Dead Slow Ahead (Casey Jones Book 2)

by Stella Whitelaw

  ‘Give us a clue. Royalty, head of state, politician?’

  ‘I told you. I don’t know. Perhaps you could keep an eye open? I know how good you are at spotting unusual things,’ he said.

  ‘I’ll certainly do that,’ I said, all tiredness gone. ‘Difficult to spot someone who doesn’t want to be recognized, but as soon as I know who they are, I’ll tell you.’

  ‘You’re a brick.’

  First I was Medusa and now I was a brick. I was getting my identity confused.

  Three

  At Sea

  We would be leaving the Bay of Biscay behind sometime later this morning, passing Cape Finisterre, and heading south along the coast of Portugal. There were fine and clear skies and already the temperature was climbing.

  ‘Good morning, Miss Jones,’ said Ahmed, my steward. ‘You slept well?’

  ‘Like a log.’

  He looked bemused.

  ‘It’s a phrase, meaning a sound sleep.’

  He nodded, filing it away. ‘Like a log. A piece of wood is asleep.’

  I took the lift to the Terrace Cafe where breakfast was served till elevenses took over. I accepted the disinfectant squirt into my hands, rubbed the alcohol together till it vaporized, and took a tray. I had no desire to join the long queue for a full English. My breakfast was always the same: fruit and maybe a croissant if it was a decadent day.

  But it was an overflowing bowl of melon slices, chunks of watermelon, grapefruit segments, prunes, orange slices, pineapple rings, cranberries and raisins. My five-fruits a day, all in one go. I took the tray to an outside table, not put off by the breeze, wanting to be away from people for a few more precious minutes. I could sit and watch the sea.

  It would be all hands, feet, arms and faces on deck this morning. The passengers had a lot of activities to choose from, different ways of filling the time between meals — lectures, exercise classes, ballroom dancing, swimming, needlepoint, painting, strolling the shops and art gallery. Or they could simply grab a sun lounger and stretch out to catch a tan. The perfect way to see the world.

  Lucinda Ember found me with unerring accuracy as I thought she might. She had that look in her eye. I said goodbye to peace.

  ‘I had a very uncomfortable night,’ she began, sitting herself at my table. ‘I hardly slept.’

  ‘Oh dear,’ I said, spoon aloft, hoping she would notice that I was eating my breakfast. ‘What a pity.’

  ‘I expect my stateroom to be ready soon.’

  ‘If you go to the main reception and ask for the purser, you will be able to find out. I’m sure they will have worked through the night to get your stateroom ready for reoccupation.’ I knew they had. I’d already checked.

  ‘And I should expect so. Has the doctor found out anything about the blood?’

  ‘I wouldn’t know. I’m sure his tests will be very accurate.’

  ‘I’d like to be informed.’

  ‘Of course,’ I said, trying to get some pineapple past my lips. ‘I’ll ask him to let you know.’

  ‘This isn’t the end of this matter,’ she said, rising to her feet.

  ‘I’m sure it isn’t,’ I said, maintaining my calm.

  ‘I’m not happy about the way I was treated,’ she continued, flinging a long silk scarf over her shoulder. ‘I should have had something better than that pokey little cabin.’

  ‘Unfortunately it was all that was available,’ I said. I nearly added that perhaps the captain’s cabin would have suited her better. We should have asked him to move.

  I had a feeling that Miss Ember was going to be a pain in the backside for the whole of the cruise. She had that demanding look about her. But there were other departments on-board all poised and ready to deal with her various complaints. I passed over my responsibility with an inaudible sigh of relief.

  One of the new dancers was homesick. She was so unwell that she did not make the morning rehearsal, but was heard sobbing her heart out under a lifeboat. I took her to my office and let her phone home, while she sobbed down the phone for five minutes. Her mother was apparently trying to talk sense into her daughter when Lee Williams came in, sweaty and glowing from an invigorating quoits match on deck. Kristy took one look at him and did a quick retake on the options.

  ‘Well, I’ll stay until Palma,’ said Kristy, drying her eyes on the hem of her minuscule T-shirt. ‘That’s all. Then I’m coming straight home. Bye, Mum.’

  Lee was making her a mug of coffee. ‘That’s my girl, the true professional,’ he said. ‘Do a couple of shows. I bet you look really stunning.’

  ‘Maybe a show or two,’ she agreed, nodding.

  ‘I’ll be there in the front row,’ he promised. ‘Throw me a smile.’

  He was an asset, parcelled in muscles and a pleasant nature. Kristy wouldn’t have stayed on for me. I’d lay bets she’d be on-board for the whole three weeks, dancing her feet off on stage, tanning all day, partying all night. It’s what dancers like to do.

  I was touring the decks, stopping to talk to passengers, passing the time of day. I recognized a few who had stayed back-to-back. That is, they were doing two cruises without getting off. Saved packing and unpacking.

  ‘You’re the entertainments director, aren’t you?’ said a man in his fifties, tailored in blazer, buttoned-down shirt and slacks. ‘Where’s the naval lecturer, I want to know?’ he blazed.

  He was annoyed. He’d probably misread the information in the brochure but he was not going to admit it. An official complaint suited his nature, fed his ego.

  ‘Our naval lecturer is not on this cruise nor is the author on creative writing,’ I said. ‘We have different lecturers every cruise so that passengers have a variety of topics.’

  ‘I came especially for the naval lectures on Nelson and Trafalgar. I’m an ex-Navy man. Minesweepers.’ He had narrow, bad-tempered eyes. I bet the mines had been scared.

  ‘I’m really sorry, but you’ve missed him.’ It would be tactless to add that the naval lecturer was very good. ‘We have lectures on Ancient Rome and Ancient Greece this trip as we are calling into Rome.’

  ‘Historical rubbish,’ he said, clearly annoyed with himself. ‘I shan’t go to those. The brochure clearly said naval.’

  It was pointless to argue with him. He knew best. ‘Why not try something else? Painting perhaps? You could paint pictures of ships.’

  ‘Nonsense, I don’t know one end of a paintbrush from the other.’

  We could give him a pot of white paint and a brush. The Countess was like the Forth Bridge, always being painted from bow to stern.

  I let him ramble on for a few minutes, getting the spite out of his blood. His name was Commander Frank Trafford (retired), now living in Falmouth, still mad about boats or shipping of any size.

  ‘So you could take over, if we needed support on the bridge?’ I said, joking, but he took it seriously.

  ‘Of course I could, anytime. I’ve commanded bigger ships than this. I’m not going to ruin my health, toasting myself to a crisp on deck. You’ll find me in the library.’

  Reading maps, I supposed, navigating our course. X marks the spot where the treasure is buried.

  There was a good film on tonight in the cinema and I wanted to see it. Johnny Depp in Pirates of the Caribbean. Perhaps it would suit Commander Trafford. I didn’t know which film it was of the trilogy. I was always missing them at home. I’d watch anything that Johnny Depp was in, even that scary headless rider film, Sleepy Hollow.

  Mrs Fairweather was travelling back-to-back, which surprised me. I didn’t think she would have the money. And she was without her friend this trip, Maria de Leger. Madame de Leger had gone home to write her memoirs entitled How to Kill Off People Without Getting Caught. It was a catchy title.

  ‘It’s lovely to see you again, Miss Jones,’ said Mrs Fairweather. ‘You were so kind to me last cruise, when I didn’t know anyone. And, of course, Maria has gone as well. I miss her. We became such good friends.’

  ‘Lov
ely lady,’ I said. As long as you didn’t upset her, say, by stealing her bicycle during the Dunkirk evacuation. Then she showed a different side to her nature, might harbour a grudge for years. Still, the circumstances had been a little traumatic.

  ‘I hope you have a really peaceful trip,’ Mrs Fairweather went on, fanning herself. ‘You were rushed off your feet last time. I promise you that I shan’t complain about anything.’

  I had to laugh. She was a really nice lady. Perhaps there would be a new friend for her. I’d keep my eyes and ears alert.

  ‘You play bridge, don’t you? The bridge tutors are looking for experienced players to partner the beginners a few times. You might like to do that.’

  ‘Oh yes, I wouldn’t mind at all. Learning to play bridge is hard work. It does help to have a sympathetic partner.’

  ‘There you are, then. A new career.’

  We were sailing near enough to the coast of Portugal to see distant hills and cliffs but little else. A seagull fluttered in the wind, undecided whether to stay with us or fly back to land. A glimpse of land was enough to relax the passengers and they were out in full for a deck barbecue at lunch time. There was a selection of curries as well as the usual barbecue fare. The deck barbecues didn’t smell as much as the back-garden variety. The fumes were carried away by the breeze.

  Dr Mallory sauntered on deck. He was in tennis gear. He’d been at the nets, practising his service. My idea of ball coordination was picking them up from the court and stowing them in a pocket.

  ‘Good night’s sleep, Casey?’

  ‘Excellent, but not long enough.’

  ‘No dreams of leaking showers?’

  ‘Not a drip.’

  ‘I’ve done a few tests on the blood samples.’ He could be so irritating. Information had to be dragged out of him. I didn’t want to hear that a body had been found under the floorboards of the cabin above. There wasn’t much room between decks, only space for wires, water and sluice pipes. A body would have to be dismembered. I shuddered at the thought.

  ‘Don’t tell me. Miss Ember will demand to be flown home.’

  ‘It was pig’s blood.’

  ‘She’ll demand to be flown home.’

  Somehow that was even more shocking. It became a deliberate act, not an accident. ‘How extraordinary. Was it some joker from the kitchen? Someone with a sick mind?’

  ‘Hardly a joke. Richard is interrogating everyone connected to the butchers’ department. Lunch might be a little late.’

  It was a joke but he looked concerned. He didn’t like the idea either.

  ‘I hope word of this doesn’t spread around the ship. We shall have female vapours in every bathroom. They’ll be too scared to take a shower in case the phantom pig blood man has paid a call.’

  ‘You have such a neat way with words, Casey. I shall have to deal with the vapours, maintenance with the showers, Norton with the rumours, and you, dear lady, will have to fly out a few extra lecturers. How about relaxation and aromatherapy?’

  ‘Which reminds me, I have to introduce this afternoon’s lecturer, Theo Papados, at two p.m. in the lecture theatre. His subject is Ancient Greece, if you are interested, mythology and all that. He’s apparently excellent. A man with academic knowledge.’

  ‘It’s my favourite subject.’

  ‘Thought it was.’

  His gaze was wandering towards the barbecue. There was already a queue. Most men like burgers grilled to a cinder, though our chefs were rather more experienced. Sam eased his weight from one foot to another, as if judging how much empty stomach he had to fill.

  ‘If you don’t mind, the carnivore in me calls,’ he said. ‘Quite loudly.’

  ‘Save me a lettuce.’

  I knew I wouldn’t have time for any lunch. Theo Papados had brought slides to accompany his lecture and I had to check whether the theatre assistant had set up the equipment. A first lecture was often fraught with a nervous lecturer and an audience that didn’t know what to expect. But once the lecturers got into the swing of it I could send Lee to make sure everything was in place.

  My Conway Blue Line uniform was fine for making the first introduction, though a bit formal. No time to change. I grabbed a glass of water from a bar, thanking the barman for the ice. He grinned.

  ‘The best Russian vodka, Miss Jones,’ he said. He was only kidding.

  The curved lecture theatre was already filling up. Passengers came early to get a good seat. It was the same in the Princess Lounge where the nightly spectacular shows were performed. Those stage side seats were at a premium. I’ve seen handbags at the ready.

  The equipment was set up and the slides in place. I showed Theo Papados how to work the machine. He was apparently a lecturer who used notes and stood at the lectern. Our creative writing lecturer on the last cruise had talked from the heart, not a note in sight, roaming the theatre, moving among passengers, getting everyone involved, raising laughs.

  Theo Papados was a short man with slicked-back hair, a Greek lecturer from London. He was immaculate in a dark suit and tie, despite the rising temperature. At least the lecture theatre was air-conditioned. I always had to bring a pashmina to watch a film when the theatre transformed into a cinema at night.

  He was nervous, even though he was an experienced lecturer. I tried to make him feel at ease as we waited for the seats to fill up. It was going to be a full house.

  ‘We have all been looking forward to your talks,’ I said encouragingly. ‘It’s such a fascinating subject. And of course, we shall be calling at many of the places you’ll mention in your talks.’

  ‘Lectures,’ he corrected.

  ‘Sorry, yes, of course, lectures.’ Big foot, Casey. Both size sixes.

  At two p.m. promptly, I went up on to the small stage and introduced Professor Theo Papados, remembering his qualifications at various universities and the books he had published. I briefly mentioned the remit of his lectures.

  He was still nervous, adjusting his tie, his cuffs. Very Prince Charles.

  ‘Ladies and Gentlemen, a warm welcome for Professor Theo Papados.’ There was a wave of clapping. Our well-fed passengers are a polite lot, as long as they are being entertained.

  He adjusted his spectacles and launched into his talk, sorry, lecture. There was no need to worry about him. He knew what he was doing. He was pure circuit professional. I only hoped he would also circulate among our passengers and not shut himself away in his cabin. Our lecturers were expected to talk all day and half the night. We ought to provide free lozenges.

  He was talking about the Greek gods Lieto and Zeus and their son, Apollo. Time for me to leave discreetly. I could read up on it later. I slipped out of the back exit.

  I wondered about our celebrity, incognito. It obviously wasn’t royalty with a capital R. Not even minor royalty. Nor were they political with a small p. Nor a television celebrity or soap star who would have been recognized immediately. An American film star perhaps? Who could it be? Maybe it was a faceless millionaire footballer, who earned more in a week than I earned in a couple of years. Wasn’t anyone going to tell me?

  The day was going well. Lee Williams and I were working well as a team. I could see he was an entertainments director in the making. But not quite yet. There were still a few rough edges to file down. I got out my emery board.

  My occasional afternoon treat was a cream tea at a table outside the Terrace Cafe, if I had missed lunch. A warm scone from the oven, a pot of fresh cream, strawberry jam and a cup of Earl Grey. My idea of calorific heaven. Forget the fat content.

  I had cream rimmed round my mouth, not caring whether I would get into this evening’s couture dress, when Richard Norton appeared by the table, his eyes sweeping over my gourmet feast. He looked a mite envious. He had to watch his weight, even at six foot three.

  ‘What’s the matter, Richard?’

  ‘Can you come now?’

  ‘Can’t it wait?’ I spread jam and cream over the second half of the scone. I was playin
g for time. ‘I need nourishment. No time for lunch.’

  ‘Miss Ember.’

  ‘Oh, no, that lady again. I knew she would be trouble.’

  ‘She’s demanding to see you. Half of the purser’s office have been trying to reach her but she won’t let them in.’

  ‘More pig’s blood coming out of the shower?’

  ‘No, she won’t say.’

  ‘Is she dying, bleeding to death on the cabin floor?’

  ‘No, I don’t think so. Her voice sounds pretty healthy.’

  ‘Then she won’t mind if I finish my scone.’ I cut off a piece of succulent, cream-topped scone and popped it into his astonished mouth. ‘There, that was worth waiting for, wasn’t it?’

  ‘Casey, you are usually so caring. I can’t believe I’m hearing this flippancy. The last cruise, you were so kind and concerned. I think the world of you.’ He was chewing slowly, relishing every taste, as if he was tasting me. He was looking down, devouring me too. The man was rampant hormones encased in a tight uniform. It was a warning sign. I had to be careful.

  ‘And look where it got me,’ I said. ‘All those dreadful murders. Sometimes I can’t sleep, thinking about them.’

  ‘This is different to murder,’ he said. ‘This is malevolence.’

  Four

  At Sea

  Lucinda Ember was hysterical. I could hear her high-pitched voice before I was halfway along A Deck. Nicky, her steward, was hovering outside, thinking again that he was going to lose his job. The stewards live in a state of perpetual panic.

  ‘Don’t worry,’ I said, earning his eternal gratitude. ‘I know it’s not your fault. I’m here now. I’ll take care of everything.’

  I knocked on the door. ‘Hello, Miss Ember. It’s Casey Jones, remember me? Please let me in.’

  The door was flung open. Her face was flushed, her arms flailed, and she swayed on her feet. Even her ruffle-fronted blouse was unbuttoned.

  ‘This cabin is jinxed, I know it is. Come in, come in. Something is horribly wrong and I don’t understand what’s happening. I’m a passenger, paying top rate for this stateroom. Why should anyone have it in for me?’

  I didn’t understand any of this either, but I took her arm and followed her inside. The sitting area looked neat and tidy. I checked the bathroom and saw that a new shower had been fixed over the bath.