“I just can’t believe he’s gone,” she sighed. “Why would anyone want to kill George?”
The tears flowed freely once more, no doubt helped in part by returning to the last place she had been with her husband. Looking around, I could see the ghost of George Delaney was pervasive here, at least for his widow. It was hard to ignore his shoes, neatly positioned by the bed from which he had risen just this morning. Through the open bathroom door, I could see his black leather shaving kit sitting on the sink. Those reminders were likely to trigger memories, good and bad. Now that she was beginning to ask questions about the killer’s motive, she might be able to provide us with some clues about his final hours on the ship. What if she knew something she didn’t know she knew? Would that information put her in greater danger? Should we worry about her safety?
“Kathleen, would it be helpful or hurtful for you to move to another room?” I inquired.
“Oh, I don’t know.” She seemed torn as she sat down on the bed, letting her fingers stroke the bedspread, no doubt remembering those last treasured moments with George. “He was such a kind man.”
Kenny’s phone rang. He stood up and took a few steps in the direction of the balcony. “Do you mind?”
“No.” The widow shook her head. With that, Kenny opened the sliding door and disappeared into the night. I took advantage of the opportunity to ask her more questions, looking for some little tidbit that might yield a clue to the killer’s identity.
“Was George worried about anything lately? Was everything okay with his business?”
“Well, we suffered through the recession, just as everyone else has. He told me that the funeral business has changed a lot over the last decade. People used to spend money on lavish caskets and big flower displays. Now everything is eco-friendly. His friend Hector has a big boat for deep sea fishing excursions, so they partnered up for burials at sea.
“It’s an interesting concept. What does one of those entail?”
“Well, most people opt to have the body cremated, so there’s a boat ride out to a special place for a memorial service, after which the ashes are scattered. He and Hector could do that just about anywhere. But these days, the new trend is to return the dearly departed to the sea intact. For that, you need a mortician to prepare the body properly, because there’s no casket.”
“No casket at all?”
“They wrap the body up in environmentally-friendly materials before they slide it into the water. The funeral is a full day’s excursion for the passengers, because the captain has to go out at least thirty five miles, to where the ocean is six hundred feet deep. Everything has to be done according to Coast Guard regulations.”
“That makes sense. You certainly don’t want to have people unexpectedly come across a body floating in with the tide,” I remarked. “How many of those funerals did your husband do in a year?”
“Oh, offhand I’d say about fifteen or twenty a year, mostly in the warm months, although he and Hector also did unattended funerals at sea year round. They’d go out at first light, say a few words in remembrance of the deceased, slip the body into the ocean, and then go fishing for a few hours on the way home.”
“I had heard George was an avid fisherman,” I smiled. For a brief moment, Kathleen’s face softened, remembering.
“He certainly was. He used to say that it was the perfect job for a man creeping closer to retirement. Hector’s charter business fit right in with the burial-at-sea concept, so when word got out that this was a great alternative to the traditional funeral, there was a lot of interest. Fishermen, sailors, and even our summer residents wanted to do it after the local newspaper published a big article about it. George handled all the burial arrangements and, whenever there wasn’t a minister involved, he did the farewell prayers for the dead. Hector handled the food and drink for the passengers. Sometimes there would be a bagpiper or a singer. A lot of families turned it into a celebration of their loved one’s life, complete with videos and speeches.”
“If you’ll forgive me for saying this, Kathleen, it is rather odd that a man who did burials at sea ended up being murdered and tossed off this ship.”
“I agree.” Her big blue eyes lit on me. As she studied me, she seemed to hesitate. “Scarlet, can I tell you something? It’s been bothering me ever since that man came and got me at the pool.”
“Of course.”
“George mentioned to me that he thought he recognized someone on this ship, but when he tried to have a conversation with the man, he was brushed off.”
“I don’t suppose he told you the guy’s name?”
“No, but he was surprised to see him.”
“Was it someone from back home?” I inquired.
“I don’t think so. He would have told me that. We live in a very small town on the coast, where everybody knows everybody. It’s hard to have a secret in Caulkins Cove, Maine. Besides, I didn’t get the impression that he knew this man all that well. He was just kind of baffled that the guy blew him off, because he was fairly certain they had met before.”
Kenny chose that moment to reappear. The balcony door suddenly slid open and there he was. Talk about a conversation stopper.
“I’m sorry, ladies. I have to run down to the infirmary with Thad. Scarlet, your mom expects you back in the stateroom.”
“I don’t really want to leave Kathleen on her own right now,” I told him. It was true. I thought I might get her to cough up a few more details of George’s run-in, but only if I stuck with it. “It’s still early, Kathleen. Why don’t you come back with me? We’ll play some Scrabble in our cabin or just talk until the men get back.”
“I don’t want to inconvenience you and your mother.”
“Don’t worry about that. We’re not going to bed right away. Besides, my mother enjoys talking to people.”
“But I seem to have monopolized the conversation all evening. Promise me we’ll talk about something else for a while.”
“Sure. Laurel and I will talk about our adventures at the Four Acorns Inn, where, as Kenny likes to say, ‘Nutty is the norm.’ There’s never a dull moment when you run an inn.”
Kathleen’s lips curled into a smile, but Kenny wagged a finger in the air.
“Don’t laugh. You have no idea of the trouble the Wilson family seems to attract. Why, I have spent many a day trying to keep them safe!”
“Surely you’re exaggerating just a little,” she replied. I let loose with a big guffaw.
“Actually, he’s not. It’s been one calamity after another. Come on. We’ll tell you all about it.”
Kenny escorted us down to the stateroom I was sharing with Laurel, where he met up with Thaddeus. My mother greeted Kathleen warmly as she sat on her perch by the bow window.
“I’m so glad Scarlet brought you with her. Come and see what’s going on. There’s some kind of parade.”
After the men departed, we watched the action for the better part of half an hour. Dressed in red hats, white slacks, and colorful “Hackensack Steamin’ Hot Mamas” tee shirts, the silver-haired ladies who marched in the street below us seemed to have more stamina than some of their younger cohorts. They performed a couple of line dances, waving their arms and shaking their fannies, before they made their farewells and disappeared.
Once the crowd dispersed on the promenade below us, we spent the next hour in lighthearted chatter, bantering about our respective lives in small town America. Kathleen had been an insurance agent for most of her adult life, taking over the family-run agency when her father retired. She had some funny stories about odd claims people filed. We shared some of our own tales about memorable inn guests who had passed through our doors. By the time Kenny came back with Thaddeus, we were laughing like old friends.
“Why don’t we walk Kathleen back to her room, while your mom and Thad have a chance to touch base, Scarlet?”
“Oh, I don’t want to take up any more of your time than I already have,” the new widow insisted. “I’m
sure I can manage on my own.”
“I’m sure you can too, but I’m an old-fashioned guy. I’ll sleep better knowing you got safely back to your stateroom.”
“That’s the kind of thing George would say.”
“Well, all the more reason for us to accompany you,” he told her, holding the door for us.
As we headed down the hallway, I noticed she was limping slightly and wondered if she was in pain. I slowed my gait, trying to match hers.
“What will you do if you have trouble sleeping?” I wanted to know. “It’s easy to feel overwhelmed in the wee, small hours of the night.”
There was a long pause as she thought about it. Suddenly, her face changed slightly, a small, almost imperceptible twitch that signaled she was beginning to understand just how permanent George’s death really was. All that aloneness was a scary thought.
“I can always sit in the Café Promenade. Someone told me they’re open twenty four hours a day. You people are on vacation and you should enjoy yourselves. You don’t need me to drag you down.”
“Nonsense!” I put an arm around her shoulder. “Let me give you the phone number for our stateroom. You can call us any time, Kathleen. Laurel and I have pretty strong shoulders, if you need to talk.”
“That’s so sweet, Scarlet. I appreciate it.” She searched for a pen and a small notebook in her purse in the bottom of her purse. I watched her write down the information I gave her. When she was finished, she pulled out her Liberty of the Seas card and swiped the lock of her stateroom. “Thank you so much for....”
Kenny suddenly pulled Kathleen back into the corridor, pushing her at me with a force that nearly knocked me off my feet. We fell against the wall, making a rather loud thud. “Stay here!”
He quickly switched to stealth mode, carefully entering the room as if he expected a hostile welcoming committee to pop out of the closet. He was tightly wound and ready to spring into action at the slightest provocation.
Kathleen and I nervously stood in the doorway. We could see the contents of the room had been tossed like a chef salad. The closet doors and dresser drawers were wide open and clothing was strewn all over the place.
“Why would someone do this?” she asked me, her voice thick with disbelief.
“Someone was looking for something,” I decided. I took a step into the room. “Did you have anything of value? Money, jewels?”
“Not really.”
Kenny emerged from the bathroom and joined us out in the corridor. He carefully, quietly shut the door to Kathleen’s stateroom and then ushered us toward the elevator with an urgency that surprised me. The moment I opened my mouth to comment, he warned me off.
“Wait, Scarlet. Not here.”
Less than a minute later, I discovered we weren’t going back to the stateroom to rejoin Laurel; instead, we were on our way to the security office.
It was bustling with activity when we stepped through the door. People in blue shirts with distinctive epaulets were coming and going. Radios crackled as personnel contacted the security office to provide updates and request instructions. Kenny flagged the man sitting at the first desk for a short conversation and a moment later, we were buzzed into Marley’s office.
“Tolliver, what brings the conga line into my office at this time of night?”
“Mrs. Delaney’s room was broken into and its contents were disturbed.”
“Is that right?” Marley sounded skeptical.
“It is.” Kenny’s answer was definite.
For a few fleeting seconds, I wondered if Kenny and his old friend would try to arm wrestle for control of the case. I wasn’t sure which of the two would come out the victor.
“And how do we know the grieving widow isn’t just a sloppy passenger?” Marley made a point of looking her over like she was a plump boneless chicken breast in the butcher shop window and he was trying to decide how to cook her for dinner. He struck me as the kind of guy who would “shake and bake” her without blinking an eye.
“Because,” I cut into the conversation, more than a little disturbed that Kathleen was considered a suspect, “I was in the stateroom with her prior to that and it was as neat as a pin when we left it. She was never out of my sight from the time we left the immaculate stateroom until the time we returned, at which time we found it in disarray. Please tell me you’re not daft enough to think she had some role in this.”
“Stranger things have happened,” he shrugged. “Wives have been known to murder their spouses.”
“Not in this case,” I announced, standing my ground. “What factual basis do you have for believing Kathleen was involved in killing her husband?”
“We’re still looking into it.”
“Well, look some place else, because she’s innocent!” I met his gaze without blinking. I was damned if I was going to let him get away with railroading the widow, especially since I was convinced her shock at finding her stateroom a mess was genuine. “Are you implying she threw her husband over the railing all by herself?”
“She could have an accomplice,” said the head of the cruise line’s security program, a smug smile settling on his face as he continued to stare at Kathleen. She turned pale under his withering scrutiny, and for a moment, I worried she might pass out.
“And I could have a twenty-three inch waist and be an underwear model in a push-up bra, but that’s not happening in the real world! Care to join us as we deal with fact, not fiction?”
Chapter Six --
“Ah, the infamous Miz Scarlet emerges and off come the gloves! Bring it on, slugger!”
“Make jokes, Marley. And while you’re doing that, consider the fact that a killer is still on the loose on your ship. How do you know he won’t strike again and dispatch another of your passengers? You’re so busy imagining the widow as the culprit, you haven’t considered the possibility that she’s innocent and someone else is getting away with murder!” I hissed. “Why aren’t you sending your people upstairs to recover fingerprints in that stateroom?”
“It’s a waste of time,” he retorted. “I’d be surprised if there were any besides hers and those belonging to members of the housekeeping staff.”
“Are you saying that whoever broke in wore gloves?”
“No, I’m saying no one broke in. Kathleen Delaney wants you to think she’s innocent. You’ve been duped.” He said it with all the enthusiasm of the cat that swallowed the canary. As I blinked, I even thought I spotted a couple of bright yellow feathers sticking out of his mouth.
“And you’ve been taking silly pills, which have clearly warped your thought processes. I already told you she was not out of my sight at any time. When did she trash her own room? More importantly, why would she do it? She had no way of knowing Kenny and I were going to see that mess. In fact, she told us it was unnecessary to escort her back to her room, but Kenny insisted on it!”
“Sir Galahad lives....”
“And so does the village idiot!” I responded hotly. “Why can’t you accept the possibility that she played no role in the killing?”
“I’ve met too many black widows who snuffed their husbands for profit.”
“But I didn’t!” Kathleen insisted. I heard sniffles behind me and realized she was crying. That just set my backbone in the upright position.
“Are you really so stubborn that you can’t let go of your ridiculous theory?” I demanded.
“Have you actually ever studied the intricacies of murder, Miz Scarlet? Statistics show that the chances of strangers attacking out of the blue are rare. Most killers have motive, means, and they know their victims. Once the motive for a killing is identified and the means are determined, the perpetrator usually shows up on the radar screen.”
As I watched him swivel back and forth in his leather desk chair, arms tucked behind his head, I found myself wanting to throttle him. How dare he be such a blockhead? Kathleen was just a normal woman with a normal life, not some scheming widow. I asked myself why Marley would think a
nything else. When the answer popped into my head with all the subtlety of a bolt of lightning, it suddenly all made perfect sense to me.
“Oh,” I groaned, hitting my forehead with my right hand. “You’ve got nothing to go on, so you’re profiling her! You found out she’s only been married to George for two years, so you leapt to the conclusion that she must be after his money!”
“You said it, not me!” he laughed.
“So, let me guess. She’s an insurance agent and you suspect there’s a million-dollar insurance policy on George Delaney’s life, with Kathleen as beneficiary.” I shook my head. “I’m disappointed in you, Marley Hornsby. Not only have you taken the easy path on this case, you’ve abandoned all good sense. You’re not interested in questioning her, to find out if her husband had any trouble that might be related to his funeral business. You’re stereotyping her because you’re too damn lazy to get off your bony ass and actually investigate this case. Why is that?”
The silence in Marley Hornsby’s office spoke volumes as my question went unanswered. And once again, I was stunned by an unexpected jolt passing through my brain. Who says that old proverbial lightning can’t strike twice?
“You expect to hand her over to the authorities in a big hoo-ha show as soon as we dock. The impatient press gets its supposed killer, and by the time the real investigators sort through the details and realize she’s innocent, the media will have moved on to their next big, juicy story.”
“Ah, Scarlet....” Kenny made a half-hearted attempt to convince me to apply the brakes and stop my runaway mouth from antagonizing Marley any further, but then the man behind the desk made a critical error that changed the game for all of us.
“You think you can do a better job, Miz Scarlet? Be my guest! Serve the killer to me on your silver platter by the time we anchor in Bermuda, because if you don’t, Mrs. Delaney is flying back to the United States in handcuffs, courtesy of the FBI.”
“Fine,” I snapped. “I will, and when I do, you will apologize to Kathleen and admit you’re a complete and utter twit!”
[Scarlet Wilson 05] - Miz Scarlet and the Perplexed Passenger Page 5
