I wished I could take Amy up on her offer to read my work. But then, it was an agent I needed—not a murderer.
“Just my luck,” I thought.
* * *
Mary picked the second panel discussion, “Octopus Books: Pimp or Publisher—Stealing Authors’ Royalties.” One of the panelists was an Octopus rep. Mary wanted to learn first-hand about Octopus Book’s new policies. It was just the one I wanted, too—until I got there. Their power was complete. Their domination was unchallengeable, their programs, to me, tantamount to theft of product. In the room, however, the authors remained respectful, even through the questions at the end. It was akin to ignoring that “the emperor has no clothes.” I understood why, as had many ordinary Germans in Nazi Germany and every serf who owed fealty to a noble with swordsmen at his side in feudal times.
But I had my answer. An agent it was for me—if I could get one.
* * *
After the second panel discussion, Sean escorted me on the elevator to go back to my cabin. At my floor, I jumped off.
“I can make it down the hall.”
“Okay.” Sean held the door a moment. “I need to get hold of my ex-partner in New York before the banquet. I’ll come for you as soon as I’m ready for dinner. Wait for me.”
“Okay.”
“Promise?”
“I promise.”
We parted ways.
As I rounded the corner to my cabin, Mavis and Esther were quarrelling in the hallway. I backed up and hid there. They were both already dressed to the nines for the awards dinner. When Esther walked away, Mavis grabbed her arm.
“Wait. I thought you said you’d ask around. I need to make a living.”
“Excuse me.” Esther pulled her arm away. “Desperation is not becoming in anyone.”
“So what? That’s what I am. God knows, I’ve done enough for you and the MWW to deserve help.”
“Deserve? Deserve? Who do you think you are talking to? I run the MWW and I do all the real work, day in and day out. Week in and week out. Year in and year out.”
“I know. I know.” Mavis calmed down. “I’m sorry. Really I am. I realize I only help out and don’t do anything compared to you.”
“Well, at least you are being honest, now!”
“I don’t want to upset you. Our friendship is worth so much to me.”
“I understand.” Esther’s voice was as cold as the Antarctic.
“Thank you . . . but please . . . Esther . . . did you ask anyone?”
“I will.” Esther had cowed Mavis and enjoyed the power, the scorched-earth unequivocal victory. “I will. Now, let’s get to the awards banquet.”
“Thank you. It means so much. I’m sorry I upset you before the banquet. I guess I am desperate. And you’re right, I shouldn’t be. I do have friends.”
There was silence from Esther.
“I hope you never get in this situation,” Mavis sucked up, personalizing her problems to Esther. “It’s horrible.”
“I won’t. Now, I need to check on the awards banquet.”
Mavis, with nothing to lose now, tried one final stratagem to boost her profile.
“Esther! Just a minute, please. I know I keep hounding you, but maybe you could at least let me get up on the podium . . . to speak. Helga was going to give Otto his posthumous lifetime achievement award and . . . and . . . you were going to . . .”
Esther gave Mavis an imperious, condescending smile. “Sean O’Flarity is presenting that award.”
“That’s great! I wouldn’t dream of doing that . . . I just thought I could take your place . . . you know, as your assistant . . . and introduce Sean. It would be short and give my profile a boost. I’m re-releasing my series and I’ve thought of a great new mystery! I mentor writers, just like Otto. I’m a respected teacher, like Otto. And I knew him. He helped me . . . well, a little! My ties couldn’t be stronger.”
“Just stop. Stop exaggerating,” Esther interrupted. “You’re old news, dear.”
“But, I’ve helped you for years. Can’t you . . .”
“Stop hounding me! It’s too much on me. I’ve already settled the intros, and that’s that.”
“What do you mean?”
“Amy will be introducing Sean.”
Mavis glared at Esther walking toward the elevators—and me! I immediately strolled past Esther down to my cabin so she didn’t know I was eavesdropping at the corner near the elevator.
“Hello,” I said as Esther swept by.
“Good evening.” Esther didn’t even look over.
Then I heard her mutter, “Why would I pick a washed-up nebbish, a nudnik to do a presentation?”
I saw Mavis the nebbish—the nudnik—standing abandoned, a dejected look on her face. When she saw me, however, she stood straight, smiled and puppy-dogged after Esther. I slowed my advance. I felt badly for Mavis, but I couldn’t help her and, more than that, I didn’t want to. This trip had proven to me that she had never thought of me as a colleague or a friend.
“Hello,” Mavis greeted me.
“Leaving for the awards banquet?” I fumbled for my cabin key and avoided her eyes.
“Yes, Esther and me.” Mavis covered her Esther-encounter with cheerfulness. “I may help her during the program. It’s so exciting.”
“Good luck!”
Mavis was lying, but then, she didn’t know I had overheard their encounter. I opened the door, but stood watching Mavis scurry to the elevators in Esther’s wake.
All this certainly confirmed why Esther had been her focus since before the cruise took off. She needed Esther’s connections for her own financial survival. This was like the acting profession. There were the elite moneymakers at the top and very little money trickled to the other ninety percent of hard-working professional writers. I equated it to Octopus Book’s new policies, taking more of the small slice of the pie most authors got.
Then, it sunk in. Mavis was arguing there were no murders because Esther was her financial life and death. Mavis’s needs trumped the loss of human life—lives.
More than that, I believed now that Mavis had never cared about me, or any of her students, except as functionaries to make a buck—and that the twinkle in her eye when she praised our writing came from dollar signs. She analyzed our writing with feigned enthusiasm. And, her soft voice was the schooled affectation of a failure. Here, on the high seas amongst robustly successful authors, it was clear. She was envious and commanded no attention outside her classroom. She was obsequious and she had squandered her life experience because of her bitter jealousy. She now, to me, was a perfect example of an author who had never loved the art form and had failed at marketing—the business of being an author. Had she even edited? Maybe not. Maybe her publisher even took care of that.
It dawned on me that I had outgrown Mavis years ago, but never realized it. I had no authorial self-doubt any longer, in part, thanks to her betrayal. That was the greatest lesson she had taught me.
⌘
Chapter 38
Threats Can Come in Many Forms
I was happy to have the stateroom to myself as I rushed and got ready for the gala—and Curtis après the gala.
Thinking of Curtis, I saw that the phone had no message light on, and if Mavis had received a message from him, she hadn’t said. Since I would not be in the main dining room tonight, I simply would go to the bar and meet as we always had.
I hoped Sean would have good news from New York and that I would not get another assignment from my cohorts. I had done enough. Now, all I wanted was one more night with Curtis before we docked. Perhaps I was only an amateur criminalist at heart, because my prioritization was in favor of love’s lust instead of proving up the murders. But, I would argue, one night off would not prevent me from becoming a professional, published, money-earning mystery writer.
I showered the unpleasant day away. I dressed in my black silk pants ensemble complete with a black sequined cropped jacket and my tallest spiked sling-b
ack, open-toe heels. It took a minute of tottering to adjust to them, but they were definitely worth the torture.
As I put on meticulous evening make-up, I bemoaned that the last night of the cruise might end up business—the business of staying alive—and not pleasure. Although I enjoyed Sean’s company, I wanted and needed Curtis to be my bodyguard tonight.
I was ready early. I sat on the edge of my bed and waited for Sean to escort me to the evening’s festivities.
I flipped through the television channels, and stopped at the closed circuit video explaining our landing procedures. Evidently, we had to have our luggage out in the hallway tonight if we wanted the staff to take it off the ship.
I grabbed my large suitcase stored in the top shelf of the closet and put it at the end of my bed. I packed as the woman on the television charmingly, and very clearly, finished her debarkation instructions.
Packing was always a pain, whether now or later. I put everything from my drawers I would not need in the suitcase. I had definitely brought too much and at least a quarter of my clothes, including three cardigan cashmeres, remained untouched.
When I went to the closet to cull through it, there was a knock at my door.
I glanced at the digital clock near my bed. Sean was early, too.
“Good,” I said. “Saved by the knock.”
I went to the peephole in the door. The hall seemed dim, but I caught a close-up of Sean’s black tuxedo.
“Sean?” I called through the door.
“Yes.”
I grabbed my small black sequined evening bag on the bed, turned off the lights and television, and hurried back to the door. I was excited for the evening.
* * *
When I pressed the handle down, the unlatched door swung open. I jumped back.
“Hold on, Sean. I . . .”
A male burst in, silhouetted by the dimmed hall light. He was not stout like Sean, but instead trim and fit. He lunged for me.
“Oh, God!” I cried. “Help!”
I turned and grabbed the large suitcase on my bed and threw it at him. The cashmeres splayed on the floor as he batted the suitcase aside. Any escape blocked, I focused on the phone. I retreated to grab it, but my coveted heels tangled in the cashmere sweaters. I struggled to balance, but plummeted down. My evening bag went flying and my head hit side of the bed.
I was dazed. I grabbed my forehead looked up in the dim light.
“Brent!” I gasped as I struggling for breath.
“Damn it.” Brent bounded and shoved on the door, but my bag still wedged it ajar.
“Help! Help!” I stuttered, still dazed and struggling to get my footing.
“Shut up,” Brent growled as he spun around, forgetting the bag and the door. “Shut up!”
The light slicing in through the cracked door emphasized Brent’s eyes. They were wild with rage.
I grabbed my heels and threw them at Brent.
Brent stepped over my suitcase and charged at me. I had my footing now, but it was too late to run. Brent was between the hallway door and me.
“You should have left me alone,” Brent lunged, grabbed me, and threw me over his shoulder like a rag doll. “Helga wasn’t worth it.”
His huge shoulder knocked the wind out of me. I lay limp and without any breath left to scream. My arms dangled down his broad back. The sliver of light still streamed into the cabin door because my evening bag remained lodged there. I fought for my breath to scream for any passerby, but it didn’t come and they didn’t come.
As Brent carried me further into the room, I caught a glimpse of his red, contorted face in the mirror, striated by the beam of hall light.
I gasped and a shallow breath came, then two, and then a deep one. I started hitting Brent’s back and kicking. Slowly at first and then wildly as I got my breath and my adrenaline pumped through my body.
“Help.” I croaked louder and then louder. “Help. Help!”
As I flailed wildly, Brent carried me to the balcony’s sliding door.
I suddenly knew my fate. It was Helga’s. I was terrified. Helga’s body flashed through my mind. Should I hope for a clean fall to the cold Atlantic? They say that drowning in cold water is euphoric. I didn’t want to linger on an obscure deck somewhere below, suffering like Helga until some crewman discovered my body. But there was no choice because there was no Atlantic beneath my economy balcony. I was smaller than Helga. Could Brent have the strength to pitch me out far enough?
As Brent struggled to open the sliding door and keep me on his shoulder, I grabbed at anything and everything. I grabbed the curtains, but they just came down limp in my hands. The ambient light from the ship’s lamps filtered onto the balcony and into the room.
When I saw the balcony and my fate, a desperate screech came out of me that I didn’t recognize. It was inhuman in its strength and potency.
“Help! Help! Help!” I screeched over and over again.
Brent got the sliding door open.
I grabbed onto the doorframe. I wasn’t strong enough to keep my grip when he jerked me through out onto the balcony. I felt my fingers writhe in pain as they were forced to relinquish my hold on life.
I tried to reach anything I could, but was only able to grab at the black wet sea air in my frenzy.
“Help me!” I screamed again tasting the salt in gasps I took in. “Help!”
Then, I saw it over the balcony—the churning Atlantic’s white-capped waves. The waves glared at me and I at them. I would relax to help Brent thrust me into the sea instead of having to suffer a close in painful plummet like Helga’s onto a hard deck—crushing me or leaving me in lingering pain.
“Veronica?” Sounded from the hallway. “Veronica?”
The door opened and the hall light shot into the cabin. Sean’s large tuxedoed body charged in.
The door, sans evening bag, automatically slammed shut. Suddenly, it was dark again except for the ship’s ambient light filtering onto the balcony.
“Brent, stop!” Sean yelled.
Sean grabbed at me and pulled me. Finally, Brent released his grip and, suddenly, with a thud I hit the balcony’s Astroturf, hard.
The two men struggled above me. I crawled for the open sliding door to call for help, but couldn’t pass them. The chairs and chaises flew.
Sean and Brent collided again and again. In a flurry, arms wielded fists that thudded with body blows. It was stag against stag—pushing and pulling. I couldn’t get to the phone. I sat balled up in fear.
Then, Sean charged Brent with the full force of his tank-like body. Brent flew towards the rail.
In an instant, Brent was over the rail. His high center of gravity and the laws of physics combined to force him to lose his footing.
“No!” Sean yelled.
He reached for Brent, but Brent just fell—headfirst.
Sean the victor was tottering over the rail, but grabbed on hard. In slow motion, his feet left the ground. He started to go further and further and his feet lifted higher and higher as he began to plummet and lose his battle to stay on the balcony.
“Sean!” I grabbed his thick muscular ankles.
My voice was drowned out by Brent’s unearthly receding shriek on his way down.
“Sean!” I screamed again with tears flooding down my cheeks, desperate to save his life.
“Hold me!” Sean called. “Hold on tight!”
“I am! I am!”
I was being dragged across the sea-misted, slippery Astroturf and Sean’s weight began to lift me up and off the green-bladed plastic.
A lifespan and moment later, my vise-like grip on Sean’s ankles eased as I felt Sean’s body tilt back into the balcony. But I still held on.
I looked up. Sean’s white knuckled hands and my weight had teeter-tottered him back to the balcony side. He must have had epochal NYPD training, impeccable natural balance, and incredible strength to do a save like that. Or, it might simply have been fear and adrenaline—or maybe just my hold on his a
nkles made the difference. Whatever it was, I knew one thing. I would not have been strong enough to hold him and myself if he had gone over. I was glad I hadn’t had to decide when to let go, because I would have. That thought put a pall on my joy.
“You can let go now,” Sean said with both feet firmly planted on the balcony.
“What?” I still gripped both of Sean’s ankles.
“I’m safe. You can let go.”
I looked up through my haze of tears and saw that he was.
“Are you hurt?” Sean reached down and helped me up.
“No, I don’t think so.” My cries and tears mingled with my laughter of relief and dark secret that I would have let him drop if I had to. “Thank you, Sean. Thank you. Thank you.”
“It’s going to be all right.” Sean hugged me, big and bear-like.
I buried my head on his chest, happy to be alive. Happy we were both still here—happy I didn’t have to release his legs. I could hear his heart beating double time. Joy at his life won out and my guilt at my probable choice was forgotten.
“Is he?”
“Dead? Head first? I think so! I just couldn’t hold him. But you held me or I’d be with him. You were great, Veronica!”
“No. No. You held yourself. I just helped out.” I looked up at Sean’s sparkling Irish eyes.
“Don’t be so modest. You’re a quick thinker. Thank you. It was like old times on the force. You were my partner. You ever think of being a cop?”
I laughed.
Then we heard a loud scream from a woman several decks below.
We looked over the balcony rail. The black cold Atlantic sea was cheated that night once again, as it had been with Helga. There below us was Brent, hooked onto a balcony rail two decks below. He hung limp and still. We heard another scream from below.
Death Sets Sail_A Mystery Page 29
