by Hanson, Lee
“It’s not late! C’mon, loosen up, babe.”
“Joe. Look, I’m not kidding. I’m tired and I want to go, now.”
“Well, I don’t. Nobody else is leaving.”
“What?! Fine. Fine. Stay here then. I’m going back to the room.”
“Fine with me,” he said with a drunken grin, “I’ll see you later.”
* * * * *
CHAPTER 8
Julie threw her slim beaded evening bag on the dresser. I’ll be damned if I’ll be here when he gets back! That drunken sonofabitch isn’t climbing in bed with me tonight. She picked up the phone and called the service desk.
“Hi. This is Julie O’Hara, Deck 10, 1272. I wonder if you might have a single room available? My partner seems to be coming down with something and I don’t want to catch it,” she said, kicking off her shoes and slipping out of her dress.
Her face fell. “Are you sure? I don’t care how small it is or where it is. Please look again; I’d be fine with an inside cabin.” She scrunched the phone between her left shoulder and her ear while she hung up her dress. She was stretching the phone cord and the handset pulled away. She caught it with her left hand.
“What? What did you say? Nothing at all?”
She sighed and said, “I see. Fully booked. Okay, thank you.”
Julie plopped in a chair in her underwear. Her arms were crossed and she stared straight ahead, her heels tapping a furious tattoo. I won’t stay here. I won’t.
She looked up. I’ll sleep in the spa. I’ll find one of those double chaises with a mat.
She found a pair of black Capri pants, a white tee shirt and an oversize crew neck sweater and put them on, along with her flats. She stuck her card key in her pocket and left.
A moment later, she re-opened the door and went into the bathroom, to her cosmetic case. Where are they, she thought, rummaging around in it. One package was for motion sickness. Not that. There it is. Ambien. Thank God I got this prescription; I’d never get any sleep tonight without it.
She slipped the pills in her pocket and hurried away.
***
“Where’s Julie?” Adrienne asked.
“She left,” Joe said. “She’s a party-pooper. Dale left, too. Went to the Casino.”
“Damn. I brought her book,” she said with a dopey smile. “I wanted her to sign it.”
“More like you wanted to make peace with her,” Cathy said.
“Want to dance?” Joe asked, oblivious to Cathy’s comment.
“Sure,” Adrienne said, looking around the room. “Why not?”
When the bartender announced last call, Gill and Cathy declined and left Adrienne and Joe to party on. By two o’clock the band had been gone for some time and they were the only stragglers remaining in the faux-candlelit nightclub. The bartender, who’d had enough of them, finally turned the lights full on. Joe squinted, grabbed Adrienne’s hand and led her out the door. “Let’s go talk somewhere else.”
“Talk” the bartender, Gabe, would later characterize as “drunken ragtime”.
* * * * *
CHAPTER 9
Julie had gotten off the elevator on Deck 11 - the Lido Deck - and walked through the deserted pool area. The expanse of empty white deck chairs reflected the eerie glow of the pool’s underwater lights, and the silence of the place hung heavy on the salty air.
She was headed mid-ship toward Horizons, the long buffet-style cafeteria, remembering that the Solaria Spa was beyond it, up a short flight of stairs on Deck 12. When she got there, she found it locked-down and empty, save for a few folks cleaning up after the midnight buffet.
How am I going to get to the spa? The only way is through the restaurant. It won’t do me any good to go back down and walk through the Promenade to the rear elevators. The only one that goes to Deck 12 is the one that goes right to the Top Hat club. I’m sure as hell not walking through there.
She stood back by the pool bar and looked around.
Wait, the jogging path probably goes that far.
Julie retraced her steps and climbed the pool area stairs leading to the Sport Deck on top. It was cloudy with very little moonlight, but she could see that the port side jogging path did, indeed, go back as far as the spa and there was a light slowly sweeping fore and aft.
The non-slip runner’s trail tripled its width as it curved through Solaria’s columned portico and headed back on the starboard side to the front of the ship. Two of the matted chaises Julie had remembered were placed, one each, on either side of the glass doors. The spa behind them looked closed, but Julie tried the doors anyway to confirm it. There was an outside cabinet on the left and she tried that, too. It was unlocked and contained white, waffle-weave cotton blankets.
Julie shook out one of the covers and plopped down on the nearest chaise. She was utterly tired, yet wound-up at the same time. In all of their time together, she and Joe had never had a fight like this, never had a night like this. There had never been any reason to doubt his love for her, but tonight she had come in a distant second after alcohol. What did that mean for the future?
Would the real Joe please step forward?
Fishing in her pocket, Julie pulled out the bottle of tiny pills, swallowed one and settled back. She tugged the blanket up to her neck and tried to stop thinking about Joe and worrying, a complete impossibility. She thought back to when they’d first met, how she’d initially disliked him, had avoided and rebuffed him. Of course, in retrospect she knew why. Because he was everything I wanted in a man, because I knew I could fall for him. Letting Joe into her heart had made her vulnerable. The prospect of losing him now was more than she could bear.
Julie shivered and looked around. Where’s the moon?
The overhang held a soft, recessed light, but it was too weak to fend off the dark, cloudy night. Julie wanted to get up and go back to the cabin, but the hypnotic sleeping pill was doing its job and lethargy was overtaking her body. Soon, she was asleep. It was a fitful slumber pierced with an ominous dream of turtles and a dark, flickering sea…a dream that vanished when she awoke.
***
Adrienne Paradis was also on the Sport Deck, smiling and swaying in the balmy Caribbean air. She stood with one hand on the railing, her eyes half closed in a state of epiphany. Dale. Gill and Cathy. Dr. Sinclair. How could she see so clearly now what she couldn’t see before?
She smiled, opened her eyes and looked over the railing at the dark sea twelve decks below. The Mystral’s lights danced and sparkled across the waves.
Tomorrow I’ll set things straight.
But tomorrow was not to be, for in the next moment Adrienne’s arms were flailing and she was airborne, falling headfirst into the night. As the surface rushed to meet her, synapses in her brain made a fleeting connection to baby turtles…
Moonlight on the water leads them into the sea...
* * * * *
T U E S D A Y
~
CHAPTER 10
Julie had no idea what time it was when she opened her eyes. The sky was lighter in the east off to her left, but the sun wasn’t yet over the horizon. She had a slight headache and wondered if it was from the wine she’d consumed. What was it, four or five glasses? Four: two at dinner and two at the Top Hat. Or maybe it was the sleeping pill.
Probably both. I don’t think I’ll take those pills again. I still feel tired.
The angry words with Joe in the nightclub came back to her. She was sorry about their fight. He didn’t really fight, she reminded herself. He just wanted to keep drinking. I better get back to the cabin. He may be worried about me. Or maybe he’s not. Oh, hell, I’m worried about him.
Julie folded the blanket and put it back in the cabinet and then made her way back to the elevators. Along the way she noted that Horizons had activity and lights on inside, but wasn’t open yet for breakfast. These crew members must get up in the middle of the night to prepare all the food. Exiting the elevator on Deck 10, she passed her cabin steward, Miguel, w
ho seemed to be on call twenty-four hours a day. When does he sleep? She wished him a good morning.
And then she stopped, not wanting to open the door.
What if he isn’t here?
She steeled herself for the possibility and went in.
Joe was there, all right. Fully clothed, sprawled across the bed, along with a few small, empty liquor bottles from the mini-bar. The rest of the single-shot empties were scattered here and there. Julie sank into the armchair.
What am I going to do? This ship is full of duty free liquor and bars. How can he possibly get sober here? Julie sat there looking at Joe, choking back a sob as tears welled in her eyes.
Stop it! This isn’t up to you; it’s up to Joe. You’re not giving him enough credit! Orlando’s full of bars and liquor stores, too. Joe is strong; all he needs is an AA meeting! Oh, God. That’s what he needs. Do they have them on ships?
She picked up “Day Four” of the Mystral Bulletin, the ship’s daily itinerary, wiping her eyes so she could read it. There was nothing in it about AA. But that doesn’t mean they don’t have meetings. Why wouldn’t they? This ship is like a city!
Julie grabbed the phone and called the desk.
“Hi. Look…ah…I have a friend who needs an AA meeting. Do they have them on the ship? Right, Alcoholics Anonymous.” Please, God. “In the Bulletin, under the founder’s name? Okay. That’s great, great. Thank you so much.”
There it was, right on the last page: “Friends of Bill W. meet at 10:00 am and 4:00 pm, Deck 2, Conference Room A”. Now all she had to do was stay close to Joe until ten.
Julie gathered the empty bottles and threw them in the trash. One by one, she took off Joe’s shoes. When he didn’t stir, she worked him out of his jacket, noting that he’d already lost the tie and unbuttoned his shirt. Then she stretched out next to him and put her arm over him.
I love you, Joe.
***
She was awakened by a tone, followed by the ship’s intercom:
“PAGING ADRIENNE PARADIS. PLEASE JOIN YOUR PORT CHARLOTTE AMALIE GROUP, GANGWAY ON DECK FOUR. ADRIENNE PARADIS TO GANGWAY, DECK FOUR”.
Julie realized they were docked in St. Thomas. She hoped it wouldn’t make any difference to the “friends of Bill W.” She got up and quickly washed, brushed her teeth and changed her clothes.
“Joe. Joe,” she said, gently shaking his shoulder. “Wake up. It’s eight o’clock.”
“Hmm? Wha?”
“It’s eight. We have to go somewhere, honey. Why don’t you go get in the shower while I make some coffee? We’ll have it out on the balcony, okay?”
“Okay.” Joe pushed himself up to a sitting position and saw that he was still wearing his clothes. A heartbreaking look of guilt and shame took over his face. “Is everything all right?”
“Yeah.” Julie said gently, “Go take your shower.”
* * * * *
CHAPTER 11
They found Conference Room A and knocked on the door. It was opened right away by a man who was wearing a tan ship’s uniform. He was a big guy with an even bigger smile. Julie suspected that he probably had a big heart, too.
“Hi, can I help you?”
“I’m Joe. I’m a friend of Bill.”
“Just you?”
“Yes. Just me.”
“Welcome, Joe. I’m Tom,” he said, shaking his hand, his other hand resting reassuringly on Joe’s shoulder. “There’s coffee and a continental breakfast over there.”
As Joe walked off, he shook hands with Julie. “Hi.”
“Hi, I’m Julie. Should I come back later?”
“He’s new here and we’ve got a large group. It might be better if I send him back up to you, okay?”
“Sure, I’ll be in our cabin, waiting.”
Tom smiled and closed the door.
Julie walked back down the hall and took the elevator to Horizons on Deck 11. A middle-aged couple got on at Deck 6. The wife said that they were going to the restaurant, too. “Guess we’re the only ones who decided not to go ashore. We’ve been here several times and I always spend too much.” They both laughed. Julie just smiled, lost in her thoughts about Joe. A tone sounded and the intercom came on:
“PAGING ADRIENNE PARADIS, PLEASE REPORT TO THE PURSER’S OFFICE, DECK FOUR. ADRIENNE PARADIS TO THE PURSER’S OFFICE ON DECK FOUR.”
The elevator door slid open at Deck 11. Julie stepped out first and hurried to the restaurant, wanting to get back to the cabin soon for Joe. The wife was next, her husband on her heels. He grumbled, “I wish that woman would go to the purser’s office,” but his wife didn’t hear him.
The long Horizons buffet-brunch was quite literally mouth-watering. The breakfast portion offered blueberry pancakes, Belgian waffles, lox and bagels, pastries, eggs any style, home fries, sausage, ham and bacon. Under live palms at the fresh fruit bar, giant watermelons were carved into tropical scenes. For those ready for lunch, there was roast beef and turkey, or fresh caught grouper, mashed garlic potatoes and a choice of several vegetables. And then there was the salad bar. And the pasta bar. And the dessert bar. And the ice cream bar.
Julie was oblivious to the bountiful display. She grabbed a tray and went through the line, picking a bit of this and a bit of that. At the end, a young waiter snapped her out of her reverie. “Let me take that for you.” Julie followed him to a table just beyond a foursome who were seated next to the floor-to-ceiling windows. It was a lovely harbor view of Port Charlotte Amalie, with its emerald green hills dropping into the azure sea. “Will this be all right?”
“Yes, this is fine,” said Julie absently, automatically taking her seat with her back to the couples at the next table. Because of their loud chatter, it wasn’t long before she wished she’d selected a more secluded table. She picked up her egg and croissant sandwich and tried not to listen…which was impossible.
“They haven’t found her yet?”
“No, not yet. They’re searching every nook and cranny on this ship.”
“Couldn’t she have gone ashore?”
“No, of course not, they’d know that. Remember that first day when we stopped at that beach on Parrot Cay? They didn’t just swipe the identification card. We had to look into the scanner so they could compare the picture and make sure it was us.”
“Do you know the woman?”
“I don’t know her, but I know who she is. She has that big travel agency; you’ve seen her ads in Boston, I’m sure. Paradis Travel?”
Adrienne Paradis? Julie thought.
“I don’t think I know it.”
“Well, I saw them putting up her picture on the Purser’s desk, asking if anyone has seen her and to call if they have. They must think she jumped.”
Jumped? Adrienne?
* * * * *
CHAPTER 12
By eleven-twenty that morning, most of the Mystral’s passengers had gone ashore to tour the island of St. Thomas, so the unusual number of plain-clothes security officers visibly patrolling corridors and knocking on cabin doors was as obvious as a hundred referees in an empty stadium. But the last thing Julie expected was two of them sitting in her stateroom. They both stood up when she looked in the open door.
“Good morning, Ms. O’Hara. Please come in. Sorry to intrude like this.”
The speaker was a trim black man of average height with salt and pepper gray hair. He flipped open an identification wallet. “My name is Clyde Williams and this is Wesley Hall,” he said, pointing to a younger man, an obvious muscular back-up. “We are ship’s security officers. An American citizen, a woman, has been reported missing. We believe you and your travelling companion, Mr. Joseph Garrett, may have knowledge of this woman since you spent some time with her last night.”
“Do you mean Adrienne Paradis? I’ve been hearing the pages.”
“Yes. Could you tell me where Mr. Garrett is?”
“Well…yes. He’s at an AA meeting.”
Williams looked at his watch. “That should be over by now. Was he c
oming back here?”
“Yes. I think he’ll be here soon.”
“Perhaps we could ask you a couple of questions while we wait for Mr. Garrett?”
“Of course, but I don’t really know Adrienne Paradis well. I just met her last night at the Captain’s Table.”
“Yes, we’re aware of that,” he said, looking at a small notebook. “Mrs. Catherine Byrne mentioned that. We are more interested in your whereabouts last night after you left the Top Hat Nightclub.”
“My ‘whereabouts’?”
“Yes. If I may ask, where did you sleep?”
“Oh,” Julie said, realizing there were probably closed-circuit cameras all over the ship. “You have me on video, don’t you?” She didn’t need an answer. “I slept in front of the Solaria Spa on a lounge. My companion and I had a spat.”
“And what was the ‘spat’ about?”
“It wasn’t about Adrienne Paradis, if that’s what you’re thinking. I was upset that Joe had fallen off the wagon. He’s an alcoholic, but he’s been sober for twenty years.”
“And I’m starting on the next twenty years, one day at a time,” Joe said as he walked in and put his arm around Julie. “What’s going on?”
“These men are security officers, Joe. Adrienne Paradis is missing.”
“The travel agent?”
“Yes, Mr. Garrett,” he said, flashing his identification, “I’m Officer Williams and this is Officer Hall.”
Julie immediately saw that they thought Joe had something to do with Adrienne’s disappearance. They had accentuated their authority by not giving Joe their first names. Clyde Williams displayed a subtle change in posture. He moved his body ever so slightly so that, instead of facing Joe, he was talking to him in silhouette. Unaware, he was telegraphing his distrust by giving Joe the clichéd “cold shoulder”. Wesley Hall’s suspicion was obvious; the muscleman crossed his bulky arms and frowned the minute Joe walked in the room.
The contrast in their body language clarified something else: Julie was not a suspect. But why are they focusing on Joe? He hardly knew Adrienne.
