Cruise Control

by A. J. Stewart

  “I did no such thing.”

  “But you did, Fred. You spotted a man repeatedly in places with your wife. The store, The Breakers, at your house.”

  “What?” he whispered.

  “Yeah, what a pain, hey? The crooks you went to had one of their guys check into doing the job without you and you spotted him and thought he was having an affair with your wife. That’s tough luck, right there.”

  “That’s not true.” He said it but he didn’t mean it. It lacked any kind of conviction.

  “So you came to me. Had you not, you would have gotten away with it.”

  He shook his head as he thought it through.

  “Of course,” I said, “on the flip side, you’d be dead.”

  “Dead?”

  “Dead, Fred. Dead. See, they couldn’t come up with a plan A. So they went to plan B. You were never supposed to be on the ship. I bet you made that clear from the beginning. You don’t cruise. They would have to do the job at sea, which is harder than it sounds. But they didn’t like those odds. So they came back to you with another plan.”

  I looked at Danielle. “Why does a guy who doesn’t cruise, who doesn’t like boats, who can’t swim, change his mind at the last minute to go cruising?”

  Danielle said, “Someone puts the idea in his head.”

  “Exactly. With prejudice, I’ll bet. They said there was no other way, didn’t they? You needed to take the rings before the room got locked up, that was the weak point. And then, they said they would handle getting them off the ship. Right?”

  Frederick seemed to have lost his voice.

  “But here’s something else you didn’t know about these guys. Plan A is always they keep everything for themselves. Plan B is pretty much the same thing. So once you took the rings and passed them on to the bartender as instructed, you weren’t required anymore. In fact, you were a loose end.”

  Frederick’s face dropped as he processed what I was saying. It wasn’t great news, even in a bulletin full of not-so-great news for him.

  “So they instructed their guy on board—Guy X—to get rid of you. The bartender had given Guy X a stolen crew pass, and I bet he had been instructed to scope out where the cameras were along the route via the crew passageway out to the forward deck. So Guy X snuck up there and pushed you overboard.”

  Frederick dropped against the side of the deck as if he might faint. He wasn’t going overboard this time; the sides were designed nice and high for a reason. But he looked like he might collapse.

  “Tell me, Fred. Why were you on that deck last night? You must have hated it.”

  “I had to make a phone call.”

  “Let me guess. Your partners told you to call once the handoff was made.”

  His eyes glazed over like he was drifting away to another universe.

  “Who told you the best reception was on the forward deck?”

  Frederick gazed away. “The bartender.”

  “That’s what I figured. You were set up. They wanted you dead. And if I hadn’t been there, right now you’d be chum.”

  He frowned. “I don’t . . . it doesn’t . . . why were you there?”

  “Your guys got cute. They tried to set Anastasia up for your death. They called her with a story about the rings and told her to go to the bathroom near the forward deck. They wanted her in the area to cast suspicion on her. And it would have worked too, except that we were on board. I was doing what you hired me to do—watching your wife. I saw her go forward and then lost her. But I found you.”

  It was too much for old Frederick. His knees finally gave way and he slid like a flattened cartoon character down the edge of the deck until he was sitting on the polished boards. His shirt was all rumpled and for the first time I noted a hair sticking out of his beard at an odd angle. It reaffirmed my belief that facial hair was too much work.

  “So here’s my client debrief, Fred. Your wife isn’t having an affair. She doesn’t even know Guy X. He belongs to your organized crime buddies. We have means and opportunity for you to steal the rings, and we’ve got testimony from the bartender that you handed him a bag containing said rings.” I looked at Danielle. “Do you think the state attorney could make something of that?”

  Danielle shook her head. “The state attorney won’t get the chance. Crimes involving US citizens at sea fall under the jurisdiction of the FBI. What Mr. Connors did was a federal crime.”

  I liked the way she said federal crime. I liked the way all law enforcement types said it. It was like a federal crime was another ring or two closer to the fires of hell. Like going to the federal pen was somehow worse than any other kind of jail. In my book, doing time was doing time. None of it was fun. But the way she said federal crime made Frederick cry.

  Or maybe he realized he was done. Maybe it was the release of decades of churning in his guts. I didn’t know. What I did know was that he cried ugly. First a tear ran down his cheek and was absorbed by his beard, and then the floodgates opened. He coughed and spluttered and gagged for air. It was quite the display. Danielle and Porter and I waited him out, glancing at each other uncomfortably. I didn’t think any of us were of the opinion that Frederick was an out-and-out bad guy. He hadn’t hurt a child or masterminded a murder. He took some stuff that, when all was said and done, no one but his wife would miss. But Danielle would argue that it wasn’t his to take and though I thought that point could be debated, since Ana’s property could be considered marital property and therefore also Frederick’s, I’d leave that train of thought for his lawyers.

  We waited for the tears to stop and the breathing to return to something resembling a sprinter at the end of the hundred-yard dash. I stepped toward him and he looked up at me through puffy eyes. I squatted down so I was face to face with him.

  I was going to ask him why, but I didn’t. We shared a look and that was all that was required.

  “You don’t understand,” he said.

  I shook my head.

  “No one could.”

  “But you were successful,” I said. “Well-known and well-liked in Palm Beach society. Some folks would give their left arm for that.”

  “I hate Palm Beach. I hate the society. Thirty years we’ve been there. Thirty years of getting dressed up and pretending to like those people. As if we were like them. But we weren’t like them. You could see it in their eyes. They looked at Anastasia like she was the help. A shopkeeper. Sure, she was a jeweler, something they liked, but she wasn’t really one of them. And me? I didn’t even do business there. They looked down on my business like it was loose change in their pockets. Thirty years of sinking every penny into keeping up the pretense. The Palm Beach house, the nice cars, the clothes. I would have been happy wearing what you wear.”

  I took it as the compliment I was sure it wasn’t meant to be.

  “Every Sunday doing brunch with people I despised just to sell a few pearls. I would have preferred to stay home and watch football.”

  I nodded and reconsidered my earlier theory. Maybe deep inside, under all those layers of Frederick, there really was a Fred, bursting to get out.

  “Drastic move, though,” I said.

  “I was done. I did my time. I wanted to find an island and lie back by the pool. I’d earned it. But Anastasia wouldn’t leave. She actually believes this is her home, these are her people. But I couldn’t do it anymore. I put every penny into keeping up the house, the cars. Not Anastasia. I never saw a red cent from her business. She thought it was my job to give her the life she wanted. And I wanted to do it. But did she have to put it down so much? Never a word of thanks. That business paid for everything we had and she spoke of it like it was prostitution or something.”

  “You wanted what was yours?”

  “I wanted my life back. You were right. My business started failing. Between the Mafia leeches and the anti-sugar Nazis, I was getting squeezed. I told Anastasia it was time to get out before the market moved beyond us, and she said she always knew I’d fail. That
was all she said about it. I told her I wanted to go away, to relax for a change. But she’s like a clock. If she’s not moving constantly she’ll die. So I realized I had to do it myself. She never gave anything from her business, so I decided to take something. Put it away for later. After the divorce.”

  “You were divorcing her?”

  He shook his head. “I might have. I would have. But when I saw the guy at our house I thought I wouldn’t have to. I thought if she was having an affair then she’d divorce me. But I knew she’d hire the best lawyers and keep all her business for herself. So I hired you to get some proof of infidelity. And I went ahead and took something for myself. I earned it.”

  “But there wasn’t any infidelity.”

  He shook his head again and took a long slow breath. “No. Not that it changes anything. She might not have been with him, but she wasn’t with me, either.” He looked up at me, his eyes red and watery. “She never said thank you. Not once. Not ever. Once would have done it. I could have held onto it if I had just heard it once.”

  Army returned and directed Porter to take Frederick below. She stepped forward and together she and I helped Frederick to his feet.

  “If you ladies wouldn’t mind finding Mr. Connors suitable quarters,” said Army.

  Porter and Danielle moved to take him away. Army put his hand on my arm to hold me from following. I frowned but I let them go. I wondered how many spare crew cabins with backward locks they had. Perhaps Frederick and Guy X would have to bunk together.

  “Is there a problem?” I asked.

  “Just wanted you to see something.”

  I followed Army up the crew elevator and into the security control room. He brought up some video. It was a shot of the forward deck at night, from above where Frederick had been standing before he went overboard.

  “I think I’ve seen this more than enough,” I said.

  “Give it a minute, son,” said Army.

  We saw me come out onto the deck, with Danielle right behind. The Cleveland boys appeared. Words we couldn’t hear. Then I did what I did, across the deck and out of shot. Into the big blue. Danielle was left standing on the deck. She took a step toward where I had disappeared. Then she spun. The Cleveland boys each took a step forward as if to surround her. The leader, the guy with the sick grandad, said something.

  Then Danielle punched him in the nose. I didn’t know what he said, but I imagined it was a proposition to which she was not inclined to acquiesce. She gave it a good solid step and the full follow-through. The guy went down hard, holding his snout. His buddies decided discretion was the better part of valor and backed away, and Danielle made off through the hole they left, looking for Army, and a rescue boat.

  Army hit a button to stop the video.

  “Is he making a complaint?” I asked.

  “No.”

  “So why did you show me that?”

  “Because I thought you should see it.”

  “Why?”

  “Because she’s a keeper.”

  I had to agree. I thanked Army and told him I needed some downtime. He called Porter on the radio to tell Danielle that I was going to our suite.

  I didn’t even turn the lights on. I walked through the suite to the balcony and leaned on the gunwale and stared out at the dark ocean. Danielle arrived and, leaving the light off, came to stand by me. We watched the silver ripples on the wake, splashing and pulsing like they were alive and full of intent, and then they fell away and got smaller and dimmer until they weren’t there at all anymore.

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  We didn’t go to the auction. I didn’t want to see gaudy real-fake rings go under the hammer for the kind of money that the average family made in a year. We didn’t head for the pool bar. It was too lively and too loud and the people were having too much fun.

  Instead, we found Ron and Cassandra. They had slipped out of the auction after Anastasia had arrived and told them that her rings had been recovered but she had nothing further to say on the matter.

  I gave them the brief version of events and then Ron led us to another bar that I hadn’t seen before. It was dark and clubby and a quartet played jazz on a small stage. Folks were dancing to the easy rhythms. Ron ordered drinks but we didn’t toast. Then Ron asked Danielle if she would like to dance, which was like asking Einstein if he liked math.

  I didn’t much feel like it but I asked Cassandra if she would join me on the dance floor. She gave me her soft, thin hand. The music wasn’t slow but it was easy, and it allowed couples to dance as close as they wanted. Cassandra took a position like she was a ballroom dancer, one hand high and the other on my shoulder.

  “I can’t believe it was Frederick,” she said.

  “Yeah.”

  “I have to say, Anastasia didn’t appear as sad about it as I would have thought.”

  “Folks have different ways of processing things. She wore her attitude like a suit of armor. Maybe there was a reason for it.”

  “You’re right. Still, I feel for them.”

  “Me too.”

  “Do you think he’ll go to jail?”

  “Danielle doesn’t think so. There’s really only the say-so of the bartender. And if Fred’s attorney has half a brain he’ll claim it was a mix-up with the bags. Those things all look the same. Plus, there are still jurisdictional issues. If it goes to trial it’ll be messy, and I don’t think anyone wants messy. Not the cruise line, not Anastasia. Not Fred.”

  “I suppose the end of a marriage is bad enough.”

  “And he almost drowned.”

  “Yes, horrible. He has a lot to thank you for.”

  “Not sure he sees it that way. He thought an affair was the worst of it.”

  Cassandra stopped dancing and frowned. She did so by tilting her head to the side rather than pinching her eyes together. Fewer lines that way.

  “Anastasia was having an affair?”

  I gulped. “Well, no, not as it turned out.”

  She nodded and began dancing again. I figured she was leading, because she made me start again as well.

  “That’s why you were hired,” she said. “By Frederick. He suspected an affair.”

  “Yes. But it was my case. Not Ron’s.”

  “How could that be? You didn’t know Frederick. Ron did.”

  I wanted to stop talking. The more I said the worse it got for Ron. He knew about the suspected affair and he hadn’t told Cassandra what her friend was doing, or what we were doing by following her.

  “Look, this isn’t Ron’s fault. I told him he couldn’t say anything to you. I told him he’d be fired if he did.”

  “You said you’d fire him?”

  “I did.”

  “Oh, Miami, really. How many people have you fired, ever?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Would the number be close to zero?”

  “It might.”

  And you don’t have to make up stories to cover for Ron. He’s a big boy. Why would he tell me anyway?”

  “I thought you and Anastasia were friends.”

  “We are.”

  “So you don’t care that he didn’t tell you?”

  “Miami, I care. I care that my friend might have been going through something like that.”

  “Ron didn’t participate in the case, if it helps. He kind of recused himself.”

  “Of course he did. Because that’s Ron.”

  “You can trust him.”

  “Miami, you don’t need to sell me on Ron. I love him. And I trust him.”

  “You do? Good.”

  She smiled. “When you get to my age you learn a thing or two. You learn that trust isn’t about telling your partner everything. It’s about knowing that when they don’t tell you something, there’s a darn good reason for it. And if you are really supposed to be together, that reason is good enough for the both of you.”

  I said nothing. I just danced. Then Cassandra dropped her hand from my shoulder.

  “I�
��d like some champagne,” she said.

  “Sounds like a plan.”

  She led me off the floor and we took a small table. I ordered a champagne and a beer, and we watched Danielle and Ron. They were both smiling, as if dancing was the best thing in the world. They weren’t talking. It reminded me of a father-daughter dance at a wedding. I’d seen that once or twice. The happiest and saddest thing I ever saw. A little girl that a father loved was leaving him to be loved by another.

  “Will she be okay? Anastasia?” I asked.

  “If I know her, she’ll put on a face, throw herself into her work. But no. I don’t see how she’ll be okay. Not for a long time. I’ve lost a husband. Not to divorce, but maybe that’s worse. I don’t know. People handle these things in their own way. I wasn’t right for the longest time, maybe not until I met Ronnie. Maybe I’m still not completely right, even now. But we soldier on.”

  I nodded and sipped my beer.

  “It does feel wrong, though,” she said.

  “What does?”

  “Knowing that she must feel heartbroken, in her own way, and at the same time I feel so happy.”

  “It’s okay to be both.”

  She nodded.

  “What about you, Miami?”

  “What about me?”

  “Are you happy?”

  I looked at Danielle, dancing on. “I am.”

  “Hold onto that. If I’ve learned anything apart from trust, it’s how fleeting these things are. Hold onto the good things. The days are long and the years are short and it’s all gone before you know it.”

  I swirled my beer. In it I saw the face of my friend and mentor, Lenny Cox. He had seemed timeless when he was alive but he was taken before I ever had a chance to consider a life without him in it.

  Cassandra set down her flute and rose and offered me her hand.

  “May I have one more dance? Then I should go and see after Anastasia.”