“If you’re lucky, that number wasn’t random, even if that’s what the unidentified passenger intended.”
“I hope you’re right, Jack. I’m not looking forward to needlessly hassling an already hassled guest.”
Bill was right to be concerned about adding to a guest’s distress. In the short distance from our suite to the tented area, Jack and I had heard grumbling from passengers. Some were disappointed. Others were scared, but some were angry too.
So far, passengers had only heard a brief announcement that the search for a missing passenger would delay arrival at the next port of call, Bora Bora. A more formal briefing would be provided later in the afternoon. The details weren’t likely to make passengers any happier unless the search and rescue teams located Passenger X by then.
“I have a question before you go,” Jack said. “Could you have a stowaway? Security was tight in Papeete when we went through customs before boarding, but it seemed more casual in Moorea and other stops. Can new passengers or crew members come aboard when you put into port? Could someone have done that without your knowing about it?”
“We’re paranoid about stowaways–especially since 9/11. It’s not just that we're worried about terrorism. Our supply officers try to account for everything and everyone that comes or goes on this ship. That minimizes theft. The kitchen commissary and galley workers are obsessive about the handling of provisions, especially the sort of fresh produce, meat, or seafood that would come aboard at a stop along the way. They monitor the transfer of goods and even have protocols for getting rid of the containers in which goods are delivered to the dock. Food-borne illness is a bigger threat than terrorism, day-to-day. Along the way, the Chef usually buys fresh items from purveyors he trusts. He places those orders ahead of our arrival in port, so he knows who’s going to pick up or drop off merchandise.”
“Sounds like the way we worry about the chain of custody when it comes to handling evidence. What about other supplies?”
“At the start of a cruise, items like linens, cleaning products, toiletries, and paper products are stocked for the entire itinerary. Sometimes supply officers guess wrong and need to pick up items ashore. Given we’re on the last leg of our cruise, maybe the protocol was relaxed at our last stop, but I’d be surprised if a breach went unnoticed. We can ask the supply officer, but Chef Gerard is most likely to have made pickups along the way. I’ll start with him.”
“I can do that, if you’d like, Bill. Gerard and I are old friends from culinary school.” Bill was pondering my offer, perhaps wondering how much he ought to engage a passenger like me in the business of investigating a shipboard crime. He was being pulled in a lot of directions at once, however, even with Jack’s help.
“I’d take her up on that offer, Bill. She’s a vetted company associate, like you are, with management experience in food service and public relations. If Gerard has concerns about anything that’s happened on this cruise, he’ll have no trouble telling Georgie about it. Chef Gerard is the only man on this ship who’s allowed to send my wife sweet nothings. He seems trustworthy even though he’s aware of Georgie’s weakness and not afraid to exploit it,” Jack said, raising an eyebrow as he tried to lighten up the unhappy mood that had settled upon us.
“Weakness? What’s that?” Bill asked still in a bit of a fog.
“Chocolate!” Jack and I said in unison. That broke the spell, and the Security Chief laughed for the first time since he had stepped into our cabin earlier this morning.
“If you can do anything to expedite the investigation, Georgie, that would be great. Not to mention that since you’re dealing with an old friend, you can impose upon him to keep matters quiet.”
“Understood,” I said. I was relieved at the thought of getting away from Deck 6, even if it meant poking my nose into affairs below deck. It would be interesting to see how this floating city fed the legions on board. Not just passengers but all the staff that it took to serve them.
I’d been taken on a quick tour of the galley when we used the reservations Max had made for us in one of the ship’s two premiere dining spots, Neptune’s Garden. Gerard, a Michelin-starred chef, was quite the showman. The food was exquisite—more Mediterranean than South Seas—with an appropriate emphasis on the freshest seafood. A gorgeous display with an ice carving of a mermaid had greeted us at dinner that night.
“Even if I don’t come up with information about a breach of protocol or a stowaway, I’m going to see if Gerard can cook up some event for tonight. The last night on board is usually a special one, but an extra culinary extravaganza might take some of the edge off passengers' disappointment about not arriving in Bora Bora today as planned.”
“That's an excellent idea. A word of caution about the need to continue to be discrete. Not just to avoid disturbing the passengers any further. As much as I hate to say it if someone did get on board without a ticket, they most likely had help from an insider.” That worried expression Adam had worn suddenly made sense. The one Bill now wore was almost identical.
Maybe I shouldn’t be quite so eager to play sleuth, even with an old friend like Chef Gerard, I thought as I bid farewell to my husband who had made the transition from honeymooner to detective. He was one step away from telling me to go back to our suite and leave the sleuthing to the pros.
“Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do, Sweetheart,” he whispered using his hokey Philip Marlowe voice. My one-week-husband, who looked much more like James Garner in the Rockford Files than Humphrey Bogart, had learned a thing or two. I’m not a woman who’s easily deterred once my mind is made up, so he hadn't tried to stop me.
“You can count on me to play it cool, Pal.” Food didn’t sound that bad now that I was out in the fresh sea air instead of in that tent. “If I score some five-star chow, I’ll share it with you, handsome,” I whispered. My wise-cracking dame voice was even hokier than Jack’s impression of the classic film noir detective. Thank goodness no one could hear it.
“Gerard says you should meet him in the galley on Deck 2. Do you know how to get there or do you want an escort?” Bill asked. Yielding to the worried expressions on the men’s faces, I opted for an escort even though I felt quite sure I could find my way to that galley on my own. The dead man couldn’t hurt me, nor could the man overboard, but that third man was another story. Who was the ruthless slasher? Where had he gone? Was he still lurking about or watching us from a deck above us? I was suddenly very grateful that I had an escort.
4 The Commissary
“Georgie, Darling! How are you? Did you come to pitch in? Are you hungry?” The thin, energetic man in a tall chef’s hat rushed toward me as he peppered me with those questions. The galley on Deck 2 where passengers could avail themselves of a nonstop buffet had to be the busiest kitchen on the ship.
The kitchen staff served breakfast all day, adding other items for lunch, afternoon tea, and dinner. The kitchen was probably the largest one on the ship but appeared to be a more compact version of what you’d find in a restaurant or hotel. The place was buzzing with activity. Steam was billowing from pots on the stove and from a water bath used to keep containers of food warm until a runner transported them to one of the buffet stations in Kehlani's Lagoon. A rich medley of aromas swirled amid those vapors. Expediters shouted for items needed out on the serving line or relayed a special request from a guest.
A cacophony of clinking, clanging, scraping, and chopping sounds issued from every corner of the busy kitchen. It was music to my ears! Nostalgia rushed through me, filling me with memories of the excitement I first felt when I had become a chef decades earlier.
Kitchens are noisy places, especially in the confined space of a ship’s galley—even one as large as this one that served hundreds of passengers each day. Mega ships fed even more meals to hungry diners than that. The newest ship in Max Marley's fleet, the Marvelous Marley World—MMW Fantasy of the Sea is a midsize luxury liner with just under a thousand passengers on board. Max had opted not to
go the “ultra-luxury” route with his cruise line, hoping to keep fares affordable enough to attract the families that had made Marvelous Marley World a household name.
“I was hoping you might show me around if you have time. I know there are a dozen kitchens throughout the ship, and I’ve only seen one of them. I’m curious too about the storage and preparation areas you mentioned.”
“To be exact, there are fourteen full-sized kitchens, plus six smaller galley areas with minimal food service for burgers and fries, salads and sandwiches, or coffee and pastries—like Le Petite Patisserie that you enjoy so much.”
“Those staging areas look a lot like what you see at a food court or Starbucks,” I said.
“Exactly! This kitchen is bigger than the one you’ve already seen, but they're all similar in layout. Working in a smaller space has become old hat to me now. A trickier issue for me was getting used to relying on electric heat since no open flame is allowed on the ship. As you can imagine, fear of a fire on board is huge!”
“I’ll take your word for it rather than even think of such a thing, Gerard.”
“Would you like to go below to the commissary kitchen and storage area to see how we manage to stash food away for a ten-day voyage like the one you’re on?”
“Yes! That would be wonderful, Gerard.”
“Hang on a second. Paolo, will you come here please?”
“Yes, Chef. What is it?” The man who bounded our way wore a hat slightly shorter than Gerard’s. As in many kitchens, Gerard as the Executive Chef wore the tallest hat. Even in the shorter hat, Paolo towered over Gerard and me.
“Paolo, this is my friend, Georgie Shaw—Director of the Food & Beverage Division at Marvelous Marley World. Meet my Sous Chef, Paolo Vannetti. I snatched him away from a delightful bistro in Tuscany a few years ago. He’s responsible for adding more Mediterranean flare to our menus.” I shook the hand of the attractive Italian man with blue eyes and blond hair. He spoke to Gerard even though his eyes were on me.
“You are too kind, Chef. It was a great opportunity for me to join the Marvelous World of Marley. I am pleased to meet you, Ms. Shaw.”
“Nice to meet you, too, Paolo. At Marvelous Marley World, it’s first names only, so please call me Georgie.” He beamed a broad smile and bowed a little. “As you wish, Georgie. How can I be of service, Chef?”
“I’m leaving you in charge while I show Georgie around.”
“Ciao!” Paolo did another of those slight bows as Gerard took off.
“Follow me! You have questions about how we run the kitchens on the ship, don’t you?”
Thank goodness Jack had suggested I dress for comfort. I felt sure I was about to get a workout. I took a couple of extra steps to catch up with Gerard. Before I could reply, Gerard dashed off and spoke to a woman dressed as one of the expediters we had been introduced to in the galley kitchen at Neptune’s Garden. She nodded and then tore off on some mission. Gerard was on the move again.
“Yes. I’d love to hear how you handle the need for fresh food and other supplies without the daily access available to luxury hotels and restaurants ashore. Guests must expect a similar level of service. I take that for granted, although I’ve only been on a few short excursions before this one.”
“Yes, they do expect quality and service, although we cater to lots of families who are more used to eating on the run. They’re also more forgiving than the high-end clients I served on the ultra-luxury line where I used to work. For the most part, families expect standard fare like burgers, steaks, chicken, pizza, and spaghetti. We serve food kids will eat. Of course, we accommodate our more adventurous eaters at Neptune’s Garden or The Captain’s Table. I know you’ve had a chance to sample the cuisine at both places.”
“That’s true, and it’s fabulous. Room service has also been fantastic when we’ve been too lazy to leave our cabin.”
“Lazy? Okay, if that’s what you want to call it,” he smirked. I felt a blush rising on my cheeks.
“Stop it, Gerard. This whole married woman thing is still new for me. I haven’t identified the appropriate euphemisms to use quite yet.” Gerard guffawed.
“You are a hoot, Georgie Shaw. I can’t believe I can still make you blush! I used to be quite good at that with my use of colorful language. I’ve never relied on euphemisms as you know.”
“You were one of my earliest tutors in ‘kitchen French,’ and I admit it was a little hard to take at first. I suppose I was more easily shocked than most twenty-somethings.” I shrugged.
“Say no more. I remember the sad circumstances that led you to culinary school instead of finishing college. After what you’d been through, it’s no wonder you were sensitive to my crudeness. At least you went back to finish college while I roamed Europe in pursuit of that Michelin Star. Funny how I ended up back at Marvelous Marley World so many years after our internship.” It was Gerard who shrugged his shoulders after that comment. “You married the police detective you met during a murder investigation. That must mean you’re less easily shocked now, though.”
“One can only hope,” I muttered as I considered the current circumstances in which I found myself. “It has been one thing after another since Jack and I met. Now, even on our honeymoon, a passenger goes missing. Have you been through this before?” Gerard came to an abrupt stop in front of an elevator in a corridor outside the kitchen. He hit the call button as he responded to my question.
“Not since I began to work for Mad Max’s Marvelous Marley World of Fantasy Sea Cruises!”
“You call him Mad Max, too?” My mouth gaped open in surprise. That smirk was back on Gerard’s face.
“Got you again, didn’t I? It’s no secret that the boss is fabulously, flamingly mad at times. It’s one of the reasons I took this job. I love how over-the-top the guy can be! Where else could I work on a cruise that features Catmmando Tom’s Grotto Hideaway for kids to explore? With options to dress up like Catmmando Tom complete with an eye patch and whiskers, or float around in a pool as a Merry Mermaid in water that changes color?”
The elevator door popped open, and Gerard used a keycard to activate the buttons that would take us to the commissary below. “How about audio-animatronic dolphins to ride?” He said as he leaned against the elevator rail that was one arm of a giant octopus positioned in a back corner of the elevator. Another arm snaked around behind me.
“Max does have a vivid imagination,” I said eying the rather diabolical looking octopus hovering above us with one eyebrow raised along with a fiendish grin. Kids loved to hate the wild-eyed Olly-Olly Octopus, known for his skilled use of camouflage to try to trick the brave and wily Neptune’s Warriors. Like Wile E. Coyote’s misguided attempts to trick the Road Runner, it always ended up badly for Olly-Olly. “If you don’t mind my asking, does everyone who visits the kitchen commissary and storage areas use keycards?”
“Well, they don’t all have keycards like mine that work on the elevators used by guests. In places we store goods, we restrict access to ship's personnel only. Unless they’re senior staff members like me, they can only enter those areas using elevators reserved for crew members. No passengers allowed! Except when we escort a passenger on a tour like the one we're taking now. That's not so different from backstage access in Arcadia Park. It keeps guest elevators free and reduces pilfering since there are fewer entry and exit points. Although it’s not like you’re going to take a bunch of raw steaks with you back to your crew quarters. Remember that guy Sammy who got caught boosting steaks?”
“Gosh, that was awful, wasn’t it?” The elevator pinged and the doors opened.
“Awful funny, as I recall. Sammy tripped over his trousers as he tried to get away from security. Those steaks were heavier than he figured and his belt was no match for that extra weight!” We stepped out of the elevator into a cavernous space. Silver doors that I recognized as entrances to walk-in refrigerators lined one wall.
“Things sure have changed since then, haven’t they?�
� Gerard asked with a wistful tone in his voice. “Especially after 9/11. It’s no longer just worries about theft by employees. Max Marley pays the highest wages in the industry so you don’t hear about as many problems as they have on other ships where they pack crew members into cramped quarters—like sardines. And pay wages that would barely keep minnows alive. Still, contamination by indifferent or disgruntled employees is a concern, so we take as many precautions as we can.”
“That’s true in the parks and resorts, too. We have become more security conscious everywhere. How secure are these areas? Especially when you’re restocking at one of the smaller islands?” Gerard looked at me and then glanced over his shoulder.
“Not perfect, but the best in the industry as far as I can tell.” He studied my face for a moment before going on with our tour.
“Those are temperature controlled walk-ins with temps that vary depending on what we have stored in them. We don’t mix meat, produce, or dairy. Dry goods are kept separate, too.” Gerard pointed to tall shelves like you might see in a big box store, with labeled containers indicating the contents. “At the beginning of the voyage, this entire space is packed. It’s thinned out since we’re nearing the end of the cruise. We always carry extra provisions in case something happens and we need to skip a port of call or end up spending an extra day at sea. Or more, maybe?” He glanced at me as though I might have additional information about changes in our itinerary.
Hmm, I wondered. Who’s trying to get information from whom? “You’re way ahead of me on what it means to have a passenger lost at sea, Chef, although I have heard we’re at anchor overnight.” Gerard moved to one of the large stainless steel doors before picking up the conversation again. I followed him.
“That's what I hear too. We won't delay our return to Tahiti on this trip even though the search will push back our arrival at our last port of call. That means we'll be later than expected but won't skip Bora Bora altogether. I have a special order waiting for me for our luau that we’ll now hold the last night on board. I had planned to do that beachside tonight—with a real kalua pig cooked in an imu pit. I’m going to have to cook the pig some other way, though, and we’ll have to hold the luau up on deck. No dramatic dancers juggling torches,” Gerard said in a frustrated tone as he opened the door to one of the refrigerators that was bigger than a large walk-in closet. He pointed to a rectangular package that took up an entire shelf.
Georgie Shaw Cozy Mystery Box Set Page 41
