layers of crew, staff, officers, or whoever else tried to stop me seeing him and I didn’t intend to be shut down now.

  “Perhaps later—”

  “Let us hear the passenger,” said a soft-spoken man with a barrel chest and broad shoulders, appearing in the hallway behind him.

  Lipke sighed but made a small bow, acquiescing.

  The newcomer said, “You are, I believe, the person who found our unfortunate victim?”

  “Yes. Shall we sit somewhere? This might take a while.”

  “Let us, by all means, become comfortable,” he said. “I am Gerard Edgars, the head of security.”

  The guy who’d talked to Wardham.

  Also, I’d seen him up on the deck, near the body. He’d appeared to brief the captain at one point. He never spoke loudly enough for me to hear anything he’d said there.

  “Then you’ll be interested in this, since the word on the street — or ship in this case — is that you’re relying on CCTV footage showing—”

  “Passenger rumors are not—”

  “Let us listen, Henri,” suggested the Chief Security Officer.

  Smart. Shipboard rumors could be, might very well be, wrong. But what was being said gave an insight.

  “Thank you. As I was saying, the rumor is that you’re looking at CCTV that shows a crew member. Specifically a crew member in a waiter’s tunic. That’s why you want to hear this — among several things I need to tell you. A few days ago, one of the excellent waiters in the buffet had the misfortune to be bowled over—” Blinks told me that hadn’t translated well. “He was run into by the woman I found, Leah Treusault. She came away unscathed. He had all the contents of a tray of dirty dishes he’d collected poured down the front of his uniform. A supervisor and two other waiters came over to help him, along with passengers.” I modestly omitted that I was one. “Though not the instigator of the crash.”

  “Who is this waiter?” Henri demanded, as if prepared to add the name immediately to a list of prime suspects.

  I held up a “wait” hand. “His uniform was past saving. He said he would return to his cabin for a clean one. The supervisor said she couldn’t spare him, but he could get a clean tunic from the utility closet and make do with his pants. Clean uniforms were kept there for such emergencies. And it was not locked.”

  They got it immediately.

  Henri’s face fell.

  The head of security closed his eyes a moment. When they opened, he asked, “Who heard this conversation.”

  “A good number of people. All the workers who helped clean up. The passengers who helped clean up. And passengers seated nearby, including all of the dead woman’s party. As you’ll be able to see from the CCTV of the buffet that
day.” After a pause, I added, “And of course, everyone any of those people told.”

  * * * *

  Now Henri closed his eyes. “Everyone.”

  “Lots of crew and passengers, anyway,” I said cheerfully.

  He groaned.

  “But you don’t have to worry about everyone. Oh, everyone might have heard about the episode, even know about the tunics in the closet, but that still doesn’t mean you have to consider everyone a suspect. A few can be ruled out. Anyone legitimately in a wheelchair, for instance. A few are physically too big to have been the figure in the grainy video image. That eliminates any NBA players who happen to—”

  “How do you know the size—?”

  “Must be about average or you wouldn’t be zeroing in on Badar.”

  “How do you know grainy—?”

  “Immaterial, Henri,” murmured the security chief. “What else, Ms. Mackey?”

  “If you could see someone clearly, you wouldn’t still be looking at suspects,” I told Henri before I answered Edgars’ question. “Perhaps a few people on board can also be eliminated as too small,” I mused. “Though carrying her would not have been that difficult for anyone of any size as long as they had the strength to get her up over their shoulder into a fireman’s carry.”

  “In theory.”

  “But you aren’t going to consider all the possibilities, at least not yet, because your experience has told you that the closer the person was to the victim, the more likely he or she is to be involved. It’s best to start there.”

  “Closer to the victim, yes. Also closer to the incident,” he said smoothly. “So let us begin with you, Ms. Mackey.”

  “You aren’t really interested in me or you would have questioned me yourself already, but okay.”

  I went through my account yet again. It had a sing-song quality by the end. “…so that should reassure you that I didn’t have anything to do with killing her, because why would I find her body, especially so fast. She could have been there hours before Wardham reported her missing. Longer time before discovery usually makes the investigation harder.”

  Edgars’ blink acknowledged my point about Wardham, whether his failure to act stemmed from guilt or ineffectualness.

  “My innocence,” I added, “must be a relief because my name would call even more attention to there being a murder on the Diversion.”

  Lipke winced. Edgars didn’t. He continued to regard me.

  “Do you have experience in law enforcement, Ms. Mackey?” Of course, he used my Abandon All name.

  Which, I realized was a benefit to this being my public swan song as that persona. The media would pick up on Abandon All’s author finding a murdered woman. I’d be inundated … if I weren’t already withdrawing from public life.

  “No, and I think you know that. Though my great-aunt and I have attended many classes, workshops, and behind-the-scenes tours because she writes mysteries.”

  “I see. Is there anything more, Ms. Mackey?”

  Oh, hell yes. And I wouldn’t let his disapproval and/or dismissal stop me.

  I repeated what I’d told Henri about the Marry-Go-Rounds, the Valkyries and their consorts, and the German woman, adding more detail because he was a receptive audience.

  Once, he looked away from me to send a reproving look toward his colleague, who expostulated, “But he — the husband — told you all was good, how loved she was. With such tears he said it.”

  Gerard Edgars continued to look at him. Henri subsided.

  I concentrated on presenting my information calmly, coherently, and factually to the security chief.

  When I stopped, taking a long drink of water, he asked, “What were your observations of the victim.”

  “In an Agatha Christie novel, she would have been the family despot attended by a long-suffering and dowdy daughter, a seedy middle-aged son who drank too much, an aged and poor relation who served as a companion, and other period satellites.

  “Modern times being what they are, she was accompanied by her husband and that was it. He seemed happy enough, showed no sign of drinking to greater excess than his companions, and I sure hoped he wasn’t related to his wife.”

  He didn’t comment, but again asked politely, “Is there anything more, Ms. Mackey?”

  Some stuff was so nebulous it made what I had told him sound like slam-dunk-and-slam-the-cell-door proof. “Not that I can think of now.”

  “Bon. We thank you for your observations.”

  He asked no follow-up questions, but I’d given him plenty to spread suspicion well beyond Badar. They couldn’t just dump Badar in the Bahamas saying “He did it.” If they left all the possibilities and witnesses there, they’d have a real hole in their passenger list. Surely, they’d take everybody on to Tampa.

  Which would give … somebody … time to keep trying to unravel this.

  I looked at Edgars for a sign my take was correct.

  His eyes were flinty.

  Pretty sure that was for Henri and for the situation. Though some might have been for the messenger, who looked a lot like me.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  My mind was on Badar as I started climbing the stairs toward my deck to wash up before dinner.

  What if he had done it and I’d distracted them with tales about petty, domestic unpleasantness?

  Badar had easy access to the tunics. He could have carried Leah. He had opportunity.

  Who didn’t fit all those?

  As I’d pointed out, only the extremes of big and small could be eliminated. Also, whoever had been steering the ship that night. Though, for all I knew, the ship had cruise control and he could have dashed out, done Leah in, then gotten back to the helm.

  I rubbed my forehead.

  Okay, that was a stretch.

  But the video hardly eliminated anybody as a suspect.

  Among those not eliminated? Badar.

  On the other hand, if Edgars had been sure about him, they wouldn’t have listened to me. So, something held the security chief back even before I pointed out the wide-open access to tunics.

  Did he consider Badar’s motive weak, agreeing with Imka?

  Leah raising her cane straight up as she snapped at Badar…

  How physically threatening had she truly been? Badar could have held her off one-handed.

  Plus, as unpleasant as Leah could be, she wasn’t the first annoying passenger he’d dealt with, even repeat offenders. Besides, his response at the muster had been to stay away from her. He might have been angrier after the confrontation at the towel counter, but he’d kept his cool then, too.

  Getting him fired seemed a stretch, as Imka said. Edgars didn’t strike me as overly impressed by—

  I stopped climbing steps.

  It took another two beats for my conscious thoughts to catch up and realize why I’d stopped.

  Another time Leah had raised her cane. Not threatening as she had with Badar … Not overtly threatening…

  I looked up at the open risers a full flight above me. There wasn’t much space between them from this angle.

  Turning my head, I looked across and up at the next half-flight of stairs. This allowed considerably more latitude. Someone on one half-flight had an open view through the openings to the next half-flight.

  “What are you doing, Sheila?” Before I could answer or divert Petronella, she knelt on the stair where I stood. “Oh, you dropped something, you poor thing. And after the horrible trauma you’ve experienced. Let me help you look. What did you lose?”

  Dropped?

  But I was looking up.

  She hadn’t waited for an answer. She slid her hands across the carpeted stair as if she could find an individual grain of sand if that’s what I required.

  “I didn’t lose—”

  “Oh, dear,” came another voice. Maya Russell. She hurried to Petronella. “Are you all right? Did you fall? These stairs can be so dangerous. You know a young woman fell at the beginning of the trip? That’s who
they dropped off in Gibraltar, though she was healed enough to rejoin at Gran Canaria. Why they had to make that side trip when she was fine three days later except for that cast on her foot, I don’t know. Especially when those young women wear those outrageous shoes. It’s a wonder they don’t all break their necks. Not that I’d wish that on anyone. Especially after Leah—”

  Ralph Russell stayed back, watching us.

  Maya hiccupped from swallowing what might have been a sob. Or a laugh.

  Jumbled emotions following the death of a long-time friend? Or something else?

  Are you trying to kill this husband, too, Maya?

  “Maya, I want to say I’m sorry about the loss of Leah. I know you had… difficulties, but you’d known her so long and so well.”

  “We weren’t that close.”

  “No, but… You’d cruised many times together. And to have someone else you knew die on a cruise must bring up feelings and memories—”

  “We better go, Maya.” Ralph, standing between us, had a hand under her arm, urging her up. “It’s been a difficult day. Sure you understand.”

  They were gone before I could even glimpse her face.

  Four more people had joined us. Three gallant men from sixty to at least ninety and another woman.

  All scoured the steps.

  If I didn’t supply some object for their search, one of these canny folks might figure out what I had been doing … if Ralph hadn’t already.

  Could Leah’s ex-husband know about—

  Focus. I needed to focus.

  “I dropped an earring,” I blurted. Automatically, I put a hand to my earring-less left ear, which matched my earring-less right ear. “Earlier. I got to my cabin, took one off and realized the other was gone.”

  Not great, but better.

  We all bent over searching the carpet. I got bored fast, knowing we were looking for something that wasn’t there.

  I looked around at the shoes passing us. What else was there to do?