by Carolyn Hart
“If she didn’t open the door, the person who came in must have obtained your key.” Perhaps Ingrid might have noticed whether the key folder was still in the bowl when she serviced the cabin on Friday morning. “Even if someone had the key, Sophia would have heard the door open and twisted around, seen someone entering. There would have been time to scream. Evelyn was in her cabin and she didn’t hear anything.” Evelyn had made it clear she hadn’t been on her balcony, but a scream of terror should have pierced the cabin walls. “Most of all, if Sophia saw her attacker, there had to have been a struggle. The only possibility is if her visitor got behind her, struck her down. But why wouldn’t there be bloodstains?” I looked down at the floor, at shining wood parquet and Oriental rugs.
Jimmy’s face ridged into lines of misery. “She couldn’t have screamed if someone grabbed her by the throat…” He broke off.
I could see the dreadful picture in his mind: Sophia struggling, flailing, slipping into unconsciousness, her limp body dragged to the balcony and tumbled over the railing.
“Only a man would be strong enough.” His voice was heavy.
Alex or Kent. Alex wasn’t big but he was wiry, a rock climber. Kent was physically imposing, lithe and muscular.
I shook my head. “Scratches.” It was summer. Everyone wore short sleeves. Sophia was athletic, and a woman fighting for her life would scratch and kick.
Jimmy’s face creased. He was remembering, as I did, Sophia’s tanned, capable hands with red nails, pointed nails, and the Riordans, all of them with unblemished faces and arms.
“Somehow”—I turned away from the balcony, moved slowly to the door—“Sophia was caught by surprise.”
Jimmy shook his head. He gave a last somber look toward the balcony and I wondered if he was struggling against the horrific conclusion that Sophia had flung herself from the ship. He put the jewel box on the coffee table, carefully did not look again at the sofa. “I’ll bring the cases out.” His voice was gruff.
We were done, Sophia’s lovely dresses packed away, all trace of her personality removed. I walked to the door, opened it, and stepped into the hall.
The service cart stood at the end of the hallway on the port side. Ingrid was stepping out of Evelyn’s cabin, her arms full of bed linen. I hurried toward her, thinking once again of the electronic key case Jimmy had tossed angrily into the pottery bowl. “Ingrid.”
She stopped pushing the sheets into a laundry bag and looked up. She smiled, the automatic pleasant response to a passenger, then abruptly her round face froze, eyes wide, lips parted, the look of a schoolgirl expecting to be chastised. “Ma’am?” One hand lifted to touch the throat of her white blouse.
I gestured toward the cabin. “Mr. Lennox and I have been packing away everything in Suite 6088.”
She looked past me, her gaze uneasy. Her hand dropped, nervously adjusted her blue apron. “I need to get the cabins done.”
“I’ll only keep you a moment.” I kept my tone casual. “You serviced Cabin 6088 on Friday morning as usual, I suppose.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Some of the tension eased out of her shoulders. Clearly there was nothing stressful about recalling Friday morning.
“When you serviced the suite, did you dust the furniture?” I pointed to a feather duster tucked next to cleaning cloths on top of the cart.
“Yes, ma’am. We always dust.” She looked puzzled.
“That would include the green pottery bowl that sits on the entryway table?”
Ingrid nodded and her thick blond curls bobbed.
“What was in the bowl?”
Her eyebrows drew down into a frown. “In the bowl? There was a key folder. Nothing else.”
“Did you pick up the folder?”
“No, ma’am.” She was emphatic. “I moved it aside, used the duster.”
“Did you leave the folder in the bowl?” I watched her closely.
“Yes, ma’am.” She was comfortable now.
That answered one question, one very big question. Sophia’s attacker didn’t gain access to her cabin with the key. Either Sophia herself used the key after a fruitless search for Jimmy and the key was in her pocket when she went over the railing, or Sophia was dead when her attacker took the key from the bowl, stepped into the hall, closed the door, and used the key to reenter the cabin in an effort to make it appear that Jimmy had kept the key.
Behind me, I heard the door to Sophia’s suite close. I was turning to tell Jimmy what I’d learned when Ingrid gasped. Her eyes widened. She grabbed the cart and fled up the hallway. Jimmy and I stared after her.
26
I poured a handful of pepitas, welcomed their salty crunch. Night pressed against the windows as the Clio steamed toward London. We would be at sea for two and a half days. I was a few minutes early to meet Jimmy for an after-dinner drink. I’d taken the excursion into Lübeck and stayed for dinner, a welcome respite from our failed effort to determine the truth behind Sophia’s disappearance.
I hadn’t joined the Riordans on the tour. I deliberately chose another bus. What good would it do to look at them once again, see their now-familiar faces, try to imagine one of them stepping into Sophia’s cabin with a murderous heart? I didn’t sightsee with them, but I caught occasional glimpses, once in the famous marzipan store, again at the Gothic city hall. Evelyn clutched shopping bags. Rosie clowned with a lion’s-head hand puppet, making Val laugh. Alex ate a big pretzel. Madge shrank away from a dancing bear and his accordion-playing owner. Kent carried a porcelain doll. Everywhere he went, he shopped for Heather. Perhaps that was his way of clinging to the hope that love would win out.
I’d tried to persuade Jimmy to come with me, lose himself for a while in wandering about the old city, which played such a major role in the Hanseatic League, but he was involved with e-mails about Sophia. He’d fielded calls from the media. He’d prepared a release with a summary of Sophia’s career and the enigmatic pronouncement: “Sophia Montgomery Holbrook Riordan Lennox was last seen on the evening of Friday, August 20. After a search of the Clio and the surrounding waters, Clio staff captain Gerald Glenn officially deemed her missing at sea.”
Jimmy would face intense media questioning in London. I doubted that he cared. If he reached London with Sophia’s loss still a mystery, he would have failed. I wished I could reach the frozen core deep inside him, make him see that he’d done everything possible from beginning to end, that Sophia’s loss could never be blamed on him whether it was the result of suicide or murder. I didn’t think we would ever know what happened.
The pianist segued into a sprightly version of “Tennessee Waltz.” Voices murmured, occasional laughter sounded. The mood in the dimly lit bar was mellow. Most of the tables were occupied, passengers enjoying their last days of carefree delight as the cruise neared its end.
Jimmy paused in the doorway, looking for me. I raised a hand. He came quickly, dropped into the opposite chair, saw the Beck’s beer I’d ordered for him. He touched the frosted bottle. “Thanks.”
I lifted my glass, a gin and tonic. “To you.” I hoped he understood what I was telling him. You’ve done your best. Remember and grieve. Don’t blame yourself.
“I can’t stay long.” There was a ripple of excitement in his voice. “I’m going to break it open.” He poured the beer into the frosted glass. “In fifteen minutes Ingrid’s going to meet me on the sundeck, tell me what she saw Friday night.”
I looked at him in amazement. “This morning she acted terrified.” Ingrid had turned the service cart and pushed it forward as if the hounds of hell were nipping at her heels. Jimmy had wanted to follow and confront her, but I’d persuaded him to let it go.
Jimmy lifted the glass, took a quick drink, wiped foam from his upper lip. He was excited. “Who’s to know? I thought she’d done something that would get her in trouble with Glenn and was afraid I’d mess everything up for her. I’d decided she didn’t know anything useful about Sophia. I still don’t know where she could have been. L
ike you said, there are no supply closets in the stern corridor. But tonight when I got back to my cabin after dinner, there was a phone message from her.”
“Are you positive it was Ingrid?” I felt uneasy.
“Not a doubt.” His smile was wry. “She told me to bring the money. Nobody else but you knows I offered her a thousand dollars. So she’s got something to sell.”
I leaned forward. “Jimmy, I don’t like this. Call Glenn, tell him.”
His smile fled. His sandy brows drew down in a thoughtful frown. “Tell him what?”
“Your contact with Ingrid. Mine. The fact that it looks like she knows something and is willing to speak up for cash.” I reached across the table, caught his wrist.
“I can’t do that. When I offered the reward, I promised her I’d try to keep her out of anything I told Glenn.” He twisted his hand, caught mine in a tight, reassuring grip. “Don’t worry, honey. This is the break we need.” He loosed my hand, grabbed his glass, his face upbeat once again.
The endearment pulled me back to other days, days when we had found such pleasure in each other.
He drank half the glass, checked his watch. “I’m going on up. If all goes well, I’ll have something definite for Glenn.”
I crumpled my napkin, tossed it on the table. “I’ll come with you.”
He held up a hand. “I have to show up alone. She insisted. If anybody’s with me, it’s no deal. She’d spot you near the stairs to the sundeck. It’s okay, Henrie O. Relax, finish your drink.” The old vitality was back in his voice. “What can go wrong? I’ll tell you what, I’ll come by your cabin after I’ve talked to her.” He paused. “If I find out something big, I’ll take it straight to Glenn, then call you.”
I took my time finishing the gin and tonic. I didn’t want another. I signed the check, strolled up to Deck 6. It was a good twenty minutes after Jimmy headed for the sundeck that I reached my cabin. I glanced at the phone. No message light. I was puzzled. It was almost ten-thirty. I wouldn’t have thought Jimmy and Ingrid would still be talking. Perhaps he’d persuaded her to go and see Glenn, promising that he’d intercede to help her keep her job.
I sat on the vanity bench, removed my gold filigree earrings. They were old favorites. Richard had given them to me for a long-ago birthday. I looked in the mirror. When I’d first worn them, my skin was smooth and unlined, my dark hair untouched by silver. I balanced the earrings in my palm, looked dispassionately at my silver-streaked hair, the smudges beneath my dark eyes, the lines of laughter and sadness on my face. I felt caught between past and present. Perhaps the truest sign of age is when the heart stubbornly looks back instead of forward. If Richard had lived…
I opened the drawer, dropped the earrings into my satin-lined jewel case. I had a quick vision of Richard, broad open face kind but chiding. He’d always embraced the old Protestant hymn “Work, for the Night Is Coming.” I no longer had work as my mainstay, but I still had tasks to complete. Jimmy needed my support.
Abruptly my eyes sought the clock. I’d slipped into a reverie but time, as time does, had inexorably passed. A quarter to eleven and no word from Jimmy. I rose, walked toward the closet. I slipped out of the beige silk dress I’d worn to dinner, hung it up, placed the sling pumps on the floor. I hesitated, then reached for a blue T and white cotton slacks, pulled them on. I stepped into sandals.
I settled on the balcony, left the door open so I’d hear Jimmy’s knock. I still felt uneasy, although Jimmy was probably right. What could go wrong? Why would Ingrid talk to Jimmy unless she was willing to offer some kind of information? Still, her invitation to meet him on the remote and dimly lit sundeck seemed surprising after her frantic flight this morning. However, a thousand dollars was probably a goodly sum to Ingrid, though I wouldn’t have thought enough to make her jeopardize her job. If she saw Sophia Friday night long after she’d gone off duty, she had subsequently lied when Glenn spoke to her. I didn’t think Glenn would be pleased if an employee lied.
I pushed up from the chair, moved to the railing, looked up at the star-spangled sky. The brilliance of the stars and the luminous glow of the August moon and the darkness of the water were a reminder not only of the puniness of human affairs but of the reality of how far we were from land. The Clio churned steadily through the night. I understood Jimmy’s desperation, but I wished—
The telephone rang. I felt a surge of pleased surprise. Jimmy must have found out something important enough to share with Glenn so he was calling rather than dropping by. I hadn’t expected this outcome. I was thrilled for him. Perhaps it had taken Ingrid time to understand the importance of what she had seen. If she saw anything that mattered, it had to be the person who used Jimmy’s key. Had it been Sophia or was the answer darker than that?
I hurried into the cabin, reached for the receiver. “Hello.” I heard the uplift in my voice. I was smiling.
“Henrie O.” Jimmy’s voice was stiff and strained, a man grappling with shock. “Ingrid didn’t show up. I waited almost an hour. Finally, I gave up. I came back to my cabin and she’s here. She’s dead. I’ve called Glenn. Don’t come. It’s ugly.”
27
I found it hard to breathe. Ingrid had been lively and bouncy and foolish and now she was dead. I was already moving as stark thoughts streamed through my mind. I tucked my key folder in the pocket of my slacks, plunged out into the corridor, running lightly. I came around the corner at the cross hall amidships, swerved to avoid a cheerful couple stepping out of the elevator, darted past them to the starboard corridor.
Jimmy was standing by his door, face stricken, body rigid, still wearing the navy blazer and soft-collared shirt and gray slacks he’d worn in the bar, everything the same except he looked unutterably weary.
I skidded to a stop beside him.
“You shouldn’t have come.” His voice was gruff. “Nobody can do anything. She’s dead as hell. God, she was just a kid.” He took a deep breath, looked at me in misery. “I should have gone to Glenn the minute I got that message. Maybe she’d be alive. First Sophia, now this kid.”
I gripped his arm. “Stop it. She must have tried to blackmail—”
Then the corridor was alive with movement, Glenn pounding toward us, his security officer and subordinates following. Suddenly Jimmy and I were surrounded.
“Stand aside.” Glenn gestured for us to move out of the way.
A security officer, hands encased in plastic gloves, poked a key in Jimmy’s lock, pushed the door in.
“You’ll see her. She’s in the closet. I’d opened the closet door…” Jimmy’s voice trailed away.
Glenn nodded toward the two security officers waiting a step behind, the same young people I’d seen outside Sophia’s door on Friday night. “Escort Mr. Lennox to Office 8.” He glanced at me. “It would be helpful, Mrs. Collins, if you returned to your cabin. I will ask you not to reveal any information about this evening to anyone other than ship personnel.”
Time dragged past, the minutes moving as slowly as a funeral cortege. I kept dialing Glenn’s office. The phone rang to no answer. I moved restlessly from my small sofa onto the balcony and back again every few minutes, wild to know where Jimmy was, what was happening, what had happened to Ingrid, berating myself for not asking Jimmy. She’s in the closet… How could Ingrid have been murdered in Jimmy’s cabin?
Finally I got out pen and pad, scrawled desperate conclusions:
Ingrid’s murder proved Sophia was murdered.
Ingrid saw the murderer use Jimmy’s key.
Jimmy’s offer of a reward suggested to Ingrid that the information she possessed might be worth a great deal more than a thousand dollars.
Ingrid approached the murderer. The murderer persuaded Ingrid to call Jimmy, promise to meet him on the sundeck. Then…
I tossed the pen down, walked back out to the balcony, caught the scent of a cigar. Someone nearby was smoking, basking in the beauty of the night while Jimmy faced sharp, hard questions and struggled with the dea
th of a foolish young woman.
I whirled back into the cabin, tried Glenn’s number again. No answer. I poured a glass of water, ignored the throbbing ache in my temples.
Ingrid had contacted the murderer. Had she demanded money? Or was it more innocent than that? Possibly Ingrid said, “I saw you at Mrs. Lennox’s door Friday night and Mr. Lennox has been asking me about that and he’s offered me a thousand dollars and I don’t know what to do.”
The murderer, caught by surprise, must have come up with something to satisfy Ingrid, had somehow gained Ingrid’s trust.
I pressed my fingers against my temples. The murderer must have convinced Ingrid that Jimmy was involved in his wife’s death. That would account for Ingrid’s obvious panic this morning. Maybe the murderer told Ingrid that when she or he opened the door, Jimmy was with Sophia. Obviously, whatever tale had been spun was adequate for the murderer’s purpose, and that purpose was to set Jimmy up to take the blame for Ingrid’s murder.
That had to have been the decision, right from the first: Ingrid must die, but her death had to be linked to Jimmy. Perhaps the murderer suggested the family might offer a substantial reward, more than the thousand offered by Jimmy, if Ingrid would help bring the crime home to Jimmy. Thinking fast, the murderer crafted a clever plan. The murderer instructed Ingrid to call Jimmy and set up a meeting on the sundeck, but when it was time, the murderer persuaded Ingrid to open Jimmy’s cabin—I was willing to bet that her key was used for their entry—and once they were inside, Ingrid was killed. It must have been easy, perhaps the suggestion that it might not be safe for Ingrid to meet Jimmy on the sundeck, that instead they would go to his cabin and wait inside, the murderer perhaps hidden in the bath, ready to step out and face him down.
I called Glenn’s office. This time he answered. It was a quarter to two.
