Her mind quickly returned to the abiding worry that if Lady Em commissioned an outside review of her finances, Roger would go to prison. She had absolutely no faith in Roger’s ability to change Lady Em’s mind.
She began to consider her own options. Divorce Roger before the inevitable scandal broke? That might help keep her out of legal trouble, but if he were found to be an embezzler, they’d probably claw back most of the money in their accounts.
Another possibility occurred to her: Roger has a five-million-dollar term life insurance policy, and I am the sole beneficiary. If anything happened to him, I would get the money.
And he does like to sit on the rail of our balcony even when the ocean is choppy.
35
Celia’s second lecture was even more widely attended than the first one. She smiled when she saw Lady Em sitting next to Alvirah and Willy in the first row. Alvirah was chatting away with Lady Em, and Celia was sure that by the time she began speaking Alvirah would be Lady Em’s new friend. As she walked to the lectern, everyone fell silent, but before she spoke, she glanced at Alvirah, who gave her an encouraging smile.
My new best friend, she thought.
After thanking everyone for attending, Celia began. “Emeralds came into usage as jewelry not long after gold. Emerald derives its name from the Ancient Greek word for green. The first known emerald mines were in Egypt. Researchers have dated these mines from 330 B.C. and they were still being worked as late as the 1700s. Cleopatra was reported to have favored emeralds above all other stones.”
She spoke about the emerald’s curative powers and the use of emeralds by early physicians who believed that the best method for restoring the eyes was by looking at an emerald. Its soft green comfort would remove weariness and strain. Truth be told, they were onto something. Even today the color green is recognized to reduce stress and be soothing to the eye.
Wearing an emerald was believed to reveal the truth, or lack of it, in a lover’s oath. It was also purported to make one an eloquent speaker. Placing her hand on her pendant and pushing it forward from her blouse, Celia said, “I don’t own one, so I can’t put that theory to the test today.” Wide laughter from the audience followed.
She then talked about other jewels that had belonged to pharaohs and kings and had been used as ransom, or to pay debts, and other precious stones that were rumored to have curative powers.
When she was finished with the question-and-answer session, one of the guests observed, “Ms. Kilbride, you made us all want to have more jewelry, or wear what we do have every day.”
“Sadly, many people keep lovely jewelry in a safe deposit box and never wear it,” Celia replied. “Of course you have to be careful with it, but why not enjoy it?”
The luncheon with Alvirah and Willy, and the obvious success of the lecture, which was roundly applauded, gave Celia a temporary lift. She returned to her suite. Her long walk on the deck and early morning awakening had left her feeling tired, so she decided to nap before she prepared for the Captain’s cocktail party and the dinner following it.
And that, of course, was another reminder. The expensive gown that she would be wearing she had bought for the honeymoon which, thankfully, never happened.
I might as well take my own advice and enjoy it, she thought. It will be a long, cold day before I spend money like that again.
36
Devon Michaelson wondered if he had made a mistake inviting the other guests at his table to the service this morning. He knew that his startled reaction when the chaplain, Father Baker, offered to pray over the urn had been noticed by Alvirah Meehan, and perhaps by others in the small group. His hope was that they might think he was an atheist.
In fact, he had been raised in a devout Catholic family. Even though he had fallen away from any practice of religion, he had imagined the horror his mother would have felt if he let a priest say a prayer over cigar ashes.
I can’t let anyone start wondering about me, he thought. And by now I should know that I have never been given the luxury of making mistakes.
• • •
Yvonne, Dana and Valerie were finishing their second glasses of wine. They had spent the late morning and early afternoon sunbathing by the pool. As they were talking, Valerie was scanning the list of activities.
“Listen to this,” Yvonne interrupted. “There’s going to be a lecture about the Hamptons including the story of a real-life witch from East Hampton.”
“I know who that must be,” Dana offered. “It’s Julie Winston, the former model who just married the chairman of Browning Brothers. I got stuck seated next to her at a charity ball and—”
“If we’re talking witches, it’s got to be Ethel Pruner. Seven of us were on a committee with her to organize flower arrangements and we all wanted to quit after the first meeting—”
Valerie held up both hands and laughed. “I think they’re referring to a witch that lived in the 1600s. It starts in fifteen minutes. What do you say?”
“Let’s go,” Dana and Yvonne said in unison as they all stood up.
• • •
The presenter introduced himself as Charles Dillingham Chadwick. He was a slender man in his mid-forties, bald, and of average height. Chadwick had that trademark Hamptons ability to speak without moving his lower jaw, but at the same time he had a twinkle in his eye and a willingness to poke fun at himself.
“Thank you all so very much for coming. One of my earliest happy childhood memories is of my father explaining how our family traces its ancestry all the way back to the Mayflower and how our ancestors once owned a considerable amount of land in what is now the Hamptons. My foremost unhappy childhood memory is when I learned that they sold their land for a pittance one hundred years ago.”
Wide laughter followed. Dana said to Valerie and Yvonne, “This is going to be more fun than we thought.”
Chadwick cleared his throat and continued. “I hope you will find as fascinating as I do how a sleepy collection of farming and fishing villages on the easternmost tip of Long Island emerged into one of the world’s foremost playgrounds for the rich and famous. But let’s begin with a story of a neighborly dispute which almost resulted in one of the Hamptons’ early settlers being, shall we say, barbequed.
“In the early days of the Hamptons the Puritans held sway. Thirty-five years before the infamous witch trials in Salem, Massachusetts, Easthampton had its own ‘bewitching’ experience.
“In February 1658, shortly after giving birth, sixteen-year-old Elizabeth Gardiner became very ill and began ranting about being the victim of witchcraft. Young Gardiner would die a day later, but not before she identified her neighbor Goody Garlick as her tormentor. Poor Goody had been the target of other unsavory accusations. She was viewed as the culprit when livestock mysteriously died.
“A review of the Hamptons court records of the time reveals that people were constantly accusing, arguing with and suing each other over the most trivial of matters—I’m tempted to add that little has changed to this very day. Poor Goodie, it appears, was headed for a nasty experience.
“But Garlick was the recipient of some, shall we say, Goody luck, when the East Hampton magistrates, unable to make a decision, referred her case to a higher court in Hartford, the colony that owned the Hamptons at that time.
“Her case was heard by Governor John Winthrop, Jr. Winthrop was a scholar who believed that the magical forces of nature were more responsible for events than people. There may have been a bit of snobbery at work. He was skeptical that a farmer’s wife with little education could perform magical acts. A verdict of not guilty was rendered along with some judicial advice for the cantankerous Hamptons residents. I quote, ‘It is desired and expected by this court that you should carry neighborly and peaceably without offense to Mr. Garlick and his wife, and that they should do like to you.’
“Is this little anecdote important? I think so. After Winthrop’s decision, Easthampton had no more accusations of witchcraft, while tha
t subject would paralyze communities in Massachusetts for years to come. As for Hamptons residents behaving neighborly, that remains a work in progress.”
37
The Captain’s cocktail party was held in his large, beautifully decorated suite. Soft blues and pale greens on the walls and furnishings were the color scheme. Smiling waiters offered drinks and hors d’oeuvres. Celia had fastened back her dark hair with a gold clip and let it cascade down on her shoulders. Her moss-green gown was shimmering chiffon. The earrings that had been her mother’s were her only jewelry.
She did not realize it, but the eyes of the Captain, as well as most of the other men present, lingered on her as she chatted with other guests. Lady Em arrived shortly after her. She was wearing a simple black gown which set off the breathtaking three-strand emerald necklace that had once adorned Cleopatra, Queen of Egypt, and had not been seen in public in one hundred years. Startling in its beauty, each emerald sparkled in unblemished clarity. Lady Em’s white hair was piled softly on her head; her wide hazel eyes and long lashes gave hints of the beauty she had been, and her straight carriage combined to present a regal, commanding image. Her earrings were pear-shaped diamonds, and other than that she wore only her diamond wedding band, to ensure that nothing would distract from the awe-inspiring necklace.
Like Celia, she had decided to put aside her concerns for the evening. She wanted to enjoy the sensation that she knew she was causing. It reminded her of those faraway days when she bowed to the thunderous applause of packed theaters as a prima ballerina.
And although he was always present in her subconscious mind, it so vividly brought back memories of Richard, including when he was waiting at the stage door that wonderful night in London when they first met. Handsome, courtly Richard, who had stepped forward from the crowd of admirers, reached for her hand and kissed it.
And never let it go, she thought wistfully, as she accepted a glass of wine.
Alvirah was wearing the beige gown and matching jacket that Willy liked best. In the late afternoon she had had her hair done at the beauty salon and even allowed herself to be persuaded to have light makeup applied to her face.
As always, Captain Fairfax was an impeccable host. The intense worry he was harboring did not show in his face or manner. He had three concerns: the Man with One Thousand Faces might be in this room right now salivating for Lady Haywood’s emeralds, the sea was already beginning to show a trace of the heavy storm they were sailing into, and the engine problem had already put them behind schedule.
Ted Cavanaugh, the partner in a law firm, was the next guest to come over to him. Fairfax had been made aware of his background. Son of the former ambassador to Egypt and the Court of Saint James, celebrated for seeking to reclaim stolen antiquities. The Captain had a twenty-three-year-old daughter. This is the kind of chap I wish Lisa would bring home, he thought. Good-looking, successful, impeccable family background, instead of that long-haired musician, a harmonica player.
He extended his hand to Ted. “Welcome, Mr. Cavanaugh. I hope you have been enjoying your cruise.”
“Indeed I have been,” Ted replied while returning the Captain’s firm handshake.
Fairfax smiled.
His attention was diverted by the arrival of Devon Michaelson, the Interpol agent whose cover was a retired engineer. The Captain moved across the room to greet him but was blocked by Anna DeMille’s swift rush to Michaelson’s side. Instead he turned to the couple on his left. He had been briefed on them. The Meehans had won forty million dollars in the lottery about five years ago, and Mrs. Meehan had gained prominence as a newspaper columnist who also managed to solve crimes.
“Mr. and Mrs. Meehan,” he said with the pleasant smile that always masked his true concerns.
“Alvirah and Willy,” Alvirah said promptly. “Captain, it’s such a privilege to be on the maiden voyage of this beautiful ship. It will always be a wonderful memory for us.”
At that moment the door was pushed open and Yvonne Pearson burst in. “My husband fell overboard!” she shrieked. “My husband fell overboard!”
38
“Come with me” had been Captain Fairfax’s response to an emotionally wrought Yvonne. He led her out of the crowded lounge to a private room. As they walked, he barked orders into his phone instructing John Saunders, his chief of security, to meet him at the purser’s desk. It was only when the door to the small office was closed behind him that he and Saunders began to interview Yvonne.
“Mrs. Pearson,” Fairfax began, “tell me precisely what you saw and heard in regard to what happened to your husband.”
Yvonne spoke haltingly, trying to choke back sobs. “We, I mean Roger and I, were in our suite. We were talking out on the balcony. We had both had a few drinks. Roger was sitting up on the railing. I asked him to not do that. He told me to mind my own business. And then he fell.” Yvonne buried her head in her hands and sobbed.
“Mrs. Pearson,” the Captain began, “I know how upsetting this is for you, and I’m sorry to have to ask you all these questions. I guarantee you we want to find your husband just as much as you do. But before I consider turning this ship around and going back to try to find him, I have to know exactly what you saw.”
Yvonne wiped tears away and accepted the tissue offered by Saunders. Between sniffles a thought occurred to her. She had immediately raced to the cocktail lounge to announce that Roger had gone overboard. She was desperately worried that she should have waited longer. She had no idea how long it would take for the ship to turn around and go back. Or would they quickly send a small boat back to look for him? But the Captain doesn’t seem to be in a hurry to begin the search, she thought.
“I’m sorry. This is so upsetting. I have to admit I was upset when Roger told me to mind my own business. I went back in the suite and I angrily slid the balcony door shut behind me. A minute later when I went back out to tell him it was time to head over to the cocktail party, he was gone.” She burst into tears again, then considered swooning, perhaps even a full-blown faint, but she wasn’t certain it would appear genuine.
It was Saunders who asked the next question, while holding out another tissue. “Mrs. Pearson, you said, ‘a minute later,’ you went out to the balcony and your husband was gone. The reason we are questioning you so closely is that most reports of a person going overboard turn out to be false alarms. The missing person is almost always located somewhere else on the ship, sometimes unfortunately in a place he shouldn’t be. What precisely did you do in that minute between when you last saw your husband on the balcony sitting on the deck rail and when you went back to get him to go to the cocktail party?”
Yvonne made a conscious effort to hide an immense wave of relief that was washing over her. “I did go into the bathroom for just a moment.”
“Did you close the door when you went to the bathroom?” Saunders asked.
“Of course I did.”
“So you were in the bathroom for at least a minute with the door closed,” the Captain said. “And is it possible that your husband could have left the suite while you,” he hesitated, “had the door closed?”
“Well, I certainly think I would have heard the balcony door and then the suite door open and close,” she said. “But, you know, the flush noise is a little on the loud side.”
“It is, and I apologize for that,” the Captain said. “But if I slow this ship down or turn it around, we would lose the opportunity to reach Southampton on time. This would be a major disruption for our guests, many of whom are heading straight to the airports for scheduled flights. I recommend that we conduct a thorough search of the ship to try to find your husband. If we are not successful, we will then consider what to do next.”
Saunders reached forward and handed Yvonne a sheet of paper and a pen. “Mrs. Pearson. There is a protocol that we follow in these unfortunate situations. I am going to ask you to complete this form that will include your written account of what happened in your suite around the time you last saw
your husband. When you are finished and you have reviewed it for accuracy, you and I will both sign the form.”
Yvonne was feeling absolutely buoyant. “I so appreciate that we are all doing everything we can to find my poor dear Roger.”
39
Yvonne had refused Captain Fairfax’s offer to have one of his men accompany her back to her cabin. “I’ll be all right,” she had said. “I just need some time alone to pray for my dear Roger.”
After she left, the Captain asked Saunders, “What do you think?”
“She admitted she didn’t see him fall overboard. She also admitted that they both had a lot to drink. And this was before they were planning to go to your cocktail party. I’m not at all convinced that he went overboard.”
“Neither am I,” Fairfax agreed. “The last time I had an incident like this on a ship I commanded, the wife insisted she saw her husband get washed over when the ship hit a swell. If the chap did go over, he got very lucky. He landed unharmed in the bed of a floozy passenger several levels below.”
“So, what are we going to do?” Saunders asked.
Before the Captain could answer, his phone rang. He picked it up. Even without the phone on speaker mode, Saunders could hear every word coming from the mouth of Gregory Morrison, the blustery ship owner.
“What the hell is going on?” asked the voice on the other end of the phone.
“A report has been made by a woman passenger that her husband may have—”
“I know that, dammit,” Morrison bellowed. “I want to know what in hell you’re doing about it.”
“Mr. Saunders and I have questioned the wi—” The Captain had started to say “widow” but caught himself. “The wife of the man who may have gone overboard. Both she and her husband had been drinking a lot, and she admits she didn’t actually see him go over. My recommendation is—”
All by Myself, Alone Page 8
