“Well, I am sorry I missed that performance. When you reveal your singing talents to me, I wouldn't mind if you picked a less annoying song.” I laughed feeling more of the tension flee.
“We are a match made in heaven, aren’t we? I told Gerard how much I dislike that song. He’s already threatened to use that revelation against me.”
I explained what I meant by that, as we set out to walk off lunch and the remnants of that bout of the heebie-jeebies. The warm, tropical breeze embraced me. The ship at anchor barely moved in the quiet sea. Blue-green waters shimmered in the afternoon sunshine.
Passengers appeared to be much more at ease than they had been earlier in the day after that announcement about a man overboard. A few hung near the rails watching the vessels patrolling the waters for a missing passenger. Most of the activity was in the family area where parents romped with their kids, splashing noisily in one of the pools, or whooped it up as they slid down a long, curvy water slide. Others lounged in deck chairs, soaking up the sun, reading, or eating and drinking. It would be much quieter when we reached the “adults-only” area of the ship near an elevator we'd take to our cabin.
“Hard to believe anything has gone amiss—until you see that.” I pointed to a small craft that had joined the fleet of boats searching the sea around us. A couple of passengers looked up from deck chairs in which they had been reading. Their eyes followed as a cabin cruiser passed by slowly. This one searched at a greater distance from the ship than those that had circled us previously.
“Yes. That mayday went out to all vessels in the area. Volunteers like that guy running his cabin cruiser probably came out here from Raiatea or Bora Bora on his own. I’m always amazed at how willing boaters are to help when someone’s in trouble. We see the same thing back in Orange County when there’s trouble offshore.”
“I guess I should include that in my calculations of the rising scoundrel quotient in our lives. In my life, anyway, since you’re probably still way ahead of me when it comes to encounters with bad guys. You do have a way of noticing what's right around you as well as what's wrong, Jack.” Jack put an arm around my shoulders, pulling me a little closer.
“Of course, I do. That’s how I picked you out of that crowd around a crime scene at Catmmando Mountain on Valentine’s Day.”
“Lucky for me that you’re so perceptive given the evidence was stacking up against me.” I slipped my arm through Jack's as we walked along. “What do you think about Paolo as the ‘cool blond’ who left those hairs on the murdered man? I don’t believe it was an accident that he showed up for dessert. I’m sure he was checking up on us—and on Gerard.”
“Bill handled that well—keeping the conversation focused on the incidents that Paolo knew about already, and then inviting him to leave before quizzing Gerard about those screams he heard. It would never have occurred to me that the blond was a man. The doc tells me the ones on our victim are phony blond, not natural. I’d never met a blond, blue-eyed Italian before Paolo, but I know they exist despite our stereotypes. Is that hair real or from a bottle of peroxide? I can't tell.”
“Gerard seems convinced he’s the real deal on many levels. He sings his praises. I hope he’ll take our advice that he keep his suspicions to himself and not discuss the investigation with anyone. Maybe I should have emphasized that meant Paolo, too,” I offered.
“Gerard seemed suitably impressed about the need to be discrete. Bill had already checked out key staff who have the run of the ship, like Paolo and Gerard. Paolo has an alibi. That doesn’t mean he couldn’t have had contact with the dead man earlier and left those hairs behind, even if he wasn’t the one who stabbed him. Kitchen staff on the early morning shift verified what Gerard told us. Paolo was down in the commissary working on that chocolate octopus you saw. This is off the subject, but that Olly-Olly character is everywhere on this ship. Does the maniacal smile on that thing’s face look familiar to you?” I gasped, realizing what he meant.
“A self-portrait by Mad Max! The resemblance is undeniable. Max even arches one eyebrow before he flies into a rage. I dread watching him do that when we meet him in Tahiti. Is there any hope you can identify Passenger X before we catch up with Max even if you don’t know who killed Jake Nugent by then?”
“There's nothing new about Passenger X, but they're not letting up on the search. I fingerprinted our dead man and faxed a set of his prints back to my office, along with copies of the identification he had on him. If he has a record and we can flush out known associates, that might help us figure out who killed him. Maybe the man overboard is among that group, and we'll get a photo that someone on board recognizes. That’s a long shot. There are a bunch of hoops to jump through to send the body back to the U.S. whether we've figured out who killed him or not. The FBI will do that when they take over the investigation. With a bit of luck, Max can unleash his Rumpelstiltskin tantrum routine on the FBI instead of us.”
“What about finding the third man?”
“The cruise ship doctor is no Medical Examiner, but she’s pretty sure the assailant is left-handed. I’ve heard enough reports over the years to believe she's correct. I haven’t had a chance to check the video clip Bill sent me to see if the camera caught that.”
I sucked in a gulp of air. “Paolo is left-handed, Jack! Maybe he sneaked out of the kitchen and up on deck without anyone in the commissary kitchen seeing him. What if he does peroxide his hair? Can’t you get him to give you a sample?” I felt excited at the prospect of having a real suspect
“We could ask him to do that voluntarily, but at this point, there’s not enough evidence to demand it. All we know for sure is that Jake Nugent was a passenger who boarded the ship in Tahiti. The identification he had on him matches the information on the Passport found in his room. No one has found a link between him and the crew in the kitchen or elsewhere on the ship at this point.”
“At least you can be confident you know who’s in the morgue. That’s something, anyway. One down, two to go. What about that swatch of material caught on the rail?”
“It’s plastic.”
“Like a tarp or more like a plastic bag?” I asked.
“Plastic like you’d find in a shopping bag. There’s no logo on it so who knows if it’s from a shop on board or one visited on shore? Bill has pulled Nugent’s shipboard records to see where he’s made purchases on board. If we’re lucky, that fragment of plastic is from something he bought, and one of the staff in those shops might remember him. More important than that is the possibility that he had a pal or two with him when he made that purchase. It’s also possible it has nothing to do with this case. Maybe it wasn’t even left there by one of our trio of thieves—if that’s what they are.” Jack shrugged.
“What do you mean, ‘if’ that’s what they are? Are you changing your mind about the motive behind the murder?”
“We’re still operating under the assumption that the killing resulted from a disagreement among thieves. My main aim right now is to preserve evidence until the FBI shows up or we settle on some other chain of custody. That includes the necklace, which, as you suggested, is no prize—it’s a cheap piece of costume jewelry. That’s one reason I added that ‘if’ to my statement about these culprits. It doesn’t make sense.”
“It has to be about the jewelry thefts, Jack. What other reason could Jake Nugent have had for carrying around a copy of a stolen necklace?”
“I suppose Jake Nugent could have grabbed that necklace from the brunette you saw wearing it, believing it was real. He’s not much of a jewel thief if he couldn’t spot a fake, though.”
“If my memory serves me correctly, the necklace she wore looked real although I wouldn’t say that about her other assets. Maybe this is about insurance fraud, and she’s in on it. Deception apparently doesn’t bother her. That could extend to duping her insurance company as well as many of the eligible men on board this ship.”
Jack stopped walking and cocked his head to one side. He was amus
ed but feigned mock surprise. “Why, Georgie, that sounds almost catty. If I didn’t know better, I’d swear you were jealous of our mystery woman.”
“Don’t call her a mystery woman. That’s me, remember? I’m not jealous. That doesn’t mean I’m happy about the fact that this case has you on the hunt for a cool blond and a hot brunette.”
“You don’t have to worry about me. I am forever immune to the charms of other women, one-week-wife.” He put my arm back through his and began walking again. “Nor do I share a history with either of them like you do with the charming Chef Gerard who seems quite taken with you.”
“Now who sounds jealous? He’s like a brother, Jack. I’m not sure I’m his type if you get my drift.”
“Well, I’m not as convinced about that as you are.”
“Oh, stop it! Your one-week-wife is mad about you. Isn’t that obvious?” We paused, and I used my wifely ways to make him believe me. We could hear squeals coming from somewhere in the distance, but we were alone where we stood wrapped in each other’s arms. A ping from my phone broke the spell.
“Max,” I said as I looked at the message that went with that ping. “His halo is out. He’s delighted to hear we’re carrying out, and I quote, ‘a thorough investigation with the high degree of discretion necessary to ensure guests have a Marvelous Marley World experience even under such unhappy circumstances.’ A halo and hooey! Max is on top of his game, isn’t he?”
“Yep, and polishing his media pitch, I see.”
“Yeah, some version of it. Let’s hope Max holds it together even if this doesn’t get wrapped up neatly with a pretty bow on it by the time we meet him in Tahiti.”
“Even if Max’s horns come out and he has that tantrum that takes him to the center of the earth, I’ll be happy to turn this whole mess over to a better-equipped constabulary. They’ll have proper investigative facilities and resources at their disposal. In Tahiti, we’ll get the evidence we have collected to a lab along with the body. A more formal autopsy could clarify what the killer used as a murder weapon. Our smart and resourceful ship’s doctor used her x-ray machine to scan the wounds that killed Nugent. A very sharp-edged blade of some kind. Maybe seven inches in length—longer and not as straight as that boning knife you use all the time. The killer jammed him hard, grazing a rib before piercing his lung. I’m surprised that blade tip didn’t break off when it hit the bone. The assailant slashed the artery in his neck too once Nugent hit the ground. That’s what killed him.”
“That sounds like a fillet knife. Fillet knives are often a little longer than boning knives, with a sharp, pointy, curved blade. Flexible, too, so it could have bent rather than breaking when it nicked that bone. There must be quite a few in the kitchens on this ship. Not that it's still around,” I commented as I made a little flicking motion with my hand as though tossing an imaginary knife overboard.
“You’re right. It’s not likely to be there now. It would have been wise for the killer to throw it overboard as he ran away. Maybe that security video footage caught a glimpse of a knife. I’ll check for that, too.”
“Gerard and his staff might at least be able to tell you if there’s one missing. Was the woman who hollered for the ship’s steward able to describe the third man?”
“Not very well. Wendy Cutler’s still emphatic that the man who went into the water was pushed overboard by two other men. The steward, David Engels, was at the rail seconds after Wendy Cutler hollered for help. By then, the man was already over the rail and falling so too late to see any pushing and shoving. He could see a second man lying motionless on the deck, and a third man standing near the rails. Engels described the third man as medium height and build, dark hair, partly covered by a hood attached to a dark-colored sweatshirt or baggy jacket of some kind. Rather nondescript like the description the Cutler woman gave us. She claims there was lettering on that shirt—a sports team logo or like the sweatshirts and windbreakers you can buy on board with the Marvelous Marley World corporate logo on them.”
“The dead guy was wearing something like that, too, wasn’t he?”
“Yes, but she and the steward are confident they were looking at the third man since the second man was already down by then.”
“Jewel thieves all dressed alike, imagine that. It sure didn’t do much to build team spirit, did it? If they wanted to blend in with other passengers, wearing Marvelous Marley World gear couldn’t hurt,” I said. “Good camouflage for the killer after fleeing that scene.”
“We do have one other bit of information about him. When Wendy Cutler started shouting for help, the third man glanced up at her she says he was wearing glasses. Our dead man wasn’t wearing glasses, as you know.”
“Unfortunately, I do, having seen Jake Nugent up close. Now I understand why you had Bill Tate take her into protective custody. If Wendy Cutler saw the killer that means he must have seen her, too.”
“Yes, I’m afraid so,” Jack sighed. “We’re doing all we can to keep her safe until we return to Tahiti. Max better do something nice for her once we get her ashore. Her dream cruise has turned into a nightmare. They’ve stashed her in the best available unoccupied cabin on the ship. That upgrade’s small compensation for what she witnessed this morning and having to finish the cruise in confinement with a security detail on guard around the clock.”
“No kidding.” I could have said something about our honeymoon not ending as planned, either. Jack was worried, so I restrained myself. Besides, I had no reason to complain. Being married to the man of my dreams, even under the current circumstances, was beyond anything I could have imagined before meeting Jack. I squeezed the arm I held, trying to reassure him.
“A left-handed, dark-haired man wearing glasses with access to a fillet knife. That’s progress, Jack. You should get one of the sketch artists on board who does those souvenir portraits for guests to do a drawing based on input from Wendy Cutler and David Engels. That might get you more detail about the third man’s appearance. Maybe the second screamer Gerard heard can help, too, if you can find her.”
“Georgie, that’s a terrific idea about the sketch artist! Bill has to find the second woman Gerard heard screaming before we can ask for her help. Gerard didn't have much to go on, though, and no one else has come forward other than Wendy Cutler. They’re going to make another request for help when they update passengers shortly. Not that there’s much new to share yet.”
“What about the follow up that Bill and Adam did with the passengers involved in that incident report filed about two drunks fighting it out the night before last? Adam said the occupant of the cabin was a woman. If that incident is connected to the mess today, maybe she knows something about what happened.” As I paused for Jack to answer, I suddenly heard the pounding of feet behind us. When I turned to look over my shoulder, a large parrot—Perroquet himself—was barreling toward us.
“Good grief! Don’t look now, but Perroquet is heading our way. At least that ridiculous parrot has a French name,” I added as I turned back around and pulled Jack with me closer to the rail. That made more room for Perroquet to pass. “Perroquet just means parrot, so not much of a stretch for Max and his Marvelous Marley World ‘Marveleers.’ With all that marveling, you’d think…”
The sudden impact ended my sentence. It knocked the air out of my lungs and sent me sprawling. I felt like a bird in flight and fought to find my feet. My heart pounded as a second blow seemed to propel me higher and closer to the rail. I kicked out, making contact as I fell. Then, someone grabbed me. Human arms encircled me as I heard someone shout, “Stop!” I struggled and tried to kick again, but it was no use. The memory of that old, futile act to resist on the beach so long ago engulfed me in a wave of dread.
“Not again,” I murmured.
7 Midnight Casanova
“Georgie, it’s okay! It’s me,” Jack’s lips brushed my ear as he spoke those words. “You’re safe. Please don’t kick me. Your one-week-husband is no spring chicken. Stop kicking!”
>
He loosened his grip a little and I spun around, gazed up into his dark brown eyes, and then threw myself against his chest. “Did I hurt you?”
“Not me, but that brute who slammed into us was hobbling when he took off. Good aim! The padding in his costume didn't extend to his knees. I whacked him on the back with a deck chair, and he hardly flinched. That kick you landed when he went for you a second time hurt him.”
“A lucky blow, I assure you. My brothers always told me to aim below the belt.” After the terror on the beach in Corsario Cove, I had taken a self-defense course and learned to put my brothers’ advice into practice. Despite my panic, the instinct to fight had conjured up those old moves. “Serves that feathered freak right. Sorry I didn’t get us out of the way in time to avoid a collision.”
“That was no accident, Georgie.” Jack clutched me in an embrace.
“Word sure got out fast about how much I detest Perroquet. Where’s Catmmando Tom when you need him?” Jack held me tighter. He must have sensed how close I was to tears by the quiver in my voice.
“I should never have let you get involved in this trouble,” he whispered. A small crowd had gathered, and Jack was trying not to let them overhear us.
“What happened?” a teenaged passenger asked.
“That big parrot ran into her. Then they had a fight,” a member of the crowd replied.
“You mean Perroquet?”
“Yeah, that one.”
“Is she all right?” someone else asked.
“Aw come on. You know the lady's all right. She’s just part of the show,” replied the person who claimed to have witnessed the incident. “That guy with her hit Perroquet with a chair and then she kicked that bird. After that, Perroquet took off with these guys chasing him. It was awesome.”
“No way! I missed it. Will they do it again?”
Georgie Shaw Cozy Mystery Box Set Page 43
