[Scarlet Wilson 05] - Miz Scarlet and the Perplexed Passenger

by Sara M. Barton

  “Of course I do,” I snapped. “I think Velma Sue is still in danger!”

  “Scarlet....” I caught him falling back into his dream and shook him by the shoulders.

  “Don’t you dare go back to sleep!” I warned him. “I mean it, Kenny!”

  “Crap on a cracker, woman! Do you have any idea how exhausted I am?”

  “You’re not half as exhausted as you’re going to be if you’ve got to explain why you let the accomplice get away with murder!”

  “What are you talking about?” He rubbed his eyes with both fists, moaned some more, and sat up.

  “You said the killer hasn’t come back to the ship yet. What if he’s been in touch with his accomplice and he’s trying to give himself an alibi for Velma Sue’s murder by not being here?”

  “By not....” I could tell Kenny was still groggy. “Damn it....”

  “You’ve got to get up,” I insisted. “We have to find out if the security team caught the killer trying to come aboard yet. And if they didn’t, someone’s got to warn Velma Sue she’s in danger!”

  “Can’t it wait until morning?” I realized I was losing him. His eyes were closing and he was trying to hunker back down in his bed.

  “No, it cannot! What if the accomplice stages an accidental overdose of pills? Remember how she said she wanted the killer to use a sedative? If she tries to carry out that plan on her own, Velma Sue is in danger!”

  That somehow filtered through to Kenny’s foggy state. He was now on high alert.

  “My pants!” He hopped out of bed and yanked them on. “Shoot!”

  “Aren’t you going to call Agent Leahy?” I asked, watching him slip his long, narrow feet into a pair of Topsiders. He didn’t bother answering me. Instead, he pulled on a white v-neck tee shirt, grabbed his wallet, and headed for the door.

  “Do not, I repeat, do not open these doors to anyone! I’ll be back as soon as I can,” he promised, slipping out into the corridor with all the stealth of a cat burglar.

  I spent the next ten minutes sitting on the window seat, watching the late night foot traffic down on the Royal Promenade. When the phone unexpectedly rang, I jumped.

  “Hello?” I wasn’t sure who to expect on the other end of the line.

  “Scarlet, go wake Thad up and tell him we need him down in the sick bay pronto!” Kenny told me. “We need a surgeon!”

  “What happened?”

  “There’s no time to explain. Just do it! Hurry up!”

  Chapter Twenty --

  “What’s wrong?” My mother was hunkered down in her bed, a worried frown creasing her brow.

  “Kenny didn’t tell me. All I know is that they need a surgeon.”

  “Thaddeus is a good one. I hope everyone is alright.”

  “I do too, Mom.”

  Just after three, our travel mates returned. Slumping down on the end of Laurel’s bed, Thaddeus gave her foot a gentle squeeze.

  “Good news, love. Thanks to Scarlet’s amazing intuition, Velma Sue Vickerson, the woman known as Vicky, is going to live. It was a close call, but they found her in time.”

  “What happened?” I was hungry for the details. Kenny obliged.

  “The security team and I went to the singer’s cabin and knocked on the door, but there was no answer. We searched the ship, trying to locate her. None of the lounges reported her card being swiped to pay for food or drink, so Marley finally authorized us to enter her cabin. We found her lying on the bed, unconscious. Her wrists had been slashed. Luckily, the cuts weren’t deep enough to kill her, although she did lose a lot of blood. She also had a substantial amount of Valium in her bloodstream. The doctors had to pump her stomach.”

  “She tried to kill herself?” I was shocked. That made no sense to me. “But why would she do that?”

  “She didn’t,” the doctor told us, shaking his head. “Those cuts were made by someone else. This was most definitely attempted murder.”

  “Oh, that poor woman!” Laurel started to shiver.

  “She’s not awake yet, but her vital signs are good. Marley insisted on posting a guard in the infirmary to protect her. She’s safe now, thanks to your daughter.”

  “I’m so relieved,” I admitted, suddenly feeling like I’d aged ten years in the last twenty four hours. “Does this mean we can sleep now?”

  “Lord, I hope so,” said the man from Mercer Security. “If I don’t get some rest, I’ll be a walking zombie.”

  “I guess this means we won’t be taking our tour today,” Laurel heaved a disappointed sigh, glancing at the travel alarm clock on her bedside table. “This trip has been such a disaster.”

  “Tell you what,” Kenny replied. “If I can get five hours of uninterrupted sleep, I’ll be happy to take any tour you want.”

  “Make it six hours and I’m in,” I agreed.

  “What time were we supposed to meet Cedric?” Thaddeus wanted to know. Laurel smiled up at him, grateful for his sensibility.

  “I allowed for enough time to visit the National Gallery. If we skip that and just go on to the other activities, you three could sleep until 9:30.”

  “Perfect!” I was relieved. We’d be able to salvage one day in Bermuda before sailing for home. It was better than nothing, and now that Velma Sue Vickerson was safe, we were out of shark-infested waters, at least as far as the human kind of predator was concerned.

  “Good night, all!” said a voice from the other stateroom. Kenny was already through the connecting door, on his way to bed.

  Thaddeus blew Laurel a kiss before making his exit. He watched her pretend to catch it in the palm of her right hand.

  “Ah, lovely Laurel. ‘Good night, good night! Parting is such sweet sorrow, that I shall say good night till it be morrow.’ Sleep tight, ladies.”

  “You too,” I called out as he withdrew with a gallant bow.

  “He’s such a lovely man,” she sighed wistfully.

  “He’s definitely a keeper, Mom.”

  “I’m glad you think so, darling.”

  It felt wonderful to climb into my own bed and lay my head on my own pillow, knowing I would wake up here in the morning. Settling in, I pulled the sheet over my shoulders, and nodded off before Laurel turned off the bedside lamp.

  Too soon the new day dawned. I came awake as artificial light poured in through the bow window. Laurel had opened the drapes and was people-watching from her perch overlooking the shops below.

  “What time is it?” I asked, only opening one eye.

  “It’s just after nine.”

  “Could you wake me in fifteen minutes? I need a shower.”

  “You’re going to shower with that ankle?”

  I had completely forgotten my swollen appendage. Did I really want to go through the misery of getting into the shower on one leg, just for the sake of a hurried splash of water? Better to grab a wet washcloth and wipe myself down, I suppose.

  “Good point. In that case, I’ll take twenty more minutes.”

  Once Kenny was up, he called the security office for an update. With Velma Sue still unconscious and our killer still on the run, the case remained up in the air.

  “There’s nothing we can do. We might as well enjoy the day.”

  Dressed and fed, the four of us departed at ten, headed for the Sea Express dock, ready to catch the catamaran that would take us into Hamilton. Kenny pushed me in the borrowed wheelchair. Laurel operated her own.

  “Welcome aboard,” said the young man at the top of the ramp as he punched our tickets. He handed them back. “We’ll be underway in about five minutes.”

  We sat out on the open deck of the ferry; the men perched on bench seats beside us. The light sea breeze on my skin felt glorious. I let my mind wander, enjoying the tranquility of the journey, watching the seabirds fly along side of the catamaran.

  “Good God!” I suddenly sat up. “I completely forgot about the message in a bottle!”

  “The what?” Laurel’s face was a study in confusion.
r />   “Apparently, there is a bottle and a message....” Thaddeus reported, unable to clarify his news flash further.

  In all the excitement, I had forgotten to tell them about the package entrusted to me. I pulled the CVS bag from my purse, showed them the glass vessel, and explained Kathleen’s request to send it off in Bermudian waters.

  “I wonder what the message says.” My mother turned the bottle this way and that, trying to catch a glimpse, a reminder that I am, at times, a chip off the old block.

  “I think we should open it, just in case George named his killer. But if the message has got nothing to do with that, how will we reseal the cork?” I wanted to know. My mother gave it some consideration before offering an answer

  “Cedric’s a local man. He can find out for us. Let’s ask him when he picks us up.”

  The first thing our reliable driver did was to call his cousin, Niles, who lives over in Southampton. He explained our need for bottle wax and let out a delighted holler a moment later.

  “You are? That’s fantastic! We’ll be over after a trip to Horseshoe Bay Beach.”

  A moment after he hung up, he turned to us. “Go ahead and pop the cork. Niles is bottling some falernum as we speak.”

  “Falernum?” Thaddeus was curious. “Is that some kind of wine?”

  “No, no. Falernum is a mixer used in Royal Bermuda Yacht Club cocktails, mai tais, and rum swizzles. My cousin brews and bottles it. You’ll see.”

  “Here goes nothing.” My fingers trembled as I peeled off the wax seal, removed the cork, and fished the scroll of paper from inside the bottle. Unfurling it, I read it aloud. “It says: ‘Greetings to whoever finds this bottle. Would you be kind enough to contact me at the following address and provide the details of where and when you found this message?’ George mentions that he launched it off the coast of Bermuda during his stay and gives the week and year.”

  “Well, nothing about the message pertains to the murder,” Kenny said, “so I guess we’ll just reseal it and send it on its way.”

  “That’s too bad. It was worth a shot, though,” I sighed.

  “I know, babe.” He gave my shoulder a squeeze.

  I rolled up the slip of paper and tucked it back inside the bottle. And then I wrapped the CVS bag around the bottle and stashed it under the seat.

  “Wouldn’t it be nice if someone did find the bottle,” Laurel asked, “for Kathleen’s sake?”

  “Indeed,” Thaddeus agreed. “Let’s hope that happens.”

  “Too bad we can’t make it happen.” She let out a long, regret-filled sigh.

  “Mom, you’re not suggesting we plant the bottle where it will easily be found!”

  “No, of course I’m not, Scarlet. I just wish we could do something to help it along a bit.”

  “Like launch our own bottle with a message in it?” Thaddeus wondered.

  “Or two...or three,” Laurel suggested, “as insurance.”

  “Don’t you mean four?” Kenny asked, catching on. “That way, there’s a much better chance that someone will find one of them.”

  “Why don’t we just buy a boatload of bottles and launch enough of them to sink a fleet? We’re sure to attract plenty of attention that way,” I groaned, “especially if more than one bottle is found. Of course, we might have some trouble explaining all that to Kathleen, especially if the press gets wind of it! Does she really need to know we unsealed George’s bottle?”

  “I suppose not,” my mother acknowledged. “But still, would it really hurt to add a couple of extras?”

  And people think I’m wacky? I obviously come by this gene trait honestly, handed down through the maternal side of the family. This has all the earmarks of a classic Googins Girls’ plot.

  My mother and her cousin were famous in their Cheswick senior citizen circle for their schemes. A few months ago, they got me into the wedding business, not because we needed to take on the responsibilities of hosting nuptials at the Four Acorns Inn, but because the Googins Girls wanted to give a senior citizen a shot at rekindling her romance with an ex-husband. “You folks are positively daft!”

  “But think about how good it will be for Kathleen to know that George’s last bottle was discovered!”

  “Even though it may not be the actual one he himself prepared? I have a better way to show our support. Why don’t we just write our own messages and ask whoever finds the bottles to pass our good wishes along to Kathleen, using the same address? It will remind her that we’re still thinking of her and that we value our new friendship. Let’s make this a nice surprise for her.” I put the emphasis on the word “nice”. “The only reason we opened George’s bottle was to make sure there was no evidence inside it.”

  “Perhaps Scarlet is right,” my mother reluctantly conceded. “This way, not only will Kathleen know that we launched George’s last bottle, but she’ll know we’re still thinking of her.”

  “Just out of curiosity, where do you think we’re going to get four bottles to toss into the sea?” I wanted to know. “Are we going to shop at the local bottle store?”

  “Not to worry,” Cedric laughed. “My cousin buys them by the gross.”

  “Perfect,” Kenny laughed. “Then it’s settled. We’ll do it!”

  “Oh, good,” said the much relieved mastermind, sitting in the seat ahead of me. “I’m glad.”

  “We’re here,” said our cheerful driver, pointing to the sign for Horseshoe Bay Beach. “Prepare to be amazed by one of the world’s best beaches.”

  Cedric drove us down to the bottom of the steep driveway, just a short distance from the bath houses. He parked next to a black van and gave the driver a wave.

  “That’s my buddy, Winston. He does the shuttle up and down for folks going to the beach. Hey, do you mind keeping an eye on my wheels?”

  “No problem, bro. I’ll be here.”

  “I’ll be back in a minute with your hot rod,” Cedric teased my mother. “You sit tight.”

  “You two go ahead,” my mother insisted to Kenny and me. “There’s no reason why you need to wait for us. We will meet you on the beach shortly.”

  Kenny and I gathered our gear. According to Thaddeus, I was good to go into the Atlantic, although he did warn me not to kick with my bum foot. He promised to wrap it with a fresh ACE bandage once we were back in the minivan.

  “Just don’t overdo it, Scarlet. You don’t want to aggravate the injury.”

  In lieu of renting a beach wheelchair of my own, Kenny gave me a piggyback ride, careful not to jostle my injured foot. We stopped at the entrance to the dressing rooms. Carefully balancing on my good foot, I hopped into the women’s area and found an empty changing room with a big bench. Grateful, I sank down and got to work wriggling into my tank suit. Five minutes later, my street clothes folded and safe inside my tote bag, I retraced my steps and stepped outside.

  Kenny was waiting for me by the water fountain. He picked me up again and we crossed the glistening beach, past the small crowd of people sitting on colorful blankets and towels, all the way to where the children rode their boogie boards in the shallow water. He set me down gently on the pristine sand about fifteen feet from the edge of the ocean. I retrieved my towel from my tote bag and spread it on the sand before plunking myself down on top of it. Carefully easing my swollen foot out of my sneaker, I removed my sock.

  “Ouch! Those purple little piggies of yours look like they want to go wee, wee, wee all the way home,” Kenny decided.

  “I guess it could have been worse. At least they’re not broken.” I was glad my foot was still wrapped in the compression bandage, lest they swell any more. Leaning forward, I unlaced the other sneaker and sock.

  “Shall we?” Kenny held out his hands and helped me to stand. I used his arm to balance myself as I hopped awkwardly into the water. Once I felt confident that I could stand unassisted in the waist-deep water, he released me. I paddled around using my hands, occasionally wagging my left leg in a modified kick, enjoying the light,
gentle waves that pulled me towards shore. “By Jove, I think I’ve got it.”

  “In that case, I’m going further out, Scarlet. Will you be okay here by yourself?”

  “I’ll be fine. Have fun.”

  Kenny swam out to deeper water, his rhythmic crawl strong and purposeful. He made a couple of parallel passes to the shore, giving himself a good workout.

  Meanwhile, I spied a familiar trio making their way across the beach. Waving as I balanced on one foot, I caught their attention. A few minutes later, Cedric pushed Laurel right into the water, all the way up to her ankles.

  “Oh, this is heavenly,” she gushed enthusiastically. I did a modified doggie paddle over to them.

  “Wow,” I smiled. “It looks like we might have to get one of those for you.”

  “That’s what I said.” Thaddeus tossed his head back, laughing. “I told your mother she could visit me in Maine and I’d take her to a great beach near the house. Do you know what she said to me?”

  “I sure do. She said that if God wanted people to swim in Maine, he’d have warmed up the water by at least twenty degrees.”

  “How did you know?”

  “It’s an old family joke. We once went camping on Hermit Island. My dad carried her down to the water and put her on an inner tube. When her fanny hit that cold water, you could hear her scream all the way to Portland.”

  “This water I can handle. The temperature is civilized,” Laurel declared enthusiastically. She watched the gentle waves roll in and cover her toes. “I haven’t been in salt water for ages. It feels wonderful.”

  “We’ll have to rectify that. Next time, wear your bathing suit and we’ll get you all the way in.” Thaddeus decided.

  Once Kenny had worked off his energy swimming, he joined us. “That’s a nice set of wheels you have there, Mrs. W. Very sporty.”

  “I’m thinking of getting one,” she giggled, patting the enormous tires. “Does it come in red?”

  Chapter Twenty One --

  An hour later, Kenny, Thaddeus, and I changed back into street clothes and we all piled into the minivan.