A Crafty Christmas

by Mollie Cox Bryan

  “This dating business,” Randy said. “I am reminded what a lousy judge of character I am. Whew, boy.”

  “What do you mean?” She turned her attention back to Randy. Rhonda and the creepy man were disturbing to watch.

  “I thought Matthew was cute, sure. But I also thought he’d be interesting, him being a security chief and all that.”

  “Not interesting?”

  “If you call crazy interesting . . .”

  “What?”

  “Yes. Very odd. I’m not sure how he holds it together to do his job. It’s troubling,” he said. “I’ve been sitting here and thinking things over. I can’t think of a way to soothe myself about it. There’s been two murders on board and the chief of security is nuts.”

  “Surely not,” Sheila said.

  He nodded vehemently. “Listen, I don’t like to judge people. But that man is bat shit crazy.”

  It was a bit odd to be sitting here with Paige’s only child, who looked and acted a good bit like his mother. He said things like Paige, with the same inflections. But this “crazy” business troubled Sheila. They sat next to a window that looked out over a clear night sky. She glanced out at the horizon, then back to Randy, trying not to watch Rhonda make a fool of herself in public.

  “What exactly do you mean?” When the server brought her milk, she looked up and said, “Thank you.” After the man left, her attention focused back on Randy. “Well?”

  “I don’t want to scare you,” he said.

  “As if I’m not scared already. And a bit beat up,” she said, smiling and pointing at her head. “I think you should tell me.”

  He sat back in his chair. “Okay, but let’s keep it between us, for now.”

  She nodded. What could it be that had him so troubled?

  “He thinks he’s a vampire,” he said.

  “What? Who?”

  “Yes, the chief of security thinks he’s a vampire,” Randy repeated. “He was quite serious about it. Scared the bejesus out of me.”

  She was struck speechless. A vampire?

  “What do you say to that?” Randy continued. “And that was my first date after breaking up with a brilliant, creative man. Just my luck.”

  “I—I—”

  “Yep,” he said.

  Sheila took a sip of her milk. The warmth and the sweetness comforted her as she mulled over the news.

  “Needless to say, I told him I was not interested in dating a vampire—or even having a fling with him. But I did look up vampires on the Internet and there are people who claim to be vampires out there. People who actually drink blood,” he said.

  “Seriously?” Sheila said.

  “Yes, some people are into this vampire lifestyle—and I hope that’s what our friend is talking about. But there are also some serious psychiatric problems associated with people who claim to be vampires, people who crave human blood,” he said, with a low voice.

  “He reports directly to the captain,” she said. “I can’t imagine he hasn’t picked up on this.”

  “Oh, he doesn’t tell everybody, of course; it’s a secret that he bestows on a lucky few.”

  “Aren’t you the lucky one then?” Sheila said. Suddenly a giggle erupted from her. She couldn’t even try to stop it. Oh, it wasn’t funny, she told herself, stop. A man responsible for the safety of the ship might be bat shit crazy. Not funny at all. She tried to stop her laughter.

  But Randy’s eye caught hers and the next thing she knew, they were both laughing uncontrollably.

  Tears ran down Randy’s face. “Oh my God,” he said, finally calming down. “What have we gotten ourselves into?”

  Shelia took a deep breath and settled herself, suddenly feeling tired. She took another sip of her milk. “I’m not sure,” she said. “But I have a new goal: just to get off this ship in one piece.”

  Then it hit her with a startling thud. Her face must have reflected her thoughts.

  “What?” Randy said.

  “If the man thinks he’s a vampire, then he might think he needs to kill to survive.”

  Chapter 35

  Annie was putting the finishing touches on her manuscript. At least she hoped she was finished. She liked to let it sit a few days and then go back over it, fact checking and looking for grammar mistakes and spelling errors. Then she’d fix it up, let it sit a few more days, and go back over it yet again.

  She drained her second cup of coffee. Should she have another? Hmmm. Probably not.

  Her computer buzzed. Good thing she was at the kitchen table and not in her bedroom.

  “Good morning, Annie.” First a voice and then two faces appeared on the Skype screen: Vera and Paige, who looked awful.

  “Good morning. You two are up early.”

  “Early breakfast today and off to explore Grand Caymen. Thank God we are going to be on land for a few days,” Vera said. “Paige is sick.”

  Paige nodded and whimpered.

  “Sea sick?” Annie asked.

  “She’d been drinking and got sick and hasn’t gotten any better. The waters have been a little rough.”

  “Sorry, Paige. You do look awful,” Annie said.

  “Thanks,” Paige mumbled.

  “What’s up?” Annie asked.

  “Listen, I read the text you sent to Sheila about Sharon Milhouse,” Vera said.

  Eric passed by in the background, then backed up and waved. He looked a bit tan and very relaxed. The trip was doing someone good. Annie waved back.

  “And?” Annie said.

  “And I’d like you to see what you can find out about her. I mean, even get Bryant involved if you have to,” Vera said.

  “Why?”

  “She used to be nuts. I’m sure she still is. If that’s the same woman, we need to know it.” Vera took a breath and then filled Annie in on the background.

  “Don’t you think she’d be over Steve and Sheila by now? I mean, it’s been twenty years,” Annie said incredulously.

  “I wish,” Vera said. “There were some things that happened that Sheila never knew. Things we didn’t tell her.”

  “We?”

  “Bill, Steve, and I,” Vera said. “We thought it was best to keep some things from her.”

  “Why would you do that? I don’t understand.”

  “I don’t want to go into this over the computer, but suffice it to say the woman was committed because of her actions. I’m not exaggerating her illness.” Vera took another deep breath. “I think it would be best if we knew if she was on this ship.”

  Paige harrumphed, then said, “You know Sheila; things like this would wear on her. She’s scared enough as it is. I mean, she’s really not acting like herself. We’re worried about her.”

  Annie thought a moment. “I promise to try to track down this woman. I’ll text you to let you know what I find out. But if I find out anything, you’re going to have to tell Sheila. She’s a grown-up and she can handle it.”

  But she, Bea, and DeeAnn had decided not to tell her about the note left on the door of her home. “Wait,” Annie said. “Maybe you’re right. With her concussion and everything else that’s going on, let’s leave her out of it until she gets safely home.”

  “She’s getting very paranoid,” Vera said. “I don’t think she’s eaten more than a bite of toast since yesterday.”

  “Well, we all are,” Paige said. “I spoke with a couple of the men on our list yesterday—Colton and Hank. I think we can cross them off the list.”

  “Same with the guy I talked with. He’s a hard-core scrapbooker,” Vera said.

  “That leaves what—six other men?” Annie said.

  “I’ll get back to it when I feel better,” Paige said.

  “We’ll keep our eyes open,” Vera said.

  Eric poked his head onto the screen. “We need to go ladies. Bye, Annie,” he said.

  “Bye,” Annie said. The screen faded out.

  Annie saved her file and decided to search around on the Internet for more info
rmation about Sharon Milhouse. Over one thousand of them lived in the US. How to hone that down? What was the name of Sheila’s school again? Sweet Wood University.

  Annie keyed in “Sharon Milhouse” and “Sweet Wood University.”

  Bazinga.

  An article popped up from a Richmond newspaper’s online archives:

  Sharon Milhouse, a recent graduate of Sweet Wood University, has been convicted of attempted murder of another recent grad, Steven Rogers.

  Holy Shit! Did Sheila know about this? Or was this what Vera was talking about?

  Annie’s heart raced and she read further on. Sharon had been housed in the Richmond Institution and would probably remain there for life.

  Life? Maybe this Sharon Milhouse wasn’t the one on the ship. It couldn’t be the same one; the Sharon Milhouse who was married to Harold had certainly been a free woman. Unless . . . unless Sharon had gotten out early and married.

  Damn, she couldn’t get into those records. If they had to do with medical issues at all, Annie was out of luck. But maybe Bryant had access to them.

  She hadn’t seen him or talked to him in a while. He’d been seeing a young police officer from a neighboring town and was too busy to hang out with Mike—thank goodness—and there were no other recent murders in their little town. She hated to call the man. In fact, the thought of it turned her stomach.

  She’d call Beatrice later. Perhaps Beatrice could call him and explain the situation. Perhaps. Bea didn’t like him any more than Annie did. But at least she hadn’t had the somewhat personal experience with him that Annie had. Experience she was quite ashamed of and wished she could erase from of her life.

  Chapter 36

  Beatrice poured the pancake batter onto the griddle. She made pancakes every Sunday morning, but today she added gingerbread spice to the batter and the scent was filling the kitchen as Jon walked in.

  “What are you making? It smells divine,” he said, coming up behind her and kissing her on the cheek.

  “Gingerbread pancakes,” she said.

  “And Christmas music is playing.... Have you gotten into the Christmas spirit, dear?”

  Beatrice harrumphed. “Lord knows I’m trying.”

  “Still worried about the cruisers?”

  She nodded, flipped her pancakes, then told him about what Bryant had mentioned to her last night.

  Jon grabbed a plate and set it next to Bea for the pancakes.

  “Bryant thinks it’s related to the cruise?” Jon asked.

  “I think he’s just grasping for anything. It was a creepy postcard.”

  “I think you all made the right decision to not tell Sheila. She has enough on her mind right now. More coffee?”

  Bea nodded. “I’d like that.”

  Jon made another pot of coffee and Beatrice scooped her pancakes from the griddle onto the plate.

  “It’s really strange—we can’t think of who might have done something like that to Sheila,” she said. “Maybe she gets on people’s nerves about the scrapbooking. God knows it drives me crazy.”

  “Why? It’s something that she loves, so why does it bother you so much?”

  Beatrice thought it over a few minutes, fussing over her pancakes. “I don’t mind scrapbooking. You know, keeping your family’s memories in a book. I’ve made several of my own. Not with any of that newfangled stuff. It seems to me that folks go overboard with it. And Sheila has built her life around it. I get tired of hearing about it, I suppose.”

  “Hmmm,” Jon said. “Maybe Sheila doesn’t like to hear about quantum physics.”

  Beatrice laughed. “No, I’m sure she doesn’t. But who does? I’m used to nobody being interested in my thing.”

  “I’m interested.” He grinned.

  “Yes, I know—” She was interrupted by the phone ringing.

  Jon answered the phone and handed it to Beatrice. “It’s Annie,” he said.

  “Sorry to bother you so early. I know you’re probably in the middle of your pancake breakfast,” Annie said.

  “I’m just now making it. What’s up?”

  “I Skyped with Vera and Paige this morning and Vera was really concerned about this possible connection with Sharon Milhouse.”

  “Now, why does that name sound so familiar?”

  “Maybe because she was convicted of trying to kill Steve Rogers.”

  Bea’s heart jumped. “Oh my,” she said, her mind flicking through the memories. “I do remember that.”

  “Anyway, they called to ask if I can find out anything about her. I was able to pull up old newspaper reports and criminal records, but she was sent to the Richmond Institution, which isn’t even open anymore. And since she was determined to be mentally ill, I can’t access those records.”

  “Neither can I. What can I do to help?”

  “Can you call Bryant and explain the situation?”

  “Oh, I nearly forgot; I need to call him about something else. So yes, I can call him. But why don’t you?”

  “I’d rather not. It’s Hanukkah and I don’t want to spoil my day. You know how I feel about that man. And it’s not exactly a professional inquiry.”

  Beatrice suspected that she’d never really know what had gone down between those two. At first it seemed like they despised one another. Then he became a friend of Annie’s husband and it seemed they reached some kind of friendly understanding about their relationship. Then it went sour again about the same time as Emily McGlashen’s murder. Beatrice didn’t like to pry. But it was the oddest thing.

  “Well, none of us really like the man,” Beatrice said after a moment. To say that he was abrasive would be putting it mildly. But Beatrice had seen traces of a real human being beneath his tough-guy exterior from time to time, like when Vera was having problems sleepwalking. “But he’s a good cop. I think he might appreciate this information and might want to help out.”

  “I hope you’re right. You know it may be nothing. But Vera is very concerned,” Annie said.

  “She should be,” Beatrice said. “Sharon Milhouse was a total freak. If she’s on that ship, knowing that Sheila is, too, there could be problems.”

  “Surely not,” Annie said. “That was years ago. Besides, she’s probably still in a hospital somewhere.”

  “I’d not count on that,” Beatrice said. “If she is the woman who was Harold’s ex-wife, I’m sure she’d have killed both Allie and him and not batted an eyelash. She was that sick.”

  “Maybe she’s gotten better.”

  “One would hope. But so many times I’ve seen that there are some people who are beyond help. I wish that wasn’t the case.”

  Jon had taken over the pancake making and now had a stack of golden brown pancakes on the table. Beatrice’s stomach growled.

  “I’ll call Bryant later,” Bea said. “I need to eat my breakfast.”

  “Later,” Annie said.

  Bea sat down at the table and recounted what Annie had told her on the phone.

  “Sounds like a good lead,” Jon said, cutting his pancakes up.

  “Maybe,” Bea said. “But if that’s our Sharon Milhouse and she’s on a ship with Sheila? Our friend is in very real danger.”

  Chapter 37

  Poison. Murder. Vampires. It was all swirling around in Sheila’s mind as she led a group of forty people off the ship to where a bus waited for them. Her legs felt strange and wobbly as she adjusted to ground after being on the sea for several days.

  Paige’s skin still had a slight green tinge to it and even with a few days of sun, her long legs were white and looked unstable. “Jesus, it’s hot,” she said.

  Randy fanned her for a few minutes with his guidebook.

  Eric’s arm slipped around Vera, who was looking over the crowd. She appeared nervous. Sheila knew she was wondering if the killer was around.

  Once again, Sheila found herself wondering how many of the passengers knew that the untimely deaths were actually murders and not accidents. The ship had never called them
such in any of the announcements. But Sheila and her friends knew—only because she had tripped over Allie’s body and then had the misfortune of witnessing Harold in the hallway.

  Sheila looked right and left before she spotted the bus across the street. The port city of George Town was awash in color, noise, and scent, which was jarring after being on the sleek cruise ship for days, mostly colored in whites and shades of blue. Their bus was waiting for them right where it was supposed to be.

  “Sheila Rogers?” The bus driver met her with an extended arm and a lush Caribbean accent.

  She nodded. “Nice to meet you,” she said, and extended her own hand.

  Their schedule had changed again. The plans originally included three days here, but since they’d lost some time because of the storm, their stay was shortened to a day. And Sheila’s prior research had all been done for a Mexican photo shoot, not Grand Caymen, so she was winging it. But she was able to sneak a bit of research in on the botanical gardens they’d be visiting during their photo excursion. It would make for fabulous scrapbooking material.

  “Good morning, ladies and gentlemen,” a tour guide said to them after they were all settled on the bus. “Welcome to Grand Caymen.”

  “Thank God it’s air conditioned in here,” Paige said in a low voice.

  “Our beautiful island is seventy-six square miles and is home to fifty thousand residents,” the guide said after everybody had settled and the bus began to move around the edge of the city.

  It was even more beautiful as they left the city behind and drove along the coast. Sheila sat back and took in the view of white sandy beaches giving way to lush trees and rolling green hills.

  A sudden image of Cumberland Creek came to her mind—she wondered if it was still snowing there. It was December, close to Christmas, and it felt unnatural to be here in the heat and the tropical weather.

  “I love the heat,” Randy said, as if reading her mind. “Doesn’t bother me a bit. I could live in the tropics.”

  Paige sighed.

  “I love the seasons,” Vera said from across the aisle. “I couldn’t live someplace where it was warm all year long.”