Heather was lying. I knew it, but I couldn’t figure out what she lied about. It didn’t make sense. I stared at her.
“Okay, I did say something to Twila on the Zodiac.”
“And—” Burton beat me to that one.
She began to play with invisible lint on her turquoise sweater. “I, uh, well, okay, okay, I asked her to get Jon and me back together.”
“What did she say?”
“She only laughed, shook her head, and turned and started to talk to someone else. Jeff, I think, but I can’t remember now. It was something about the pristine blue of the icebergs. Something like that.”
“Twila laughed at you?” I knew that was a lie. “Twila laughed at you?”
“Laughed? Hmm, all right, maybe she didn’t actually laugh, but I heard the mockery in her voice.”
“Mockery?” I asked.
“Go on,” Burton said and frowned at me.
“Twila said I don’t always have a clear picture of reality—as if she knows everything. Okay, so I asked her to get Jon and me back together. Maybe it wasn’t a laugh. Maybe it—maybe she didn’t. I felt like it was a laugh anyway. She said, ‘It’s out of my hands.’ Out of her hands, huh? She made Jon break up with me, and it’s out of her hands?”
“So what did you do?” Burton jumped in again before I could challenge her.
“We were almost at the landing. I waited for Twila. She seemed to be in no hurry and was the last one to get off the Zodiac. As soon as she was ashore, I helped her take off her life jacket. I dropped hers and mine with the others on the shore. ‘Please,’ I whispered to her.
“ ‘If Jon doesn’t want to marry you, that’s his decision.’ Just that and she walked away from me.”
“And—” I said it first this time.
“I joined a group—Shirley and Frank and maybe Thomas—I don’t remember exactly.”
“That was it?”
“I called her a . . . well, let’s just say they were a lot of terrible names. Words I can’t say with a preacher being present and all.”
But you can say them to me, I thought.
She recounted her movements to us for a couple of minutes before she stood up and said, “I think Jon and I are going to get back together. You know, mutual grief and all that.”
“Really?”
“Truly and really,” she said and smiled. “He really does like me after all.”
“Oh?” I asked, but she didn’t respond.
We stared at each other, and she said, “I really have nothing more I want to say, so I think I’ll leave.”
Burton smiled and thanked her for coming.
Once I was sure she was gone, I turned to Burton. “She said one thing that bothered me—”
“The bit about the life jackets?”
“You picked it up too?”
“I felt as if she wanted to give us a coded message,” he said. “I didn’t think it would do any good to ask her.”
“I felt the same way,” I said. “It was as if she threw a grenade at us and wanted to see if it would go off. There was something about the life jacket that she could tell us if—”
“But she won’t.”
“I know.” That was part of her strange personality.
I had so many notes and much confusion going on inside my head. I knew—with that intuitive inner knowing—someone had lied. Maybe more than one.
“Someone knows who killed Twila,” I said, more to myself than to Burton.
Burton looked quizzically at me and said, “Why would someone know and not tell?”
“I don’t know the answer.”
“But I agree with you.” Burton’s fingers drummed the table, and I knew he was trying to sort through everything we had heard. “Yes, someone is lying.”
“One of them is Heather. But why? And about what?”
We decided to take a break for twenty minutes or so. I had a splitting headache. Maybe some of it was grief for Twila. I don’t know. I decided to go back to my cabin for a Tylenol.
I had missed something. What was it? Something kept bothering me that I couldn’t remember. It was some detail—something I had noticed, but I couldn’t place it.
Thirty-One
I walked slowly to my cabin, quite unaware of anything except my headache and trying to figure out what to do next. Somewhere there had to be an answer.
I sneaked into my cabin. And to my delighted surprise, Betty had fallen asleep with a book on her lap. I grabbed the Tylenol bottle and sneaked back out of the room. I walked down the hallway into the dining room where I could get water. I poured myself a glass of water and downed two pills.
“Need anything stronger?”
I turned around and saw that Jon Friesen stood in the doorway.
I smiled. I wondered if he would offer me an illegal drug. I put the small bottle in the pocket of my slacks and started to move past him, but I thought of Heather’s comments.
“By the way, Jon, you came on to me pretty strong.”
“And I hope you’re reconsidering.”
“Why would I do that?”
He leaned closer to me. “Because I like you. I like you a lot.”
“Really?”
“You know I do.” He smiled, and I’d swear he flexed those biceps, but maybe I only imagined it.
“But I understand that you and Heather planned to get married.”
“No quite accurate. Heather planned to get married. I didn’t.”
“You mean you led her on?”
“No, I loved her, I truly did. Or maybe I only thought I did. She’s very, very affectionate.” He smiled, and this time I did see him flex his muscles. “I doubt that she’s as affectionate as you would be—if you really tried.”
I had gone as far down that strange path as I wanted. “But you broke off the relationship, right?”
Jon walked past me, picked up two cups, and poured coffee for himself and for me. I started to decline but thought better of it. I took the cup, and we sat at the first table.
“You want the story? Okay, it goes like this. I did love her—or maybe I only thought I loved her—I’m not sure. But she drove me crazy.”
“In what way?”
“You want a list? That’s easy. To begin with, she phoned me five or six times every day. I finally turned my cell on vibrate. I’d be in the middle of something, and the phone would ring. It would be that schizoid, and she’d say, ‘I’ve been thinking about you. I’ve missed you.’ She’d talk like that when she had called me only an hour earlier.”
“Did you hang up?”
“No. I mean I didn’t for a long time. When she called, she’d tell me how much she loved me and how much brightness I brought into her dark night. You know, heavy-duty gunk like that.”
“And obviously you didn’t like it.”
“It was a burden. She constantly told me she loved me, and she would pout or cry if I didn’t say I loved her.”
“So you broke up?”
“Yeah, and that’s why I’m available.” He put his hand on mine. With my left hand I picked his up and moved it.
“I like the feel of your hand. Soft. Warm. I’ll bet your heart is the same way: soft and warm.”
“So, Jon, you broke up but you still came on the cruise?”
“I thought she would cancel. She said she would. She’d go into all that melodrama about how life had no meaning without me.”
“So that’s why you came? You thought she wouldn’t?”
“That and something else.”
“What?”
“Do you really want to know?” He leaned forward so that our faces were only inches apart.
I didn’t answer; I didn’t blink; I waited.
“I knew you would be on the cruise. I like you—I think I love you—”
I laughed. “I believe you knew I would be on the cruise. I never made that a secret. But you didn’t come because of me.”
“You don’t believe me?”
“Not f
or a fraction of a nanosecond.”
“I’m not good enough for you?”
I didn’t flinch, and I wasn’t going to show him he made me uncomfortable, although he did. “It’s my understanding that you and Heather have gotten back together again.”
“Did she say that?”
“Yes.”
He shrugged. “Okay, that’s true. We’re being discreet, but if you’d open up to me, I’d dump her—”
“Don’t dump her for me.”
I saw his fisted hands and the swollen veins in his neck. “I’m not good enough for you, am I? You think I’m trash because—”
“I’m in love with somebody else.”
He stared at me for a long time before he said, “I thought that was over—you and Burton.”
“Ask him.” I got up and walked out of the room. He had frightened me. I didn’t realize he was so capable of blowing up like that. But bipolars’ emotions can jump from one extreme to another in seconds.
I decided I didn’t want to be alone with Jon.
Thirty-Two
As I hurried from the dining room, I tried to force myself to breathe slowly and deeply. I didn’t accomplish that very well. Just then the ship rocked in the seas, and I had to grab the handrail to walk along the passageway. We were definitely in the Drake Passage.
For several seconds, a tiny spasm of dizziness came over me. I can’t get seasick now. Dear Lord, please don’t let me get seasick.
The dizziness left me, but the lurching of the ship didn’t stop. It seemed to get worse.
Burton was in the theater when I arrived. His head was bent over. He was in such deep concentration that he didn’t hear me come in. When I sat down, I startled him.
“I feel we’re close—so close,” he said, “and yet nothing makes any sense.”
“Close to solving this?” I asked. “You’re a lot more confident than I am.”
“If only we could just get something concrete about the person—probably a man—who walked off with Twila. We know he was wearing his life jacket then. We can only assume he came back alone.”
“Except that no one saw him come back.”
“Surely someone must have,” Burton said. Unconsciously he pushed back that gorgeous lock of dark curls. He smiled, but it was a tired expression.
“Let’s call it a night,” I said.
“It’s not even noon yet,” he said.
I looked at my watch. It was exactly 11:45.
We stood up and faced each other. I know he wanted to kiss me. Okay, I wanted him to kiss me, but I couldn’t. If he took me in his arms, I’d lose my resolve about having him make things right first.
He must have read my face because he said, “I won’t kiss you—not this time.” We walked down the passageway together, then he went up a flight of stairs to his room and I started down one flight to reach mine.
I went into the room, and the ship rocked wildly in the waves. Betty had left the room, and I was glad that I wouldn’t have to mumble answers. I got into bed—still dressed. I pulled my luggage inside the bunk, made my body the shape of a banana, and put books and luggage on both sides of me. I had learned that as a trick when I had gone on a cruise with my late husband, Dana Macie.
I don’t remember going to sleep, so I must have dozed off pretty fast. But I also awakened with a start. I have no idea what awakened me, but I was fully alert. I know myself well enough to realize that when I’m that alert, there is no going back to sleep.
I lay in my banana position for several minutes. I prayed. I honestly prayed for divine guidance. It’s not supposed to be difficult to pray—or at least the books I’ve read seem to say that. But it was for me. Who am I that the God of the universe wants to listen to my petty cries?
I smiled to myself. I had asked Twila that question. She said that was how God’s grace worked. And God cares about every single person. I believed her and I had started to pray—not as much as I knew Burton did. I had decided that I would set aside a few minutes when I first awakened and talk to God. I still planned to but had never felt good enough, despite what Twila had said.
But then—right then—I knew I could pray and that God would hear me. It was almost a giddy experience. God will listen! To me! I talked to God right then. I poured out my concern about finding the killer. I asked God to show me or Burton or both of us what to do.
I had no answer, but I had peace.
I stuck my arm out of the covers and held it toward the light. It was 2:37 p.m. I had slept through lunch. The sea felt even more ferocious than before.
Betty moaned. If she was following the same pattern going across the Drake Passage as she had before, then she had taken two seasick tablets. I suspected she still was feeling somewhat queasy.
Finally, I got out of bed, put my shoes back on, and tiptoed out of the room. I thought perhaps a cup of tea would help. According to my British friends, tea is the cure for everything.
If the trip back was anything like our trip going to Antarctica, we’d have a number of seasick people, including some of those who had taken medication.
I held on to the railings because of the pitch of the ship. Even though I was holding on, a sudden rocking of the ship threw off my center of balance.
Just then I heard a voice. It was a woman’s voice, and she was shouting. I couldn’t make out most of what she yelled, but I heard the word camera several times, as well as the word picture.
The other voice, a man’s, was too low for me to be sure of, but I think I heard the word observant.
A shrill scream filled my ears. Despite the noise of the waves striking the hull of the ship, I heard that scream.
Foolishly, I raced forward and left the handrail.
I reached the top of the stairs, but in my haste, my clasp on the railing wasn’t strong enough. Another wave hit. I lost my balance and pitched forward. I screamed—it just came out. I tumbled all the way down to the bottom of the passageway, perhaps ten or twelve steps.
Once the shock was over, I got up slowly. I had landed on my right arm and right side. I had probably bruised my arm, but nothing was broken. I got up cautiously and moved as quickly as I could to the area where I had heard the voices.
“Listen, Julie,” I said aloud to myself, “just because you heard a few words, don’t go jumping to conclusions.”
“You’re right,” I said. “But still—”
“Still, what?”
“Something about the tone of her voice. She sounded afraid. Maybe almost hysterical—”
“Oh sure, so that means the conversation has relevance to this situation. You think everything that’s spoken by anyone refers to this—”
“Right,” I said and added, “but still . . .”
I kept going. I wasn’t sure where I was going, but I knew the general direction.
Then I saw her.
My initial impression, of course, was that she had fallen. She lay facedown on the carpeted floor. Blood was already beginning to seep from her body. I knew immediately who it was.
Thirty-Three
I recognized Heather’s turquoise sweater and that inky black hair. She had fallen forward. A pool of blood had seeped onto the carpeted floor.
I touched her gently and tried to turn her over. Her eyes fluttered, and she tried to say something, but I couldn’t hear it. Her eyes glazed and all life was gone.
Stab wounds around her neck made my stomach roil.
“Oh, dear God, not another life taken.” As I held her, not knowing what to do, I thought of the two times Burton and I had been involved in murder cases. Both had started with a murder, and there was a second one—someone who had witnessed the killing or who held a vital clue toward solving it.
I hadn’t liked Heather very much, but a wave of sadness came over me and tears filled my eyes. Perhaps I was really mourning for Twila. I know only that I hugged the lifeless body and sobbed.
I was too distraught to be fully aware of what happened during the next few minute
s. Sue Downs came out of her cabin—she later said it was to get more seasick medicine. She saw me holding Heather’s body and screamed.
I calmed her down by talking slowly and softly and told her to go to the navigation bridge and tell the captain. Minutes later, two of the seamen came. They gently lifted Heather’s body, covered her in some kind of tarp, and took her away. A stewardess came and wiped away as much blood as possible and covered the bloodstains with a small rug, which was almost the same color as the carpet. Heather's blood had streaked the front of my clothes.
It’s fuzzy in my mind, but I know that I asked someone who came by—maybe it was Jon or Mickey—to call Burton. He came soon after that. I had been so caught up in the trauma of the situation that my mind had been unable to function properly.
Burton put his arm around my shoulders and led me to the dining room. He sat down next to me. He held my hand. “We’ve been through this kind of thing before,” he said. “People see something, and the killer takes them out of the way.”
Then I remembered what had been lurking in the back of my mind. “I know why she was killed—I mean, I think I do.” Before he asked anything, I said, “There was something tickling the back of my memory. Now—maybe too late—I know what it was.”
I stared at him. “A camera. Heather had one of those tiny digital cameras and snapped pictures all the time.”
“You know, I do remember that.”
He told me to wait, and he ran to her room. Minutes later, he returned. “No camera. Sue is her roommate and she’ll look more carefully, but neither of us found her digital camera. Sue said she never left the cabin without it.” He said he had also checked with the ship’s doctor, who confirmed there was no camera on her person.
It was obvious to both of us what that meant. Heather had seen someone walk away with Twila and had probably photographed them.
“Remember what Shirley said? That’s what bothered me. She referred to the woman who watched them—and who took pictures. That had to have been Heather.”
Everybody Called Her a Saint Page 14
