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

by Sara M. Barton

  “That either means he’s a passenger who somehow snuck aboard after we did or he works for Royal Caribbean, doesn’t it?” It seemed obvious to me.

  “Not necessarily. Don’t forget he has an accomplice. She could have finagled something....”

  “If the killer staged a diversion so he could get at me when I was at the zoo, couldn’t he have done the same thing at the gangway?”

  “You think he pulled another diversion?” the FBI agent asked me. “I wonder if there was any kind of disturbance last night when people were boarding.”

  “This guy could be some kind of master illusionist,” said the man from Mercer Security. That got the FBI agent’s full attention.

  “You think he’s a magician?”

  “Why not? Velma Sue Vickerson’s in show business. Maybe our killer is too. And if that’s the case, we have another set of possibilities to consider. For example, he could be one of the entertainers hired for this cruise.”

  “We’ve spent all our time looking at the passengers because these attacks seemed so personal. Perhaps it’s time we take another look at everyone else.”

  I had to agree. Why couldn’t the murderer be an employee of the cruise line?

  “As the fictional Sherlock Holmes said: ‘How often have I said to you that when you have eliminated the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth?’ It seems to hold up for the second time in this case.”

  “Indeed it does, Miz Scarlet.” Kenny gave me a small smile.

  Todd started texting, frantically punching in letters on his tiny electronic keyboard. When he was done, he pressed the “send” button. Less than a minute later, his phone rang.

  “Excuse me. I’ve got to take this.” He stepped out into the hallway to continue his conversation. Kenny decided he had some urgent business of his own, no doubt calling his office back in Connecticut, to see if he could get better information and faster than the federal agent did. Ah, there’s nothing like a little competition between men.

  A glimpse at the wall clock told me it was just after three. In two hours, the Liberty of the Seas was scheduled to depart. From what Thaddeus and the emergency room physician told me, I should be fine to sail home. But it was a long drive back to King’s Wharf by car and the ferry wasn’t necessarily any faster when we factored in the reality of waiting for its arrival. What if we didn’t make it back in time?

  “Okay, I’ve got some news,” the investigator announced, stepping into the exam room with Kenny. He plunked himself down in the chair again. Kenny took the other seat. “Velma Sue is awake and talking. It turns out that she was hired eight months ago to replace the lead singer, Missy Tyler, who got pregnant and had to drop out of the road tour, back when the group called itself the Fillies. When Velma Sue auditioned and got the thumbs-up, she convinced the others to hire her sister, Barbara Jean as band manager. Not only did Barbara Jean get them booked into clubs in the Ozarks, Vegas, and even the Grand Ole Opry, they changed their play list, added some original tunes, and changed the name of the group. Valerie confirmed all that. She says that Missy tried to get into the new group, but no one wanted Velma Sue to leave. Apparently, Velma Sue is the real talent.”

  “Okay,” Kenny nodded. “That might explain why Velma Sue is our victim. But how does the killer figure into the picture?”

  “Missy is married to Marco the Magnificent.”

  “And he just happens to be a magician,” I guessed, “who wants his wife to get her job back as lead singer. But why did they kill for it? Couldn’t they have just sued? You can’t really fire a woman for getting pregnant.”

  “But Missy wasn’t fired. She left voluntarily to have a baby. You can’t expect a band to sit around for a year, waiting for the lead singer to return. They have the right to earn a living. Besides, when Velma Sue joined them, she convinced them to change the name of the group, which means the original group no longer existed.”

  Kenny nodded, thoughtfully considering the contractual implications. “Even if Missy wanted to sue, she wouldn’t have a legal leg to stand on. You can’t force your former band mates to get back together.”

  “There’s no reason why Missy couldn’t have found new Fillies to back her up,” I decided. “But that wasn’t good enough for her, was it? She must have been jealous of all the success Vicky and the Vixens had.”

  “There’s an understatement. The day before the ship sailed from New Jersey, the band was offered a six-month run at the Dusty Rose Saloon in Branson, Missouri and the chance to record an album while they’re there. They’re supposed to sign the contract when they get back to the States.”

  “And if Velma Sue dies, Missy assumes she gets her old job back?” I asked.

  “Yes, and according to Valerie, this isn’t the first time Missy has tried to elbow her way back into the band. There was an incident in Ohio. Velma Sue fell down a flight of stairs. She insisted she’d only had a glass of white wine and that someone pushed her, but she was incoherent when she was found.”

  “That would explain the conversation Missy and Marco had, and the concern that sedatives showing up in Velma Sue’s autopsy would raise the sister’s suspicions,” Kenny pointed out. “They have to kill her and make it look like Velma Sue did herself in if Missy has any chance to rejoin the group.”

  “Does that mean they’re using aliases on the ship?” I sat up in bed. “Or are they using stage names?”

  “Well, that’s a good question, Scarlet. Luckily, we asked Velma Sue. She said Missy’s real name is Cathy Franken. She got the nickname ‘Missy’ because she’s got a real smart mouth and tends to get into trouble for it. As in, ‘Look here, Missy!’ And as for Marco, his real name is Mark Hudsucker. They are actually traveling on the Liberty of the Seas as part of a group of street performers.

  “You mean like mimes and jugglers?” I asked.

  “And fortune tellers and tricksters, all of whom work in full costume and makeup on the Royal Promenade.”

  “The perfect disguise,” Kenny pointed out, “for a pair of killers.”

  “What made them kill Anson Reddy and George Delaney?” I looked from Kenny to Todd. “Why was that necessary?”

  “I’ll take a stab at this one, if you don’t mind, Todd,” Kenny said. Talk about a poor choice of words. Please tell me he didn’t mean to say that. One look at that handsome face vanquished all doubts.

  “Be my guest.”

  “I just got a report from Mercer Security. Max ran a check on Mr. Reddy. You might be surprised to learn that he was not some old geezer, but rather a good-looking, thirty-five-year-old bachelor, Scarlet. According to his secretary, Anson saw Vicky and the Vixens perform in Memphis a couple of months ago and he was smitten with the lovely Velma Sue. He even took her to dinner a few times. She probably told him about the fall she had backstage in Ohio. Maybe Velma Sue suspected she had been drugged, and after listening to her, Anson might have worried that someone was trying to sabotage her career.”

  “If, as you say, they knew each other before that funeral directors’ convention, they probably made special plans to get together in Nashville,” I decided. “Would Anson have tried to catch Missy and Marco in the act?”

  “Either that or he accidentally stumbled onto something while he was waiting in the wings for her to finish her performance. He might have confided in George Delaney,” Kenny remarked.

  “When Anson turned up dead in the Cumberland River, George might have tried to pursue his suspicions by following Velma Sue on this cruise, hoping to keep her safe.” I shook my head, dismayed. “How sad to think he lost his life that way.”

  “It is,” Todd agreed. “But let’s not lose sight of what’s important. With only circumstantial evidence to go on, it’s a hard case to take to court. What we really need is some compelling evidence to link Missy and Marco to the attack at the zoo. That’s the only way we can really prove it was a conspiracy and build a case against them for the murders of Anson Reddy and George Delaney.”


  “You don’t think the videos are good enough to convict them?” I was surprised by that.

  “They didn’t actually come out and say they were going to murder Velma Sue, did they?”

  “No, they did not.” That was rather disappointing, given all the trouble people had gone to in their efforts to save Velma Sue from a dastardly conspiracy. George Delaney and Anson Reddy paid the ultimate price for their gallantry.

  “All that a jury is going to hear is that they had a conversation about bruises, sedatives, a sister, and an autopsy. If the prosecutor can’t link each of those words directly to the two murders, he or she has got nothing,” Kenny pointed out.

  “That is unless we can lure Missy and Marco into our trap. Velma Sue is still supposedly unconscious in sick bay,” Todd reminded us, “and if we can convince them that it’s in their best interest to act, we can catch them trying to kill Velma Sue, or rather the agent posing as Velma Sue.

  I sighed heavily as my eyes lit on the wall clock. “There’s only one problem. We’re probably going to miss the boat.”

  “No, we’re not. The captain won’t sail without us. He’s been notified we’re on our way shortly. Kathleen will be flying home tonight with Agent Fielding and Velma Sue is in protective custody here at the hospital. We’d like you to help us catch the killer, Scarlet,” Todd announced.

  “How, pray tell, is that to happen?” With my bruised body covered in scratches and my leg sporting a cast, I looked like I had just walked away -- nay, hopped away -- from a disaster zone. Then again, I’d probably look like the proverbial sitting duck to a hunter on a mission to murder.

  “Well, we believe Marco was after what was in the CVS bag Kathleen handed you, and by now he knows he didn’t get it by stealing your purse at the zoo. We’re hoping we can draw him out by giving him the opportunity to recover it on the Liberty of the Seas.”

  “Oh, you want me to leave it in the lounge or something?”

  “Something along those lines,” he replied. Todd suddenly seemed rather tight-lipped. That’s never a good sign.

  “Do you really think he’ll sail back to the States on the ship?”

  “He has no choice if he’s going to tie up all the loose ends. Don’t forget that he still believes no one is the wiser as far as he’s concerned and that his wife still has a shot at replacing the lead singer for Vicky and the Vixens. He wore a mask when he abducted you, so the idiot probably thinks he’s safe as far as his identity is concerned. But he doesn’t know what George Delaney told his wife about Anson Reddy and the plot to kill Velma Sue. Kathleen might have shared her husband’s theory with you. Thus, you’re one of those pesky loose ends he must tie up, just in case you’ve got evidence that could convict him.”

  “I wish I wasn’t. Any other time, I’d be game to do this, but right now....”

  “Yeah, I don’t really blame you for feeling this way. But I can promise you that we’ll have you under close surveillance at all times. You’ll be perfectly safe.” Perfectly safe. Those are famous last words etched onto many a headstone.

  “Just don’t tell my mother,” I warned him. “She’s already pretty upset about everything that’s happened. She’s worried I’ll wind up dead.”

  “Roger that,” he smiled. “Now, are you ready for your close-up?”

  “Sure, why not?”

  For the second time in a day, I was loaded onto an ambulance and, with the emergency lights flashing, was driven on the narrow, winding roads to my destiny. We pulled up to the curb of Dockyard Terrace for the parade to King’s Wharf a scant twenty minutes before the ship was set to sail.

  “Okay, folks, it’s show time,” Todd announced, just before the doors were opened. “Let’s make this look believable. It’s important for the killer and his accomplice to believe that they’re in the clear. We’re going to attract as much attention as possible, so passengers and crew are talking about Scarlet’s arrival. We want everyone to believe the threat comes from someone on land, not someone sailing on the Liberty of the Seas.”

  With an entourage of uniformed first responders surrounding me, I was taken off the ambulance by stretcher and unstrapped from my rolling bed by a pair of EMTs, who lifted me gently to my feet and helped me into the wheelchair. A quick glimpse of the ship showed me that a number of passengers were watching from the decks above us. Was the killer among them?

  Laurel and Thaddeus arrived moments later, courtesy of the Bermuda Police Service. A senior law enforcement official accompanied them as part of the official police contingent. Roger Godinger was on the far side of fifty, a serious, rather terse man, no doubt selected for duty based on those attributes. His twitchy assistant trailed after him, constantly checking his phone for updates on police business, trying to keep his boss on schedule. It added to the circus atmosphere. Once my mother’s wheelchair was retrieved from the back of the police van and she was helped into it, they joined us on the sidewalk.

  “And we’re ready to roll,” said the senior EMT, a man named Farley. He led the way, keeping up a conversation with me as we moved towards the entry gate.

  Todd carried a medical gear bag and a pair of crutches for me. He wore the official EMT hat, lettered tee shirt, and a pair of mirrored sunglasses to help him blend in with the real first responders. The cheerful, off-key tune that he whistled sounded suspiciously like “Don’t Worry, Be Happy”. If I didn’t know better, I’d think he was enjoying the opportunity to go undercover.

  Chapter Twenty Four --

  Todd made sure a couple of uniformed officers stayed by the marked police cars and the empty ambulance, inviting public curiosity in the area. By the time we reached the walkway leading to King’s Wharf, a sizeable group of tourists, curious about the two women in wheelchairs with the big entourage, gathered along the path to watch us pass. Some shouted out questions, hoping for answers.

  “What’s going on?” a middle-aged woman in too-tight Capri pants and a huge sun hat wanted to know.

  “Is that a celebrity?” asked another gawker. “Quick, Sylvia. Take a picture.”

  “Why are there so many police officers?” a mother asked her teenage son. “I hope nothing’s wrong.”

  As one overeager tourist stepped into our midst, he suddenly found his effort blocked by one of the officers.

  “I’m sorry, sir. Would you please step back?” said the polite, but determined lawman.

  “Why can’t you tell me what’s going on?” the Nosy Parker demanded. “I have the right to know!”

  “Excuse me, sir, but you really do need to step back.”

  “Hey, I’m just trying to find out what’s going on!” he insisted.

  “I assure you, sir, that if it had any bearing on your visit to Bermuda, you would be fully informed. Now, for the last time, I respectfully request that you take a step back, unless you prefer to have me assist you.”

  By that time, we were already at the gate for the Visitors Information Center. A moment later, as we crossed the pavement to reach the entrance to the building, the officer rejoined us.

  Laurel and Thaddeus were first in line. They flashed their credentials at the customs officer, who waved them on. They quickly disappeared through the doors.

  Marley Hornsby had promised the FBI full cooperation, and that meant his security people were assisting on the case. While we waited to be cleared through Customs, Todd was on the phone, coordinating with his colleagues, already ensconced in the Liberty of the Seas security office.

  “We should be coming aboard in about five minutes. Do we have the security team dressed in plain clothes now? Have them mingle with the passengers, on the off chance that our suspects show up.”

  A few moments later, I was pushed up to the desk to answer the questions from a customs officer, who wanted to know why I didn’t have any identification with me. Mr. Godinger vouched for me, insisting that his chief had been in touch with the American government about my lack of a passport. He produced a faxed letter from Washington, wh
ich attested to the fact that I did have a valid passport and a verified American driver’s license, both of which had been stolen during the assault at the zoo. He presented certified copies of the documents. At last, I was allowed to pass.

  We went through some of the same rigmarole once we proceeded up the gangway. The ship personnel also seemed to hem and haw over letting me back onto the Liberty of the Seas. They called the security office and Eleanor came down to vouch for me. She had to fight her way through the crowd of rubberneckers that had gathered by the elevator.

  Once she approved me for sailing, Kenny took over wheelchair duty and the police and EMTs bade us goodbye. I breathed a sigh of relief as the elevator doors opened and I was whisked up to Stateroom 6615, where an anxious mother and physician awaited us.

  “Oh, thank heavens you’re here. I was beginning to think you’d never show up,” Laurel announced, her relief palpable.

  “You and me both,” I said, giving her a wan smile.

  Thaddeus patted my shoulder. “How are you feeling, champ?”

  “Like I was a punching bag for Mayweather,” I groaned. “I think I’m going to need a vacation after this ship docks in New Jersey.”

  “Either that or a couple of weeks in a nursing home,” Kenny quipped. “I promise I’ll come visit you, Miz Scarlet.”

  “Aren’t you sweet, acting as if I’m a hundred years old,” I replied drolly, rolling my eyes. “Will you bring me violets and rock candy that I can hide in my crinoline?”

  “Rock candy!” Thaddeus laughed. “Boy, do I remember that stuff from my childhood. We used to buy it at the five-and-ten-cent store.”

  As the ship was made ready to sail, Laurel and Thaddeus decided they wanted to grab a snack in the Windjammer Lounge, to tide them over until dinner.

  “We never did have any lunch,” my mother reminded us. “Care to join us?”

  I looked over at Kenny, who gave me an almost imperceptible shake of his head. That meant there was a plan in the works.