by Marie Moore
“How can you say that, Fernando? That’s a terrible thing to say, and it’s not true. They are good people, and I can’t help worrying about them. I’d love to stop thinking about them all the time but I’m afraid it’s not so easy. I can’t stop worrying until I get them safely home. They may not be young and have the same interests that you have, but they have lives, interesting lives, most of them. They are nice people and they are happy, Fernando, in their own way. How can you say that their lives are over?”
He shrugged elaborately and leaned closer.
“Whatever. Not your problem, my darling. Let it go. What’s past is past.”
“It’s not just what’s happened in the past on this trip that concerns me. I’m worried about the future, too.”
He set his glass down on the table and, with a warm smile, took my hand in his. Turning it over, he traced the lines of my palm with his finger, and I had the wildest urge to just spill my guts to him right then, about everything. The man was a hypnotist.
“Do not worry about the future. I can read the future in your palm, beautiful Sidney. I see a torrid romance, very soon, perhaps tonight, with a dark, Latin stranger.”
“I see you getting fired if you don’t haul ass right now to the call center to speak with Diana, Sidney. It’s her third call.”
Jay’s voice boomed through the room as he jerked my hand out of Fernando’s and pulled me to my feet.
“Gotta go. Right now, Sidney, gotta go, really urgent.”
Fernando leaned back in his chair, smiling at Jay with his mouth, but his eyes told another story.
“Ah, Mr. Wilson,” he said, eyes darting from Jay to me, “How nice to see you. Won’t you join us?” Then, with a smooth smile he said, “No? Well, then take her away if you must. Duty comes before pleasure, I suppose. Another time, Sidney.”
I glanced back at him as I walked away from the table with Jay. He winked.
Jay looked back, too, and as he marched me out of the club he said, over his shoulder, “Adios, Zorro.”
* * *
“Dear God, Sidney! What were you thinking, fooling around with that guy? Just what in the hell were you thinking? If I hadn’t wandered by when I did he would have had you out of that bar and down to his cabin before you could say ‘empanada.’ Is your brain on vacation, Sidney? What’s wrong with you? Did that dirt bag mesmerize you?”
“All I did, Mommy, was have a drink with the man. What’s wrong with that? Stop acting like my grandmother, Jay.”
“Yeah, well, I know where that was headed, sweetie, and so do you. God. What a creep. Why would you even want to mess around with a slick SOB with a gold crucifix and tight pants? Leave him alone, Sidney. That guy is dangerous.”
“You don’t know that, Jay, you don’t know that at all. He was sympathetic and kind tonight. Really nice. I think our first impression of him was wrong. You’re just being judgmental.”
“Look, Sidney. I know men. Believe me, I know men. You’ve got to give me that. And I’m telling you, that Fernando Ortiz is a bad one. Stay away from him, chica. As your best friend, I’m telling you, stay away. Now come on, let’s go out on deck. I need some fresh air and so do you. Maybe it will clear your head.”
“But what about the phone call, Jay, don’t we need to call Diana?”
“Please. You are slipping.”
He was right. I needed a lot of fresh air. I needed oxygen. If I can’t even tell when Jay is lying, my brain is scrambled for sure.
23
Morning dawned bright and clear in Stockholm, the sun glinting off the pointed roofs. Eating my breakfast on the aft deck, at the Lido Café, I relished the sound of the ship docking, bells ringing, the shouts of the longshoremen, and the sound of the gangway being lowered. Even the diesel engines of the provisioners’ trucks waiting to unload all those crates of fresh produce sounded good to me that morning.
I finished my eggs Benedict, savored one final perfect strawberry, sipped the last of my coffee, and went down to the cabin to get ready to go ashore as soon as the ship was cleared.
Everyone was restless after two nights and a day at sea. The shore excursions had sold out, and I expected even those who were not on a tour to head ashore.
Very few of the High Steppers had opted for the City Highlights Tour, with most preferring to venture out on their own. Jay was leading the city tour, leaving me with a whole day to myself in one of the world’s loveliest cities. It also gave me time to complete a few necessary tasks, like checking out the High Steppers in private, without answering to anyone.
After the tours marched off the ship, I hurried down the gangway to a bank of pay phones in the ship’s terminal.
While waiting in line for a phone, I watched the commotion as a baggage cart was off-loaded from the gangway. I supposed it was Bostick’s, but quickly realized that the luggage and high-end store boxes on it were far too deluxe for him. Another cart followed, also fully loaded with the same kind of fancy stuff.
When I saw the third cart, bearing several fur coats, a lot of designer shoe boxes, and a leopard-print garment bag with SK monogrammed on it in big, gold script, I had figured out what was happening.
Sylvia was leaving the ship. And from the looks of things, she had spent a ton of Abe’s money on her way out.
The sailor in front of me in the phone line finished his conversation, and it was my turn. I dialed the access numbers. This was a personal call, so I had to make a collect call from the pay phone instead of using Itchy’s calling card. Otherwise, Diana would have a hissy fit. A quick collect call using the access numbers would cost less than paying international roaming with my cell plan, too. I tried to use my cell only in emergencies, except for text messages, which were affordable.
The connection to Mississippi was crystal clear.
“Mamma, it’s me, accept the call.”
“Who?” My mother’s sleepy, cross voice shrieked. “Oh, my goodness, yes, operator, yes! I’ll accept the call. Sidney Lanier Marsh, are you alright?”
“Yes, Mamma, yes, only ...”
“Then what are you calling me for, long distance, from Lord knows where, in the middle of the ... Are you getting married?” Eternal hope swept shards of sleep aside.
“No, Mamma. I just needed to ask you something.”
“Oh. Well, make it quick then, darlin’. This is costing me a fortune.”
“Mamma, Do you remember those people who lived across the street from Aunt Pearl named Finkelstein? They lived in that squatty, red-brick house by the school. She was a checker at the Piggly Wiggly, and he worked for a beer distributor, I think.”
“I sure do. Bill and Harriet Finkelstein. I’ll never forget her. I fixed one of my hash brown potato casseroles and took it over there when her grandmother died and she never returned my good three-quart Pyrex. Didn’t even get a thank you note. That’s the kind of people they turned out to be. I kept thinking she would bring it back and I hated to ask, but one day they just up and moved away. She must have taken my good three-quart, Pyrex casserole dish with her. They owed money all over town.”
“And their names were Bill and Harriet Finkelstein? Are you sure? And it was her grandmother who died, not his?”
“Yes, that’s right. Her grandmother was a Mrs. Murphy, and they moved here from somewhere in Florida. Tallahassee, I think. Mrs. Murphy always had oranges delivered to them at Christmas. She had a stroke and died at the Midnight Madness Sale at the Sunshine Mall. The mall people sent Harriet the door busters because they felt so bad about it.”
“When was this, Momma? Five or six years ago? Seems like I’ve been hearing about the Pyrex for about that long.”
“No, honey, it was only three years ago, and you would still be talking about it, too, if it had been your good Pyrex!”
“Well, we better hang up now, Mamma, we’re burning up your money. I’ll pay you back for the call when you get the bill. Remember to let me know how much it is. Thanks, and you take care now. I’ll call you when I
get back to New York. Tell everybody I said hey.”
“All right, darlin’. And you look around on that cruise ship. It’s pretty big, and I bet you can find a nice man if you try.”
“I will, Mamma, thanks again. Sorry I woke you up. Bye now.”
I hung up the receiver and leaned against the wall, thinking.
Gladys Murphy was lying.
Why would Gladys Murphy make up that big old tale about her mother-in-law? Of course, it was an extreme and amazing coincidence that I would have any connection to the Murphys or her story, or even remember those names unless you consider the strength and extent of the kudzu-like connections that grow all over the South, binding the people and families of each small town to all the others.
Anonymity doesn’t exist in Dixie, where everyone minds everyone else’s business. Perfect strangers ask you personal questions about the most intimate details of your life. No one considers such behavior to be nosy, but instead sort of noble, an expression of friendliness and concern, a kind and charitable duty. We keep up with each other. We care.
After several interminable meals with the Murphys, I had heard more than I ever wanted to know about their family.
My attention had, of course, wandered quite a bit during those long meals, but the one thing that had stuck with me was the impression that both the Murphys’ parents were dead, and that their only family was Muriel and another daughter named Finkelstein, Harriet Finkelstein.
Harriet Finkelstein, according to Gladys, had once lived in Mississippi, actually in my hometown. That’s a pretty amazing coincidence, when you consider the population of my little burg, but it happened.
Knowing that Gladys, shall we say, tends toward exaggeration, I had pretty much dismissed her narrative until I remembered my mother’s old Pyrex story, and the names clicked in my brain. My phone call home has just confirmed Gladys’ tale that Harriet Finkelstein and her husband really had lived way down in Dixie, but it also proved that Mother Murphy had cashed in her chips long, long ago.
Why would Gladys make up a story about her mother-in-law and Dr. Sledge’s brother? Why tell something so far-fetched? What was the point?
I now believed the fact of the Finkelsteins living in my town because my phone call had confirmed that, but the whole mother-in-law, Dr. Sledge’s brother thing was just a big, goofy lie. Dr. Sledge might not even have a brother. And Gladys had insisted to Gertrude that she had talked to her dead mother-in-law on the telephone. Hello, heaven? Is Mom there?
But why? Why tell that big tale? Why go there at all?
It didn’t make sense. Unless she thought it provided cover for more than a passing acquaintance with Dr. Sledge.
I hung out for a while, hoping to tell Sylvia goodbye, but she didn’t appear, and I decided not to waste anymore time waiting on her.
If Sylvia acted true to form, her departure would be dramatic, and could take the better part of the day. She was probably still in the salon, putting one last hairdo on Abe’s tab.
24
The Internet café in the Gamla Stan, or Old Town, was packed, but as soon as a terminal opened up, I got busy. Thirty minutes and as many euros later, the search engines finally popped up some answers.
I gathered my notes, stuffed them in my bag and headed for the main square and coffee.
The streets were crowded with tourists and morning shoppers. Even a city as large as Stockholm becomes crowded in the tourist areas when a big ship is in port.
Sidewalk merchants displayed their wares on big carts. People strolled along, leisurely shopping, enjoying the lively scene, buying flowers, visiting with friends, and crowding around several street performers. The costumed and painted mimes stood stock still on painted boxes as the crowd surged around them, moving with a flourish only when someone dropped coins into their hats.
“Yoo hoo, Sidney!” Esther Levy was tugging at my arm. “Why aren’t you with the group?”
“Why, hello, Esther. Hello, Marjorie. Today is my day off. Jay is with the group. And I might ask you the same thing! I thought you were going on the City Highlights tour.”
“We intended to go on the bus,” Marjorie said, “but we changed our plans when we learned of something much more important that we needed to do.”
“Oh, really,” I said, wondering what she meant, “what is that?”
“Well, you see,” Esther explained, “Chet told us that there is a famous museum here dedicated to social justice and we decided that it is our moral duty to visit it, rather than just going on some silly tour with him and the others.”
Marjorie chimed in. “We’ve been trying to locate it all morning, but no one seems to know where it is. Can you tell us?”
“No, I’m afraid I’m not familiar with it,” I said, “but you might check with the Tourist Information Center. I try to keep current with the attractions in the ports we visit, but I’ve not heard of this museum. It may be new.”
I bet it is new, I thought. Real new. In fact, I bet that slick old Chet just made it up this very morning to get rid of you both.
I said goodbye to them and off they marched in their sturdy shoes, dedicated to their quest, clucking, no doubt, over my ignorance.
In the shade of the buildings across from the Clock Tower, the air was chilly, but the open square in the sunshine was bright and beautiful. I dug in my bag for my sunglasses, chose an empty table at a sidewalk café, and ordered coffee and one of Stockholm’s delightful specialties, delicate waffles with fresh strawberries, confectioner’s sugar, and lots of whipped cream. Spreading my papers out on the table along with Vinny’s manifest, I began to piece together the puzzle of The Strange Voyage of the High Steppers, as Jay called it.
A shadow fell across the page, and I looked up into Jerome Morgan’s scowling face.
His broad, muscular shoulders under a white, pinpoint shirt blocked the sun. He was not looking at me, but, instead, at my papers.
“You seem to be doing a little detective work on your own today, Miss Marsh. I’m afraid that must stop. Do you mind if I join you?”
“Not at all, Mr. Morgan,” I said, hastily cramming the papers into my bag, “please, have a seat. Detective work? Don’t be silly. I was just reading up on Stockholm, doing a little homework, that’s all. Isn’t this a lovely city? The flowers, the old buildings, and best of all—”
“Miss Marsh,” he interrupted, a faint smile on his lips, reaching inside his jacket, “don’t waste my time. We know what you are doing. We seem to have been working at cross-purposes for quite a while. Now I think it’s time to have a little talk. Your snooping is beginning to cause me problems.”
“What do you mean, detective work? I am a travel agent, Mr. Morgan, not a detective. Besides that, even if I was checking into a few things, what I do on my own time is my own affair. And how would you know what I have been doing or not doing? What business is it of yours?”
He produced a black leather wallet and flipped it open. I have to admit, I was impressed. You don’t see a real badge like that very often, at least not in my neighborhood. That is, if it was real. At this point I wasn’t sure of anything.
“Your group, Miss Marsh, our group, the High Steppers, and you, as well, have been under surveillance since before you left New York. We have reason to suspect that one or more of your party may not be the innocent tourist that he or she appears, but rather an agent of an international criminal organization dealing in the sale and smuggling of drugs, counterfeit currency, and documents. We believe they are using your group as a cover for criminal activity. You yourself were actually under suspicion in the beginning, but we have now realized that you could not possibly be involved. Therefore we would like, if we may, to enlist your help.”
Man! What a shocker. I felt like I had just dropped onto the set of Mission Impossible. Maybe I could choose my own code phrase. “The blue dog barks at midnight.” Wow! I had about a million questions, none of which, of course, got answered.
“All I can tell you right
now, Miss Marsh, is that you must be very, very careful to report immediately anything at all unusual or out-of-the way that you observe either directly to me personally, or by calling one of the numbers that I will give you. That’s how you can help.”
He handed me a card, blank, except for three hand-printed telephone numbers.
“And no more acting on your own, please. We do not want you to take any action whatsoever without first checking with us. Working on your own could very dangerous for you, and it might jeopardize our investigation.”
He looked around, glanced at his Rolex, and pushed his chair back from the table.
“Now, remember,” he said, tapping on the table for emphasis, “if you find out anything, notice anything unusual, or have suspicions about anything or anyone, anyone at all, just report it to me at once in person, or call one of those numbers. Leave everything to us. And of course, you must not mention our conversation, or reveal my true identity to anyone, under any circumstances.”
He looked at his watch before continuing.
“When we are all safely back in New York, Miss Marsh, you will be contacted further and some of your questions may be answered at that time. Or maybe they won’t. But just remember, by cooperating with us, even in a minor role, you are serving your country. That’s the important thing. And now I think I’ve stayed here quite long enough. Here comes your order. Enjoy your day off.”
He stood as the waiter approached and strolled off into the crowded square, leaving me to wonder how long my mouth had been hanging open.
25
I had just finished the last crispy, buttery waffle and was dusting confectioner’s sugar off of my black sweater when I spotted Captain Vargos standing on the steps of the cathedral. I hadn’t noticed him before, but I was so blown away by Morgan’s revelations that I probably wouldn’t have noticed if Elvis had rolled up in his pink Cadillac.
