by Dawn Brookes
Pash was waiting for her to answer a question she clearly hadn’t heard.
“Still no sign of Mr Sosa?” She gazed innocently up at him once seated and didn’t miss the brief flicker of fear, nor the hesitation in his voice.
“It seems our maître d has taken ill and won’t be working in this restaurant any longer. I have been put in charge now, madam.” His puffed-out chest told her all she needed to know about the ambitious young senior waiter.
“Congratulations on your promotion, although I expect you would rather have your old boss well again. That’s sad he’s ill, I was speaking with him on the bus yesterday. He seemed to have a lot on his mind, poor man – he said as much.”
Pash’s eyes widened, making them look like saucers in his otherwise thin face.
“What sort of things?”
Ignoring the question struck her as the best thing to do. “I do hope he will feel better soon, I wonder if I should send him a card.”
“I’m not sure if that’s possible, madam, although it’s very kind of you.” His painted smile didn’t even turn up the corners of his mouth this time. She had clearly rattled him.
“Never mind, perhaps I’ll ask Sarah Bradshaw if she can pass on my good wishes. She’s a friend of mine. I was with her last night at dinner.”
“Oh yes,” he stuttered. “Now I remember. I’m sorry, madam, I had better see the next guests in.” He gestured to another waiter to come over. “Sash will be your waiter this morning. Enjoy your breakfast, madam.”
The facade was back in place as Pash strolled elegantly towards the desk where people paused before being shown to their seats. But there was no denying his stiffness and sudden change in manner, despite a half-hearted attempt at concealment. That could just be embarrassment at not wanting to tell her that the man she had met the previous day had died – it would hardly be a good advertisement for the restaurant, but there could be some other reason. Perhaps she would find her answers in the late Sosa’s meticulous notes.
“Tea, miss?”
Another waiter had appeared, his badge revealing Sacha to be his name and his home country Russia. He was awaiting her answer.
“Coffee, please.”
Sacha returned a few minutes later with a pot of coffee and began pouring.
“I see you’re from Russia. Have you worked on the Coral Queen long?”
“This is my second tour, miss. My sister works on board, she got me the job. Is this your first cruise?”
“No, I’ve been on this ship a few times before. It’s a lovely vessel. I like the people and find the staff friendly, especially restaurant staff. You seem to have a friendly bunch in here.”
For the second time in as many minutes, she noticed another look of hesitation as he steeled himself to reply.
“We do our best to be friendly, ma’am. Are you travelling alone?” He got over his hesitation quickly, and the flirtatious upturn of his mouth and the depth of his almost black eyes gave off pheromones in abundance. Although the beautiful Rachel was used to men flirting with her, the crew on board the Coral Queen usually behaved more circumspectly.
“Yes and no. My fiancé is working over Christmas so I’m taking the opportunity to meet up with my friend, Sarah Bradshaw. You may have met her – she’s a nurse on board and her boyfriend is Jason Goodridge.”
Sacha looked as if she had hit him in the chest at the mention of Jason, but he managed to control himself, absentmindedly straightening his jacket.
“I do know Nurse Bradshaw, she is well liked on board. I will send over Mishka to take your breakfast order, miss.”
At this rate I’ll have met the whole restaurant staff in one sitting. They certainly were twitchy, but that might be understandable – they had after all just heard of the death of their manager. Her antenna piqued by the responses she had drawn so far, she decided it wouldn’t hurt to continue probing.
Rachel looked around to see Sacha whispering something to Mishka, and Pash was avoiding eye contact with her.
I’m clearly not going to be the most popular guest in this restaurant, but I’m used to it.
Mishka came to take her order and avoided any attempt at conversation, giving nothing away other than what his badge revealed: his name was Mishka and he was also from Russia. A short, plump man with dark bags beneath his sky-blue eyes, he had fair hair tied back in a ponytail and had clearly been warned off by Sacha. It was obviously the Jason link that had rattled them, but why? Jason was amicable and the waiters had seemed friendly enough with him the night before. Their reactions made her all the more suspicious that one of them might have deliberately caused the death of their boss.
When Mishka brought her food, she opted for the blunt approach. He wasn’t allowed to be rude to a guest, so why not?
“Mishka, I hear the maître d I met on the bus coming down yesterday has been taken ill. Do you know how I might get a message to him?”
Mishka’s serving hand took on a tremor. “I’m sorry, miss, I don’t know. We don’t socialise after work.”
“Really? I’d have thought you’d enjoy socialising after your long, hard days. My friend, Sarah Bradshaw, says that restaurant staff often have get-togethers.”
“Not with our seniors, miss, and certainly not with Stefan Sosa.” He couldn’t hide his dislike of the maître d; finally she felt she was getting somewhere.
“I did hear he’s a hard taskmaster and, to be honest, when I met him, he seemed an unhappy man. Perhaps he was feeling ill.”
“No, he was always like that. A miserable man and rotten to the core.”
“Was, did you say? Oh dear, has something serious happened?”
“Sorry, I shouldn’t have said that, but if you are friends with nurse, you will find out anyway. Stefan Sosa died yesterday.”
“I’m so sorry, that must be most upsetting.”
“Don’t be sorry, none of us are. If you knew him like we did, you wouldn’t be sorry either.”
“Mishka!” Pash stood behind him. “Other guests are waiting.”
“Sorry, it was my fault, I kept him talking.”
“Some things are best not talked about. You will excuse me.” Pash huffed and turned on his heels. His brusque response didn’t give Rachel confidence that, when it came to it, he would be any more forgiving than his previous boss.
Well that put me in my place, she thought. There was no doubt that Stefan had been right when he’d told her the crew hated him, and not without reason from the information she had gathered so far, but what had he done to cause such vehement anger? Okay, he was a cruel man if one was married to him. But domestic violence usually confined itself to the home, and in her experience was often well covered up by the perpetrator. This man seemed to have managed to draw such angst that even after his death, people were dispensing with the politeness loss of life generally elicited.
There must be someone who liked him or was close to him, surely? She was certain that when she read the rest of Sosa’s notes and letters, she would be closer to discovering what this team of seemingly harmless waiting staff was hiding.
Towards the end of breakfast, Rachel observed a freshly groomed and immaculately dressed Jason speaking to Pash, who nodded grimly. If she hadn’t known Jason had been on a nightshift, she would never have suspected it. He handed Pash a list before strolling through the restaurant towards one of the waiters working down the far end. The man followed Jason out of the restaurant.
Jason caught her eye, but didn’t openly acknowledge her. He was obviously starting his interviews of restaurant staff; she would be keen to hear what he uncovered later, but for now she had some of her own digging to do.
Deciding it was time to leave, she walked casually out of the restaurant and headed to her room to read the rest of the notes and study the photos. Then she could take a well-earned nap.
The investigation and nap would have to wait, she realised as she found Waverley hovering outside her room for the second time in as many days. He was
in uniform so at least he was still the chief of security, but as she looked at his pale, drawn expression, she realised he only had one thing on his mind: the Brenda and Stefan Sosa connection.
“May I speak with you?” he blurted out before there was any opportunity for polite greeting.
“Yes, of course. Please come in.”
Once inside her room, he appeared to gather himself and became more like the Waverley she had got to know and appreciate: professional and together, if a little abrupt sometimes.
“I need to see the note.”
She was about to ask what note, fearing Sarah had given away details of their night-time incursion into Sosa’s room, but that wasn’t it. She could tell from the look in Waverley’s eyes that Jason had reneged on their agreement and told his boss about the note from Brenda. She sighed and pulled it out of the wallet in her handbag.
“I asked Jason not to tell you until we’d had the opportunity to delve a little deeper. I didn’t want this to upset you.”
He nodded as he read it and handed it back to her. “I understand your reasoning, but please don’t try to protect me. It might do more harm than good. I need to know what is happening. Goodridge understands that; he’s agreed to share information, even though I realise I’m putting him in an impossible situation.” He coughed and brushed the imaginary hair from the top of his head. The receding hairline seemed to have worsened overnight.
“Are you asking me to get involved in an investigation, Chief Waverley?”
Waverley grimaced. “Don’t toy with me, Rachel. I know you’re already involving yourself, but yes, that is what I’m asking. I don’t need to explain how important this is to me – my wife is innocent.”
“Okay, I’ll agree as long as you agree not to put yourself in a position where you could lose your job. You know why the captain has removed you from the investigation – you’re too close to it.”
“Yes, I realise that, but I’ll go mad with worry if I don’t know what’s going on. Brenda swore to me last night that she had nothing to do with this. That’s good enough for me, so you and Goodridge need to find out who did it, if it wasn’t an accident.”
“Is there any news from the post-mortem?”
“The coroner believes Dr Bentley’s initial diagnosis is the correct one, but will not be carrying out a post-mortem until this evening or tomorrow morning. It seems he has a backlog.” Waverley’s eyebrows almost hit the ceiling. “We’ll hear back on the likely cause of the fatal reaction as soon as the PM is concluded. Nothing else to do at present but assume the allergen got into the bread by mistake or by design and brought about an anaphylactic reaction.”
Rachel took a deep breath. “How is Brenda taking it?”
“I can’t honestly say. She’s devastated that she may have made a mistake and blame could be attributed to her or one of her assistants, but she’s relieved in a way that Sosa is no longer a threat to her sister or her nephew. It’s been a difficult time for them all. At least Christine will have a good Christmas, although I expect she’ll be worried sick about Brenda.”
Rachel nodded. “Will her son be joining her for Christmas?”
“He’s staying with friends in Exeter for parties and what not before travelling up to London on Christmas Eve. He’s as relieved as his mother is from what I can gather. Brenda spoke to Christine this morning.” Waverley was being brutally honest, but things were not looking good for Brenda as they stood.
“I’ll do what I can,” she said as she escorted Waverley to the door. “Just one thing – did you move the pens around in Sosa’s drawer?”
“No, why?”
“I’m not sure yet, let me think about it.”
Waverley shrugged. She watched him walk away along the corridor, grateful he hadn’t registered she might have been in the dead man’s room. His step was purposeful, but lacked the usual confidence.
“Don’t worry, chief,” she called, “we’ll find out who did it.”
Chapter 9
As soon as Waverley left, the telephone in Rachel’s room rang. Feeling like she might never sleep again, she picked it up.
“Hello,”
“Rachel, I’m so pleased to find you in, I’ve been calling all morning.”
Jolting herself back to life, she remembered the message from the previous evening.
“Marjorie! I’m so sorry, I forgot you were going to call this morning. I’ve not long got back from breakfast.”
“That’s alright, dear. I’m sorry to bother you when you’re on holiday, but a crisis might be brewing.”
Marjorie was not generally prone to exaggeration. Rachel was now on full alert.
“Tell me what it is and how you think I can help.”
“Do you remember a month ago I said I’d given Carlos’s telephone number to some friends of mine?”
“Yes I do, but Carlos never heard from them.”
“No, fools that they were, they decided to hire someone else. That was their prerogative, but I’m sure if they had hired dear Carlos, we wouldn’t be having this conversation now.”
Rachel heard the tension as Marjorie’s voice squeaked. “Perhaps you should just tell me what’s going on.”
“Quite. Well, my dear old friends Felicity and Aaron McCauley came to see me last month. Throughout the evening, I could tell there was something bothering them. I asked them about it and they didn’t want to say at first, but after a few glasses of port, Aaron loosened up and out came an intriguing story.”
Lady Marjorie chuckled. Her mischievous streak was something Rachel loved about her dear elderly friend.
“It turns out they believe their elder son, who divorced a year ago, has married a gold digger on the rebound. He married again just a few months after the divorce went through. They are extremely wealthy – I’m positively poor by comparison – and as their son, Harry, will inherit the controlling interest in a successful company at the cutting edge – so I am told – of AI innovation – I assume you know about AI?”
“Artificial intelligence, yes I’m aware of the term and of its significance for growth in the future. Carlos tells me we’ll all have a personal robot by the time he and I reach forty. Personally, I can’t wait.”
“Well hopefully I will be with my late husband by then. Or perhaps I’ll be in my dotage and a robot will be a trusty companion. Anyway, I’m not sure what type of AI their company is involved in because much of it is top secret, but they are extremely concerned about this woman as far as I could tell.”
“What makes them think she is a gold digger?”
“They didn’t go into too many details, but Aaron felt that she had targeted their son and rushed him into marriage. They warned and advised him to request she sign a prenuptial agreement, but he adamantly refused, despite forking out a small fortune to his first wife.”
“Okay, so their son may have made the wrong marriage choice, but why does that put your friends in danger?”
“Felicity and Aaron have noticed that Harry is losing weight. He falls asleep a lot, even when at work, and is complaining of indigestion. He visits them every night on his way home from the office to chat about the business and catch up. They say he puts on a show of pretending all is well in the marriage and they are reluctant to probe as they don’t wish to alienate him. To cut down a very detailed conversation, they believe that Louise – the wife – is having an affair and that she might be slowly poisoning their son.”
“That is a serious allegation. I assume they hired the private investigator to follow the wife or dig up some dirt on her?”
“I’m afraid that’s about the sum of it. They wouldn’t be away from home now if it weren’t for an anniversary celebration. They are on board the Coral Queen along with Harry and Louise, and here is where it gets worse.”
Rachel found herself holding her breath. “You think that the wife – Louise, did you say? – is planning to get rid of your friends and take out Harry by poison at a later date?”
“I
know so.”
“You’d better tell me the rest.” Rachel felt a headache coming on.
“The silly private investigator they hired managed to lose sight of the woman. You see, she wasn’t supposed to be on the cruise because it had been booked and planned when Harry was still going through the divorce. The family decided that a Christmas cruise would be just the thing for their parents’ Golden Wedding anniversary. The younger son, who has his own business, offered to take care of their business while they were away, feeling it would help take Harry’s mind off the divorce, but after all this had been arranged, Harry remarried. Louise agreed she didn’t really want to be a part of the celebrations, Felicity and Aaron think in part because she knew they had reservations about her. Harry may even have told her about the prenup idea.”
“But now you’ve found out she’s on board.”
“Yes, after the investigator lost her, his checks revealed that she had bought a last-minute ticket to join her husband on the cruise. He gained access to Louise’s office – she works in the same company as her husband – and found television recordings on DVDs locked away in her drawers covering suicides and misadventures at sea. Not only that, but the PI has discovered newspaper cuttings of accidents occurring on board cruise ships where people go overboard and are never seen again. On top of that, there was a book on poisons in her bedside drawer.”
“Was there anything on her computer?”
“No, this PI says she’s too clever for that. She would know that there might be an investigation if Harry’s parents were to die and it turned out they had spoken to their friends or to Gary, their younger son, about her.”
