Ros looked at Carter and asked, "How did you two meet?"
Carter looked over at me in a way that made me blush. Ros laughed while Freddie chuckled. I finally said, "It was 'Some Enchanted Evening'."
Ros tilted her head. "Like the song?"
I nodded. "Carter was leaning against the bar when I opened the door and saw him."
"Across a crowded room?" she asked.
"Yeah." I sighed.
Carter said, "And I couldn't talk. Only time in my life I've been tongue-tied. I knew he was the one when I saw him."
Ros put her left hand under her chin and nodded. "Real love. There's no mistaking it."
I nodded. "Yeah."
. . .
Freddie was telling us about producing The Pajama Game on Broadway when a bellboy appeared at my elbow. "Mr. Williams?"
I nodded. "Yeah?"
"Your radiogram reply has arrived." He handed me an envelope. I pulled out a folded-over five and gave it to him. He saluted and walked away.
"Five?" asked Ros, somewhat scandalized.
Carter said, "I used to count my pennies and it took me a while to get used to it."
They laughed while I read the contents of the message from Mike.
NICK WILLIAMS C/O CORAL LINES SS HILO AT SEA. R RUCKER KNOWN ALIAS OF JESSICA TREMAINE. TREMAINE PARENTS MURDERED IN BAKERSFIELD BY DAUGHTER 2/8/39. JURY ACQUITTED BY INSANITY. CONFINED TO NAPA STATE HOSPITAL. RELEASED 12/1/53. UNABLE TO TRACE C THOMAS WILL CONTINUE. WIRE FURTHER FOR MORE DETAILS. MARNIE KISSES BACK. MIKE.
I quickly pocketed the note and stood up.
Carter asked, "What is it, Nick?"
I said, "Stay here with Freddie and Ros. Don't go anywhere until I come back unless either Rosie or Carmen come by. Don't engage them but keep an eye on them until someone relieves you."
Carter's eyes widened, but he just nodded.
. . .
I sprinted down the deck to the Radio Office. When I got to the door, I found the radio officer waiting for me. "The captain wants to see you. I'll call the bridge and let him know you're here."
I nodded and waited while he made the call. Once he put down the phone, he said, "Mr. Higginbotham will be down in a moment, Mr. Williams."
The bridge must have been close because, less than a minute later, a ship's officer walked through the door and identified himself as Higginbotham. "The captain would like to see you on the bridge. Follow me."
We moved out onto the deck and then up a set of stairs marked, "No Passage." We walked along a gangplank that led to a small platform in front of a white door with a small porthole for a window. The officer knocked. I heard a click as the door opened from the inside. I followed the Mr. Higginbotham and stifled the urge to say, "Permission to come aboard, sir."
The bridge was a wide room with a row of instruments under a spread of windows that looked over the bright blue of the Pacific Ocean. Most everything was familiar other than a very large radar screen. The last one I'd seen was square, about six inches wide, and required a black-out cover to really see it. This one was a big circle of glass and had a strong green backlight that pulsed with two swishing bright green lines rapidly moving from left to right and right to left. I looked out the windows and could see a bank of dark clouds to the south. Then I looked on the screen and could see something glowing in a corresponding spot. It was fascinating.
"Mr. Williams?"
I looked up, startled to break my reverie from the green screen. "Yes, Captain?"
He smiled. "Did you serve in the Navy?"
I nodded.
"Ever seen a bridge before?"
"Once."
"When we get this all sorted out, I'll be happy to give you a real tour. Meanwhile, what do you think we should do?"
I stood there for a moment and looked around the room. As far as I could tell, there were four officers and two men of a lesser rank. I had no idea how things worked on a cruise ship, but this appeared to be a well-oiled machine. Everyone was at attention, doing their jobs, and no one looked worried. That was a good sign of a competent leader.
"Do you have a security officer?"
The captain shook his head. "That generally falls under the chief steward. And usually only for dealing with drunk and rowdy passengers which we happily have very few of. Since you have some experience with this kind of thing, I thought you might be able to help."
I nodded. "Of course. I'm just thinking it would be good to have more on hand than just Carter and me. If you could find a passenger with police experience, that would help."
"I can't just broadcast a question like that."
"Of course, but I'm sure the stewards will know. Or Miss Kilgore."
The captain nodded thoughtfully. "Right. I'll take care of that. But what do we do now?"
I thought for a moment. "What police power do you have?"
"Absolute."
"So you could legally detain Miss Rucker, if needed?"
"Yes."
"Has anyone gone to check on her?"
He smiled tightly and said, "That was the first thing I did. Her suite was empty. But this is a big ship."
I nodded. "You do realize she might be fine, right?"
He shook his head. "I don't care if the Governor himself said she was, I don't want a homicidal nut running around my ship."
. . .
I walked back over to where Carter was sitting with Ros and Freddie. Standing back against the railing, I motioned Carter over. He excused himself, stood up, and walked over. His face was wrinkled with concern.
I pulled the message out of my pocket and handed it to him. He looked at me for a long moment and then began to read. Handing it back to me, he said, "Well, there goes our nice, relaxing cruise."
. . .
Before I did anything else, I went back to the Radio Office to send Mike another radiogram.
CONSOLIDATED SECURITY INC 777 BUSH ST SF CAL PR-7777 ATTN MIKE ROBERTSON. NEED FULL DETAILS ON TREMAINE MURDER PDQ. NICK.
Chapter 4
Stateroom 102, Upper Deck
S.S. Hilo at sea
Thursday, August 12, 1954
Mid afternoon
The Chief Steward, Mr. Harris, was around 50, had clear gray eyes, salt-and-pepper hair, and a military demeanor. He met us in the small vestibule in front of Stateroom 102, the cabin under Rosie's name. Carmen was registered for Stateroom 100, which, according to the map of the ship, was a small room with a single bed. Their cabins were in the aft section of our deck, on the starboard side, just like our cabin.
After introductions were made, the chief steward looked us over for a moment, spread his legs in the kind of stance that a colonel might make when addressing the troops, and said, "Normally, I wouldn't speak in this manner to a paying passenger, however, these are extraordinary circumstances. Since we will be working together, I will expect you to remain professional at all times. And I will endeavor to do the same. I am not particularly happy to receive your assistance. However, the captain is adamant, and this is his ship." He reached into a vest pocket and handed me an oddly shaped key. "I deliver this to you with great reluctance. This is a master key and it can open every door on the ship except for the bridge. Please treat it with great care and I expect it to be returned to me on demand. Do I make myself clear?"
I looked at the key in my palm as I sorted through all the angry retorts that were simmering up. After two beats, Carter spoke up and, in a very level tone, said, "We didn't volunteer for this job, Mr. Harris, so I expect you to remember that. We're happy to help but, if it wasn't for Nick, there would be a homicidal maniac running loose and you wouldn't know a damn thing about it." He was obviously as angry as I was.
I looked up as the chief steward relaxed his stance and his face. "You're right, Mr. Jones. I apologize for my tone and for my words. Thank you both for your assistance. Now." He backed away from the door and said, "I'll let you try out the key, Mr. Williams. It can be a bit tricky until you get the feel for how it works."
I nodded and step
ped up to the door. "Is there a hook or a catch I need to find?"
"That's it precisely. But more of a catch than a hook."
I inserted the key and jiggled it until I found the catch. "Do I pull or push?"
"Turn to the right, sir."
I did that and heard a click. I removed the key and opened the door.
To say that the room was packed would be an understatement. There were five large trunks, all of which were opened. Blouses, skirts, pants, scarves, dresses, and coats of all manner were strewn about the cabin. I noticed the beds were both made up. I felt sorry for the room steward who had to deal with the mess, but he'd obviously done his job. I asked, "Were the beds slept in when the steward made up the room?"
"Only one. The steward was obliged to change the sheets on it as they were soiled."
"How so?"
Carter said, "That time of the month."
Mr. Harris and I both looked at Carter. "How'd you know?" I asked.
"There's a kind of metal smell in the room. Plus," he picked up a small box on the crammed and jammed dressing table, "this is the kind of thing women use for that."
I had no idea what it was or how Carter knew, but I took his word for it.
Mr Harris said, "You must have a very sensitive nose, Mr. Jones."
I replied, "He's an arson investigator. He can tell you what brand of gasoline the perp used just by sniffing."
I glanced over at Carter, who winked at me. I walked into the small bathroom and looked around. On the shelf above the sink, I found a large pair of scissors. It was sitting next to a jar of setting lotion and a hot iron used for curling hair. There were various other bathroom items, including a can of dentifrice powder, a toothbrush in a small glass, a set of false eyelashes, a squat jar of cold cream, and a tall, unmarked jar of clear liquid. I picked up the unmarked jar and unscrewed the lid. It was witch hazel.
On the side of the sink was a used cake of white soap not provided by the ship. I picked it up and sniffed it. The excessively floral scent that hit hard at the top of my nose told me it was dime-store issue.
I moved over to the toilet. On top was a black brassiere that looked like it had been tossed aside by the wearer as she was entering the shower which was right there.
Inside the shower, I found a long loofah sponge hanging by a cord from the hot water faucet. It was bone dry, which I thought was interesting. I looked up at the ceiling for an air conditioning vent. There was none.
Leaving the bathroom, I walked back into the bedroom. "Find anything?" asked Carter.
"A dry loofah sponge. What do you make of that?"
Carter looked at his watch. "It's been about twenty-four hours since we boarded. That means no one has used the shower."
"Or they could have put the sponge in there after taking a shower."
Carter nodded.
"What about you?"
"There are more costumes in this room than you'd find backstage at a theater. There are plenty of tailored men's clothes, and shoes, along with all the women's stuff."
I walked over to the bedside table. There was a small book next to the telephone. It was leather bound without a title on the cover. I opened it up and discovered it was Justine by the Marquis de Sade. No wonder there was no exterior title. I paged through it and found that it was written in French and that certain parts had been underlined in a dark red ink.
I passed it over to Carter, who whistled as he looked through it. "What does this mean?" he asked.
"Someone has had a lot of time on her hands."
The chief steward, who had been mostly ignoring us while standing guard over the room, looked interested. I asked, "Can you read French?"
He nodded. I handed him the book. As he thumbed the pages, his face took on a grim smile. He stopped and looked at one page, in particular. Frowning, he handed the book back to me. "Whoever underlined those words doesn't know the language."
"How so?"
"Do you know the opening sentences to Moby Dick?"
I quoted, "Call me Ishmael. Some years ago--never mind how long precisely--having little or no money--"
He held up his hand. "In this instance, imagine seeing the words Ishmael some years ago never underlined. That's what has been done in that book."
I nodded and started to put the book back down on the table. At the last moment, I slid it in my back pocket. I wanted a closer look even if I had no idea what I might be looking at.
We went through all the drawers in the room from the ones in the trunks to the ones in the bureau. Most were empty. One had a clump of panties. Another had a messy clump of stockings. And that was it.
. . .
We walked into Stateroom 100. There were two open trunks and just as many clothes thrown about as in the other cabin. And, as Carter pointed out, there were just as many tailored men's clothes as there were women's.
I walked into the bathroom. The only thing out on the sink was a tube of toothpaste and a toothbrush. I looked in the shower. The steward must have missed a towel because there was one on the floor and it was wet. I picked it up and sniffed it. It smelled like the soap provided by the ship, a small bar of which was slowly melting in a puddle on the shower floor under the towel.
I stood up and checked the other towels. They were all accounted for and were all in place exactly as they would be after the room had been cleaned by the steward.
I stepped back in the small bedroom which was almost too small to hold the three of us and the trunks. Carter was looking at a strongbox.
"Wadda ya have there, Chief?"
Both Carter and Mr. Harris turned to look at me. I smiled and said, "That's a nickname I use. It's Chief, as in Fire Chief."
Mr. Harris smiled tightly, nodded, and looked away.
Carter wiggled his eyebrows at me and shook the box. I could here some papers and something hard inside. "Think you can pick this?"
The Chief Steward looked over in alarm. "I really can't--"
I raised my hand. "You watch me and then take possession of it. How about that?"
The man relaxed. "Fine. Have at it."
Carter walked over to the bureau and pushed a couple of scarves out of the way so he could put the box down. I took out my ring of keys and selected a small, thin wire. I inserted it into the lock, fished around a bit, found the hook, and pulled on it. The lock popped and I opened the lid.
Inside were two bound stacks of hundreds. The wrappers were stamped "Security First National Bank, Los Angeles." There was a small sheaf of bearer bonds, each worth ten thousand dollars. The long strand of pearls that Carmen had worn the night before were sitting on top of the bonds. And there was something else: a thin diamond-encrusted lady's watch. It looked familiar.
I asked the chief steward, "Did Miss Kilgore report her watch had been stolen?"
He looked at me blankly. "Our Miss Kilgore?"
I nodded.
"Not that I've heard."
"Will you let me ask her about it?" I held up the watch for him to see. "This might be the same style of watch but not hers."
He looked dubious but replied, "Fine. Fine."
I said, "Looks like there's about two hundred thousand dollars in there in cash and bonds." I closed the lid, refastened the lock, and handed the box over to the chief steward.
We took one more look around the room. Satisfied we'd found everything there was to find, I asked Mr. Harris, "Could the room steward have missed a towel and a bar of soap on the shower floor when he was in here earlier?"
The man shook his head and said, "No. In order to clean the room, he must start with the shower. We give that instruction to prevent that very thing. He then works his way around the bathroom and into the bedroom, moving around the room and to the door, leaving nothing untouched. We've found that to be the best way to ensure every room is properly serviced every day."
I nodded and asked, "When was he here?"
The chief steward looked at his watch. "About two and a half hours ago."
&n
bsp; "Someone used the shower, but not the towels, since then."
. . .
As he left to return to his office, Mr. Harris suggested we might find Miss Kilgore on the "A" Deck in the forward section, supervising the day's ping-pong tournament. As we made our way below and then forward, I noticed that people were reacting to us wherever we went. As we walked along the passageway, men and women alike would look up and either smile, frown, or pretend they didn't see us.
We found the large room where the tournament was being held. There was a sizable crowd gathered around two tables where two vigorous games were in progress. The game garnering the most interest involved Gale Storm who was playing an older woman. The game was fiercely competitive and Miss Storm was playing as well as her opponent. The second game involved two middle-aged men, who both seemed pretty good at it but much more relaxed. Miss Kilgore was in the middle of the cheering crowd, keeping an eye on both games, and seemed to be having a great time.
We stood behind the crowd so as not to draw attention. Both games ended at about the same time. Miss Storm lost to a Mrs. Rogers who looked a little too triumphant to me. A Mr. Harrison won the other game. Each of the winners was given a small trophy and a crisp new five-dollar bill by Miss Kilgore.
As the crowd filed out of the room, I realized we were in a gymnasium of sorts. I looked up at Carter and asked, "Is this where you went this morning?"
He nodded. "There were a couple of other guys here, but it was nice and quiet." He flexed his arms as he spoke and I rolled my eyes.
Right then, Miss Kilgore walked up and said, "Mr. Jones! You should have been in the tournament."
As she spoke, I looked at her left arm and noticed she was wearing a sturdy watch of the sort that a nurse might use. She was wearing a pink shirtwaist, a white pleated skirt that fell just below her knee, and had her hair pulled back in a ponytail.
Carter replied, "I'm not that coordinated. Nick should give it a try, though."
I watched Miss Kilgore as she tried to take her eyes off Carter and his handsome face but failed to do so. I didn't blame her. He was easily the most handsome man on the ship.
I said, "You remind me of the Boy Scouts, Miss Kilgore."
The Voluptuous Vixen (A Nick Williams Mystery Book 9) Page 5
