Cruise Chaos

by A. R. Winters

  “Sorry, sorry, sorry! I’m so sorry!” he kept repeating over and over, like it was a magic mantra that would protect him from the wrath of his superiors—and one wet and angry customer.

  “Give her a towel,” I said, if only to interrupt his chanting apologies.

  Before I could stop him, he’d tossed his whole stack of four towels down to Mary Mead, who was still holding onto the edge of the pool.

  The towels hit her on the top of the head, and then fell into the water beside her in a rapidly dampening halo.

  “Noooo!” I said before I could stop myself.

  “I… thought that was what you meant.” Shaun’s cheeks had gone bright red and he was shuffling backward as if to escape.

  “What’s going on?” said Samantha as she arrived. She didn’t even seem to notice Shaun and was immediately crouching down by the pool, offering Mary a hand up.

  “Hi, Sam. How’s it going?” said Shaun.

  Sam and I both pointedly ignored him and began to assist Mary out of the pool.

  “Go and get some dry towels,” I said to Shaun.

  He ignored me.

  “Towels,” said Sam, glaring up at him. “Now.”

  “Yes, Sam!” said Shaun, staring at her for several more seconds before finally going to do as he was asked.

  “Are you all right, Mary?” I asked as soon as we had her out of the pool and sitting on a lounger.

  She wiped a hand over her face, sending droplets of water flying, before she answered the question.

  “Yes, I guess so. Was that… am I going to be the victim?”

  “No!” said Sam and I together.

  “That was just a useless pool boy being useless,” explained Sam.

  “Here are the towels,” said the useless pool boy who had just returned. He promptly thrust a stack of six fluffy Swan emblazoned towels toward Mary’s face.

  The beginner writer reached up, took the top towel from the stack, and then had to physically push the rest of them away with her other hand to get Shaun to withdraw.

  “Why don’t you go and check the drinks cart?” I said to Shaun with a glare.

  He took a step back, then stopped.

  “Bye, Sam!” he said, raising his hand in a wave.

  He got a glare back in response.

  Chastened, he turned and fled.

  “Sorry about all that,” I said to Mary.

  “It’s okay, I guess. Accidents happen.”

  “Yeah. Like him being hired,” said Sam with a tsk.

  “Sam? Can you look after Mary, see if she needs anything?” I smiled down at her apologetically.

  Sam of course agreed and, after climbing back to my feet, I resumed my search for Edward Dane.

  He wasn’t far away; he had found a secluded table and chair which was nicely shaded by an overhang. He was sitting on the plastic chair, with his brass-topped cane leaning against a wall beside him and some notes in front of him.

  “Mr. Dane? Do you have a moment?”

  “Hmm,” he answered, looking up at me quizzically. It seemed he might or might not have a moment, depending on what it was I wanted from him.

  “It’s about the script. We were supposed to find a body in the library this morning.”

  He nodded. “You did, didn’t you?”

  I stared back at him.

  After a few seconds a small smile appeared on his lips and then disappeared again just as quickly. It had been a joke.

  “Do you think you could rework the script a little? Perhaps move the body to the lounge and the time to later this afternoon, or tomorrow?”

  “Oh, no,” he said, shaking his head at me. “That wouldn’t be possible.”

  I didn’t ask you to fly us to the moon! I wanted to scream at him. Just a little rewrite!

  “What’s going on, dear?” said Harley, appearing by his side and immediately resting her hands on his shoulders.

  “They want me to rewrite the script.”

  “What!?” said Harley. I wondered if she’d misheard. Perhaps instead of rewrite the script, she’d heard construct a small nuclear device and then lead an invasion of Mexico.

  I stared at the two of them, waiting for some kind of explanation.

  “It’s my process—”

  “It’s his process,” said Harley, talking over her husband and with much greater force. “He can’t.”

  “You… can’t?”

  He nodded; she spoke.

  “When he completes a project, he completes it. It’s done. He never goes back once it’s been accepted. No. His mind doesn’t work like that. Once a work is done, it’s bam, onto the next one. He can’t go back. It’s not his process and he doesn’t do it.”

  “I don’t do it,” said Edward, shaking his head.

  I forced a polite smile on my face. “Okay. Fine. We’ll just… work around it.”

  “Good idea,” said Edward with a nod.

  Annoyed, I left them to it.

  We were just going to have to go with the original script, then. But we definitely couldn’t do it in the library, not now it was a murder scene.

  I climbed back up onto a sun lounger.

  “Everyone? Can I have your attention?” When everyone was looking in my general direction, I continued. “We will resume the murder mystery in sixty minutes. We will be relabeling the lounge as the library for the body discovery. I’m sorry the surprise has been spoiled. That’s in one hour, at eleven o’clock, please join us in the lounge. Which is relabeled as the library. Thank you!”

  I hopped back down.

  If he wouldn’t rework his script, then I’d just rework the set. All I had to do was go through all the clues to fix any inconsistencies, and we’d be able to carry on as normal. As normally as you can after finding a body.

  Just before I went inside to fix things up in the lounge, I remembered something else.

  Felicity Bull’s role in the event was as a house guest of Lady Adrienne. The only problem was that she had one of the more important clues.

  I scanned around the pool for a replacement. There was Shaun Anderson, but I didn’t think I could trust him to walk in a straight line without messing it up. Sam and Cece already had roles. I could ask Kelly, but she seemed to have three trillion other things to be going on with.

  “Who’s that?” I thought to myself. Walking around, offering pastries to everyone, was a staff member in a large floppy hat. I figured she was sensitive to the sun.

  “Hello? Excuse me?” I said to attract her attention.

  “Yes?” she said, looking left and right as if she had to hurry away at any moment.

  She was wearing a blue Swan uniform polo shirt and gray slacks, and underneath her hat I could make out that she was a few years older than myself, and seemed to be of quite a nervous disposition.

  “I don’t think we’ve met? I’m Adrienne James. I’m running this event. You are…?”

  “I’m Betty. Betty Dwayne.” She held out the tray. “Pastry?”

  I shook my head but then, much to her confusion, reached out and took one anyway. I’d missed out on my second breakfast in the library and could feel my energy flagging.

  “I was wondering… We need someone to play a small role in our murder mystery. If you need me to, I can speak to your supervisor to get permission?”

  “Oh,” said Betty, taken aback. “Wow. Really?”

  “It’s just a small role.”

  “I’d love to! And don’t worry about my supervisor. I’ll arrange that. What do I do?”

  I explained to her that all she had to do was participate, and that she’d be given her clues later on. She enthusiastically agreed. I supposed it made a change working for the catering department.

  With that minor problem solved, and a plan to work with the set, I headed back inside to get the lounge ready for the body discovery and the distribution of clues.

  Chapter 13

  Leaving the guests to mingle on the pool deck, I made my way to the lounge in the confer
ence suite to set up the body drop and subsequent discovery.

  Ethan’s security guys had placed security tape all over the entrance to the library, and I could see that the door was closed and locked behind the tape.

  They would have removed the body and taken it down to sickbay for an examination, storing it there until we got back to port. Unfortunately, this wasn’t the first death on a Swan Cruise, so they had the procedure down pat.

  With Sam’s assistance, we dragged the dummy that Kelly had procured from outside the library where it had been dumped and into the lounge, where we staged everything to match the original script.

  Fortunately, the decor of the lounge also included brass candlesticks, so it was easy to replace the one that had been taken away as evidence with an identical one.

  Despite Edward Dane’s refusal to adjust his script, we only had to make minor adjustments to the guests clues and background information to make everything fit. Of course, the guests would all have to pretend it was still the early morning, but I figured their imaginations were probably up to the task.

  When everything seemed to be in place, we lit some herbal candles to help give the room a calm, peaceful atmosphere. After what had happened next door, I was worried that people might be a little on edge.

  Soon, the soothing smell of lavender, vanilla, and cinnamon filled the room. I felt like lounging around myself, but there was still plenty to do.

  When Sam had lit the final candle, we met in the middle of the room, both of us with quietly satisfied smiles on our faces.

  “Do you know what happened to Greg?” I asked Sam.

  “Yeah. Ethan asked him to go to his office earlier.”

  “Is Ethan investigating him?” I asked with some surprise.

  “Kind of. He didn’t phrase it like that. He just said he thought it’d better if he got a thorough account of what Greg found, and of his earlier experiences with Felicity at the restaurant. He didn’t say Greg was under suspicion, but he was certainly gathering all the necessary background information that he could.” Sam spoke very matter-of-factly, but we both thought it was probably overkill on Ethan’s part.

  “Guess that makes sense. It’s a shame for poor Greg though. Now both of his encounters with Felicity Bull have been disastrous. I hope Ethan finishes with him soon. We’ve got his diner scene to do later. Good thing he isn’t needed for the body discovery.” I paused while the words sank in and I realized what I’d said. “The fake one, I mean.”

  We were both silent for a moment, listening to the gentle flicker of the candle flames and the distant background hum of the ship’s engines far below us.

  “Are we ready? Should I bring the guests in?” Sam was hovering by the door, waiting for my signal.

  “Do it. Let’s see how good they are at solving this murder.”

  I surveyed the scene we had created in the room a final time. Our plastic-looking corpse was lying in the middle of the room, the replacement brass candlestick lying next to its head. The rest of the room was decorated much as before; we hadn’t needed to make any real adjustments.

  As the guests entered, Sam and I distributed small envelopes to each of them. Some of them contained clues, while others had instructions for them to perform certain actions, ask certain questions, or perform various tasks. Edward Dane had clearly worked hard to put all the clues together, and I thought that under normal circumstances there was no doubt the event would have been a smashing success.

  But after what had happened that morning? I put the odds at about fifty-fifty it’d be a success, and fifty-fifty it’d turn into an unmitigated disaster. I hoped for the former but mentally braced myself for the latter.

  When the room was full, I went around taking a few pictures of the mostly happy guests as they set about following their instructions and investigating the scene. They were behaving a lot more civilly than they had that morning when they’d forced their way into the library, and there was an air of buzzing industry about the room.

  There were just three people who weren’t joining in enthusiastically: the Danes, who of course knew the solution to the murder and thus weren’t actively following up on the various clues, and Oliver McGinty, who seemed to be sulking. He was standing near the door to the lounge and kept peering outside, in the direction of the library.

  “Is everything okay, Mr. McGinty?” I asked him with my most winning smile.

  “No. It’s my books, you see.”

  I did my best to look understanding.

  “Do you miss them?”

  He narrowed his eyes and glared at me.

  “No, I don’t miss them, you silly girl. I’m worried that they will be damaged—or destroyed. Who knows what that jackbooted security squad got up to in there?”

  As far as I knew, none of his books were actually implicated in the crime; they were mere background scenery. It didn’t seem likely that the security guards would have had any reason to touch them.

  “I’m sure they’re fine. There’s no reason for them to be disturbed. As soon as we get the all clear, we’ll try and get them out of there for you. Perhaps we can bring them in here.”

  Oliver looked around the room, nodding, while he mentally placed the bookshelves in different locations.

  “Yes, I suppose here will do. And I’ll need that table back. I haven’t sold a single book today! Haven’t been able to.”

  I nodded sympathetically. “I’ll do whatever I can to help. Why don’t you have a look at your envelope? I think you’ve got a good clue.”

  Actually, I wasn’t sure what was in his envelope, but I wanted him to get involved in the event again instead of just stewing about his precious books which were now sealed off from us all.

  With everyone focused on the task at hand, I pulled out my phone and started to snap some pictures of everyone happily investigating our fake murder. My previous job on the ship had been the social media manager, so it was like I had reverted to my old role.

  As I moved around the room, trying to capture people looking either happy or incredibly intrigued, it occurred to me that my old job was a lot less stressful than managing events. All I’d had to do was take pictures, write up little snippets, mini-articles, and fluff pieces, and post them online. It didn’t require too much people management. Unlike what I was doing now.

  Oliver McGinty looked like he was finally getting involved. I saw him standing with Mary Mead, comparing notes with her. He even almost smiled. I caught it with a quick tap of my finger on the screen’s photo icon.

  Oliver said something to Mary, who nodded in response, and they both turned to face me with somewhat serious looks on their faces.

  “Is everything all right?” I asked.

  “Ye-es,” said Mary tentatively, as if she was all right, but something else wasn’t.

  “I’ve been looking at our clue cards. And talking to some of the other guests.” Oliver McGinty didn’t look particularly happy to be telling me this.

  “Yes?”

  “The thing is… this murder mystery you’ve arranged... well, it looks like you’ve changed it to match the murder this morning! We think it’s in very bad taste, don’t we, Mary?”

  “Mmhmm,” she said in vaguely noncommittal agreement. “It seems strange. Two bodies: one real, one fake, but both ferried to the other world by Manannan after suffering the same fate.”

  While I perfectly understood Oliver’s point, Mary’s was lost on me.

  “The sea god. Celtic mythology,” said Oliver by way of explanation when he saw my confusion. “But that’s by the by. These clues, and this setting...” he finished with a slow shake of his head.

  “I didn’t change the event. Not at all. In fact, I asked Edward Dane to help change it but he refused. The body, the clues—all of it was planned in advance. I didn’t change it to look like this morning’s accident. This morning’s accident looked like the already planned murder mystery.”

  While I spoke, both Mary’s and Oliver’s eyebrows rose highe
r and higher in surprise. They’d been certain that I had fixed it to match the actual murder. Though why they thought I would think that’s a good idea was beyond me.

  “Do you mean to tell me that both murders, the real one and the fake one, were coincidentally carried out in the same manner?” asked Oliver with considerable surprise.

  “Yes, that’s exactly what I’m saying.”

  “That does seem like a funny coincidence,” said Mary with a slight tone of disbelief.

  Oliver’s face lit up and he reached out and grabbed me by the shoulder. “It’s no coincidence! The murderer is playing with us!”

  Oh, cornstalks, I thought. I had an amateur detective on my hands. Well, I had dozens of them, but this one suddenly looked serious about it.

  “It did seem strange,” I admitted.

  “Well, do you see what you need to do?” asked Oliver.

  “What? What should she do?” Mary’s eyes had lit up with excitement. She seemed even more enthused talking about the real murder than she did about the fake one.

  “She needs to find out who had access to the story! Who knew how the fake murder was going to be committed? If she finds out who had access to the script, then she can draw up a list of suspects!”

  “Yes, thank you, Oliver,” I said, smiling at him. “You’re perfectly right. My colleague and I were talking about that very thing earlier,” I said with a nod of my head toward Sam.

  A flash of annoyance passed over Oliver’s face. He didn’t seem overly thrilled to find out his rather brilliant idea had already occurred to us.

  “So did you draw up a list?”

  “I’m afraid I can’t talk about what’s going on with this morning’s incident. It’s above my pay grade.” I gave him a sheepish look of apology. I had no intention of telling him anything about the murder or its investigation.

  I tapped my chin while I stared at him. With a start, I remembered the fight he and Felicity had the day before. Was this all just a bluff? Fake detective work to make us write him off as a suspect?

  “What are you thinking?” said Mary. “It looks like you just thought of something.”

  I shook my head rapidly. “Oh, no. Sorry. I was in a world of my own for a moment. I was thinking about another scene we’re doing later, in the diner, and whether my cast member will be there for it.” I peered around the room as if looking for something before turning back to them. “Time to get going now, I’m afraid. Good luck with the mystery!”