by Murcer, Rick
Sarah stopped moving along the burgundy carpet and searched for her room card in her large handbag, wondering if Hector really would call her. Sarah wanted to see him again. Maybe he was the one. He was definitely brighter than she had first imagined. He was on vacation before he went back to the University of Miami to finish his master’s degree in environmental science. Hector wanted to save the world—well, at least Puerto Rico. It sounded so . . . noble.
The technical stuff that he chatted about had been fairly hard to understand. She had not followed his explanation of biodiversity or habitat restoration, nor had she really cared. Luckily, they hadn’t talked that much. Wooo! Sarah cooled herself with an imaginary fan, feeling like she had spent hours in the warm sun.
She finally located the keycard just as she arrived at room 586.
“Maybe she’s at the pool,” she breathed. Her pulse was racing. If Juanita wasn’t at the pool, maybe she was over to Max’s Grill (the hotel’s excellent restaurant) for brunch. But deep down she knew that Juanita would be inside, waiting like an old Jewish grandmother. Her shoulders slumped as she reconciled that she had it coming.
“Man, this is going to be ugly.” She took a deep breath, fumbled with the keycard, and dropped it on the carpet. “Damn.”
She retrieved the card and scowled at the Do Not Disturb sign dangling limply from the doorknob. She pushed the door and crept into the darkened room. The door caught on the plush throw rug causing it to hang open.
A timely breeze moved the patio door’s blind back and forth, offering the only light source. Her eyes were adjusting to the shadow-infested surroundings when she noticed the smell. She put her hand over her nose to block the sweet, coppery scent. Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed movement. Sarah spun toward the source, held her breath, and waited.
The crimson numbers on the clock radio had changed, and she put her hand on her chest, swearing at the clock. The late night horror flicks might have to go.
Then she saw Juanita. Her unmoving form lay sprawled near the head of the farthest bed.
Moving closer, she found herself wishing Juanita was screaming at her. Her pulse raced faster. Maybe the girl was sick. She took another step, and the smell intensified.
Her ears pounded like a bass drum. She bent with caution, moving closer. Something was wrong, very wrong.
“Juanita? Honey, are you feeling okay? I’m so sorr—” She stopped in her tracks, then quickly tore open the drapes.
She lost all ability to speak or move. Her French-manicured hands clenched and unclenched with unconscious rhythm. The sight of her friend’s ravished body wrenched away Sarah’s grasp on reality. Bloody rivulets meandered down tattered breasts, and Juanita's plundered neck was caked with maroon patches, her once-beautiful face bitten too many times to count. Her eyes were set with an unearthly, eternal stare that seemed to ask why Sarah had let this happen to her, why had she left her alone.
Sarah’s eyes darted to the solitary black rose cradled across her friend’s chest, briefly noting its contradiction to the horrific portrait in front of her. That was the end of Sarah’s sane observations. Her psyche could handle no more, and her screams erupted like lava spewing from a volcano. One after another. She felt madness drape its welcome arms around her and hold on tight.
***************
Carlos Rivera, the newly hired room steward for the fifth floor, exited the suite across the hall, quite pleased with the white-glove cleaning he had administered, when the screams incited his scrotum to tighten like hard rubber. He rushed to the semi-open door of room 586, swung it open, and hurried inside—a move he would regret forever. One glance at the bloody scene framed on the bed sent him stumbling for the door.
“Dios mio! Dios mio! Dios mio!” rattled from Carlos’s tremulous throat.
Running down the hall, he suddenly stopped, and his breakfast wretched from his gut, splattering on the expensive hallway carpet.
Sarah was still screaming, but Carlos was oblivious to any single thing other than getting the manager up to the Room from Hell, pronto. It was a lurid second, and final, day on the job.
CHAPTER-11
The Lansing party arrived at an oblong, slightly tattered building displaying a small, yellow-and-red sign hanging—barely—above the stucco patio.
“HACIENDAS.”
Manny watched uneasy looks bank through the group.
“Uh, well. So this is it, eh?” asked Liz.
“Way to go, Williams. You bring us to a place that’s guaranteed to have us spending the next two days in the john,” whined Sophie.
“This place has a great rep with the locals,” said Manny.
“Who told you that, the owner’s mom?”
“The concierge. And I thought you were a cop? We don’t judge a book by its cover.”
“Maybe you don’t, but this looks like salmonella heaven to me,” said Sophie.
“Oh come on, take a chance. If you get sick, I’ll buy you dinner on the ship.”
“Oh how kind, given that dinner is included in the cruise.”
Manny grinned. “But my heart’s in the right place.”
Just then a round woman with a wide, pleasant smile joined them. “You eat with us today, yes? Best breakfast on whole island. Come. Come,” she encouraged in a thick, homey Latin accent. “I show you it.”
Rosalina (her name according to the tag on her uniform) grabbed Manny’s arm and ushered them in. The aroma was just short of amazing. They quickly put two tables together. Manny and Louise faced the north end of the eatery, which opened to the ocean, windows cranked wide. Green-blue waves rhythmically rushed the rocks, tossing foamy spray to the morning air and creating prismatic rainbows suspended in mid-air. They got up to take a closer look.
“Okay, big boy, now I know why you brought me here. This is awesome and relaxing, and you know how I am when I’m relaxed,” said Louise.
“How is that, honey?’
“Great . . . some cop. I have to explain it to you? Let’s just say you’re going to have a heck of a week,” she finished.
“Well, if it’s going to be anything like the last day and a half, maybe we should move here.”
“I don’t think you could take it.”
“Maybe not, but I can’t think of a better way to go.”
She squeezed his arm, and they went back to the table.
They sat down to eggs, crisp bacon, stacks of pancakes, and steaming coffee. Frothy orange juice and ruby-red strawberries topped off the meal.
Thirty minutes later, Gavin stood up. “Damn, that was good. You all ready to go?” Manny saw the partially hidden eagerness in his eyes. Even cynical old cops like Gavin could get excited about what was coming next.
“You bet your ass, Chief,” cheered Sophie. “Let’s go cruisin’.”
While everyone voiced their approval, Manny reached into his pocket and pulled out the note that had been pushed under his hotel room door, holding it high.
“We’ll go . . . right as soon as one of you smartasses ‘fesses up to sliding this note under our door this morning. I don’t recognize the handwriting, but you are a clever bunch, even with hangovers. So who did it?”
He glanced around the Lansing contingency without detecting a trace of mischief from anyone. Even Sophie looked innocent.
“What note?” gruffed Gavin.
Manny handed it to the chief, who read it out loud: “Bon Voyage, Detective, Bon Voyage. This will be a cruise that you will never forget.”
Gavin looked at Manny with narrowed eyes. “You complaining about someone wishing you a good time?”
“Nope. Just trying to avoid a pay-back-is-a-bitch situation,” informed Manny.
“No one’s going to step to the plate? Sophie?” asked Gavin.
“Not me, I was, ahh, busy.”
There was a group groan and someone mentioned “too much information,” as Sophie’s face turned red, a rarity to be sure.
No one stepped forward and owned up to autho
ring the note, and for a brief, ominous moment, he wondered if anyone in this group had performed the prank.
If not one of them, then who?
He chased the doubt away. Someone from this crowd was guilty, and he would find out. “Okay, you’ve all been warned. It’s on.”
Louise grabbed Manny’s arm, “You’re the crack detective here, so you can figure it out on your own time, but I’m ready to go.”
It was apparent by the stampede for the door that everyone felt the same way. Still, Manny’s sense of uneasiness returned, hanging in there like a summer cold. Something was off the mark, but he would be strung up from the rafters if he said so. He stuffed the note back in his pocket.
Liz and Lynn had picked up the tab without protest from the rest, as the group exited the restaurant. Louise pointed to the massive cruise ship, Ocean Duchess, glimmering in the distance. “These things look more like floating castles than ships.”
“It makes you wonder how they float,” Liz commented.
“Well, it has to do with ballast and the physics of distribution—” began Randy.
“Not now, sweetie,” Sophie interrupted. “You can explain it over dinner some night. But I want to get my butt in that taxi and onto my boat, er, ship. Whatever. I’m ready to go, now.”
“Okay, okay. But I think it’s fascinating stuff,” Randy responded with a hint of dejection.
Thirty minutes later, the Lansing crew had assembled and was roaring to go.
“It feels like Christmas morning,” prattled Sophie. “Let’s get this show on the road.”
Just as Manny and Louise jumped into the last cab with Sophie and Randy, high-pitched police sirens screeched into earshot. The squat taxi driver, singing loudly, closed the van’s wide door and started down the driveway as three black-and-whites, lights flashing, pulled under the verandah of the Condado Wyndham. Three uniformed officers and two in suits ran into the hotel.
“I wonder what that’s about?” asked Randy.
Sophie and Manny exchanged uncomfortable glances. They knew what it was about. Whenever that many suits accompanied the blues, it was serious, probably a homicide. It was about the only reason detectives showed up at a crime scene in the first wave.
“The police radio said there was a woman found dead in her room about ten minutes ago,” said the driver in almost perfect English. “There may have been foul play. That’s what my cousin Enrique said. He is the dispatcher who took the call.”
“How awful,” said Louise.
Manny grasped his wife’s hand as the van-cab bounced over the old, stone bridge and journeyed to the pier and the cruise ship that would be their home-away-from-home for the next seven days. He tried to hide from Louise just how far his cop persona had forced its way in—even as his mind screamed this wasn’t his problem.
Sun. Food. Casino. Exotic islands. Blue ocean. Sandy beaches. Skimpy bikinis. He was on vacation.
Not my problem.
Still, he couldn’t shake the foreboding feeling that placed its familiar hand on his shoulder, causing him to finger the mysterious note in his pocket.
CHAPTER-12
The cab lurched to a halt in front of the brightly painted pier.
“'Demonic speed freak’ must be part of the job qualifications for taxi drivers,” said Louise, clutching her chest.
Manny smiled. “But we got here fast.”
Louise gave him a less-than-approving look.
After the persistent baggage handlers had loaded the group’s luggage and received their tips, the excited cruisers stood in a line, staring in awe-inspired silence at the Ocean Duchess.
According to Randy, she was 1,015-feet long and 122-feet across, weighed 124 tons, and only needed a 29-foot draft to sail. Teal borders ran horizontally the full length of the fourteen-story ship that was less than a year old. She sparkled like a white diamond in the brilliant, noontime sun.
“I’ve not seen one like this,” exclaimed Liz. “This wench is humungous. That means bars and shops and restaurants, oh my! You did good, Gavin.”
Gavin nodded. “Well, I aim to please.” He pointed to the very top of the ship, where the wide smokestack was shaped like a traditional-style kite and painted with curvaceous blue, teal, and white letters: CAROUSEL.
“See where the smoke stack comes up? Right below it, on that deck level, is the nude sunbathing area. That’s where I’ll be, if any of you women are interested,” deadpanned Gavin, sucking in his belly.
Stella’s soda sprayed from her lips. “How did you know that?” she choked.
He thumped her on the back. “I read it in the brochure, honey.”
“Sure you did,” said Manny.
Gavin gave him the family look. “Thanks, Williams.”
“No offense, Chief, but let me tell you where I won’t be sunning myself,” giggled Sophie.
“In my office, first thing next week,” he teased.
“Yes sir,” she saluted. “I’ll keep that in mind, sir.”
Manny grinned at the exchange between his partner and Gavin. Always a show.
Louise, Stella, and Barbara started toward the pier’s gigantic restroom for a quick freshening-up session. “Sophie, you coming?” asked Louise.
“Naw. I don’t need to freshen up. I’m plenty hot already, and I’m too excited to pee anyway.”
Manny couldn’t remember laughing this much in a long time. It was starting out to be the trip he needed it to be.
Out of the corner of his eye, bright, whirling, red lights caught his attention. Manny’s newly formed joy disappeared like chips in a casino. An ambulance was headed toward the hotel.
He was back on edge.
Since he heard no siren splitting the air, he knew there was no emergency—or perhaps the ambulance and crew were on a training run. But his instincts told him this was no training exercise. Somehow he knew the EMS crew was going to pick up a body at the hotel they’d just left. The CSU would need time to process the scene, so it made sense that the body couldn’t be moved until the forensics squad was ready to let it go to the medical examiner’s office. That could take hours, if they did it right. The ambulance crew might be in for a long wait.
The edge grew more intense when he recalled what the cab driver had said.
“There may have been foul play.”
Had the local detectives gone from room-to-room? He would have. His frown deepened, running his hand through his hair. A room-to-room search would be tough because so many people had already left the property. San Juan is a tourist town, so he guessed things like murder in a swank hotel would be held far under the radar.
It could have been a domestic thing? What if—?
“Hey, get rid of that working face, we’re on vacation,” growled Alex. “Your wife will castrate you if she sees that look.”
“I know. Once a cop, always a cop.” Manny confessed.
“For some of us. I saw the officers at the hotel and the ambulance too. But it’s not our problem, your problem, and we’re on vacation. Did I say that already?”
“Yep, you did and you’re right. As of right now, I’m out of work mode.”
Alex gave him the evil eye.
“I promise.”
The CSI slapped him on the back. “That’s more like it, but I don’t believe a damn word that just came out of your mouth.”
“Cross my heart.”
Alex looked at Manny. “Okay. I still think you’re lying.”
The ladies returned just as the gate swung back, allowing the line of passengers to begin the embarkation process.
After getting their Fun and Sun ID cards, the rest of the embarkation process took about an hour, most of it waiting in line for the housecleaning crew to ready the cabins.
Finally, after what seemed an eternity, Manny and Louise entered their 208-square-foot balcony cabin on the sixth deck, cabin 6224. Tossing their carry-on bags to the bed, they did what every first-time cruiser does—rushed out to the balcony to take in the view.
Manny cleared his throat and leaned over the railing.
Louise looked at him, horrified. “You are not going to spit from this balcony, Manfred Robert Williams.”
He pointed to his mouth, indicating he couldn’t answer with a full mouth.
“Manny! Don’t you dare. What if you hit someone?”
He smiled, drew back his head and let it fly, leaning even farther to watch his loogie descend to worlds unknown. “Oh. That was awesome. Always wanted to do that.”
“You are a sick puppy. You know that, right?”
“Maybe, but you love me just the same.”
“It’s my lot in life. Did you hit anyone?”
“Nope. Straight to the water. You should try it.”
“I’m a lady. That’s not going to happen.”
He drew her close. “Yes, you are. And I’m glad.”
“This is going to be amazing.” Louise gave him a warm hug.
She was right, but his mind turned back to what he thought was happening at the hotel and then to the letter burning a hole in his pocket. Alex’s voice slapped him across the face.
We’re on vacation.
He wondered how he was going to slay the dragon.
CHAPTER-13
The killer sat naked on the edge of his bed, the worn newspaper article resting gently in powerful fingers. The faded clipping could have been a trembling bird or a tattered piece of ancient parchment revealing the eleventh commandment. It was inconceivable that hands and fingers such as his could possess an unobtrusive touch. But he thought himself filled with such paradoxes.
The quiet whine of the air conditioning unit was steady and maybe even a little curative. He had closed the pale blinds hiding the balcony’s door to keep the curious light from inspecting his cabin, inspecting him. Instead, a minute corona seeped through the window dressing. Not quite dark, but close enough for one who preferred the company of shadows.
His luggage—a single bag—sat on the small, leather loveseat like a silent sentinel. A bottle of Brut champagne chilled in the polished pail near the vanity table—compliments of his travel agent for booking his second cruise in six months. His first one, a recon cruise. It was amazing what could be accomplished in just one seven-day sprint to the Caribbean.
