“Be careful not to touch the body,” Ferrari warned. “This is now a crime scene.”
“A crime scene?” Ray asked after he and Alex had made their way up on stage. “What makes you say that, Doc?”
Ferrari gave Ray the onceover. “And you are?”
“Ray Varga. I’m working private security for the Lincolns.” Ray pulled Alex forward. “This is Alex Moreland. He’s FBI. We’ve been working closely with the Carnation Queen’s acting head of security on another matter.”
“What’s going on, Ray?” Orlando said, out of breath from jogging down the aisle and up the steps.
Ferrari moved closer to Orlando. “I believe this woman has been poisoned,” he whispered loud enough for everyone on stage to hear.
A collective gasp was followed by an instant murmuring that quickly escalated into the din of everyone talking at once.
“Quiet, please,” Orlando ordered before bending down to examine the body. “And why do you think she was poisoned?”
“Lean over her face, and you’ll smell bitter almonds.” When Orlando did as he was told and then nodded, the doctor continued. “See how her skin is so red? That and the almond odor are classic symptoms of cyanide poisoning.”
“Dear God!” Jordan whispered. “How could she have been poisoned?”
Alex stepped forward, switching from casual observer to cop in a flash. “Orlando, did you bring the box with you? Someone needs to glove up and bag what’s left of the cocktail glass. You might even be able to get a sample of the whiskey if you hurry before it evaporates.” He pointed to the liquid that had rapidly spread over a large portion of the stage floor.
Orlando nodded to one of his assistants, who ran from the stage to get the equipment. “Get the rest of the guys and start evacuating the theater,” he instructed another one. “We may have a murder on our hands.”
Jordan and the others waited poolside for Ray and Alex to come up and fill them in on the details. It had been three hours since Charlese’s death, and they were going crazy wondering what had happened. Left to their own imaginations, they’d come up with all kinds of wild scenarios that ran the gamut from suicide to accidental poisoning. Each theory, however, ended with Beau Lincoln as the bad guy.
Finally, right before midnight, Ray and Alex showed up. Any idiot could tell from their expressions they brought bad news. After Alex kissed her forehead, he flopped down in the chair next to her.
“It’s almost certain it was cyanide,” he said, stroking the inside of Jordan’s arm. “But without an autopsy and toxicology results we can’t be sure.”
“Do you have any idea how she got the cyanide?” Victor asked.
“No,” Ray answered. “We suspect it was in the liquor since she was obviously drunk, but Orlando’s checking to see if any food was delivered to their suite tonight. Cyanide works quickly, taking anywhere from one to fifteen minutes to kill a person. That means we have a small window, and since she was carrying a glass of Scotch, more than likely that’s how she ingested it.”
“Fortunately, they were able to salvage a tiny amount of the liquor, and Orlando will get that off to the lab in Miami as soon as we dock the day after tomorrow,” Alex said.
“It’s hard to believe we only have one more day at sea before the cruise is over,” Lola said, shaking her head. “I declare, I’ve seen more dead bodies on the Carnation Queen than I see on CSI every week.” She lowered her head and sighed. “I can’t quit thinking about what happened to that poor woman tonight.”
“How’s Beau doing?” Jordan asked, reaching around Victor to pat Lola’s hand.
“Not too good,” Ray replied. “We’re looking at him as a person of interest, and he’s not real happy about that.”
“He was on stage the entire time,” Jordan said before adding, “and I can’t prove it, but I’d bet money he was with Marsha Davenport before the competition. I don’t see how he could have poisoned his wife.”
“Why’s that, sweetie? It wouldn’t be the first time a killer lied about where he’d been during the time a crime was being committed,” Ray said.
“They were both late and came in within a few minutes of each other. She had that look—you know, messy hair, flushed cheeks. And they kept making goo-goo eyes at each other.”
“Ooh, goo-goo eyes,” Victor repeated. “That’s it. Lock the bastard up.”
Jordan shot him a look that shut him up immediately.
“I’ll have Orlando check into that tomorrow,” Ray said, pausing to rub his forehead as if he had a migraine. “There is one other thing. About six tonight Beau called room service for a bottle of Scotch for him and a bottle of champagne for Charlese. When the purser delivered the booze, Beau asked for a bucket of ice even though he has never asked for ice with his Scotch before and the champagne was already chilled. The purser was gone about fifteen minutes, and when he returned with the ice, he offered to pour both Beau and Charlese a drink like he’d done every other time he’d brought their liquor. He remembers thinking it odd that Beau refused a drink after specifically ordering a bottle and insisting that they deliver it immediately.”
“You think he slipped the cyanide into the liquor when the purser left the room?” Rosie asked, scooting her chair closer to better hear the details.
“I don’t know. Orlando’s man found the empty champagne bottle, along with the opened bottle of Scotch on the table in the room. Either Beau changed his mind and poured himself a drink, or Charlese helped herself to his whiskey after polishing off the champagne. We do know she was carrying a tumbler with Scotch and ice, not the champagne glass, when she collapsed on stage.”
“The preliminary check for cyanide in the Scotch from the bottle was negative,” Alex piped in. “But that only means no one was able to detect the classic almond odor at first blush in either the liquor or her drinking water. However, that’s not unusual and doesn’t mean the booze wasn’t the cyanide source. The rule of thumb is that if you can smell the almonds, the levels are too dangerous to drink. My guess is that Charlese would have been too drunk, after the champagne, to notice even if there had been an odor, and since liquid cyanide is pale blue or colorless, she wouldn’t have seen a color change in her drink.”
“Wait a minute. Are you saying the cyanide could have been in the water she drank?” Victor asked, his eyes widening. “Isn’t that the same water we all drink?”
“Yes to both questions. Cyanide can be found in some water supplies, both public and private, but the levels are usually not high enough to cause problems,” Alex explained.
“Sheesh! So it could have been her water?” Jordan said while shaking her head. “Not that she was drinking a whole lot of H-two-O tonight.”
“Cyanide can be delivered as both a gas and a liquid. Of course, the gas kills the fastest,” Alex commented.
“The gas method is a little far-fetched, don’t you think?” Rosie asked.
“It’s not as far out there as you might believe,” Alex explained. “Cyanide gas can be produced several ways, including the burning of certain plastics. Then there’s cigarette smoke that can release it, and even the stuff you girls use to take off acrylic nails.”
“Charlese definitely had fake nails,” Lola said. “Do you think that’s what did it?”
Alex shook his head. “Gas poisoning is a long shot, plus she still had all her nails intact. I’m leaning toward the booze. And let’s not forget, the cyanide could have been in the champagne bottle, too, even though that’s less likely since the poison works quickly.”
“So, you think she finished off the champagne, then reached for the Scotch?” Michael asked. “She did seem really snookered when she walked up the steps.”
Alex nodded. “There was only a small amount of Scotch gone, so we think that’s exactly what she did. Since she would’ve had to have consumed the entire bottle of champagne in fifteen or twenty minutes—the time it takes the poison to kill—that’s our theory. If it had been in the champagne, she would have
been dead before she got to the Scotch. Of course, there is the possibility the cyanide was in the glass already and the Scotch just got poured on top of it.” He paused to look up when Rosie gasped. “Just to be on the safe side, though, I had the captain make an announcement warning people not to drink the water from the tap or use ice cubes until we can sort this out. He’s agreed to furnish bottled water free of charge until we dock.”
“We heard him about an hour ago but didn’t know what to make of that. I can’t believe he took an order from you,” Victor said. “No offense, Alex, but aren’t you just a passenger like the rest of us?”
Alex looked at Ray, who nodded. “Not anymore. This might very well be a murder of a United States citizen, and the FBI has jurisdiction in international waters. When they found out I was on board, they put me in charge of the investigation.”
“And not a minute too soon,” Ray added. “The ship has only six men designated as security, and Orlando is the only one with any police training. He was an MP in the army, and he knew he was way out of his league. I thought he would cry with relief when he was told to hand over the reins to Alex.”
“I’ll bet,” Rosie said.
“Frankly, I am, too. It’s been a long time since I actually investigated a murder, and back in Ranchero, it was usually a domestic violence thing. I’m relieved Alex has agreed to take charge.”
“So, Alex, what happens next?” Michael asked.
“Nothing, really. I’ve advised your boss and Emily to cancel the rest of the competition, only because the stage is now part of a crime scene. They’ll go forward with the Captain’s Gala tomorrow night, but the stage will be off-limits. They’re working on building an elevated area in the front of the first row that will function like a stage for the introduction of the ship’s officers before the party gets underway.”
“So we won’t know how Charlese was poisoned until after the cruise is over?” Michael asked.
“That’s right. It will take up to a week after we dock in Miami to get the test results back, and even then we may never know how the poison was introduced. Ray and I will take another stab at questioning the kitchen employees, but I don’t expect any big news flashes there. According to the purser, both the Scotch and the champagne were sealed when he delivered them to Beau’s room. Even Emily confirms that story.”
“Emily? How did she see the bottle?” Jordan asked, wishing the night would end so she could get Alex alone. The smell of his aftershave was working overtime on her senses.
“She was in the kitchen conferring with the head chef about tonight’s competition baskets. She remembered the purser calling Beau an American jerk after the call, which is when she noticed the sealed bottle of liquor.”
“Where is Emily?” Lola asked. “She seemed really upset earlier, and I thought for sure she’d come up with you two after you’d finished with Orlando down there.”
“She was upset,” Alex replied. “Especially when the decision was made to cancel the rest of the competition. She got really angry at first, saying Charlese’s death had nothing to do with the contest, but then she calmed down. She left shortly after that for her room and told us she’d confer with Wayne in the morning to try to find a way to salvage the contest somehow.”
At the mention of her friend, Jordan felt a pang of sympathy. She was the only one besides George Christakis who knew about the life of servitude Emily had been subjected to with her aunt and uncle. She and Michael’s boss had worked so hard planning the cook-off. Now it was ending in the worst possible way—with the death of the wife of one of the judges.
Earlier, during the doctor’s frantic attempt to revive Charlese, Emily had retreated to the back of the stage. Jordan had followed in an attempt to comfort her. Noticing Emily’s hands shaking badly, she’d covered them both with her own. Emily had responded by jerking her hands away and shouting, “Leave me alone.” That reaction had caught Jordan off guard, but within seconds, tears had welled up in Emily’s eyes, and she’d apologized profusely, blaming her unexpected outburst on crazy nerves.
Still, Jordan wished her friend had come up to the upper deck with the rest of the gang tonight. If there was another group of folks more qualified to comfort someone during a crisis situation, Jordan hadn’t met them yet. She made a mental note to find some alone time with Emily after breakfast in the morning and let her know her friends were there for her if she needed them.
“So what happens now, Alex?” Victor asked.
Alex shrugged. “I’ll do what I can from here and then turn the case over to the Miami field office. My guess is they’ll want to have a detailed conversation with Beau and the kitchen staff. As for me, I’ll be on a plane back to Ranchero.” He gave Jordan a smile that nearly melted her heart.
“What about Beau?” Rosie asked. “Is he taking Charlese’s death pretty hard?”
Ray grunted. “If by taking it hard you mean he’s spouting off like a jerk, then yes, he’s taking it hard. When they declared his room a crime scene and moved him to another suite, he pitched a fit. His old room was the biggest one on the ship, and he’s not real pleased with his new one. Can you believe it? The man just lost his wife, and he’s upset because the room is a few feet smaller. What an ass!”
“Now that’s an understatement,” Jordan said, remembering the way Beau had acted with Marsha. “What if Beau and Marsha were in this together?”
Alex ruffled her hair. “There goes that overactive imagination that I adore.” He stood and helped Jordan to her feet. “There’s really nothing more to be done tonight, and since I have a busy day tomorrow, I’m heading to bed.” He reached for Jordan’s hand. “Come on, love. I want to go make goo-goo eyes at you and mess up your hair.”
CHAPTER 20
The next day Jordan waited around nearly thirty minutes after breakfast for Emily to show before finally giving up and heading to her friend’s room. Although the purser told Jordan he hadn’t seen Emily leave that morning, there was no response when Jordan knocked. Assuming Emily had slipped out for an early meeting with Wayne to discuss how to proceed with the competition, she made a mental note to hook up with her later.
For now she had the entire morning to herself. Alex and Ray had a full day ahead with the investigation, and although she hated losing the time with Alex, they didn’t have a choice. He was on the job now. Victor and Lola were earning their keep by running a trivia tournament and teaching tarot reading classes respectively, and Rosie was caught up in preparations to serve her last lunch at the small café. Jordan had no idea where Michael was, but since he no longer had to worry about the cook-off, he was probably with Victor having fun playing games with the passengers.
Victor had begged her to join him, but she’d never been good at trivia with the exception of sports questions. Besides, she had only one day left to work on her tan, and she intended to make the best of it.
After she left Emily’s, she went up to her room and slipped on a swimsuit. Since she rarely had time to indulge in her love of mystery novels, she was really looking forward to a little peace and quiet to start the book she’d purchased in the gift shop. Before she left the room, she tried Emily one more time, but as with the previous three other attempts, she was forced to leave a message.
Being the last day of the cruise, the pool was jam-packed, with everyone trying to soak up as much sun and as many alcoholic concoctions as possible. Jordan made a quick sweep of the area and was disappointed to see that all the lounge chairs were either occupied or had a towel draped over them. Vowing not to let a little thing like that ruin her day, she made her way to the shallow end of the pool. If she had to sit on the edge with her feet dangling in the water to start her novel, so be it. She was determined to have a nice leisurely day reading.
Halfway there she was surprised to see Marsha Davenport by herself in the middle of the deck, looking gorgeous in her purple bikini. She was even more surprised when Marsha smiled.
Jordan smiled back.
“Loo
king for a chair?”
Jordan nodded. “Not likely to find one today. Looks like the entire ship is out here.”
Marsha picked up the towel lying on the chaise lounge next to her and gave it a pat. “You can have this one. I don’t think Casey’s going to make it back.” She grinned. “She’s tied up with one of the other chefs going over her résumé for a new job search.”
Yeah right! We all know which chef she’s with. “Tied up” might be the perfect choice of words.
Jordan sat down. “Thanks. I’ve been trying all week to get to this book.”
“I wanted to thank you for the great score you gave my sweetbread appetizer the other night. Because of you I won.”
“Sorry things haven’t worked out the way you’d expected,” Jordan said, putting her book down.
Why read a mystery novel when she had a puzzle right in front of her. All she had to do was figure out the clues. She hoped that old saying “Loose lips sink ships” wasn’t true, because she fully intended to get the lady chef talking.
“That’s for sure,” Marsha responded. “I was really counting on that advertising contract in New York. Guess I’ll have to go back to that dump they call a steak house in Fort Worth.”
“It’s too bad, because I personally thought you had the best chance to win,” Jordan said, laying it on thick to loosen her up.
Marsha beamed. “I appreciate your saying that.”
“Beau Lincoln really seems to think you’re the best chef out there.” Jordan waited for Marsha’s response, expecting the woman to lash out.
Instead Marsha shrugged. “Yeah, he’s kind of a jerk, though.”
Now that certainly wasn’t the response Jordan had anticipated.
“Really? I thought you two were good friends.” She paused before adding a zinger. “At least his wife thought so.”
This time anger did flare in Marsha’s eyes before she shook her head. “She was wrong. There was never anything between Beau and me other than a friendship.”
Murder for the Halibut Page 18
