by Hanson, Lee
“Well, I guess everyone took their Dramamine tonight,” Julie said, astonished, thinking about the near-hurricane, Beryl, which was buffeting the Mystral, literally rocking the boat.
“It’s a way to handle the fear,” Joe said, “like sex. Which reminds me, how’re you feeling?”
Julie laughed. “Eager. But let’s pack first. I don’t want them knocking on the door.”
When they got off the elevator at Deck 10, there were very few bags in the corridor, which wasn’t surprising, since everyone seemed to be having a hurricane party. They let themselves into 1272. The drapes were closed, the howling wind was muted and, given their own party plan, their bed looked even more inviting than usual. Nevertheless, they pulled out the suitcases and set about packing.
Joe finished the chore faster than a shopper on a blue-light special, stuffing everything pell-mell into his duffel bag. He left out a pair of briefs and shorts, a tee shirt and shaving gear for the morning. By eight o’clock, he was under the covers snoring softly, hugely irritating Julie, who continued to clear hanging clothes out of the closet, empty drawers and fold everything meticulously in her bags.
A pair of black Capri pants hung on a hook behind the bathroom door. Julie remembered that she’d slept in them the night she was outside the Solaria spa and dropped them in her dirty-laundry bag. She tossed her bathing suit and her avocado shorts in the laundry bag, too, depositing it in the hall outside the bathroom.
She turned to the closet door and was about to zip up the large garment bag hanging there that held their evening clothes, when something made her stop. The Capri pants; I’d better check the pockets before I wash them. I think I left the sleeping pills in there.
She rummaged through the bag and pulled out the pants. Sure enough, the pills were in her left pocket. Wait. What’s this? There was a hard item at the bottom of the right-hand pocket. Julie fished it out. It was a distinctive pink and black Cartier pen.
Julie plopped on the couch, turning it under the lamplight: Adrienne Paradis.
Adrienne Paradis! How did Adrienne’s pen come to be in her pocket? Julie was stumped; it was impossible! She’d hardly spoken to Adrienne that night. Certainly, she had never borrowed her pen. Suddenly, she remembered Alice Kent at the Captain’s Table:
“Oh, Ms. O’Hara, I’m such a fan! I saw you on The View. Phil and I loved your seminar and we bought Clues, but we forgot to get you to sign it. I hope you don’t mind; I brought it with me.”
“Did you bring a pen?”
“Oh, yes,” she said, waving the pen.
It happened all the time. Fans would present her with a copy of Clues and a pen to sign it. Julie recalled her pool-side conversation with Cathy Byrne:
“I understand Adrienne came back to the club?”
“Yes, she brought your book. She wanted you to sign it.”
The Top Hat club was on Deck 12.
She was sleeping in front of the spa on Deck 12.
Julie sat back in shock.
I autographed Adrienne’s book! She saw me there and brought it over to me. She gave me the pen to sign it, and walked off without it. Nothing else makes sense.
Julie forgot her packing and hurried over to Joe. She shook his shoulder.
“Joe, wake up. Wake up, honey.”
“What? What is it?”
“I had Adrienne Paradis’ engraved pen in my pants pocket.”
Joe shook his head, trying to wake up, to understand what she was saying.
Julie gave him the pen. “This was in the pocket of the Capri pants I changed into the night Adrienne went missing! I was sleeping in front of the Solaria spa on Deck 12. Adrienne had to have given me this that night, right before she was thrown overboard.”
Joe got up, pulled on his briefs and stood silent, examining the pen.
“Do you remember her having a copy of my book?”
“Yes,” he said, blinking. “She almost left it; she turned back and got it.”
“I bet she saw me out there and brought the book to me. I must have signed it in my sleep. I don’t remember it, but it’s the only way I could have gotten her pen.
“Joe, I can’t think of anything I do more automatically! I’ve signed hundreds of copies and I always date it and scribble the same thing: “For Jane Doe, Best wishes, Julie O’Hara.”
All at once, a scene played in her mind: Adrienne taken by surprise, airborne with her arms flailing…falling from a great height…headfirst into a dark, flickering sea.
The image was so frightening and real that Julie dropped to the couch and wrapped her arms around herself, shuddering.
It came to her at that moment.
Adrienne wouldn’t hold on to a book. She would have dropped it immediately as soon as someone grabbed her.
“Adrienne went over, Joe. Not the book. She dropped it.”
“So where is it?”
Julie looked up at him.
“Her killer has it.”
* * * * *
CHAPTER 46
How do you pack a dead woman’s clothes? Dale gave up trying to fold Adrienne’s things and just concentrated on filling her suitcases. He made sure that everything of hers was stuffed in her luggage, and then he put it all outside in the corridor. It would help not to be reminded of Adrienne’s death.
If I could just get one good night’s sleep without thinking about her…
The last few days had been hell. No one was treating him with compassion, as they should. Instead, there was an unspoken accusation behind every condolence. He couldn’t wait to get off the ship, and yet he dreaded having to face Adrienne’s sister, Marie, and their parents. They knew the state of his and Adrienne’s marriage; they would be the worst to deal with.
Dale had come to the conclusion that he simply had to get on with his life, in spite of the cloud of suspicion that would probably dog him forever.
He heard someone rapping on his door.
Shit. Who the hell is that?
* * * * *
CHAPTER 47
Three bags were set out in the corridor beside Dale Simpson’s door. Julie whispered, “he must be here,” while Joe knocked. A moment later, they heard him on the other side.
“Yeah? Who is it?”
“It’s Joe Garrett, Dale.”
Locks released. “Oh, hi. C’mon in,” Dale said with a look of mild surprise. He looked better than he had of late, dressed decently in khaki pants, a shirt and a crewneck sweater.
Julie followed Joe in, a copy of her book, Clues, in hand. She saw the change in Dale right away. Good, he hasn’t been drinking. “Hi, Dale…how’re you doing?”
“I’m okay, Julie…thanks.”
Joe couldn’t help himself. There was just something likeable about Dale Simpson, and Joe was glad to see the guy cleaned up and sober. He put his hand on Dale’s shoulder and smiled. “You’re looking better, buddy.”
“Thanks, Joe. Have a seat. Can I get you two something? I’ve sworn off the hard stuff, myself. Been overdoing it the last few days.”
“No, thanks,” Joe said. “Julie found something of Adrienne’s she wanted to give you.”
“Oh?”
“Yes,” Julie said, handing him Adrienne’s pen. “She gave me this to sign her copy of my book, see?” Julie opened the inside cover on a new copy where she’d just written:
June 18, 2012
For Adrienne Paradis
Best wishes,
Julie O’Hara
“I thought you’d want to have them,” she said, handing him the book, all the while studying him carefully.
Dale appeared to be genuinely puzzled. He looked from Julie to the book, making no attempt to avert his gaze as one does when uncomfortable or guilty. He held the book and the pen in his left hand. His right hand was at his chin, positioned in the classic pose of Rodin’s “Thinker”, with his index finger along his cheek and the other fingers curled under his mouth. His eyebrows were drawn together and he held the side of his lower lip between
his teeth. Everything about him displayed his confusion.
“That’s funny; she left these at the seminar?” He scratched his head. “I could have sworn she showed me your book right before we went to dinner. In fact, I know she did!” Dale stared at Julie now, his brow furrowed. “I sat right here and looked through it! How did you get these?”
Joe looked at Julie as if to say, “I told you it wasn’t him.”
“You’re right, Dale,” Julie said. “That’s not her book. That’s another copy, and I just autographed it ten minutes ago.”
“I don’t understand. This is her pen.”
“I know. I’m sorry, but I had to test you with the book.” She took it back from him and set it on the coffee table. “Come. Sit down. We’ve got some important information for you. I want to tell you how I came to have Adrienne’s pen, and why my book is significant in all this.”
Joe and Dale joined her around the coffee table.
“Monday, the eighteenth, the night of the Captain’s Table dinner, Joe and I had a serious argument. Yes, some of it was sparked by Adrienne’s behavior toward Joe, but mostly it was about Joe’s drinking.”
Joe cut in. “I go to AA, Dale. Didn’t have a drink in years. Not until I got on this ship. Julie never saw me drunk before.”
Julie nodded. “I over-reacted when Joe didn’t want to leave the Top Hat. I went back to our stateroom alone, but I was so upset I didn’t want to be there when he returned. I tried to get another cabin, but nothing was available, so I changed into a pair of black Capri pants and went up to Deck 12, to the Solaria spa. I stretched out on a chaise up there and I took a sleeping pill…an Ambien.”
“Ambien? That was risky,” Dale said. “You could have got up and wandered around. I’ve heard of people doing that, even driving with no memory of it after taking those pills.”
“Exactly. I’m glad you’re familiar with that, because that’s how I got Adrienne’s pen. I just found it tonight in the pocket of the pants I was wearing. I’m convinced that we met up there, even though I have no memory of it. Here’s what I think happened:
“First of all, you need to know that Adrienne left the Top Hat club and came back here to get her copy of Clues. According to Cathy Byrne, she wanted me to sign it. I think she knew I was mad at her for dancing and flirting with Joe. But, for whatever reason, she brought it back to the Top Hat. By that time, I was gone and so were you.”
“Yes. I was mad at her, too. I went to the Casino.”
“When the bartender was closing up, Adrienne told Joe she wanted to go for a walk on the deck,” Julie said.
Joe nodded. “I wasn’t interested in that; I wanted to find another bar.”
“Anyway, Joe headed for the Promenade, and Adrienne went outside on Deck 12. When she got as far as the jogging trail, she must have seen me sleeping on the chaise in front of the spa; there was a recessed light directly over my head there. Although I don’t remember it, I’m certain Adrienne brought the book over to me and gave me that pen to sign it with.”
Dale was still confused. “I don’t quite understand…”
“Dale, I’m sorry to say it, but I think Adrienne was stalked and attacked right after that. My point is that no one being thrown off a ship is going to hang on to a book. I think her copy fell on the deck.”
“But they didn’t mention finding any book. They don’t even know where she went over.”
“That’s just it; I think the killer picked it up! Not only that, I bet he still has it. There was no time to decide whether to throw it overboard or not because of the spotlight camera panning fore and aft. Under pressure to do something or not do it, most people pick the safest choice…they do nothing. The killer had to duck to get out of sight, to make sure he didn’t get caught on video. I think he grabbed the book and ran.”
“For God’s sake! Do you know who he is?”
“We think it was Gabe Rossi, the bartender who closed up the Top Hat that night. We just found out today that he has a history of rape and fooling around with female passengers. As an employee, he would have known about the cameras and where to hide to avoid them. We couldn’t figure out any way to connect him to Adrienne, but if he’s got her book…”
Dale jumped up and headed for the door. “That bastard’s probably up there now!”
Joe grabbed him. “Wait, Dale! Rossi is working the Top Hat tonight; we called to check. But we need to search his room and we’ve got no way to do it. We have to get Security involved here.”
“Security? That’s a laugh! It’s a closed case, as far as they’re concerned.”
Julie put a calming hand on his arm. “I know. You’re right. Clyde Williams isn’t going to listen to us, particularly at this late hour. But I’ve got a plan.” Julie pulled the Hotel Manager’s card from her pocket. “Bob Sanchez knows about the problems with Rossi. In fact, Rossi doesn’t know it, but he’s getting fired tomorrow. I’m going to see if I can get Sanchez to convince Security to search his quarters tonight.”
Dale spoke with controlled fury. “Call him. Now.”
* * * * *
CHAPTER 48
It was Friday, the last night of the cruise, and Gabe Rossi was having a very good night. Thanks to the crowd in the Top Hat club, his tip envelopes were piling up nicely. He was working the service bar, bantering with the waitresses as they queued up to get their drink orders. One of them, who wouldn’t have been old enough to serve drinks in the US, had caught his eye. She was Gabe’s type: tiny, dark-haired and playful. He felt himself getting hard. I know what to do with a smart mouth like yours. He smiled at her, flashing his beautiful white teeth and winked.
Behind the young girl, the heavy tempered-glass doors to the top-most deck were a barrier, separating all the music and gaiety inside the club from the wild wind and rain outside. If not for tropical storm Beryl, the service bar would be supplying drinks for passengers sitting at tables out there. Many of them would be relaxing by the railing, watching the Mystral’s wake in the moonlight. As it was, flashes of lightening lit a bare expanse, a sheet of water rushing one way across the empty deck and then the other.
Gabe liked stormy weather. It was exciting and everyone partied like hell.
He’d have liked to see some of them go to hell, mostly men. Especially the rich ones like Gill Byrne. Women swooned around Byrne; he could have any one of them, anytime. There’s nothing special about him, Gabe thought. It’s all about his money. Bitches suck up to money and power. Like Adrienne Paradis, for example. Why else was she fucking an old married man like Byrne?
Gabe flexed the muscles in his broad shoulders, his biceps stretching the short white sleeves of his shirt. He unconsciously tightened his abs. I could have shown Adrienne what a real power fuck was.
Gabe had been setting up Adrienne Paradis for the last two cruises, reeling her in like a fish on a line. She was seeking him out, always showing up at whatever bar he was working, usually with the ballplayer in tow and the Byrnes. She didn’t seem to care about her husband. She got off on making Gill Byrne jealous, knowing he couldn’t do anything about it.
Gabe played the game because he got a kick out of that, too. But that last night should have been perfect. The Top Hat wasn’t busy and he was closing up alone. Adrienne’s eyelids were at half-mast; he could tell the drug was taking effect:
“Where are you going? I thought you were going to stay and have a drink with me.”
“I need to go get a book. I’ll be right back. Don’t worry; I’ll hang around.”
Except Joe Garrett hung around, too, and fucked everything up.
It replayed in his head like a bad song that wouldn’t die…
***
Monday nights usually sucked, but not as bad as this one. Gabe was all done cleaning up and he was getting madder and madder watching Adrienne hold hands with that drunken bum, Garrett. He went to the dimmer, turned the lights up full and tried to keep the anger out of his voice.
“That’s it, folks…closing up no
w!”
Joe Garrett stood and pulled Adrienne up, too.
“C’mon, let’s go find somewhere else to talk.”
No, no! Gabe thought, as Garrett led her toward the etched glass double-doors, which stood open to the hall and the elevators.
Adrienne stopped and Gabe was relieved. “Wait a minute, Joe.”
She returned to the table and Gabe smiled at her. Atta girl, he thought.
“I forgot my book,” she said, waving it. “Good night, Gabe.”
Good night? You bitch, Gabe thought. You BITCH!
He switched off the lights and hurried across the club to lock the doors behind them. If he could have slammed them, he would have, but they closed slowly on their own. Garrett and Adrienne stood there in the hall at the elevators, oblivious, their backs to him. Gabe was furious; he stood there in the dark, his blood boiling, watching them through the etched glass.
“Shit, it’s not working,” said Garrett. “C’mon. Let’s go down to the pub.”
They took a few steps over to the stairs and Adrienne threw her arms around him and said, “Darling, I want to go for a walk outside. Come with me.”
That BITCH!
“Nah. You go. I’m going downstairs.”
Then she fucking kissed him goodnight…and Gabe decided to kill her.
Adrienne went out the starboard-side door at the end of the hall. A minute or two later, Gabe saw her come around and walk past the glass doors at the rear of the club. He ran to the doors and let himself out onto the deck hoping to trap her there, but she had already turned right and was walking up the port-side of the ship.
He walked fast, looking up, aware of the spotlight camera that hung from the bridge and panned fore and aft. Damn, it’s turning back this way!
Suddenly, up ahead, Adrienne staggered off to the right. Good, he thought. She’s out of camera range. I’ll fuck the bitch first and then kill her! He cut in and saw her and then stopped cold, ducking into a dark corner.
He was beyond furious now. Who the hell is THAT?
While the spotlight panned the railing from the front of the ship to the back, an odd tableau played out in the shadows by the Solaria spa. Gabe watched as Adrienne shook and awakened Julie O’Hara, the body language expert. O’Hara scribbled something in Adrienne’s book and immediately turned over and appeared to go back to sleep.
