Murder on the Orient (SS): The Agatha Christie Book Club 2

by C. A. Larmer

He indicated a second controller on the other beanbag and Perry would have played, really he would have, but he was hopeless at computer games. It would completely diminish him in the eyes of the barman so he waved him off, wishing Lynette were there instead. She could have pulled it off.

  “I can’t stay long. I just want to ask you a few questions about the other night, the night Corrie went overboard. You were on duty that night, correct?”

  Ramond nodded. “Yes, big night. Normally not so busy but that night, wow.” Then he frowned. “Normally we get dance floor, yes, when DJ Dazzler come, but the old ones, they stay!”

  He looked cranky about this, and Perry felt a stab of guilt. Was he one of the “old ones” who should have been shuffling off to bed, vacating the dance floor for the younger generation he wondered? Before he could enquire further, Ramond’s frown had vanished and there was a look of amusement on his face.

  “Why you want talk? You scared, hey? You want know if it can happen to you, hey?”

  “No,” Perry said and then, “It can’t, right?”

  Ramond laughed. “Of course! You drink enough tequila it happen to anyone. I see six guys go over. Not on this ship, right? On, um, what you call? Trawler. But still, easy thing to do it.”

  Perry tried not to shudder. “So is that what you think happened to Mrs Van Tussi? A drunken fall?”

  He scoffed. “No, no, she was pushed.”

  Perry squeaked. “How can you be so sure?”

  Ramond looked around and then leaned in closer. “Because Mrs Van Tussi, she never drink.”

  “Never? I don’t think you’ve got that right. The first night I met her she had a glass of champagne.”

  His eyes squinted. “You see her drink champagne?”

  He thought about it. Not exactly, no.

  He smiled jubilantly. “I telling you, all for show! You ask all barmen. We know. She get glass, she hold glass—same glass—all night. She never take sip, never. We watch, we know. I telling you, she no drink. You know why?”

  Perry leaned in closer this time, intrigued. “Why?”

  “Because she alcoholic!”

  Perry leaned back. That didn’t make any sense.

  “True! She big time alcoholic before she meet Captain Tonio. He help her, she no more drink. But she pretend, right. Why you think she pretend?”

  Perry thought about it. “Maybe so it looks like she’s having fun?” he suggested, and the man nodded conspiratorially.

  “How crazy is this, man?” He laughed, then turned back to his screen. “Okay, now I be Ronaldo. You watch me kick some ass!”

  “Hang on, so are you saying Mrs Van Tussi couldn’t have been drunk enough to fall over accidentally?”

  He glanced back. “Yes, this is I saying.”

  “So what do you think happened?”

  He shrugged and turned back to the screen. “I no know.”

  “But you said she was pushed.”

  “Yeah, maybe pushed. I no know. I just guessing.”

  Dammit. Perry held a finger up. “Sorry, just one more thing. Do you know if Mrs Van Tussi was…” He didn’t quite know how to put it. “Was with somebody else that night she fell over? Did you see her at the bar with someone?”

  Ramond didn’t look back as his next FIFA 16 game kicked into play, but he did laugh as he said, “I telling you, she no drink. She no at bar!”

  Then he punched at the controller, kicking the ball from midway as the crowd booed as one and the ball soared above the net.

  Chapter 6

  By the time Alicia returned to the Grand Salon a few hours and a short nap later, the place was packed. It was not yet 6:00 p.m., but it felt like the entire ship was squished into this one room again. There were revellers at every table, some clinking glasses, others laughing loudly. This evening everyone seemed obscenely buoyant, and Alicia guessed it had something to do with the fact that they were literally buoyant—unlike poor Corrie whose body, according to the latest reports, had not been located. Alicia knew that others’ misfortune had a way of making people morbidly merry.

  Just ask Missy Corner.

  Or perhaps she was being unkind. Perhaps it was more the fact that they couldn’t face the thought of another night on board without a few brews under their belt.

  Apart from Anders, the book club had gathered as planned and were all following suit, nursing strong beverages, except for Alicia who felt nauseous at the mere thought of alcohol. As she nursed a lemonade, she repeated the strange conversation she’d had with Anita Monage in this bar earlier that day.

  “Anita seemed to agree that Corrie was a dreadful flirt, but she didn’t go so far as to admit that she had been sleeping around. So we don’t know that for sure. There’s lots of innuendo but very few cold, hard facts. I just wish I had found that Aussie barman. Jackson I think Anders said his name was.”

  “I’m glad you didn’t,” said Lynette. “You need to be careful there, ’Lis. You tell her, Claire. Old Dame Dinnegan says he’s shifty.”

  Claire nodded. “And I think the Dame is more switched on than you think.”

  Alicia scoffed. “Really, Claire? We’re talking about the woman who lets her husband drug her to sleep each night while he goes off and sleazes around with every second woman on the ship. I hardly think she’s a great judge of character. Besides, it’s just as likely Cheyne was Corrie’s lover as that barman.”

  She wasn’t sure why she was suddenly defending the smarmy barman, but Perry was now in Cheyne’s corner. “You know, I’m not sure about that. I mean, I’ve been at the bar for the past two nights and that supposed ‘gigolo’ didn’t sleaze onto anyone, certainly not Corrie. Sure he came back, danced with a few different women, but he left alone both times, at least that’s what I recall. Last night he barely danced, in fact. Kind of just sat in a corner and moped.”

  “I don’t know whether he slept with Corrie either,” said Lynette, “but the second I mentioned her name, he turned very angsty. There’s history there for sure.” She relayed her brief conversation with the photographer. “And he is pretty creepy. You should see those photographs of his. He’s turned housework into porn, and it’s not pretty.”

  Missy giggled, and they all fell quiet as a young waitress appeared to take more drink orders. She looked run off her feet, and Alicia swivelled her head around, wondering again about the Aussie barman.

  Where the hell was he?

  “How’d you go with the Solarnos?” Lynette asked Perry, and he half shrugged.

  “They didn’t really have much to say. They clearly don’t like to gossip, those sisters. It’d be admirable if it wasn’t so unhelpful.”

  Lynette scowled. “They were happy enough to gossip about the gigolo that first night.”

  “Well they’re not quite so forthcoming about the Van Tussis, that’s for sure. It might have something to do with the fact that one of the sisters is on the board of the cruise line, and I gather all three were consulted when the ship was being designed. With their cruising experience you’d be mad not to consult them.”

  The groups’ gaze shifted to the corner of the bar where the three sisters were holding court again, an attentive crowd around them. But this time their conversation was subdued. There would be no loud laughter from this group tonight.

  “Did they know anything about that threatening note that Corrie received?” asked Alicia.

  “No, they said it would have been a joke, probably just one of Corrie’s stunts. Apparently she was like that. And they’re adamant the captain had nothing to do with any of it,” Perry added. “They reckon he hasn’t got it in him. ‘Not one violent bone in his body’ I think they said. In fact, I’ve been chatting to quite a few people, and it sounds like everyone—I mean everyone—is batting for the captain. Nobody thinks he did it.”

  “Add Anita to that fan club,” Alicia said, holding up one hand. “She was just as adamant the captain didn’t do it.”

  “Do we even know what ‘it’ is?” asked Claire. “A
re we any closer to knowing whether it was an accident?”

  “Not a drunken one according to the barman I spoke to,” said Perry, who quickly repeated what Ramond had to say.

  “So Corrie was a recovering alcoholic,” said Alicia. “Now that’s interesting.”

  “I don’t see why,” said Lynette.

  “Well I guess it proves she couldn’t have fallen over accidentally in a drunken stumble.”

  “Or it could suggest she fell off the wagon after fighting with the captain and that’s exactly what happened. I wonder if any empty bottles were found in her cabin. What did the stewards have to say, Missy? They find empty liquor bottles strewn around the place?”

  “Sorry, Lynny, I didn’t think to ask about that. But I did find out something really, really interesting. They tell me Corrie was in her room last night when the steward went to turn down her bed and put the funny towel sculpture thingie on it. What are those things anyway? What are they supposed to signify?”

  “Missy,” one of them purred, and she snapped out of it.

  “Sorry, yes, so that was about 9:45 p.m. when they last saw her.”

  “We already knew that,” said Claire. “She told everyone at dinner she was heading back to her cabin then.”

  “Yes, but here’s the thing. According to Valeno, when the captain looked in on her around 11:00 p.m., she wasn’t there. We know this because he asked the stewards on duty if they had seen her. And they hadn’t!”

  “Could be a ruse,” suggested Perry. “To deflect attention from himself. Maybe he was setting the scene, pretending she was absent, was then going to sneak back in later and throw her over?”

  “Why not just do it then?” asked Claire.

  “Maybe he didn’t get a chance, especially if the stewards were hovering. Had to wait until the coast was clear. Plus you risk someone hearing if you do it while people are still up and about.”

  They all chewed on that as the waitress brought their fresh drinks across.

  “Sorry, possums,” said Missy eventually. “I’m with the stewards. I don’t think she was there. I think we need to find out where Corrie was between 9:45 p.m. when the steward turned down her bed and two in the morning when Perry heard her fall overboard.”

  Lynette drummed her fingers on the table. “That’s more than four hours. Where was she all that time? And with whom?”

  Claire waved both hands around the busy room. “She could have been with anyone. Sadly for us, this isn’t an Agatha Christie novel; we don’t have a neat ensemble cast of twelve to choose from. Count the crew and we have almost four hundred potential suspects. She could have been on one of the decks, taking in the cool night air. She could have been in that smoking room I noticed earlier. I mean, it’s anyone’s guess.”

  “Well, I know where she wasn’t,” said Perry. “I was in this bar the whole time, and she certainly never showed and my barman friend will attest to that.”

  “Which brings us right back to my barman,” said Alicia. “That Jackson fellow was with Corrie on the promenade deck two nights ago, so why not last night as well?” She glanced back towards the bar. “You know, if I hadn’t spotted him at roll call briefly, I’d suspect he’d gone overboard too. Maybe he’s lying low, or maybe he’s working elsewhere.” She began to click her fingers towards Claire. “What were you saying about a smoking room?”

  “You haven’t noticed it? It’s tucked away on the other side of this deck. Quite charming if it wasn’t for all the cigarette smoke.”

  “And it’s a bar as well?”

  “Yes, I believe so. Why? You haven’t suddenly developed a nicotine habit we don’t know about?”

  Alicia grinned wickedly. “No, but I do know someone who might be inhaling a bit of nicotine on his late shift. I think I’ll head there after dinner.”

  Chapter 7

  Alicia wished she hadn’t gobbled her meal down so quickly. Despite her earlier assumption, the smarmy barman was not working the Smoking Salon when she found her way there after dinner, and her spirits dropped as she glanced through the haze towards the decorative bar at one end. There was just one staff member on duty, and he didn’t have an Aussie accent.

  She glanced around the room again. It was most unusual for a modern cruise ship to have such a bar these days, smoking being a modern taboo, but this was a replica steamship, after all, and she guessed the joint would have been pumping back in the SS Orient’s heyday. Of course it was probably the private domain of first-class gentlemen back then, all playing cards while sucking on cigars, and she smiled as she surveyed the room. Tonight it was a more egalitarian mix of men and women, first class and economy, each equally as desperate to get their nicotine fix before rejoining their friends in the main bar. She was about to do the same when a familiar figure caught her eye.

  Her spirits shifted.

  Sitting in the middle of the room at a small table all alone was Anita Monage, a glass of red wine in one hand, her “fix” in the other. Alicia ordered a lemon lime and bitters, than marched across to join her. Even though she didn’t have any cigarettes with her, the other woman didn’t seem to question it when she asked if she could join her.

  They sat quietly for several minutes sipping their drinks, and Alicia took that time to study Corrie’s best friend. She was a strange-looking creature, anorexic-thin, with dirty brown hair that fell about her face like a drab curtain, thinning it further. She wore very little makeup and was dressed completely in black again; not at all the kind of woman you could picture bonding with someone as bright and vivacious as Corrie. Once again she was glugging her wine like it was soda water, and Alicia wondered whether that’s how the two women first met, through a mutual love of the plonk.

  Anita quickly put paid to that. “I’ve known Coz since we were eleven,” she said as though that explained everything, and Alicia decided it probably did.

  Plenty of people stayed friends purely out of history or habit.

  “She could be the most generous of friends,” she continued, suddenly eager to talk. “Would give you the shirt off her back she would.” Her eyes narrowed. “But then she’d ask for your skirt, shoes and handbag in return.”

  “Did you cruise with Corrie often?”

  “Just once before, on this ship actually, that time she hooked up with the captain.” Her shoulders drooped a little. “Anyway, we haven’t seen that much of each other since she moved to London and, well, she begged me so… what could I do?” Her face clouded over. “I did try to refuse.”

  “Why would you want to refuse? Not a fan of cruise ships?”

  “It’s not that, it’s just, well, it costs money doesn’t it? We don’t all have rich husbands to foot the bill.” There was a touch of venom in her tone. “But she got me a great room for nix, so how could I say no?”

  “You’re in one of the staterooms?”

  She nodded, dragging on her cigarette. “Not that I get to use it as much as I’d like.” She didn’t explain that. “I was just lucky the room came up after all the Nervous Nellies jumped ship in Sydney.”

  “Nervous Nellies?”

  “Because of the thefts, of course.” She took a final drag on her cigarette, then squashed it into the glass ashtray and reached into her handbag.

  Alicia didn’t think a few missing frocks was much to be nervous about, but at least it helped explain how she and her book club scored cabins at the last minute. She was about to enquire further when she noticed Anita pull her cigarette packet out of her bag to light up again, and she took a surreptitious look at it. It was the same generic brand as before. Certainly not Italian.

  Anita caught her looking and offered the packet to her, but she waved a hand no.

  “Still,” said Alicia, “it must have been great for Corrie to have her best friend on board, what with the captain working all the time. That would be hard.”

  Anita shot her a look. Her right knee began to twitch. “Nothing was hard for Corrie. Nothing. Anyway, it wasn’t my company she requir
ed.”

  “What do you mean?”

  She looked away again. That was clearly Anita’s way of saying, You’ve overstepped, bucko, get back in your box. So Alicia tried another angle.

  “She must have wanted your company, why else would she beg you to join her on the ship?”

  “Oh she had her reasons, let me assure you. Coz had a nasty little habit of using and abusing people whenever she wanted.”

  “And she used and abused you?”

  Once again she shrugged, refusing to be drawn in. This time her knee began jumping up and down like a jackhammer.

  “She wanted to use us, you know.”

  Anita flicked her eyes to Alicia, a fresh cigarette almost at her lips. “Us?”

  “The book club I was telling you about. It’s the Agatha Christie Book Club. We investigated a disappearance once—and a murder.”

  “Really?” she held her cigarette in the air, untouched.

  “Yes, she heard about that and approached us to help her. Said she had a mystery she wanted us to investigate.”

  Anita lit her cigarette and took a long drag, then blew a plume of smoke towards Alicia, a look of disappointment across her face. “Oh she would have been talking about her precious kaftans. Why anyone wanted to pinch them is beyond me. And why she cared is even more bizarre. I know they cost a packet, but she could easily get more. Corrie Van Tussi always got what Corrie Van Tussi wanted.”

  The venom was back with a vengeance, and Alicia felt a flutter of sympathy now for Corrie. With friends like this…

  She said, “It was a lot more than that, Anita. Corrie said she was in danger. She showed us a letter. It threatened her life.”

  That made Anita stop mid-drag. “You’re serious?”

  Alicia nodded. “She didn’t tell you about the letter?” Anita shook her head. “Do you have any idea who might have sent it to her?”

  Anita tapped the ash from her cigarette into the ashtray. “Could be anyone, I s’pose.”

  “She had that many enemies?’

  She dragged on her smoke and looked away.