I scooped it up and hurriedly peeled away the gel inner sole, revealing another label. It took me a few seconds to decipher the miniscule handwriting.
“Miss Adelaide’s School for Young Ladies by Lillian French, page 12,” I read aloud to my companions. “I’ve never heard of it. Have either of you?”
“I haven’t,” declared the widow, “And it’s definitely not George’s usual reading material. He’s into...was into sports, science, and history.”
Kenny shook his head. “Trust me. This book was never been on my summer reading list, not even in the seventh grade.”
“There’s really no way of knowing what makes this important, is there?” Kathleen groaned.
“Oh, I disagree. If it was only the title or only the author that mattered, George would have just written that down,” I pointed out. “But he gives us book title, author, and page number, so all of that information must be relevant.”
“We still don’t know what any of this has to do with the Forsythe Casket Company. It’s almost like the individual clues aren’t directly connected to each other, but they somehow form a whole answer to the puzzle,” said Kenny.
The three of us sat there for a good five minutes, working hard to figure out what these clues had to do with the murder. We tossed out idea after idea, but nothing seemed to make sense. Kathleen summed it up the best.
“Who was Anson Reddy, what did he have to do with an obscure book about a school for young ladies and a casket company in Memphis, and why in heaven’s name would George Delaney ever give a flying fig about it?”
“And yet, if he went to all the trouble of hiding the information from everyone but you, Kathleen, I think we have to take him seriously,” I told her. I glanced at my watch, thinking that in just another handful of hours, the Liberty of the Seas would be tying up at King’s Wharf, greeted by a welcoming committee made up of eager federal agents and nosy journalists.
“He left us three concealed clues,” Kenny declared. “Let’s think. What do a casket company, a girls’ school, and a man have to do with George’s murder?”
“Or is it a casket company, an author, and a man we’re looking at? Are they all connected to Memphis? Miss Adelaide...that’s a character from Guys and Dolls,” I pointed out. “George could have stumbled into a mob hit back in Caulkins Cove and someone followed you two onto the ship to silence him. Maybe Anson Reddy is another victim.”
“I don’t think so, Scarlet.” Kathleen was scratching her chin. “We live in such a small town that you can’t burp without everyone talking about it. Statistically speaking, crime rates tend to rise as you get closer to urban areas, unless there are pockets of criminal activities. Violent crime is almost nonexistent in Caulkins Cove, although I will say there are more thefts during the summer months, when we have an influx of tourists. That’s when most of the store owners file claims related to shoplifting and cars are broken into at the beach.”
Leave it to the insurance agent to have a handle on local crime. Kathleen Delaney had a unique way of looking at the facts.
“Could Anson Reddy be a business associate,” Kenny wondered, “maybe someone from the casket company?”
“Anything’s possible. I just don’t remember George ever mentioning the name.” She suddenly yawned. “I’m sorry. It’s late and I’m starting to get punchy.”
“I know the feeling,” I groaned, “but we have to keep at it. Let’s just concentrate on the facts that we know for certain. George went to Royal Caribbean Online and searched the Internet for information on the Forsythe Casket Company in Memphis, Tennessee. We know when he did this because today’s date is printed is on the bottom of the page. He tucked that page into one of his favorite hidey holes, a fake bottle of vitamins. In one shoe, he concealed a stranger’s name....”
“Could it be the man he thought he recognized on the ship?” the widow inquired.
“It’s possible. You said George was bothered by the fact that the man pretended not to know him. Did he travel a lot without you?”
“He took a few business trips. I suppose it’s possible he met Anson Reddy on one of them.”
“What was the last one?”
She paused briefly to consider the question. “He went to the national funeral directors convention in Nashville last October.”
“That’s the same state where the Forsythe Casket Company does business,” I replied, suddenly alert. Kathleen gave a little gasp of excitement as she began to understand the implications.
“That must be it!” she cried. “Have we found our murderer?”
“Not necessarily,” Kenny pointed out, frowning. “Even if George met Reddy at the convention and he is somehow connected to the Forsythe Casket Company in Memphis, it still doesn’t explain Miss Adelaide’s School for Young Ladies. The book doesn’t seem to fit into the puzzle.”
“Do you think my husband had a premonition that he was going to die, so he left these clues for me to find?”
“Your husband sounds like too sensible a man to deliberately provoke a killer and put himself in harm’s way,” was Kenny’s response. “Perhaps he was gathering clues as he tried to piece together a puzzle and he underestimated the danger he was in.”
I considered the possibility. The trouble was that everything seemed to happen so quickly. As best I could tell, the mystery started right after breakfast this morning, when Kathleen went back to the stateroom to read and her husband went for a walk, and it all just snowballed after that. George felt the need to check something on the Internet after he had run into a man he thought he recognized. Had the killer realized George’s interest in him, perhaps following him to Royal Caribbean Online? Did he glance at George’s computer screen as he walked by, trying to discern whether the funeral director was checking on him? And what if George couldn’t let the puzzle go?
“If he suspected his killer had committed or was about to commit a serious crime,” I asked, “what would your husband do?”
“He’d try to get enough evidence to take the police,” Kathleen insisted. Kenny slowly nodded. The pieces were beginning to fall into place.
“He must have succeeded. It looks to me like his murderer broke in and took this place apart, probably looking for these things because they could implicate him.”
“That makes sense to me.” I stood up and stretched, trying to wake up my left leg. I felt Kenny’s hands on my shoulders, massaging the sore muscles. “Oh, that feels wonderful.”
“And now I’m going to escort you ladies down to the stateroom. You can get some sleep.”
“Mmm, that will be nice.” I could feel the tension of the last few hours melting away as he kept rubbing my neck, going around in small, concentric circles. “I’m shorter than you, so I’ll take the sofa.”
“Oh, I’m not sleeping, Scarlet.”
That got my attention. “You’re not?”
“I’m not.” There it was -- the tight-lipped Tolliver thing. It meant he was working on something important and I was damned if I was going to be left out of it.
“What are you going to do?” I wanted to know, my interest piqued.
“I’m going to find out whatever I can about these clues,” he replied.
“I’ll go with you.”
“No, you won’t.”
“Yes, I will. Two heads are better than one,” I reminded him.
“I know I should probably join you two, but the truth is I’m exhausted,” Kathleen informed us. “This has been the worst day of my life.”
“Of course,” I said, wrapping an arm around her shoulder. “Come on. You can sleep in my bed and we’ll ask Thaddeus to keep the connecting door open.”
But when we got back to my stateroom, the lights were off, save for a small overhead light by the closet. The two senior citizens were sweetly slumbering; Laurel was under the covers of her own bed, and Thaddeus, fully clothed, was on mine.
“Come on,” Kenny whispered. “You can sleep in my room. We’ll leave the door open.”
“You’ll come back, though, won’t you?”
“We will. It’s a promise.”
“Be careful!” she said softly as she sank down on the bed closest to the door. She took a moment to adjust herself and then pulled the bedspread up. “I don’t think I could bear it if something terrible happened to either of you!”
What could possibly go wrong in the middle of the night on a cruise ship sailing into Bermudian waters? It’s not really like we’re on our own. Kenny is cooperating with the ship’s security team. Besides, how can the killer possibly know he’s even a blip on our radar?
“Don’t worry. We’ll be back in no time,” he said confidently. We tiptoed across the cabin floor and quietly slipped out the door.
“What’s our first stop?” I asked him as we headed down the corridor, keeping my voice low.
“The security office. I’ve got to run a check on the credit card, to see George’s last few transactions. After that, we’ve got to get into Royal Caribbean Online to have a look at that computer George used. We need the search history.”
“What about the library? Do you think they’ll have a copy of that book?”
“Anything’s possible. We can have a look, but that’s not my priority at the moment.”
Just after one, with the last ten credit card transactions printed up, Kenny and I were escorted to Royal Caribbean Online by Eleanor, a security supervisor, whose collection of ship’s keys was impressive. Once we were safely inside and the door was locked again, she flicked on the lights, revealing a room full of computer desks arranged to offer users some semblance of privacy.
Kenny took a seat at the employee charge desk and, with the help of Eleanor, began to scroll through guest transaction records, looking for some footprint that George had left behind of his Internet use. “This is going to take a few minutes, Scarlet. Bear with me.”
“No problem,” I replied, curiosity getting the better of me. This was my first time in the Internet café, so I took advantage of the opportunity to wander around. Like many other areas of the ship, this room was open to the floor below, offering a great vantage point. I walked up to the railing for a better look. Peering into the darkness, I thought I saw books on shelves lining the walls. Had I found the ship’s library? I leaned over the handrail for a better view.
“Hey, Eleanor,” I called out to her, determined to take advantage of the unexpected opportunity. This was my chance to search for the missing book while she and Kenny were busy with the computer caches. I was not about to take no for an answer. “Is that the library down there?”
Chapter Nine --
“It is.” She glanced up from her perch beside Kenny.
“Could you let me in there to check out the books?”
“The library’s closed,” was her response. “You’ll have to wait until morning.”
I admit that I was a little groggy at that moment in time, so it took me a minute or two to realize we weren’t on the same page. I didn’t need some heaving bosom novel for my bedside table.
“No, no,” I continued. “I don’t want to borrow books. I want to find one that might be relevant to the case.”
“Oh,” she said blankly, unable to fathom my need to get into the stacks of the Ofer Library. “But you shouldn’t be down there alone. If you wait a few minutes, I’ll have someone accompany you.”
“What if you lock me in, so no one else wanders in? You’ll be back here in a flash. Please? It really would be helpful for the investigation.”
The reluctant supervisor looked over to Kenny for approval. He shrugged.
“Sure. Why not let her get started? We’ll be killing two birds with one stone, and with any luck, she might stumble upon something.”
Stumble? Just for that, Captain Peacock, I’ll show you what a rank amateur can do. Be prepared to be amazed!
As I was about to make my exit from the computer center, he stopped me. “I’m sure it’s completely unnecessary for me to remind you we have a killer on the ship. However, on the off-chance that you have some sort of brain freeze that renders you incapable of rational thought, let me reiterate this one point. Make sure you don’t open the door for anyone, Scarlet.”
“I have no intention of answering the door at this time of night. Besides, if anyone tries to get in, I’ll just scream bloody murder. You’re bound to hear me.”
“I mean it, Scarlet.”
“As do I, Captain Peacock.”
I probably would have been more flippant if it weren’t for the fact that Kenny was definitely apprehensive; that usually meant that he didn’t have a handle on the case yet. For that reason and only that reason, I took pity on the guy. “I promise you I will be careful.”
Eleanor locked the door behind us and led me down the hall to the stairs. Three minutes later, my blue-shirted escort let me into the library, turned on all the lights, and checked the entire room before she hollered up to Kenny.
“Everything is secure, sir. I’m locking her in now and I’ll be with you momentarily.”
“Copy that,” Kenny answered.
I heard the sound of the latch clicking shut as Eleanor left the library. A moment later, Kenny’s voice broke the silence.
“How are you doing down there, Miz Scarlet?”
“I’m doing fine, thank you. And how are you doing?”
“I’m making progress.”
“Good. Let’s hope I can do the same.”
Feeling fairly confident about my safety, I started to make the rounds of the stacks. Was Miss Adelaide’s School for Young Ladies a novel for adults, teens, or children? I moved from shelf to shelf, scanning the author names and titles. Every once in a while I could hear the conversation wafting down from above. I found it oddly comforting to know that I was not really alone. All I had to do was let out my best bloodcurdling scream and there would be two faces at the railing within seconds. In a real emergency, I imagined Kenny would probably just lower himself over the railing and plop down onto the sofa three feet from where I stood, prepared to do battle with whatever fiend came at me.
I began my hunt for the book by considering the victim. George Delaney had a penchant for hiding things. It was reasonable to assume he stayed true to form and placed a clue in Lillian French’s obscure tome. It would have to be something thin enough so as to not disturb the pages of the book and attract attention, perhaps just a single piece of paper. Or he might have jotted down a message on page 12. There was no way of knowing until I held Miss Adelaide’s School for Young Ladies in my hands and flipped through it.
“So the big question is where would George hide the book?” I said softly.
In the hushed silence of the library, aware of every tiny sound, I found comfort in hearing my own voice talking out loud to the proverbial “me, myself, and I”. It was becoming a habit for me, one I should probably break, but at the moment, I found it actually helped me to consolidate my thoughts. Come on, Miz Scarlet. Use your head. If you wanted to conceal a book in a library used by the public, where would you tuck it to make sure no one borrowed it?
I sat in one of the leather chairs, letting my gaze meander over the book shelves as I tried to imagine what happened in this room. If I was George, what would I do? I don’t believe I’d risk losing something of value by leaving it out in the open. Where could I put it where it wouldn’t stick out like a sore thumb? I’d want it to blend in.
Again I went around the room, considering the possibilities. If I was George...If I was George...If I was George....That became a mantra as I wracked my brain to find the proverbial needle in the haystack. If only I knew what it was George hid, maybe I’d be able to put myself in his shoes. It had to be evidence. Why else would he have gone to so much trouble? He was afraid to leave whatever it was in his stateroom. That meant it was far more valuable than the piece of paper with Anson Reddy’s name on it or the brochure for the Forsythe Casket Company.
If I was George, I’d pick a book I was sure no one would want to r
ead, a book that appeared to be a total waste of time for a true bookworm. I wouldn’t put it on the shelves with the popular books because too many people might reach for it.
Stumped, I sat down again, this time in a chair facing in the opposite direction. I could see the desk where the ship’s library staff might sit and observe George’s activities. He would have been careful to avoid scrutiny while he was concealing his evidence.
I looked up at the Royal Caribbean Online computer room above me, knowing the Ofer Library was the perfect solution to George’s dilemma; he must have sat at one of the computers up there and tried to figure out a place to hide his evidence. He and Kathleen were staying on Deck 7; it would have been so convenient for him to slip in and out of the library without attracting unwanted attention. The hiding place would have to be far enough away from unwelcome eyes watching from above, just in case the victim was followed to Royal Caribbean Online.
I rose from my seat and walked twenty feet or so across the room, over to a pair of leather club chairs positioned with a perfect view of the comings and goings of the library’s patrons through the main doors and only the tiniest of glimpses of the Internet café upstairs. I took the seat on the left and settled myself into its cushioned comfort. This was probably a safe spot for a man who felt threatened. With his back to the shelves, George could see all the action unfolding in the library. If I were George, I’d hide the book somewhere in this vicinity.
I got to my knees and peered under the chair. I admit I was disappointed when I came up empty. Sitting back on my heels, I studied the chair. Where else could George have hidden a book? I slipped my hands under the seat cushion and felt around. My fingers brushed against something stiff.
“Hello! What’s this? Come to Mama!” Victorious, I lifted up the cushion and extracted a paperback copy of Miss Adelaide’s School for Young Ladies. With trembling fingers, I hurriedly flipped through it, searching for page 12. There, taped close to the spine, was a tiny micro SD card, barely bigger than my pinky nail. It was straight out of a James Bond flick.
[Scarlet Wilson 05] - Miz Scarlet and the Perplexed Passenger Page 8
