Lethal Cruise: A Humorous Cruise Ship Cozy Mystery (Cruise Ship Cozy Mysteries Book 9)

by A. R. Winters

  “Brenda’s partner is named Darren, I think. They were bickering on the way in. And then Tessa told me this morning that her husband’s name is Tony.”

  “You might struggle to fit in your main job around meeting all those people,” said Ethan with a chuckle.

  “Oh, I’ll manage. In fact, it gives me the perfect cover to interview people more if I pretend I’m just interested in their pictures for social media.”

  “That it does.” Ethan looked down at his uniform. “I can’t exactly get away with that.”

  I checked the time on my phone.

  “I’ve got to go before the lunch rush. Greg should have Keith lined up for me.”

  We said our goodbyes, and then I was off. I tried to count how many people I needed to speak to but gave up after three failed attempts.

  I certainly had a lot on my plate this cruise.

  Kind of like at breakfast, I thought to myself with a smile.

  Speaking of which, I needed to email the Guinness people as well.

  It was all go, go, go.

  Chapter Twelve

  I met Greg Washington just outside the International Buffet. Although he was dressed in his chef’s whites, I could see just a hint of a bright purple undershirt peeking out. When he wasn’t working, he was flamboyant in both his dress and his manner.

  “Keith’s in the back. What is it that you want to talk to him about again?”

  I hadn’t told Greg about my whole history with the kidnapping. Only Ethan, Sam and Cece knew about that. Instead, I’d just mentioned to him that I was doing some staff interviews for a blog post, and Keith’s name had come up. Since I hate to lie, especially to friends, I was also giving myself some extra work to do in the process.

  “What exactly is his job title again? I’m getting all my interviewees mixed up…”

  “Oh, you are a ditz, Addy!” Greg held his arms up to the heavens as if in despair. “He does logistics and menu management for all the ship’s restaurants.”

  “Menu management? Don’t the chefs get to decide what’s on the menus?”

  Greg sighed deeply and dramatically at the depth of my ignorance.

  “Yes, of course they do, but he needs to facilitate communication between the different restaurants. We don’t want three different restaurants having the same special on the same day, do we? And what if the chef in the steakhouse wants to start offering a famous mac and cheese when Slice of New York already has a dish with the same name on their menu? Hmm? The ship would sink, Addy. That’s what would happen.”

  He did have a tendency to be overdramatic.

  “Sink, huh?”

  “Oh, yes. The passengers would riot. Everything would go up in flames. Not to mention the chefs going on murder sprees. Speaking of which, I heard—”

  “Shh!” I nodded my head around at all the customers milling about. “What you heard is probably right, but please don’t mention it to anyone yet. At the moment, it’s just a technical issue at the pool deck. Okay?”

  “Fine.” Greg crossed his arms in annoyance. “Come on. Follow me.”

  Greg led me through the International Buffet back into the kitchens. I’d been through them many times before, both to talk to Greg and other chefs, and in pursuit of someone I thought was a criminal. It turned out that particular quarry had not been a criminal after all.

  The kitchen was spotless, from its gleaming tile floors to shiny stainless-steel work surfaces and neat rows of cooking pots and pans on more stainless shelves. Even the gas ranges barely looked stained.

  Near one of the back corners was the dinky office that was Greg’s personal bit of territory on the ship. It was filled with beaten-up old furniture, and the room had a much shabbier look to it than any other part of the ship that I had seen.

  Inside the office, there was a man sitting down who immediately hopped to his feet and turned to greet us. He was a little shorter than me and had pale skin and bright red scraggly curls.

  “Y’alright?” he said with a slight Scottish brogue to his voice. “You’re here to interview me, aye?”

  “That’s right,” I said.

  “I’ll leave you two to it.” Greg disappeared into the kitchen, and within seconds we could hear him screeching in the distance at some poor commis chef in mock outrage.

  After introducing ourselves, I began to try and build a bit of a profile of Keith.

  “So, tell me where you’re from.”

  “I’m from Musselburgh, that’s just outside Edinburgh, but I moved to the States when I were wee—twelve years old.”

  “Fascinating! And where did you move to? The Southwest?”

  I was hoping he would say Arizona and then confess to being my tormentor. That would strike one giant thing off my to-do list and give me one less thing to worry about. Of course, he didn’t.

  “Oh, no. Massachusetts. My old man was a crabman.”

  Every sentence he said was laced with a light Scottish accent, and a little of the vocabulary and grammar. It was quite charming.

  “How fascinating! That must have been an adventure. Was it tough moving here?”

  “Not really. It was tougher for my mother. She couldnae find an electric kettle or proper tea for weeks.”

  We both laughed at that. But I needed to get back on track. So far, he didn’t seem to have any connection to the Southwest where I was kidnapped, but perhaps his job could be connected to at least one of the incidents that had happened aboard the ship: the diner.

  “Could you tell me a little about your role on the ship? What do you do on a day-to-day basis?”

  Keith enthusiastically began to tell me about how he had to manage various chef’s egos, as well as handling the logistics of managing food stocks for week-long cruises. I would include some of it when I wrote the eventual blog post, but it wasn’t the information I was really there for. When he was done explaining all of that, I tried to press my area of interest.

  “I have another question. A few cruises back, we did a murder mystery cruise. And one of our conference rooms was decorated as a diner, and the catering department served up some great Cincinnati chili. Do you remember that?”

  “Oh, yes. Delicious. That was Greg’s recipe, wasn’t it?” He frowned as if trying to remember.

  “Yep, absolutely delicious. And the set! It was so realistic. How did you guys arrange that? It looked just like a diner.”

  Keith shook his head. “I don’t know about that. I only dealt with the menus, not the decor. You’d have to ask someone else about all of that. I dinnae know who though.”

  Cornstalks! Of course it wasn’t going to be that easy.

  This interview with Keith wasn’t going how I wanted it to at all. He was way too nice and friendly. I wanted to get to the bottom of what had been happening to me, and it looked like I was barking up the wrong tree with Keith.

  “Do you have any hobbies, Keith?”

  “Oh, aye, knitting. Love it.”

  “Knitting?” I asked incredulously, and then realizing how rude I sounded, again more politely. “Knitting! How wonderful. What kind of things do you knit?”

  “All sorts. Wooly hats. Jumpers—I mean sweaters. Scarves. The lot. If you can make it out of wool, I can knit it.” Keith leaned forward and shouted, “Isn’t that right, Greg? I’ll knit anything!”

  Greg had apparently returned to loiter outside his office and now made a swift reappearance.

  “Oh, yes, he’s very good. Look.” Greg walked around me over to the small desk in the corner, opened a drawer, and pulled out a red and white striped wooly hat. “Isn’t this just adorable?”

  “It looks lovely and warm. It’s a shame we’re not on the Alaska cruise run though!”

  “Sometimes,” said Greg, raising his eyebrows at us. “I crank the air conditioning up in here just so I have an excuse to wear it.”

  “Really?” Once again, I was incredulous.

  “He does. I’ve seen him.”

  “I do, I do.”

&
nbsp; “This article is going to be absolutely fascinating. I’m sure the guests are going to love it.”

  “Is that it? Finished?”

  “Yep. All done. People don’t like long-form articles these days. Keep them brief—that’s my brief.” I laughed at my own joke while the two men looked confused. “Anyway, got to get going. I’ve got lots more people to interview today.”

  Greg folded his arms in front of his chest.

  “What about me?”

  “You? Didn’t I write about you before already?”

  Greg shook his head in vehement denial.

  “I’ll see what I can do soon then, Greg. I might need to do a few more from other departments first though!”

  When I left the kitchens of the International Buffet behind, I was in a chipper mood, despite the fact I was pretty sure Keith had nothing to do with my former kidnapping.

  He seemed too nice.

  I would keep an eye on him anyway. After all, I’d been deceived before.

  I checked the schedule for the upcoming events on my phone, and then the time.

  Excellent.

  There was a Nurse Jessie information session going on.

  “The interviews continue…” I said under my breath as I began the walk over to the small auditorium the talk would be held in.

  Chapter Thirteen

  When I arrived at the auditorium, the lecture was already in full swing. Nurse Jessie was up on the little stage, and on the projector screen a video of a lady having her face injected was being played to the rapt audience.

  “Now, as you can see, she doesn’t even flinch. It’s a painless procedure… but not gainless.” She paused for the audience to laugh which they obligingly did. “Phytox injections can be done in just a matter of minutes, and they are absolutely safe. The only danger is that you end up looking too young.” The audience again laughed where they were supposed to. “I had a client who hadn’t been carded at the liquor store in years… now she says it happens every time!”

  Although she looked far too young to have a ‘motherly’ air, Nurse Jessica had a friendly and competent manner of speaking that made you really think you were listening to someone who knew what they were talking about.

  The video concluded with the patient on the screen back in the consultation room, a satisfied smile on her youthful face. The audience clapped again, and Jessie began taking questions.

  The questions all seemed to be re-phrasings of about three basic ones: how long did it take, how much did it cost, and did it really work? Despite the frequently repeated questions, Jessie was polite and answered everyone equally. The only one she couldn’t answer was when she would be taking more bookings than the ones she arranged for the next day, telling the audience that was up to Swan, not her.

  I guessed she was still hoping to get her Phytox back so she could be resupplied for the rest of the cruise after her remaining stocks had gone.

  When the session was finally over, I took Jessie aside into the small green room that was just off the stage. I closed the door behind us so the passengers wouldn’t hear our rather sensitive discussion.

  “Any news?” Jessie asked, her blue eyes glinting with vitality.

  “Nothing good, I’m afraid.” Jessie seemed so warm and friendly that I was having trouble keeping a sober expression on my face.

  “Oh. What is it?”

  I explained to her that not only had a passenger been killed, but that they had been injected with what was almost certainly Phytox as well. She stared at me in horror, her eyes wide and mouth hanging open.

  “My goodness!” She sat back in the folding chair she was sitting on and shook her head in wonder. “With my Phytox?”

  “At the moment, that’s what we’re assuming. It seems unlikely that there would be any other Phytox aboard, and since yours was stolen…” I held up my palms.

  “Yes, yes of course. That makes perfect sense. But killing someone with my Phytox…” I could see her running through all the implications as she sat in silence, her brow creasing and furrowing before falling back to its normally wrinkle-free alignment. “You don’t suspect me, do you?”

  I didn’t.

  But I knew others who did, so I needed to answer carefully.

  “Since the Phytox was stolen, it seems that it couldn’t have been you, but of course the security team is investigating every avenue. It’s their job, after all.”

  “Of course. They have to do that, don’t they? They can talk to me whenever they like, but I can’t imagine I’ll have any more to say than what I told you about the Phytox being stolen already.”

  “There is one other thing, though. I think you knew the victim.”

  Jessie’s face blanched. “I don’t… I don’t really know anyone aboard.”

  “His name was Bruno. We saw you talking to him last night, out on the deck? You didn’t look very happy.”

  “Oh, that guy? It was him?”

  “Yes. What did he say to you last night, Jessie?”

  She took a moment before answering as if composing her thoughts.

  “He was … a bit of a creep. We chatted, and he seemed nice, and then when we went for a walk he changed. I was getting uncomfortable. I told him I wanted to go back inside, but he tried to persuade me to keep walking. That’s when you showed up. He didn’t actually do or say anything bad to me. It was just a bad vibe, you know?”

  That sounded about right to me. It would explain why she had been reticent to complain the night before—nothing had actually happened.

  “When I first met him,” I told her, “I thought he seemed nice too. But when I saw him interacting with other people, I began to get a similar feeling.”

  “It was like he was good at pretending for a while, but he couldn’t keep it up.” Jessie shuddered. “But to be murdered over that seems a bit much.”

  “Jessie, I know you said you don’t really know anyone aboard the ship, but do you have any enemies? Any at all?”

  “Enemies?” Jessie scowled. “No, of course not.”

  “No one who would want to get you in trouble? Stealing the Phytox seems to be an elaborate way to kill someone—unless they were trying to make it look like it was you.”

  Jessie’s mouth slowly dropped open.

  “Someone’s trying to frame me? Who? I just try to help people!” Jessie wiped away the tears forming at the corners of her eyes. “I just try and inject a little joy into people’s lives, that’s all.” She half-sniffed and half-laughed at the pun.

  Reaching over, I squeezed her shoulders.

  “We’ll get to the bottom of it. If you think of anyone who might have it in for you though, please let me know.”

  “I will. This cruise is turning out to be a disaster. I told you I was nervous when I boarded, right? I didn’t know things would go this badly!”

  “It is an awful run of bad luck. I hope you can get some compensation out of Swan for the theft at least. I’m sure they’ve got insurance for that kind of thing.”

  “I hope so,” she said glumly. “I was hoping to make some profit to pay off some debts this trip.”

  Jessie sniffed again, then stood up, wiping her eyes. She forced a smile on her lips.

  “But I’ve got to look on the bright side, right? No point getting down in the dumps. What’s happened has happened and I’ve got to look forward.”

  “I admire your attitude!”

  And I really did. If I was in her situation…

  She wiped her eyes again a final time.

  “It’s a beautiful day outside. I’m going for a walk on the deck. Let me know the second you hear anything.”

  “Will do.”

  And so I walked with Nurse Jessica outside.

  When we were out there, I decided to follow her lead and go for a little walk of my own. It would give me a chance to think things through while I decided who to speak to next.

  Chapter Fourteen

  My peaceful stroll lasted about as long as those things usually d
id, which is not long at all.

  “Yo!” shouted a familiar voice.

  “Hey!” came another.

  It was Cece and Sam, and they were sitting at a table in the sun in between the Lagoon Pool, the largest swimming pool on the ship, and Hemingway’s, the ship’s tropical bar. They were both slouching back in cushioned wicker chairs, legs luxuriously outstretched in front of them as if to soak in as many rays as possible.

  “Working hard?”

  “Hardly working!” Cece cackled with laughter.

  “Just having a little break. After all, we deserve it.” Sam raised her arms in the air and opened her mouth wide in a yawn.

  “Do you?” I asked.

  “Yes. Yes, we do.”

  “Uh-oh,” Sam said as she saw someone behind me. “I thought he was working at the pool deck.”

  Cece turned to look and grinned. “Hi, Shaun!”

  There were four chairs around the table, and I sat down at one while Shaun came over and sat down at the other without feeling the need to ask, much to Sam’s chagrin.

  “Aren’t you at the wrong pool?” Sam had on a smile that looked friendly, but I knew she had gritted teeth underneath it.

  “It’s closed, because of the…” he raised his eyebrows at us and leaned in to indicate he was going to use a euphemism, “brutally murdered dead body I found.” Turns out, there was no euphemism. “So I’ve been transferred here until they’ve dragged it away or whatever.”

  “If I’d found a dead body, I would be in sickbay for at least three days,” said Cece.

  Which was not entirely coincidentally where her boyfriend Doctor Ryan worked.

  Shaun nodded seriously. “I guess I must be pretty tough. I didn’t faint at all.”

  Sam snickered.

  “You did fall in, though,” I pointed out.

  “It scared me! That’s all!”

  “Just teasing.”

  “So what’s up, Shaun?” Sam asked. “We’re kind of busy here.”

  “Oh, sorry! I didn’t realize!”

  He didn’t move though. He just kind of stared at us, his gaze lingering on Sam.