by Hanson, Lee
“Like you just said, Joe, this isn’t Gill’s kind of vacation. He’s taken all these cruises to placate Cathy. But how does an adventurer like him tolerate it? Well, he can gamble, for one thing. We know he does that. What other risks might he take? What else could he do to make a boring cruise more interesting?”
“He might screw around with his wife’s friend, the travel agent.”
“Bingo. That night at the Top Hat club, Adrienne was all over you; the two of you were dancing like it was a marathon. Dale and Cathy were talking about the meal we had and how great it was, but Gill wasn’t saying a word. He was drinking scotch, one after another, and scowling. At the time, I thought it was the liquor.”
“You think he was jealous?”
“Why not? You don’t have to love somebody to be jealous. You only have to be possessive and immature. The fact that Gill is just as charming as ever doesn’t negate the possibility that he might have given Adrienne a shove. Think about it: He’s a handsome, wealthy thrill-seeker who goes through women like Kleenex. Guys like that lack empathy, and they don’t take responsibility for their actions. And there’s something else, Joe. I asked Cathy if Security had questioned her and Gill about where they were after the Top Hat. She intimated that they were in their suite all that night, but they ‘had a small problem’ because Gill had ‘gone out for a walk’.”
“You’re saying that Gill is like a little boy smashing a toy so some other kid can’t play with it? That’s a leap for me, Merlin.”
“Some little boys grow up like that, is all I’m saying. So what about Dale Simpson?”
“Dale’s a bigger possibility, in my opinion,” Joe said. He leaned back, his left elbow on the armrest. “There’s a reason why cops usually zero in on the husband. Dale’s got less of an alibi for the time Adrienne went overboard than I have, and he’s got ten times as much motive.”
“Correction,” she said. “You don’t have any motive.”
“No. Security just thinks I’m covering up an accident. But you know what’s interesting? Dale doesn’t suspect me of a thing, even though I got drunk with his wife and was the last person seen with her. That’s a little strange, don’t you think? I can tell you right now, if our situations were reversed and you were missing, Dale would be answering some tough questions or bleeding all over the floor.
“Looks to me like he knows I wasn’t there when she went over the side. You know why he wanted to get together? Because I’m a private investigator. He can’t prove he was in his cabin when she went missing. He wanted me to help him figure out how to cover his ass.”
“They didn’t look like a happy couple to me,” Julie said. “Adrienne ignored him, never mentioned his baseball career; she didn’t even use his last name when she introduced him.”
“They used to be happy, according to Dale. It sounded like a whirlwind romance in the beginning, although he didn’t give up the throne to marry Adrienne. Apparently, the Rays were about to let him go. Adrienne’s parents in France weren’t too happy about the marriage; they made sure he signed a pre-nuptial agreement. My guess is Dale would have gotten zip in a divorce, and then what would he do? He dropped out of college to play ball, and he wasn’t that good at it. There’s an insurance policy, too. I don’t know the size of it, but he’s the beneficiary.
“Look, here’s a guy that was used as arm-candy, married to a woman who kept him on a leash to entertain her clients, a woman who probably cheated on him and never wanted to have kids. I’d say Dale’s got plenty of motives.”
“No wonder he’s scared,” Julie said. “If he did it, it couldn’t have been premeditated, Joe. Surely, he would have seen what an obvious suspect he’d be? Maybe it was an accident.”
“It doesn’t matter. No body, no witnesses. Who can prove anything?”
***
As per Captain Collier’s announcement the night before, all the ship’s entertainment went on as scheduled, so after dinner they were able to catch the second show in the two-story Caribe Theatre. It was a terrific show with lavish costumes and sets, a performance that brought the audience to their feet. For Julie and Joe, it put all their cares on hold, as they laughed and clapped and got back into vacation mode.
They left just before the finale in order to beat the crowd to one of the elevators. The doors slid open on Deck 10 not far from their stateroom and they walked along talking happily, still in awe of one young woman whose soaring voice had wowed everyone.
Joe opened the door to 1272, but allowed Julie to enter first.
“Your cabin awaits, mademoiselle. It ain’t Paris, but it ain’t bad.”
Miguel had set the stage for romance. The lights were low and smooth jazz played softly. The glass doors to the balcony were closed, but the drapes were drawn back framing the full moon, its silver path sparkling across the waves. Clean white, ironed sheets were turned back on the queen-size bed, the pillows plumped just so, a chocolate on each.
The ocean view beckoned and Joe slid the doors open to let in the sound of the sea and the warm, fresh salt air. They kissed and undressed each other slowly. When they were naked, Julie headed for the bed. “No, come with me,” Joe said. He grabbed the extra blanket and led her out on the balcony. Pushing the deck chairs aside, he spread the blanket on the floor.
“Lay there, Julie.”
She stretched out on the blanket, the moon and stars overhead.
“Is this like the ‘mile high club’ on planes?” she asked.
“Way better…”
* * * * *
CHAPTER 22
Bob Sanchez, the Ship’s Hotel Manager, was conferring sotto voce with Lana Medeiros, his trusted Head of Housekeeping, who also personally took care of the Captain’s quarters. They were both tired after the rigors of the day, but felt that there were important things to discuss before they went to their respective cabins and turned in for the night.
In light of the recent Man-Overboard investigation, the issue at hand was whether or not they should reveal certain things…and if so, how much …and to whom?
For example, Captain Collier knew nothing about Ms. Paradis-Simpson’s impropriety. As much as the two of them wanted to tell the Captain about it, they had both accepted “a little thank-you gift” from Mr. Byrne for their discretion, something that he would, no doubt, bring up, thus jeopardizing their jobs. Besides, the mere fact of a dalliance meant nothing, really, and it would certainly embarrass Mr. and Mrs. Byrne.
And then there was the issue of Dr. Sinclair, whom Lana had seen leaving the Captain’s quarters in the early hours of the morning when the Paradis woman went missing. Not that that was unusual; Dr. Sinclair always left before dawn. But giving Security that bit of information would surely cost them their jobs. Plus, they really liked Captain Collier and had no desire to embarrass him, either.
It was a sticky wicket, but as crew members, they were used to keeping secrets, especially in their positions.
Mrs. Medeiros, who answered to Mr. Sanchez, was ultimately accountable for the care and cleaning of over eighteen-hundred cabins and suites. Heaven knows how many clandestine afternoon meetings and nighttime cabin switching she’d seen over the years!
And as for Mr. Sanchez? Most people couldn’t possibly imagine the load he carried on his shoulders. Take weekly provisions for the restaurants, just one of his many responsibilities. Who could imagine negotiating for 65,000 pounds of fresh vegetables or 35,000 pounds of fresh fruit? Or 20,000 pounds of beef? Or 4,000 pounds of seafood?
Bob Sanchez did not want to get involved in this woman’s disappearance. After all, she wasn’t here complaining about an issue he could do something about, like a robbery…the woman was gone. Of course her disappearance was troubling, but it was an extra problem he didn’t need. He came to a conclusion.
Adrienne Paradis-Simpson wasn’t one of us, she was a passenger. I’m going to let Security handle it. They’ll figure it out, or hand it off to US law enforcement and the Coast Guard.
“You
know, Mrs. Medeiros, it’s none of our business.”
“Oh, I agree, Mr. Sanchez,” Lana said with relief.
They said goodnight and went to their rooms.
* * * * *
CHAPTER 23
Michelle arrived at Andrew’s cabin at ten sharp that evening. He opened the door looking so tall and handsome that he made her heart sing. As usual, he quickly looked up and down the corridor. “Did you see Lana?” he asked.
“No, Andrew, but she knows. You can’t keep a secret on a ship. Don’t worry. The crew is happy for you.”
“I suppose you’re right.” He took her in his arms and they kissed. “You smell so good. I missed you last night. Come, we need to talk.” He took her hand and led her to the couch and they sat down. “I wanted to wait, to surprise you, but now I think I’ve got to delay my plan until all this mess is over. I’m going to ask HCL for permission to marry, Michelle.”
“What?”
“If we were married, we could live together and work here on the Mystral.”
“But how?” she asked, surprised. “They don’t allow that unless you’re in equal positions, Andrew. I thought they discouraged it even then.”
“That’s true, but they can do anything they want; it’s not like they’re bound by law. It depends on how much they value our service. Besides, you’re independent.”
Andrew was referring to her special status as an Independent Contractor, which allowed the cruise industry to escape any liability for its medical care. Other aspects of Michelle’s unique situation as the Principal Medical Officer hung in the air, unspoken…
HCL’s primary concern for medical care was cost. Personnel with dubious training often came from third world countries. US doctors with zero experience who would work for low pay were prized, with many being hired on the cheap before the ink on their license was dry. And if an experienced American doctor like Michelle Sinclair could be hired for the same price… well, HCL was only too happy to award three stripes and ask no questions.
“There’s going to be an investigation, Michelle. It’s already begun.”
“Shh, don’t worry, my love,” she said, standing and soothing him. “Everything will be fine.” She took his strong, bearded face in her hands and kissed him. He looked up at her and then put his arms around her, burying his face in her waist. She held him for a while like that, and then pushed him away gently.
“Come to bed, Andrew.”
Michelle walked to the bed and began to unbutton her blouse and unzip her skirt. She removed them and laid them over the back of a nearby chair. She looked over at him, but he didn’t move, obviously preferring to watch. She stepped out of her panties and placed them on the chair. Then she unhooked her bra and took it off, baring firm breasts with dark brown nipples. She draped the lacy bit of lingerie over the neat, white pile of her clothes… and then she stood there facing him, waiting.
He rose and came to her. “You are so incredibly beautiful.”
They kissed deeply as she unbuttoned his shirt, slipping it over his shoulders and off. Andrew quickly stepped out of the rest of his clothes and shoes and they stood, skin sliding against skin, their bodies pulsing inside and out. He dropped to his knees in front of her, parting her and not stopping until she cried out. Then he lifted her onto the bed and they rocked as one, climbing the peak of their desire until they fell back, spent, on the other side.
He tried to speak afterwards, but she quieted him, knowing what he wanted to talk about, and knowing that it would steal their peace. Facing him, she held his hand until he drifted off to sleep. When his breathing was deep and easy, she rolled onto her back, careful not to disturb him.
As was her pattern, Michelle fought to stay awake, but eventually she succumbed to sleep herself. That was how she thought of it. Her body succumbed to the deep desire for rest, while her mind succumbed to overwhelming sadness and terror.
***
It always began the same way. The little girl said “Mama?” and the big woman said, “Cecile.” The little girl didn’t understand. The other women who came to the school to pick up the other children were all called “Mama”. One day, when they were at home, the big woman slapped the little girl in the face. “Never call me that again. You are to call me ‘Cecile’. And so, she never called her that again.
Still, even if she didn’t like that name, that’s what Cecile was, wasn’t she? The little girl noticed that the Mamas liked it when their children drew pictures. They picked up the children and hugged them. Sometimes they just picked them up and hugged them for no reason, but she knew Cecile would need a good reason. So, the little girl drew very detailed pictures and colored them very carefully so she wouldn’t go outside the lines. She showed them to Cecile hoping for a hug, but Cecile just said they were “very good”.
They lived in a big, old house. There was a maid who came every day to polish things. She polished glasses and silverware, especially a fancy silver set on a silver tray. The little girl thought it was the nicest thing in the house; she could see her face in the big pitcher, just like a mirror. And there was another small pitcher, a teapot and a sugar bowl. The little girl wanted to play with them, to make believe she was serving tea, but she would never dare ask Cecile about that.
The other thing the maid polished was wood. No one ever sat at the giant table in the dining room that had so many chairs, but the maid polished it all the same. The living room furniture had cushions that smelled musty and made the little girl wrinkle her nose, so she didn’t go in there, but the maid did. The couch and chairs had heavy, dark wood legs and knobs, and the maid polished those, too.
It seemed to the little girl that the whole house was dark: the floors and the paneled walls, the staircase and railings. She liked it better on the second floor where the bedrooms were. The floors weren’t as dark there and the plaster walls were painted white.
But she didn’t like the third floor…NO, NO…not the third floor!
She didn’t mean to go there. Cecile told her not to go there and she wouldn’t have. She only knew about the wide front staircase that came straight down into the front hall. She went up and down those stairs all the time, but only to the second floor. She saw them turn back and go higher, but Cecile said “never go up there”.
The little girl would never disobey Cecile.
But these were different stairs.
The little girl found them by accident when she opened a door in the storeroom next to the kitchen. They went right up, turning round and round. She thought they would go to the second floor; maybe they were secret stairs to her bedroom! But when she opened the door at the top, she was in a room she never saw before and Cecile was there, sitting at a desk.
“What are you doing here?!”she yelled. She grabbed the little girl’s arm and dragged her around the dusty, book-lined room. “This is Row Bear’s room! How do you like it?” She shook the little girl and said, “Row Bear is dead, but maybe you should stay here tonight. Let him come and get you!”
Cecile released the little girl and pulled a skeleton key from the pocket of her dress. She locked the door to the back stairs, unplugged the single green-shaded lamp and, taking it with her, stormed out of the room through the other door.
The little girl heard the key turn in the lock on the other side of the door. She ran to it and grabbed the door knob, turning and yanking and pulling at it. She looked around fearfully; it was starting to get dark! She ran to the single, dormered window, but it was locked and painted shut.
Oh, what was she going to do? A dead bear was coming! Row Bear was coming!
***
“Michelle, you’re okay,” Andrew said softly, stroking her arm. “Wake up, sweetheart, it’s a dream. You’re here with me.”
Michelle was breathing hard and there were tears in her eyes. “It was the bear; the dead bear was coming for me.”
“It was just a dream. Here, I’ll hold you.”
She backed up to him. He put his arm over her and she
held on to it. Safe in his embrace, Michelle thought about the nightmare, still frightening and vivid in her mind. Cecile had been talking about her deceased husband Robert Sinclair, who had turned the third floor of the old house into a small library. With her heavy French accent, “Robert” had sounded like “Row Bear”.
“What time is it?” Michelle asked.
“It’s midnight. Go to sleep, my love.”
* * * * *
T H U R S D A Y
~
CHAPTER 24
Julie was outside perusing “The Mystral Bulletin - Day Six”, which Miguel slipped under their door every morning before dawn. She had just lowered the itinerary and reached for her coffee when Joe stepped out onto the balcony, razor in hand, half his chin covered with shaving cream.
“I wasn’t there when she went overboard, Julie.”
“What? Adrienne? Of course, you weren’t.”
“No. I mean I know I wasn’t. I remember! We were standing at the elevator and I couldn’t get it to work. I was probably pushing the wrong damn button. I decided to take the stairs down, but Adrienne didn’t come with me. There was a door to the deck right there. She said she was ‘going for a walk’ or something. I didn’t care; I was looking for another bar! I went down to Deck 5, to the Promenade, but everything was closed. I remember seeing all those stores with their roll-up cages pulled down. Then I thought of our mini-bar and I came back here.”
“I thought that’s what you did,” Julie said. “I threw out a lot of little bottles. There was cognac, scotch, vodka, Canadian Club and I don’t know what else. The only thing you left was a couple of beers in the refrigerator. You had to be here awhile to drink all of that.”
“You don’t know what a relief it is to remember, Merlin. Clyde Williams had me worried with that ‘accident’ scenario.”
“Well, I never doubted you for a moment. Speaking of Clyde Williams, you should tell him, Joe. By the way, we’ve got the day free; my interview with Conde Nast Traveler’s been cancelled. It was in the Bulletin. Wonder when they were planning to tell me they had the art auction there, instead? ”
