Deep Sea Dead

by Lori Avocato

  Kris turned toward the computer and clicked on PRINT. Soon the printer whizzed and coughed out a few sheets.

  I reached into my pocket and took out Remy’s key. “I was hoping Rico would be around.”

  “Aren’t we all? What a piece he is.” She chuckled a low rather sexy sound.

  Hmm. Was there something going on between them? Sometimes I felt as if I were sailing through a soap opera. Maybe there was something about the Bermuda Triangle after all. Or, in reality, maybe it was because these folks were cooped up on a cruise ship, often stuck out at sea for weeks on end, and turned to each other for fun and comfort.

  And sometimes fraud.

  “Yes-” I laughed. “Rico is a doll. Actually there are several dolls onboard.” The key felt hot in my hand as if reminding me to find out what I could. “I know you weren’t on the ship at the beginning of this cruise, but does this look familiar to you? Do you know what it is?” I opened my palm.

  “It’s a key.” She got up, took the papers from the printer. Then she turned to me, standing there with my stupid hand spread out. “Sorry. I couldn’t resist.” She looked closer. “It looks to me like one of the keys for the janitor’s closets or the stock rooms down below. Where the engines are and the mechanics work. All the state rooms have card keys.”

  While I processed all the possibilities, she looked at me. “Where’d you get it? Maybe that would help.”

  Yikes. Now I had to bring out my Oscar-winning lie. “Oh. I found it.” Meryl Streep I was not today.

  “There’s a lost and found. Give it to Adam Watt, the ship’s purser. Have you met him?” She shoved some papers into the out-box.

  “No.” And I don’t intend to just yet. “Well, I’ll let you get back to work. Tell Peter thanks for the coffee, but I don’t do caffeine so late.” There were no patients waiting, but I had to say something to get out of there and go start checking doors.

  “Yeah, I’ll rush right over to take care of all these passengers!” She laughed.

  I like Kris, I thought as I walked out, clutching my pepper-spray locket.

  I just might need that locket as I tried to find out what this key unlocked.

  I made a quick trip to my cabin to get my miniature camera disguised as a beeper and attached it to the waistband of my jeans. Betty wasn’t there, which I was glad to see, so I wouldn’t have to explain what the heck I was doing with a beeper, and me not even on call. I yanked my shirt out of my pants so that it covered the camera. One final check in the mirror to make sure I looked innocent, and I was out the door and down the hallway.

  I knew the general direction of the other crew’s quarters, but still had no idea how to get to the lower part of the ship. I planned to take the next set of downward stairs that I found.

  The ship was to stay in the Miami harbor until morning, so I had plenty of time to investigate. When I opened a fire door between two hallways, I heard lots of noise. For a second I hesitated and almost turned back, but instead, I stayed and listened.

  Laughter.

  Shouting.

  Music.

  Didn’t sound too ominous. I slipped into the second hallway and turned a corner. It looked as if the entire crew was settled along the floor, standing in the middle or walking through the hallway.

  Rico turned around and shouted, “Hey, amore! Come join the hallway party!”

  Before I could say a thing, Rico grabbed me and was introducing me to all the staff, mostly guys. Seemed they often got together in the hallway to have a few beers and party out of the view of the captain and passengers. No one was rowdy, and they all seemed very nice.

  Someone handed me a Coors in a bottle, and Rico chastised them for not giving “a lady” a plastic cup. “I prefer mine from the bottle,” I yelled to the cheers of the guys around me.

  When I took my first sip, I thought I should be investigating, but then realized, after looking over this crowd, that half of these guys probably worked down below.

  Where the key might fit.

  I started to work the crowd, getting to know some really nice guys. One of them, Eduardo Castillo, who said to call him “Eddie,” and told me he was the motorman. He was sitting on the floor at the far end of the hallway.

  I laughed and sat next to him when he gestured toward the floor. “Is that anything like Superman?”

  With a grin, he said, “Sí, I am like the Superman-” He leaned forward and leered at me, but I knew he was teasing. As I laughed, he said, “But really my job is to take care and clean parts of the engines.”

  Bingo.

  “Well, Superman Eddie, that sounds interesting. I can’t imagine how huge the engines must be to run a ship like this.” I chuckled and took a swig of my beer. “The biggest engine I ever saw was under the hood of my Volvo.”

  We both laughed.

  Eddie got up and reached out his hand to me. “Come, Paulina, I will show you a big engine.”

  “That’s not like ‘come to my place and I’ll show you my etchings’ is it?” I grabbed his hand and stood up.

  Eddie laughed. “I am married. My wife and children, three of them, live back in Ecuador. I send them money and go home when I can.”

  Phew. At least I didn’t have to play up to Eddie to get to see the downstairs. “That’s great. Lead the way, Motorman.”

  We said goodbye to the rest of the crew and Eddie told Rico what our plans were.

  “Sounds like the highlight of your trip, amore.”

  Better than a murder in my cabin, I thought, but said, “I’m really excited to see the workings of this thing!”

  In true gentlemanly fashion, Eddie gave me the grand tour, introducing me to all the crewmembers as we met them. Several were engineers who worked the gigantic computerized ivory panel opposite a wall of pale green with switches, knobs and red lights running the entire length. The room was very narrow, but I guessed that made it easier to see the panel from the other side.

  Eddie seemed animated when he gave me the tour-and, although I kept looking for locks that the key might fit, I was actually enjoying myself. It was amazing what it took to power this ship. I’d love to be down there when the ship actually set sail in the morning.

  Hopefully I would have some information before tomorrow.

  “And this is where I work,” Eddie said proudly.

  “Neat.” I looked around the sparkling-clean room. There was a chugging sound and an oily smell. The area had several levels, with iron grid walkways leading to parts of what Eddie called the “heart of the ship.”

  “Looks as if you keep the place spotless.”

  He beamed with pride. “Gracias, Paulina.”

  I looked at my watch and realized it was getting late. Not a night person, I would be hard-pressed to get up tomorrow if I didn’t get my eight hours of beauty rest. I yawned.

  “Oh, boy. Someone is tired.”

  “Yeah. I think I’ll head back.”

  “I’ll walk you to the infirmary area. It is not too easy to find your way around here sometimes.”

  Thankful, I smiled, but in reality planned to ditch Eddie to snoop around. What better excuse than to say I got “lost” if someone found me?

  Just then, a crewmember in a royal blue jumpsuit came up the steps. “Oh, Eduardo. Perfect timing. David needs to find the tools that he claims were left near the number-two generator. Have you seen them, man?” The guy nodded politely at me when he finished speaking to Eddie.

  There is a God.

  Eddie made a quick introduction and let me convince him that I could find my way “home.” Soon I was outside the engine room with the key pressed into my hand-inside my pocket.

  Kris had been correct. There were plenty of doors around here that had key locks instead of card keys. I took out the key, said a fast prayer and started to turn door handles. If they didn’t open, I stuck the key in and tried to turn. After an hour, I really was lost and had seen enough closets and supply rooms to last a lifetime.

  It seemed as if I�
��d passed the engine room three times, but no one was around to give me directions-and believe me, I wasn’t above asking. I thought of Jagger and smiled to myself. He’d never admit to being lost or ask how to find his way.

  Suddenly I missed him. Not for help with my case-since I was proud I’d gotten this far-but more…as a friend. Working crime was a lot of common sense, which was something I had.

  I walked to the end of the hallway and stopped. Which way to take? Down the right corridor several guys were working on changing light bulbs in the ceiling fixtures. The left corridor was empty.

  I took the left.

  All the doors were numbered and labeled, which I thought was for fire purposes. Someone would need to know that information to find the area on such a large vessel. With the key still in my hand, I turned knobs as I went along.

  Three were locked doors but my key didn’t fit. At the end of the hallway was the emergency exit and a door leading to a set of stairs. But underneath the stairs was an unmarked door. Paint peeled a bit on the wall near the door. Seemed odd on a ship that was kept so top notch.

  Actually, the peeling looked like a little dolphin. How appropriate. I could use it as my marker for where to resume my search for what door the key fit.

  After three more yawns, I gave up tonight’s search. I mimicked Scarlet O’Hara in my head with “Tomorrow is another day,” and then started up the stairs.

  I heard footsteps coming down toward me.

  Shoot. I really didn’t feel like taking the time to explain what the heck I was doing here. So I turned and flew down the stairs and toward the unmarked room. I grabbed the handle and turned. Nothing. Damn!

  Now two people were talking. Male voices. I stuck the key in the lock, said, “Come on, Saint Theresa, give me a break here,” and turned.

  The lock clicked.

  The door opened.

  I stepped into the darkness and hid there, holding the door open just enough to see the two crewmembers walk past. Phew again. When they left, I opened the door, allowing the bright light of the corridor to highlight the room.

  “Oh…my…God.”

  Fourteen

  Stella Sokol always used to tell us kids that prayers were not always answered and there is a good reason why. However, she was never able to give us any reason other than “because they are or they are not.”

  Sensing that I was alone, I flipped on the light switch and looked at the room I’d taken refuge in.

  Saint Theresa had come through like gangbusters.

  I said a quick thanks and walked into the tiny space to observe a bed, which looked as if it’d been squeezed into the tiny place, and an olive drab duffel bag lying on the floor with clothing spewing out. What originally caught my attention was the pair of white sneakers, a pair of white slacks and a white shirt with the epaulets on the shoulders-exactly like mine.

  Exactly like Rico’s, Betty’s and Kristina’s.

  A crew nursing uniform.

  Aman’s.

  Remy Girard’s.

  I leaned closer to a box that was turned upside down for a makeshift table. Framed in brass and silver was the photo of Jackie, Betty and Remy-all smiling-and him wearing a salmon-colored tee shirt that said BERMUDA on the front in bold yellow.

  Remy Girard was indeed alive and living on this ship!

  My hand flew to my mouth to stifle a gasp although I felt sure no one was around to hear me. After my hand stopped shaking, I decided I needed to report my find to the safety officer and in turn the FBI. But first I took a few shots with my beeper camera. Remy easily could have killed Jackie and no one would have known, since he was missing and thought dead. He must have kept the extra key in the kitchenette in case he lost one or had to jump ship and come back in disguise.

  How clever the guy must be.

  Clever enough to be running an insurance-fraud scam from the bowels of the Golden Dolphin-and nearly getting away with murder.

  It only took me forty-eight minutes to find my way back to the main body of the ship and to ask where the safety officer’s office was. A few times I had to duck into the nearest open door when I thought I heard someone behind me. No one could be following me, because, after all, how could they know who I was? Before I knew it, I was telling William Benoit, the safety officer; the captain and the FBI suits about my find. I told them who I really was and turned over the key to the blond one.

  I was ready to defend myself in case they thought I was a nutcase, but Captain Duarte said they had known who I was from the beginning. I was floored, but realized Jagger must have something to do with that (and well, this was the FBI). I imagined they even knew about all the parking tickets I’d gotten throughout the years.

  Obviously Jagger had told them to protect me, or right now I think I’d be sitting in some uncomfortable straight chair beneath a naked lightbulb in a dark room, facing interrogation by Miami’s finest and the FBI crew.

  Hmm. If Jagger had shared his cover with them, how come he’d gotten thrown off the ship? Was that a cover too? Was I going to “run into” him in some darkened hallway one of these nights?

  One never knew, where Jagger was concerned.

  A sense of relief washed over me, especially since I had found and taken pictures of several checks in Remy’s room with the invoices showing that two thirds of the payments went to insurance carriers and one third to our fraud criminals. They had been made out to “cash.” Once the photos were developed, I’d find his accomplices and be going home soon.

  “But whom is he still working with?” the captain asked. “Who knows that Mr. Gerard is on this ship and is in cahoots with him?”

  “Good question. Seems as if we think alike,” I said. “That was my next plan. To find out the answer to that.”

  The suit with the blond hair said, “We’ll make a thorough check, ma’am.”

  Ma’am? The way he said it made me sound so old. I didn’t want to argue with a Fed, so I just smiled silently, thinking, I’m not giving up on my case, buddy. Not while Fabio holds the key to my paycheck.

  Captain Duarte stood. “Please show us this hideaway, Ms. Sokol.”

  Whoa, boy. I didn’t think they’d be real pleased with me for taking forty-eight minutes to show them the way. I smiled and said, “Follow me,” all the while praying I could trace my steps backward faster than I found it the first time.

  When we passed the gift shop twice, I decided I wasn’t above the truth-in order to not anger the FBI guy, who, by the way, was not really pleased to see the gift shop again.

  “Well, unless the ship has two identical gift shops, I seem to have lost my bearings. Maybe the Bermuda Triangle has something to do with it.” I said and then laughed.

  The captain gave me a fatherly smile.

  Mr. Benoit stood silent and glaring.

  And the blond FBI guy said, “Perhaps, ma’am, if you tell the captain what the area looked like, he can get us there…faster.”

  As if I couldn’t. Well! I gave Captain Duarte a good description (Leaving out the chipped paint dolphin on the wall. I didn’t want them to think I was crazy, like some people who see the Virgin Mary on walls or made out of potato chips.). He frowned (I’m sure wondering what the heck I was doing down there in the first place, since my case was in the medical area), and then we were on our way-miles away from where the gift shop was.

  “There. There it is!” I said, nearly shouting after we’d turned a corner in the hallway. I looked at my watch. Thirty-seven minutes, including the double trip by the gift shop. Not bad, I thought, until I looked at the annoyed yet good-looking, face of the FBI guy.

  “That room has been used for storage. There should have been boxes in it,” Captain Duarte said.

  I eased past the safety office and the FBI guy. “Well, one box was still left. Mr. Girard had it turned upside down like a table. He had a picture of himself, Jackie and Betty on it.”

  Mr. Benoit took out what must have been a master key and stuck it in the lock. When it clicked a
nd he reached for the door handle, I said, “I guess Remy is the number-one suspect in Jackie’s murder?”

  The door opened in a second, Mr. Benoit flipped on the light and I heard the blond guy mutter, “Christ.”

  The room was completely empty.

  With Captain Duarte in the lead, we made our way back to his office in less than ten minutes. He opened his door and waved a hand for us all to pass.

  I wanted to turn and run. I’d been apologizing and mumbling how the stuff really was in the room when I saw it.

  The blond Fed didn’t believe me. I could tell.

  But Captain Duarte said, “I’m sure it was, Ms. Sokol.” Although I think he was lying.

  And Mr. Benoit, obviously feeling sorry for me, said, “Criminals like to cover their tracks.”

  “Which means Remy is still onboard!” And knows that I found his hiding place. Now my life was in danger.

  The other FBI agent asked me if anyone had seen me earlier, when I’d been looking for this supposed room. I told him about the footsteps behind me and how I had to duck into the room after I opened it with the key.

  They chatted for a while and concluded that I should be more careful. The blond suggested to the captain that I not be allowed to investigate anywhere but around the infirmary. I heard him say something about a bodyguard, but the guy was a master at hiding what he didn’t want others to hear. “For her own safety,” he’d said.

  Holding back the urge to slug him, I said, “I can take care of myself, sir.” There. Take that. He looked about my age, but my calling him “sir” made me feel younger.

  “Everyone says that.” He turned toward the captain, who stood there with a pitiable look on his face-for me.

  “I’m sure Agent Harwinton (the blond) only has your safety in mind. It might be a good idea to stay away from secluded areas until Mr. Girard is in custody.

  “Might be a good idea” was not the same as being ordered not to go there. Splitting hairs, sure. But still, it kept me from openly disobeying the nice captain.