The Luck of the Ghostwriter
Page 20
Gypsy Rose and Edwina organized a water brigade, filling ice buckets and bowls with tap water from the sink behind the bar, then passing them to a relay team, composed of the Fione siblings, two senators, and the bartender, who then emptied them on the flames. Based on the heat and smoke levels, I feared they were losing the battle.
I found my purse, pulled out my phone, and called 911. The senator from New York, who hadn’t relinquished her place in the exit line, was already on her phone alerting the Coast Guard.
Donald Jay smashed open a porthole and stuck his head through it, yelling, “Help! Somebody save us!”
Dennis held the chair steady as Venus kicked off her heels and, with Maurice steadying her, stepped onto the first rung of the narrow ladder.
Hunter grabbed Venus under the arms and with Modesty’s help hoisted her through the hatch. “You’re next, Jake!” Dennis yelled.
“I’m next!” Dr. Nujurian was wild-eyed. She scrambled up on the chair, then stood, using Dennis’s head for leverage.
Since the doctor was a much smaller woman than Venus, Hunter had her on deck in no time. I looked around the salon. Less than three left on the line to go up the steps, but the fire was closing in on them. Fatima Fione-Epstein had just exited. Father Fione was right behind her. “Gypsy Rose! Edwina!” I screamed. “Get over here, right now.” Then I reached over and yanked Ashley out of her corner.
Gypsy Rose proved the most agile of all. She gripped the sides of the hatch and helped hoist herself through. As Hunter reached for Edwina, she turned to me. “Jake, there was an odd email from Holly, but my bag with the printout in it just burned along with that satin chair!” Ashley pulled away from me and retreated toward the fire.
Dennis said, “I’ll drag her up the steps with me. Climb on the chair, Jake. Now.”
The buffet table collapsed and flames lapped against the legs of the chair that I stood on. How the hell would Dennis and Maurice get out? Tears as hot as the flames ran down my cheeks. I stretched my arms through the hatch. I lost my balance and the rope ladder twisted away, leaving my bare feet dangling above the fire as Hunter gripped my armpits. Once on deck, Modesty pushed me. “Jake, run toward the bow. The fire has spread to the stem. We have to jump!” I turned, trying to look back down the hatch, hoping to see Dennis, but all I could see was black smoke and orange flames.
Running forward, we passed Edwina Fione securing a life jacket on Mrs. Casey. “You two okay?” I shouted.
“Isn’t this thrilling?” Mrs. Casey said. “We’re going to jump.”
My mother and Gypsy Rose, perched on the bow like DiCaprio and Winslet, were waiting for us.
What a view they had. The Statue of Liberty was on our starboard side and the White Hall Terminal on the port side. The Staten Island Ferry was dead ahead. If the captain didn’t soon swing to starboard, we could collide. As that thought formed, we veered sharply to the right, Mom and Gypsy Rose fell into the river, and I—thinking that I could finally kiss my far-too-often-worn-to-wakes-and-funerals DKNY black dress goodbye—grabbed Modesty’s hand and jumped in after them.
Sunshine or not, this water was freezing. Jesus. Had Dennis and Maurice made it?
Modesty’s chain had caught on a starboard line and she floundered, trying to free it. I swam over, the weight of my dress seriously cramping my breaststroke style, and yanked the chain over her head. The clasp opened, and as the current carried us away from the ship, we watched her hideous heavy gold cross sink.
“Well, there goes the Faith diamond, heading straight down to Davy Jones’s locker.” Modesty laughed. “I guess Rickie will be taking up deep-sea diving.”
From the Valhalla’s deck, someone bellowed, “Ashes away!” We looked up and watched Ashley fling Charlie’s urn into the water—it missed Modesty’s head by inches—then dive in after it.
Lifeboats were being lowered from the ferry and a Coast Guard cutter was approaching. Though I couldn’t see her, I heard my mother shout, “There they are!”
Then Ben called from the cutter, “Jake!” And, suddenly, they were close enough for me to see his face light up.
Mom, Gypsy Rose, Edwina, and Mrs. Casey were already on board. Strong arms pulled Modesty, me, and a kicking and screaming Ashley into the boat.
Ben hugged me. “I thought I lost you.” Over his shoulder, I spotted Dennis and Maurice, their faces covered in soot, swimming toward us. Dennis’s warm smile tickled my cold toes.
About the Author
Noreen Wald lives in downtown Sarasota, Florida with her husband, Steve. Their sons visit often. Hey, surf and sun are great lures. She has served terms as a local chapter president for Mystery Writers of America, as well as Executive VP and Secretary for their National Board of Directors. A winning contestant on seven television game shows—including Jeopardy!—Noreen later worked for Goodson-Todman and Merv Griffin Productions. She’s lectured at the Smithsonian, the CIA , the National Press Club and aboard the QE II. Her Ghostwriter Series was a Mystery Guild selection and praised in The New York Daily News, The Sun-Sentinel, and hit #1 on The Dallas Morning News bestseller list.
The Jake O’Hara Mystery Series
By Noreen Wald
GHOSTWRITER ANONYMOUS (#1)
THE LUCK OF THE GHOSTWRITER (#2)
GHOSTWRITER TO DIE FOR (#3)
REMEMBRANCE OF GHOSTWRITERS PAST (#4)
GHOSTWRITER FOR HIRE (#5)
Available at booksellers nationwide and online
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