Set Sail for Murder

by Carolyn Hart

  Alex’s thin face sharpened. “Known what? That the money was in trust?” His eyes were dark with pain. “You thought I was rich. Is that why you married me?”

  Before Madge could respond, Evelyn thrust herself between them, burbling, her high-pitched voice determined. “Wasn’t it fun today? I’ve never seen so many shops. Didn’t you love Caritas Fountain? All those vendors! Did you know that’s where the old central market was? Just think, three hundred years later people are still making and selling things in little open-air stalls. Of course, most of the goods now come from factories, but still, it’s such fun wandering around and finding the most interesting…” She gripped each by an elbow, maneuvered them toward the doorway.

  I heard Rosie’s light musical voice behind me. “Bless Evelyn. She’s still galloping to the rescue. Kittens from treetops when we were kids. Poor Alex from his bitch of a wife now.”

  I half turned, saw Rosie and Val.

  Rosie was breathtakingly lovely. Champagne embroidery swirled in a diagonal swath down her black crepe dress. Titian curls were piled high atop her head, emphasizing her fine bone structure and graceful neck. Chunky faux pearls alternated with gleaming topaz in her earrings, necklace, and bracelet.

  Val’s unrelievedly black dress was beautifully cut, sleeveless with a surplice vent. She was, in her own remote, distant manner, as lovely as her sister. But it chilled me to see that her jewelry, a double strand of jet beads, was black as well, the black of an abandoned well or lonely country lane at midnight.

  Val’s expression was faintly sad. “Poor Evelyn. She tries to patch up our lives, but even she can’t save us from the ogress.”

  “Speaking of…” Rosie’s Titian curls nodded. “We’re being summoned.”

  Sophia held up her hand in a graceful gesture, the queen gathering her retinue.

  I moved behind a clutch of passengers, stepped to the starboard rail. I rested my elbows and looked down at the water and the wake of the ship. I would have enjoyed staying where I was, watching the sun sink in the west and splashing the sea with gold and orange. That luxury, that freedom were not to be mine.

  I swung about, moving in the preordained pattern Jimmy had devised. In a few minutes I would walk into Diogenes Bar. Would my appearance there spell a difference in the lives of those I had been watching? Or—and I felt a sudden misgiving—in my life?

  I took one step, then another. It was too late to question my course.

  6

  Music and laughter flowed from Diogenes Bar. Glasses clinked. Bass voices boomed. Treble voices lifted. The room spread on both sides of a central bar. Mirrors behind the bar made the room look much larger. Rich dark wood glistened from polish. Large leather chairs and smaller upholstered chairs ranged around tables of varying sizes. Heavy brocade curtains with a red and gold pattern framed windows. The early evening summer sun still blazed, spilling golden swaths inside. Almost every seat was occupied.

  I had only taken a few steps when I heard my name.

  “Henrie O!” Jimmy’s voice rose in amazement. Suddenly he was there, gripping my hands. “I can’t believe it. Halfway around the world and here’s a face from home.”

  I looked up, my eyes widening. “Jimmy, what a wonderful surprise.”

  He shepherded me toward their table, talking all the while. “Sophia, look who’s here.”

  I swung toward her with a conventional smile.

  Sophia stared, her face quite still, her eyes brilliant and hard as sapphires. I’d expected a quick inventory of memory. My face should not be familiar. We’d met twice before many years earlier, once at a National Press Club dinner in Washington when my late husband Richard was honored, again in Mexico City when she received an award for her film on monarchs. I had been there on a holiday, recalling the happy years spent there with Richard and our children, Emily and Bobby.

  Yet Sophia Montgomery recognized me immediately. She knew exactly who I was and what I had meant to Jimmy. I read that knowledge in a penetrating gaze of grave inquiry.

  “Henrie O Collins.” She spoke my name without hesitation. Her voice was cool. Her lips curved in a slight smile. “What an amazing coincidence. That’s how life is. Filled with coincidences.” Her tone was light, but implicit was disbelief in this particular coincidence. “It’s nice to see you again. I’m sure we’ll run into you during the voyage.” She looked down at her watch, then turned toward Evelyn, in effect dismissing me. “Let’s go in to dinner, shall we?”

  Jimmy still held my arm. His grip tightened. “Of course we’ll see her.” He sounded abrupt. “We have a lot of catching up to do.” He nodded toward Sophia but spoke to me. “You’ll join us for dinner tonight.”

  Sophia’s trill of laughter was one of chagrin. “Not this evening, Jimmy. Henrie O, I know you’ll understand.” Her smile was artificial. “We’re having a family conclave. It would be boring for an outsider. We’ll look forward to another time. And now”—Sophia was on her feet—“let’s be on our way.” Sophia walked past as if I were invisible. She didn’t look toward Jimmy.

  I felt the tension in Jimmy’s tight grip. Before he could move or speak, I said softly, “Let it go. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  Sophia was already at the doorway. The rest of the group straggled past me. Evelyn flashed an uncomfortable smile. “How lovely for an old friend of Jimmy’s to be on the cruise.” Rosie swept me with a look of frank interest. Kent’s expression was shy but friendly. Val offered a polite nod. Alex gave me a meaningless smile. Madge appeared amused as she looked from Sophia to Jimmy.

  Jimmy’s hand still gripped my arm.

  “Better catch up.” I nodded after them.

  Jimmy frowned. “I can’t believe this.” His tone was both irritated and stunned. “I’ve never seen Sophia treat a friend of mine like this.”

  “Go on, Jimmy. This is no time to quarrel with Sophia. We’ll work things out. I’ll talk to you later.” I gave him a nudge.

  When he was gone, I moved away from the large table where they had sat and walked to the bar. I slid onto a stool, ordered a rum collins. I rarely drink rum. Was my choice prompted by a quick recollection of our years in Mexico? I took a sip, willed away other memories.

  It was time for cool, calm thought. Sophia’s immediate recognition of a woman she’d only met twice in a life overflowing with names and faces and contacts and subjects was surprising. Moreover, I sensed that she knew more about me—about Jimmy and me—than he had likely revealed to her. Yes, he would have shared the truth of our relationship, but not much more than that fact.

  I picked up a vase-shaped container of mixed nuts, poured them into my palm. I welcomed the infusion of energy and saltiness to offset the sweet rum, and considered Sophia’s knowledge. Had she investigated Jimmy’s past before marrying him? That augured a cool appraisal that would not be a welcome revelation to Jimmy. I wondered if Jimmy too would conclude that Sophia must have hired a private detective to compile a dossier on him.

  Whatever the explanation, she knew me and she didn’t believe for a moment that my presence here was a matter of chance.

  I once again chose a Scandinavian breakfast. The Clio arrived at Gdynia, the port for Gdańsk, at 8 A.M. Jimmy had indicated the Riordans, as a group, were taking the nine-thirty walking tour. A ticket for that tour was included in my travel packet. I rather doubted I would be welcome to join them.

  The salmon and cheese were excellent, the coffee so-so. I was once again sitting outside and enjoying the sea air. I’d had no word from Jimmy last night. That didn’t surprise me. I imagined Sophia was keeping him on a short leash and he’d had no opportunity to contact me. Certainly he couldn’t use the cabin phone in her presence to ring me up. Perhaps I’d arrive on the reception floor a few minutes before departure for the tour and watch for their group and—

  “May I join you?” The throaty voice brimmed with confidence and a hint of deviltry.

  I looked up. Rosie Riordan’s gorgeous hair was loose this morning, brilliant
and burnished as polished copper. Once again, her attire set her apart. Her V-neck green silk blouse had an unusual crocheted trim at the throat and sleeves, a demure style that emphasized her sensuality. White capris emphasized a perfect figure.

  “I’d be delighted.” Passengers on cruises are encouraged to join other travelers, but I didn’t think I had been selected to expand her circle of acquaintances. Rosie’s first words made that clear.

  “We almost met last night. But Sophia wasn’t having any.” She put down her tray and slipped into the seat opposite me. “I’m Rosie Riordan.” She looked at me with amused curiosity. “I can’t pass up visiting with a woman our supercilious Sophia is determined to ignore. As they say, there has to be a story there. In the best of all possible worlds, she’ll see us together this morning.” Her lips curved in an impudent grin.

  I grinned back. Rosie’s charm was hard to resist. “Henrie O Collins.”

  She slathered whipped butter atop the richness of a flaky croissant. “How do you know our marvelous Sophia?” Although her tone was pleasant, the darkness in her eyes made the adjective decidedly unflattering.

  I curled a piece of salmon around a dollop of cream cheese. “I barely know Sophia. Jimmy is an old friend.”

  “Aha, as my less-than-sainted late father would have remarked.” There was a flash of grim humor in her eyes. “From there it’s an easy jump to Sophia’s quite amazing determination always to be the only prancing horse in the center ring.” Rosie added a swath of strawberry jam to the croissant, took a huge bite. She ate, licked a straggle of jam, and beamed at me. “Please join me for dinner tonight. My siblings will be happy to welcome an old friend of Jimmy’s.”

  I laughed. It was as if I’d known her for years, not moments. I liked Rosie, liked her frankness, her infectious good humor, her disdain for niceties. In other circumstances, I would have been pleased to seek her friendship. Now, I was willing—for Jimmy, not for Sophia—to use Rosie’s reckless nature to burrow into her confidence. “And to gig marvelous Sophia?”

  “Yes indeed.” There was no mistaking the enmity toward Sophia. Rosie lifted an eyebrow. “Do I shock you?”

  I finished my last bite of salmon. “Families can be challenging.”

  Her whoop of laughter turned heads at other tables on the deck. Many smiled in appreciation of youth and beauty on a lovely morning as the sun splashed down, turning the sea a glittering cobalt blue.

  I smiled, too, but felt a twist of sadness at the bitter gleam in Rosie’s eyes that belied the laughter. No one as young and vivacious and gloriously effervescent should carry such a heavy burden of anger.

  “Families…” Rosie dropped the remainder of her croissant on her plate, absently brushed butter and jam and crumbs from her fingers. She looked at me with a thoughtful, appraising gaze, abruptly nodded. “You’re truly Jimmy’s friend?” There was the faintest inflection of uncertainty.

  “Yes.” There was no doubting my sincerity.

  “Okay, consider the dinner invitation canceled.” Her shoulders lifted and fell in a resigned shrug. “I’m sorry. That sounds rude.” Her grin was rueful. “I don’t mean it that way. Look”—she hitched her chair closer to the table, leaned forward—“I’d love to have you horn in on Sophia’s dinner, but that isn’t fair to Jimmy. I’d be delighted for Sophia to turn her energetic micromanagement skills on you and Jimmy, but Jimmy’s a good guy. Why he married her I don’t know—”

  I did. Jimmy wanted a wife and a home. I’d turned him down. He’d ended up with Sophia, who had great charm and magnetism when she chose to exert them. Jimmy deserved happiness. If I could help him find it, keep it, I would do whatever I had to do.

  “—but he did. Of course, Sophia’s bright and famous and she can be fun. At least that’s what her press kit claims. But Jimmy’s been decent to us. He’s even tried to help us out in the current mess.”

  I refilled my coffee mug. “What’s wrong?”

  Rosie gulped the last of her orange juice. “You don’t really want to know the saga of the ripped-off Riordans.”

  “Sure I do.” I kept my tone light.

  “It all goes back…” She gazed out across the brilliant water, but she wasn’t looking at the ocean. “We had a great mom. Five kids. Alex, Kent, me, and Val and Vic.”

  I managed to keep the surprise from my face. Vic? “A big family.”

  “Big. Mostly fun. Loud. We like noise and excitement. Or some of us do. We ran the gamut. Show-off Alex. Seeker Kent. Sassy me. Serious Val. Sensitive Vic. Mom laughed a lot. She thought we were all wonderful. That’s nice, isn’t it?” She gave me a direct, sweet look. “To have a mom who loves you just the way you are. Dad…well, Dad had standards. He was Frank Riordan. You may have heard of him.” She might have been describing a distant acquaintance. “He was his generation’s Midas. He always prevailed. You did it Dad’s way or you didn’t do it. But he pretty well left us alone. Mom took care of us. If she hadn’t died…” She blinked, looked down, then managed a bright smile. “But she did. Even then, everything went on pretty well. Evelyn came to take care of us. Dad’s sister. She was the one in the billowy lavender dress last night that looked like something out of a thrift shop. And it was new.” Now her laughter was soft, affectionate. “I bought it for her. Evelyn can make an Armani gown look like a bathrobe. Evelyn’s no fashion plate and she can be spacey and a worrier, but she’s as loyal as a little toy dog. Sometimes I feel like she’s stood still in time, that she still sees us as kids and wants to fight our battles. It almost killed her when Dad married Sophia and Sophia persuaded him we’d do swell away at boarding schools.” There was a look of remembrance, a forlorn, lost expression. It hardened into disdain. “Sophia’s pitch to Dad was clever.” She frowned. “To give the devil her due, maybe she believed every word of it. She told Dad she knew he’d miss us but he needed to give us space, let us have a chance to grow up without dealing with a stepmother. Of course Dad didn’t care where we were, but this plan made him feel noble. He was looking out for our future, giving us independence.”

  “I see.” I thought I did. Sophia didn’t want the distraction of a houseful of teenagers. Perhaps, as Rosie reluctantly said, Sophia saw no problem in dispatching kids to boarding schools and thought they’d be happier away.

  “Maybe it would have turned out all right if Vic—” She broke off. “You’ll have to forgive me. More than you ever wanted to know about the life and times of the Riordan kids. Anyway, I’d better leave you to your coffee. It would be fun to pull Sophia’s string, but not at Jimmy’s expense.” She pushed back her chair, rose.

  I spoke swiftly. “Oh, I expect I’ll see you at dinner.”

  Rosie stopped, her hand on the back of the chair. She looked down at me, startled.

  “I’ve known Jimmy for a long time. I imagine he’ll insist.” I was certain he would. I didn’t know if that would be a good thing.

  “I love it!” Abruptly, she was serious. “Only if it’s your choice. I’m pretty sure Sophia won’t play that game. You might warn Jimmy. See you around.”

  She surged across the deck, young and vibrant, attracting the attention of every man she passed. I liked Rosie Riordan, but that liking didn’t blind me to a forceful personality, a rebellious attitude, and a curdling resentment of Sophia Montgomery and the havoc she apparently had wreaked in the lives of Frank Riordan’s children. Havoc, indeed, that Sophia might now be compounding as she determined who might or might not receive control of what most of us would consider quite a fortune.

  I took a last gulp of coffee and glanced at my watch. I had a little over an hour before the tour left for Gdańsk. As I walked through the interior restaurant, I glanced to my left where I’d seen Jimmy and Sophia breakfasting yesterday. Sophia was there, leaning forward, pointed chin on folded hands, face impassive as she listened to Alex Riordan. Alex was a picture of misery, blinking nervously, expression both placating and petulant, shoulders defensively hunched. Arms folded, Madge stared at her husband, h
er disappointment evident. Jimmy was absent. I wondered where he was.

  But I had very little time and much to do. I hurried on. I carried with me a snapshot of Alex, his discomfort painful to recall.

  I was the only person at the bank of computers tucked into an alcove of the spacious observation room on the bow of Deck 10. I logged on, gave my name and cabin number for the charges, and Googled for Frank Riordan’s obituary. I clicked to the L.A. Times story, scanned to survivors: “…predeceased by his parents, Harold and Janet Riordan, brother Thomas, and daughter Victoria Elaine…”

  Victoria Elaine Riordan. Rosie mentioned Vic. Her sister.

  Jimmy had made no mention of another child. He may not have known. Of course, he was focused on those present in the Carmel house when the boulder bounced down the hillside. I understood his preoccupation. Still, we needed to know everything possible about the family. I decided to find out what had happened to the deceased sister. I found an obituary in the San Francisco Chronicle on August 20, 1991.

  VICTORIA ELAINE RIORDAN

  VICTORIA ELAINE RIORDAN, 12, DIED AUGUST 17 IN CARM EL, CA. SHE WAS THE DAUGHTER OF FRANK MCNAIR RIORDAN AND THE LATE ANNA NESBITT RIORDAN. VICTORIA WAS BORN APRIL 11, 1979, IN SAN FRANCISCO…

  The PA system came on: “Passengers disembarking for the late morning tour of Gdańsk are invited to come at this time to the reception center on Deck 4.”

  Quickly I scanned the rest of the obituary, her school, her activities—

  …Vic loved poetry, especially “Annabel Lee” by Edgar Allan Poe. She collected seashells and painted rocks. Her favorite rock was in psychedelic colors and she named him Aladdin. Her favorite book was Little Women…

  I forced myself to continue reading. My son Bobby was eleven when he died in a car accident. Bobby loved Chapultepec Park and red and gold balloons and his favorite book was The Three Musketeers: Athos, Porthos, Aramis, and, of course, the swashbuckling hopeful musketeer, D’Artagnan. My eyes were dry but there are always tears in my heart.