Playing for Keeps

by Joan Lowery Nixon

  Abruptly, the clang of the cargo hold’s doors interrupted the steady beat of the motors. Ricky and I stiffened, listening intently yet still holding each other tightly.

  “Be very silent,” Ricky whispered. “Someone is down here with us.”

  I could hear the slow, heavy footsteps coming closer. Now and then they paused, as if the person had stopped to look around. After each pause they moved on, coming closer and closer.

  It could not be one of the crew who worked here. A seaman would attend to whatever business he had and be gone. The person who was stalking us was probably as unfamiliar with the hold as we were.

  Who was he? And why was he hunting for us? I was so frightened I wanted to scream and run, but I couldn’t move.

  Putting a finger to his lips, Ricky pulled me through the small walkway and into the next aisle. We both stepped softly, placing our feet carefully. I was terrified that we’d make a noise that would let our stalker know where we were.

  We could hear him coming nearer but could see nothing over or around the tall stacks of crates. Dizzy with fear, my heart thumping in my chest, I leaned against Ricky. Whoever was in the hold was between us and the door. Ricky and I were trapped.

  12

  RICKY TUGGED ME FORWARD ONE SLOW, SILENT STEP AT a time, and I realized that the person who was after us had gone on. I fought a panicky urge to bolt and run. It was hard to breathe and even harder to think, but I followed Ricky, not daring to turn and look back.

  Suddenly Ricky stopped. I raised my head and saw that we had come close to the stairway.

  “Now!” Ricky whispered.

  Still holding hands, we raced to the stairs, scrambled up, and burst through the heavy metal doors, nearly charging into Mr. Wilson, the ship’s chief of security.

  “Stop right here,” he ordered. “Just what were the two of you doing in the hold?”

  “Looking around,” I answered. “For the scavenger hunt,” I added quickly. I glanced at the doors we had come through and saw one of them open just a crack. I felt that someone was staring at us, but I couldn’t see who it was.

  Mr. Wilson didn’t seem satisfied by my answer. “Why’d you fly out of there in such a rush?”

  I had to be honest. “Someone was in there with us.”

  I saw the door slowly being pulled shut.

  “Who was it?” Mr. Wilson asked.

  “We don’t know,” Ricky said.

  Mr. Wilson shook his head. “No doubt it was one of the crew, and if he’d discovered you, he would have chased you out of there.” He looked at Ricky and added, “When I said you’d have the run of the ship while we were at sea, I expected you to know there’d be limits.”

  He motioned to us to follow him down a short passage. He stopped in front of a door that had a round window in it the size of a large soup bowl. As he swung back the metal plate that covered the window, I heard the elevator doors open and shut. Whoever had been stalking Ricky and me had slipped out of the area. We’d never discover who it was.

  “Take a look through here,” Mr. Wilson said.

  Ricky did first, and when he stepped back, I looked through the window. I saw a small room with thickly padded walls. The only furniture in the room was a twin bed.

  “That’s our brig,” Mr. Wilson said. “I’d hate to have to confine you in there, Mr. Urbino.”

  Ricky quickly nodded. “I understand. I’ll stay in the public areas.”

  Mr. Wilson looked at his watch. “Until six o’clock. I want you to report to your stateroom at that time. That’s when I’ll post a guard.”

  “Six o’clock?” I protested. “But we won’t arrive at Cozumel until tomorrow morning. There’s dinner and dancing tonight and—”

  He interrupted me with a brisk shake of his head. “I’m not in charge of this young man’s social life. I’ve set a schedule that’s expedient, and I expect you to abide by it.”

  “Yes, sir,” Ricky said.

  “And no visitors,” Mr. Wilson said, his eyes on me. “I don’t want to give the guard any extra problems.”

  I didn’t dare to argue. At least I would have Ricky until six o’clock.

  I looked at my watch. “It’s almost noon,” I told him. “Let’s go up to the diner and meet Neil and Julieta.”

  In the elevator Ricky pointed out a smear of what looked like black grease on his left shoulder. “I must have rubbed up against something down there,” he said. “Do you mind waiting while I change shirts?”

  “Not at all,” I said. When we reached our staterooms, I remained in the hall while Ricky went into number 7279. I expected him to be quick, but I was surprised when the door burst open again almost immediately. Ricky’s face was pale, and he looked as if he was going to be sick.

  “Come,” he said. “There’s something you must see.”

  I braced myself for whatever I was going to find, so when I entered the stateroom, I was puzzled when Ricky pointed to an open drawer in the cabinet.

  At first, I glimpsed what I thought was his uncle’s light blue shirt. “What?” I asked. “We’ve seen the shirt.”

  “Not this shirt,” he said. “Look closely.”

  I took two steps forward and looked down into the drawer. I saw a light blue shirt, wadded—not folded—and only ragged, torn stitching where a pocket had once been.

  “Someone took Uncle Martín’s shirt and left this in its place,” he said.

  “To make the police think he committed the murder,” I whispered.

  I backed up on wobbling legs and plopped down on the nearest twin bed. “Ricky,” I said, “whoever did this will make sure Mr. Wilson and his men find this shirt. Maybe he’s notified Mr. Wilson already. We have to get this out of here.”

  Ricky snatched up the shirt, but he looked around frantically. “Where can we put it?”

  “Give it to me,” I told him. As I took the shirt, I examined it. A polo shirt with a Bloomingdale’s label. “Bloomingdale’s is a big department store. There’s a huge one in New York City,” I said.

  Quickly I pulled out my key card, crossed the passageway to our stateroom, and opened the door. Once inside with the door shut, I opened the bottom drawer in the chest where I kept my folded T-shirts and shorts. I pulled out a blue-and-white shirt and tucked the torn polo inside it, with the collar neatly showing. Satisfied that it looked like a layered shirt, I refolded it and placed it at the bottom of the stack in the drawer.

  I then left the stateroom and shut the door, facing Ricky. “If anyone asks you, you don’t know where the shirt is,” I said.

  He nodded and asked, “But if they ask you?”

  “They won’t. How should I know anything at all about your uncle’s clothing?”

  Ricky rested his hands on my shoulders. I thought he might kiss me again, but he only shook his head sadly. “Rose,” he whispered, “when we are safely inside the United States, you and I—”

  He didn’t finish the sentence. We were interrupted by Mr. Wilson, with two of his men. “Mr. Urbino,” he said, “I am looking for your uncle. Is he in your stateroom?”

  Ricky stood tall, with his shoulders held back. I heard him take a long, slow breath. “My uncle is not aboard the ship,” he said. “He left yesterday, while we were in Jamaica.”

  Mr. Wilson tried to hide his surprise. “We were not informed of this,” he said.

  Ricky didn’t answer, so Mr. Wilson went on. “Do you know his whereabouts in Jamaica?”

  “He should not be still in Jamaica,” Ricky answered. “His intention was to book a flight to the United States. He plans to talk to people who might help influence the immigration officials on my behalf.”

  Mr. Wilson threw him a quick frown. “He might be better off hiring an attorney on his own behalf. We have been given information that . . .” He stepped forward and added, “The captain has requested that I search your stateroom.”

  Ricky stepped aside with a nod. Mr. Wilson took out a key card and opened the door.

  “You h
ave a key,” I said in surprise.

  “I have a master key,” he said.

  Ideas began to fall into place. Bloomingdale’s, New York . . . Tommy was from New York . . . Rita, the steward who liked Tommy Jansen and who worked on deck seven . . . She might open the Urbinos’ stateroom door for him. “Do the stewards have master keys too?” I asked.

  Mr. Wilson ignored me and said to Ricky, “Mr. Urbino, will you step inside with us, please?” I began to follow, but he gave me a sharp look and ordered, “Please remain in the passageway, Ms. Marstead.”

  I waited outside the stateroom, but I kept the door from shutting by leaning against it. I had to see what was going on.

  Mr. Wilson directed the opening of all the cabinet drawers, and all the clothing inside them was taken out, examined, then returned.

  Every inch of that stateroom was covered—the closet, the bathroom, and the sofa. When there was no place else to search, the beds were taken apart.

  Mr. Wilson turned to Ricky in exasperation. “Does your uncle own a light blue polo shirt?”

  “Yes,” Ricky said.

  “Can you tell me where it is?”

  “No,” Ricky answered truthfully. “I do not even know exactly where my uncle is.”

  Mr. Wilson glanced around, then said, “I’ll send someone to help straighten up the room. Until we get matters sorted out, I’m going to ask you to remain here.”

  “That’s not fair,” I complained.

  “And no visitors.” Mr. Wilson looked from me to one of his men and said, “I’ll post you here as guard.”

  As Mr. Wilson stepped into the passageway, I told him, “I saw Major Cepeda’s body. I know about the blue cloth that was in his right hand, and I heard one of the policemen say that it looked like a pocket torn from a shirt. You’re acting like that shirt belongs to Mr. Martín Urbino, but it doesn’t. What makes you think it does?”

  He didn’t answer, so I went on, “When you came, you told us you had information, but you didn’t say who gave you that information. Who told you the torn shirt was in Mr. Urbino’s stateroom?”

  “That is not a matter for discussion,” he said.

  “I think it is,” I insisted. “Whoever told you that torn shirt was here was trying to frame Mr. Urbino.”

  Ricky was so upset his face was red and blotchy. “My uncle is not a murderer,” he said.

  “Mr. Wilson, please tell us who sent you here,” I begged.

  He gave me a long stare, then softened. “I understand your concern, Ms. Marstead,” he said, “but I’m not at liberty to answer your question.”

  “It was the murderer,” I told him, “trying to make you think Martín Urbino was the murderer, instead of himself.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  “Because he—” I wanted to blurt out everything about the shirts that had been switched, but I couldn’t, not without knowing who had taken Martín Urbino’s blue shirt. “Because he was lying,” I finished. It sounded lame even to me.

  Before I could even say goodbye to Ricky, his stateroom door was shut, with the guard standing in front of it, and Mr. Wilson was striding down the passageway.

  I could think of only one thing to do. I went back into Glory’s stateroom, took a sheet of stationery and an envelope from the desk drawer, and wrote a description of Mr. Urbino’s blue shirt, complete with the tiny logo on the pocket and the black slash of permanent ink across the label in the neck. I even drew a sketch of the shirt. Then I signed the page, folded it, and put it in an envelope. I wrote the captain’s name on the envelope, then sealed it. It was time to meet Neil and Julieta, but before I did I took the envelope to deck five and gave it to one of the attendants at the desk.

  “Promise that the captain will get this letter right away?” I asked.

  She gave me a smile right out of the cruise line’s commercial. “Right away,” she repeated. “I promise.”

  A few minutes later I reported what had happened to Neil and Julieta. I told them about the torn shirt that had been substituted for Mr. Urbino’s shirt, but I didn’t tell them what I had done with it. And I told them why I thought the person behind the substitution was Tommy Jansen.

  “Let’s keep an eye on him the rest of today and tomorrow,” I said. “He talked about getting Ricky off the ship in Mexico and said he was beginning to come up with an idea.”

  “We won’t let him out of our sight,” Neil said.

  Julieta started to say something, but Glory stepped up, taking my arm.

  “I thought I’d find you here,” she said. She looked around. “Where’s Ricky?”

  “In his cabin, with a guard outside,” I answered.

  Glory looked pleased. “Well, the rest of you have fun,” she said. “I’ve got to get back to our bridge lunch, but I wanted to ask if you’d like me to sign you and Neil up for snorkeling tomorrow. Cozumel is supposed to have some of the best beaches in the Caribbean.”

  Neil looked to me for an answer, and I fumbled to find one that made sense. I couldn’t tell Glory we were going to spend our time tailing the cruise director. “Neil has to take care of his grandmother,” I said. It was the first excuse I could think of.

  “Eloise will be fine with me. Some of our group have been to Cozumel before, so we thought we’d stay aboard and relax by the pool. For you and Neil this is your first trip to Cozumel, so we want you to really enjoy the island.”

  Without an idea in my mind, I began, “Uh . . . we might go . . . uh . . .”

  “Shopping,” Julieta said decisively. “The town of San Miguel on Cozumel has the best shopping on this trip. Rosie needs some Mexican silver bracelets. They’re inexpensive but beautiful.”

  “I should buy something for my mother,” Neil said.

  Me too, I thought. Like a peace offering. I ached to make everything all right between us again.

  Glory looked surprised, but she quickly countered, “It shouldn’t take long to shop. How would you like to see the Mayan ruins?”

  I would have loved to see the Mayan ruins and visit the caves at Xel-Ha, but Ricky’s future was more important. “No thanks, Glory,” I said. “We just want to go into Cozumel and hang out.”

  Glory made it obvious that she didn’t like to be challenged. She gave me a firm look, but she said, “All right then. I’ll let you and Neil plan your own day.” Then she turned her look on Julieta and said, “Julieta, dear, I’m sure you’ll want to spend some time with your parents. I do believe they’ve hardly seen you.”

  Wisely, Julieta nodded but didn’t answer. She and I were the same age, but she was way ahead of me in keeping her cool.

  Tailing Tommy Jansen the rest of the day wasn’t hard to do. He went from awarding T-shirt prizes to the winners of the scavenger hunt, to emceeing a talent show for kids, to announcing for a mechanical horse race, to emceeing a quiz game for senior citizens. Since Julieta ate dinner at the late seating and Neil and I at the early seating, one of us was free at all times to shadow him.

  During my break I paid a visit to the store on the shopping level of the ship and bought one of the sunken treasure pendants for Mom. The peace offering I’d wanted. No, it wasn’t only a peace offering. It was a gift to show how much I loved her. It wasn’t going to be Mom and me or Glory and me. I loved them both.

  When Neil and I met Julieta late in the evening at Star Struck, she reported, “Tommy Jansen asked one of the employees who gives that ‘Shopping the Caribbean’ program to tell him the name of a good jewelry store in Cozumel.”

  “I thought he was short of cash,” I said.

  “You told us he had plans to get Ricky off the ship,” Neil said. “How would a jewelry store figure in?”

  I was thinking hard. “You don’t just buy jewelry in jewelry stores,” I said. “Sometimes you sell to them.” I began to get excited. “What if he owns an expensive watch and thinks he can get enough for it for two plane tickets from Cozumel to Cuba?”

  “What time do we dock?” Neil asked.

&n
bsp; “Seven A.M.,” Julieta groaned.

  “The stores won’t be open that early,” I told them. “Anyway, it takes about an hour before passengers can leave the ship.”

  Neil frowned. “I’ll have to make sure my grandmother has had breakfast and is set for the day.”

  “Then I’ll show up at the disembarking area before they allow passengers to go ashore, and I’ll watch for Mr. Jansen,” I said.

  “I’ll be with you,” Julieta told me, which surprised me.

  “Good,” Neil said to Julieta. “If Rosie follows Tommy Jansen, she shouldn’t be alone. What are the names of the jewelry stores he was told to go to?”

  “Just two stores,” she answered, and gave him the names and directions. “They’re on the main street in San Miguel, near the plaza.”

  Neil stood and looked at his watch. “It’s getting late. I think I’ll turn in,” he said.

  Julieta and I decided to call it a night too.

  As we all left Star Struck, I glanced back at Mr. Jansen, who was leading off another round in the trivia contest. Wherever you’re going tomorrow, we’re going too, I thought.

  “Rosie,” Julieta said quietly, and I realized she had followed my glance. “We’re not going to let anyone take Ricky off this ship.”

  “Thanks,” I said, and smiled, wishing I were as confident as Julieta.

  Glory was still awake when I reached our stateroom. “I did a little shopping today,” she said. “The duty-free store had a special on French silk scarves, so I bought one for you to give your mother.”

  Looking proud of herself, she opened a thin box and pulled out a square scarf with a swirling design in red, pink, and yellow. I couldn’t keep from wincing. Was that what Glory thought Mom would like? It was much too gaudy, and the colors were all wrong for Mom.

  “Thanks, Glory,” I said politely, “but I’ve already bought Mom a present.” I took my package out of my drawer and opened the box to show her the pendant.

  I could see the conflicting emotions in her face. “It’s beautiful,” she finally said. “I bet you love it yourself.”