This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.
Copyright ©1992 by Carol Higgins Clark
All rights reserved. Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without the prior written permission of the publisher.
Grand Central Publishing
Hachette Book Group USA
237 Park Avenue
New York, NY 10017
Visit our Web site at www.HachetteBookGroupUSA.com
First eBook Edition: May 2008
ISBN: 978-044-653712-4
Contents
PROLOGUE
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
Chapter 51
Chapter 52
Chapter 53
Chapter 54
Chapter 55
Chapter 56
Chapter 57
Chapter 58
Chapter 59
Chapter 60
Chapter 61
Chapter 62
Chapter 63
Chapter 64
Chapter 65
Chapter 66
About the Author
PRAISE FOR CAROL HIGGINS CLARK AND
DECKED
“Lively. . . Clark deftly ties the plot playing out on the ocean liner to Athena’s murder in a suspenseful climax.”
—Publishers Weekly
“A wealthy clientele who act differently from you and me in a deliciously revealed way. There are scoundrels, an interesting murder to solve, and the typical sharks swarming around the jewelry of the fabulously wealthy. It all makes for a good tale.”
—Lincoln Journal Star
“A caper novel . . . a funny, light summer’s read.”
—Hartford Courant
“Enjoyable . . . her sense of humor carries the day.”
—Greensboro News & Record
“A superb mystery writer . . . A sleuth who finds herself finagled into a luxury cruise across the Atlantic with a very difficult elderly lady . . . Shades of Nick and Nora and the other greats of the stylish thirties and forties.”
—Washington Times
“Intriguing details . . . chock full of sarcasm and wit . . . her characters are eccentric, loving, brave, and suave . . . This fast-paced story is great escape reading, perfect for a lazy day at the beach.”
—Palm Beach Daily News
“Lots of humor and a brightness that makes the story sparkle from beginning to end.”
—Ocala Star Banner
“A glamorous setting—a cruise ship—and eccentric characters . . . Regan is a good character—a strong, intelligent young woman with a good sense of humor.”
—Arkansas Democrat-Gazette
“Carol Higgins Clark tells a fast-paced, suspenseful story, with never a dull moment and a refreshing sense of humor.”
—Mostly Murder
BOOKS BY CAROL HIGGINS CLARK
Decked
Snagged
Iced
Twanged
Fleeced
Jinxed
Popped
Burned
Hitched
Laced
Deck the Halls
(with Mary Higgins Clark)
He Sees You When You’re Sleeping
(with Mary Higgins Clark)
The Christmas Thief
(with Mary Higgins Clark)
Santa Cruise (with Mary Higgins Clark)
For my mother, Mary Higgins Clark, and in memory of my father, Warren F. Clark,
with love.
“Old and young we are all on our last cruise.”
Robert Louis Stevenson
PROLOGUE
FRIDAY, APRIL 23
OXFORD, ENGLAND
ATHENA RAN BLINDLY down the dark country lane, her breath coming in short, harsh gasps. Her school jacket with the St. Polycarp’s logo sewn on the pocket was no protection against the sudden drenching spring rain. The knapsack strapped to her body impeded her flight. It did not occur to her to discard it.
As the bewildering shock began to wear off, she desperately told herself she was a fool to have come this way. The Oxford police station was so much nearer. Minutes ago she would have reached safety there.
The wet, uneven road was becoming more visible. Trees heavily burdened with thick dripping leaves were no longer silhouettes but three-dimensional objects that beckoned to her.
A car was coming from behind. Athena shrank to the side, instinctively sensing that she must not be seen.
Headlights froze on her. The car raced forward, crunched to a stop inches from her feet. The door opened.
Her fingers fumbled to release the knapsack as she started to run again. Sobs caught in her throat. She heard the footsteps gaining on her.
No—no. Just turned twenty-one, she was finally free to live on her own. She couldn’t die now. Her fresh burst of speed granted her another hundred yards before hands found her throat.
FRIDAY, JUNE 19, TEN YEARS LATER
AT SEA
GAVIN GRAY HURRIED down the hallway, crashing into one handrail and then the other as he struggled to keep his balance. “If I weren’t on a ship, I’d think I was drunk,” he mumbled. But he didn’t care. His adrenaline was pumping so much he felt light-headed. Another reason to bounce off the walls.
The ocean liner he was sailing on, a magnificent floating city, had hit rocky seas tonight. It would be another day and a half before they docked in Southampton, England. Not soon enough, he thought as he lunged his way to the safety of his cabin. He couldn’t wait to see land again, and the weather they’d experienced during this crossing had nothing to do with it.
He had already spent enough time on this mammoth vessel playing the genial host. “Let them find someone else to make an idiot out of himself doing the cha-cha. No more black and blue marks for me,” he cackled under his breath.
On these long transatlantic crossings, there was always an abundance of unescorted females. Hoping to help even the odds, the cruise line had hired him as a sixty-two-year-old host—a roving companion who would be only too willing to whisk them off onto the dance floor and suffer the brutality of their aimless kicks.
Just this morning he had been teaching the polka to an enthusiastic octogenarian
wearing black bulky shoes. They were like gunboats hinged on her thick ankles, targeted for his luckless feet. Gavin winced when he thought of it. Stomping on someone’s foot was supposed to be a form of self-defense, not a recreational activity.
Reaching his cabin door, he slipped his key into the polished brass keyhole and sighed in grateful relief. He sat down on his bed, lay back, and stared up at the ceiling as he tried to catch his breath. Funny how these cabins are so much smaller than the way they appear in the brochures, Gavin thought. Really funny for the poor slobs shelling out thousands to park their behinds on these bunks for a dreamy week at sea. Victims of trick photography.
He turned and looked at the digital clock next to his bed. Eleven thirty-two P.M. Should he go to the casino and get a nightcap? Be seen? Charm any of the single ladies still awake? He certainly could use a brandy to calm his nerves. No, he finally decided, he had better not. Most people had retired to their rooms early tonight, the stormy seas, not Mr. Sandman, being the reason.
“No, I’ll just stay here,” he whispered to himself. He had had enough excitement for one night.
He couldn’t believe his luck. Just as he was heading out of the Lancelot Bar he’d run into old Mrs. Watkins. Sweet unassuming Beatrice Watkins with her splashy jewels and liquored breath.
For days, she’d made no secret of the fact that she was very alone in the palatial Camelot Suite. There was no need for trick photography when capturing the essence of that little home-away-from-home. It boasted a living room, a sunken bedroom, two baths and a private terrace which afforded an exclusive view of the sea and sky that one could enjoy at any hour of the day or night, a perfect setting for romance. Gavin wondered if Mrs. Watkins had gotten lucky yet. She flirted unabashedly with everyone. Slipping the busboys her room number wrapped in hundred-dollar bills. Plying the hosts with champagne as if it were water. Even the Captain wasn’t immune.
Tonight at the Captain’s party she had hobbled over to have her picture taken with him four times. She was bedizened with all her finest jewelry. An antique diamond-and-ruby tiara resting precariously on her bony skull; six rings on her fingers, each with a larger stone than the next; matching diamond-and-emerald wrist and ankle bracelets, the latter wrapped around her bird leg.
The Captain was as charming as ever. He tilted his silver head down toward her matching one and smiled merrily for the camera. He thanked her and moved her along, graciously greeting the next couple of happy cruisers. He even pretended not to notice as she teetered off, grabbed another glass of champagne from a passing waiter, gulped it down and unsteadily got in line to have her picture taken again.
How does the Captain do it? Gavin wondered. That professional smile frozen onto his face as he had his picture taken hundreds of times, two consecutive nights out of a five-day cruise. Two Captain’s parties to accommodate twelve hundred passengers. Twelve hundred sets of teeth, a majority of them held in place by Poly grip, had to hold the “cheese” position before Captain, my Captain, could escape. He must wake up with a smile, Gavin thought, and for all the wrong reasons.
After dinner and a few more drinks, Mrs. Watkins decided her old bod deserved a much-needed respite from one of the favored activities on cruise ships all over the world, drinking to excess. Perfecting the art of intoxication. She was stumbling past when Gavin saw her and offered to help her back to her suite. She hiccuped her assent and gladly grabbed his arm as the catch on her bracelet snagged his jacket.
“Oh, I have to have this thing fixsht. Otherwise I’ll looge it,” she fussed.
Gavin only smiled at the prospect.
Mrs. Watkins’s eyes grew heavy as Gavin helped her stagger to her penthouse. I’ve got some job, he thought wistfully, jackassing people around a ship. But always the gentleman, he helped her with her key and guided her inside. She flopped down on her bed, fell back and immediately passed out. But not before the bracelet slipped off her wrist.
He had stood there staring, not wanting to move. Not knowing what to do. Suddenly, visions of financial independence danced in his head.
Who wouldn’t believe it had fallen off at some point during the evening? She had been babbling that the catch wasn’t working. People saw how wasted she was. She could have dropped it anywhere.
Could he risk taking it now? What if they started a search for it? The cruise line loved this woman. She always paid a pretty penny for this suite and would often book it on a whim. If anything made her unhappy, they immediately did their best to fix it. No, he’d have to hide it here in her suite and then, when the excitement of losing it had died down, he’d make his way back in and get it. Somehow.
Giddy with excitement, his armpits sweating, his heart pounding, he tried to figure out what to do. Her Highness was sprawled across the king-sized bed. Three steps up to the right was a loftlike living room complete with pastel couches, a big-screen television, state-of-the-art stereo system and a bar. A sliding glass door to the balcony lined one wall. And then his eyes caught it. The closet with the life preservers. They had already had their boat drill on this cruise, so there’d be no reason for anyone to go in there again . . .
He tiptoed over to the bed. Holding his breath, he leaned over to pick up the dazzling assemblage of emeralds and diamonds. Fenced, this thing must be worth a million bucks, he thought incredulously. A tantalizing thought bubbled through his brain. Maybe I should just help myself to her other little goodies. He entertained the thought for a moment as he caressed the bracelet. As usual, his Irish-Catholic guilt overwhelmed him and prevented him from committing a real no-no in the mortal-sin category. To his mind, stealing one bracelet from someone this rich should only count as venial.
Mrs. Watkins stirred and mumbled something about the Captain.
I’d better get out of here, Gavin fretted. Some jerk might have seen me steering her back. Better just to take the bracelet than get tempted by other thoughts. After all, once he had a few bucks he might meet a beautiful younger woman with plenty of her own jewelry who would want him. He was smart enough to know that it would have to happen soon though, and it would only happen if he had a little money to throw around. His looks were fading fast. Some might say they had already taken a hike. His hair was graying more each day and his muscles were beginning to sag out of control. He had gotten the shock of his life when he had gone to a movie recently and had been offered the senior citizen’s discount. An offer he almost foolishly refused.
Shaking that ugly thought from his head, Gavin clutched the beloved trinket in his well-manicured hands and crept over to the closet. He slowly unlatched the door and cringed as a whiny creaking sound announced his arrival to the orange life preservers staring down at him from the shelf, mocking him, as if to say, “You’ll never get away with this.” His nerves screaming, he stood on his tiptoes like an aging ballerina and tossed the bracelet behind them to the distant corner of the high shelf.
“I shall return,” he murmured.
Like a cat he sprang across the room, blew a loving kiss at Beatrice Watkins, and slithered out the door.
The crew would be turning the ship upside down looking for that bracelet. But when the ship docked Sunday, they’d stop looking. They’d be sure someone had found it and, like any red-blooded thief, had kept it. He’d try to sneak up here and get the bracelet in the hours of the layover. But if he couldn’t manage that, on the trip back to New York he’d find a way to visit this suite and retrieve it.
Nothing was going to stop him from getting that bracelet back.
SATURDAY, JUNE 20
OXFORD, ENGLAND
REGAN REILLY WOKE up slowly, blinked eyes that felt glued shut, and looked around trying to figure out where the heck she was. Forcing the fog from her brain she scanned the dormitory room before registering that the white-blond hair sticking out from the skimpy covers on the narrow bed across from her belonged to her best friend Kit.
With a sigh, Regan lay back down, turned on her side, and watched the gray light filter through
the small window in the corner. She and Kit had arrived the night before to celebrate the tenth reunion of their Junior Year Program at St. Polycarp’s in Oxford. And they were just in time to greet another dreary day in England. I hope it cheers up by this afternoon, Regan thought as she pulled the paper-thin blanket around her clammy skin. A lot has changed but the weather certainly hasn’t. It’s what Athena hated most about this place.
Athena. It was disconcerting to think about her. It’s hard to believe that I shared this very room with her, Regan thought. Until she took off to go to London for the weekend at the end of April ten years ago and never came back. And no one had heard from her by the time the term ended in June.
Athena hadn’t been the easiest person to live with, always complaining and wishing she were back in Greece. Getting into her bathrobe after her 10 A.M. English class on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays, and staying in the room all day. Blowing her nose constantly and never allowing Regan to open the tiny window for a breath of fresh air. Refusing Regan’s early offers to join the crowd for a beer down at the local pub. So when Athena turned twenty-one and inherited money from her grandmother, Regan hadn’t been surprised that she never came back from her weekend jaunt. “I’ve learned enough Eeenglesh,” she was always telling Regan, “no matter what my parents say.”
Well, it’s for sure she won’t want to come back for this reunion even if she does hear about it, Regan thought. I almost didn’t come myself.
It was Kit who had urged Regan to make the trip. “Look, I know you’re free. You were even written up in last week’s issue of People for solving your big case. I think we should go to Europe and celebrate. Take a couple of weeks off. It will be fun to see the old gang again.”
Originally Regan had planned on going to law school, but sometime during her senior year of college she had finally opted for investigative work. After graduation she had taken a job working for an older detective in Los Angeles who had taken her under his wing. A couple of years ago she had finally struck out on her own. But her career choice worried her parents, Luke and Nora Reilly.
Her father, a funeral director, protested that her good looks couldn’t help but attract “the wrong kind of people.” Her mother, a well-known writer of suspense novels, took full responsibility, adding, “It was all those trials I took you to. I never should have done it.” Regan had reasoned with them, “I have a father who owns three funeral homes and a mother who spins yarns about serial killers. And you want me to get a ’normal’ job?” To their continuing dismay, Regan loved her work.
Decked Page 1
