This novel is a work of fiction. Names, characters, locations and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or used facetiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales or real persons, either living or dead, is entirely coincidental and unintended.
All printing and publishing rights are strictly reserved by the author. No part of this publication can be reproduced or transmitted in any form, electronic or mechanical, without the expressed written and signed permission of the author, David P. Remy.
Copyright 2013 by David P. Remy
ISBN: 9781483505404
BOOKS BY DAVID P. REMY
IN LOVING PURSUIT
THE LUCKY & LED CRUISE SHIP MYSTERY SERIES
CRUISE TO MAYHEM
CRUISE TO HELL
CRUISE TO PANDORA
CRUISE TO YULETIDE
CRUISE TO CRITIQUE
TABLE OF CONTENTS
PERSONAL NOTES
DEDICATION
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
CHAPTER NINETEEN
AUTHOR’S BIO
PERSONAL NOTES
I present CRUISE TO CRITIQUE to my readers with a great sense of satisfaction. This fifth novel in the LUCKY & LED CRUISE SHIP MYSTERY series is the literary fulfillment of my original hope. When I first came up with the concept of a cruise ship mystery novel and created my two principal characters, Father Lucky Harris and Led Daley, I hoped that I would be able to write five novels in the series.
A goal can be a two edged sword: it motivates one to achieve the set goal, but it also offers a deflating pause to one's drive to continue on with the project once the goal is achieved. I feel that deflation and hope that it is only a momentary one. I have several cruises coming up yet this year and suspect that a new and creative idea for another Lucky & Led adventure will overcome my temporary ennui; all will be revealed in the fullness of time.
I sincerely desire to express my deepest appreciation to a former student and now, a good friend, Kathy (Dowd) Ulrich, for her superb proofing of this latest novel. She expertly pointed out several areas where the story required a re-write to insure continuity. The storyline does get somewhat convoluted, as you will soon discover. CRUISE TO CRITIQUE is now a much more polished work due in large part to her professional influence and encouragement. Thanks, Kathy!
LOVING DEDICATION
TO MY ONE AND ONLY SISTER
PAT
PATRICIA ANN (REMY) KOLLMAN
DECEMBER 10, 1936-JUNE 19, 2013
'TILL WE MERRILY MEET IN HEAVEN
CHAPTER ONE
“Was it good for you?” Marsha laid her head back onto the soiled, flattened pillow manifesting that telltale, singular facial side effect, glow accompanying the culmination of the primal deed. The effectiveness of the Air Wick plug-in scented with a violet bouquet was failing miserably to mask the musky odor infecting the dingy nine by twelve room. The gloomy, murky hideaway was now even more inundated with the additional scent of the squalid quarter’s most recent inhabitants.
A long sigh, deflating the muscular tension that love making so inexorably brings escaped with gusto by the male participant. “Yeah, you were fantastic, Ms. Marsha Stewart! I didn’t expect a few of those moves. You must have majored in the Kama Sutra during your college weekends.” Randy’s lungs exhumed a cloud of carcinogenic smog from the freshly lit Jamaican Mary Jane, a modern variation of the traditional victory brand of cigarette following a successful coital romp.
“Being a little formal, aren’t we? ‘Ms. Marsha Stewart’ indeed. I just thought what happened between us might at least qualify me for admission into the friends with benefits category: first names being exchanged at the very least.” Marsha took a deep drag on the smoke Randy offered her.
Hmm, “I’m hoping for more of these kind of ‘casual’ benefits, Marsha. Lucky for us that my old pal Jiggers the bartender had his private room available for this special occasion. Nothing like an intimate moment after dinner.”
“Well, I have to admit, it undoubtedly exceeded my expectations for the evening. It certainly proved far better than the dessert offered on the menu...deep fat fried pomegranate wedges. Anyway, Mr. Dessert, how did you know that this room existed? I bet you use this place for all your trysts following the intoxicating charm you demonstrate during dinner.”
“But, au contraire, my Sweet. You are a very special person; a one of a kind in my book.”
“Awe, I bet you say that to all the girls.” Marsha playfully poked Randy in the ribs causing a long ash from his cigarette to fall onto the crumpled sheets.
The next few moments, filled with only silence, indicated the “special moment” had passed into history. Almost in unison, Marsha and Randy slid over to their respective edges of the bed. Marsha reached down to begin retrieving her undergarments as Randy took a quick side glance toward the room’s ventilation grill. His peripheral vision caught sight of a dull red light barely visible shining inside the air shaft indicating that the camera was functioning in perfect form.
About fully clothed once again, the couple embraced. Randy made a directorial decision to ensure that Marsha’s face was pointed toward the focused eye of the hidden camera. “So, Ms. Marsha Stewart, I think this will be the beginning of a very profitable relationship.” Randy placed his hand under Marsha's chin and gently rotated her face side to side for the sake of the unerring recording camera. Unbeknownst to Marsha, she had just presented her profile to the proverbial Mr. DeMille. Jiggers’ little room had served its preordained purpose to the tee.
Profitable? Did she hear the word correctly? A rather odd adjective to use in this context, grabbing Marsha’s curiosity. Did Randy think that she was in it for the money...maybe like a part time weekend hooker? Or, did he mean it would be profitable for him? Well, she would just see about that. As she brushed through her dirty blond auburn hair, Marsha’s mind danced around the present circumstances faster than a couple of Argentine tango artistes.
“Here’s the one we want! And it has eight hundred and forty-seven reviews. Perfecto mundo!”
“Geez, that’s a lot of reviews. Like, when was it? A couple of years ago?”
“Ah, let’s see...a week and a half ago. Not sure what the latest reviews might be, though, since these are way outdated; no new entries in the last twenty four hours. How bout we call Saucy Sancho’s and have them bring over some extra large pepperoni pizzas and stay up all night having a cruise review pajama party?”
“Cool! Have them put anchovies on mine. Hey, what type of a cruise was it, anyway? With that number of reviews, it sounds like it could have been one of those grand around the world exotic trips for the filthy rich and not so secret infamous.”
“Around the world? Reviews for a round something, alright, but it’s a round trip weekend cruise from Miami to Grand Cayman, with a stop in the Bahamas and back again. Says here, ‘Spend three glorious days and two spellbinding nights of unexcelled excitement aboard the RDC’s luxurious Caribbean Star.’ Doesn’t come off with way too much over the top hype, you think?”
Yolanda and Marsha, often
mistaken for sisters as they looked and sounded like sisters, kept chattering away, with giggles of excitement thrown in for good measure furnishing supportive sound effects. The two twenty-somethings had decided to take the plunge and go on their first cruise ever; albeit, a short one. They worked together at the Dade Professional Temp Agency, a mid size company specializing in hiring persons with a technical degree for investigative research grant work concentrated in the IT field. The most demanding requirement included a criminal background check. The hires had to be discreet, respecting confidentiality since they would be working with proprietary technology and pending patents.
Yolanda Reiff held the position of agency secretary, AKA, phone answerer, waste basket emptier, with the highest priority placed on being chief coffee maker; she was also the retainer of the largest set of keys in all of Dade County. The horde of keys, she proudly and frequently explained, existed because she was responsible for opening any and all doors in the entire office complex, including the closet where the treasured bags of coffee beans were stashed. Her purse, which fell to her waist, attached by a long over the shoulder leather strap, weighed in at a solid twelve pounds. Yolanda, with her little less than Marsha’s dirty blond auburn hair flying in the breeze, was fond of slinging the purse back and forth from one shoulder to the other on her way to work calling it the major portion of her five days a week workout program.
Her younger by a year, but much more worldly wise work mate, Marsha Stewart, managed the intake interview by taking down all the pertinent information gleaned from the professional aspirants who showed up and eagerly made out the application. They most often tended to be newly minted grads from a local Dade county community or state college. Typically, they were struggling on the dole, out-of-work bookworms and lab nerds.
Marsha finished her task by professionally filing said completed interviews. On occasion, she might sub as Yolanda’s backup for making the coffee when the phone answerer got too tied up with the calls from their aspiring aspirants. She also got saddled with bringing in a dozen of glazed donuts from Your Momma’s Donut shop located down the street approximately one block from the agency. This was her one and only instance of naive behavior. Beneath the down home demeanor, Marsha possessed a rather devious penchant to her nature.
“Do you think Randy could get us a good deal on a weekend package? Like a junior suite with a balcony? I really don’t want to throw away too much money for a weekend.” Yolanda needed to pinch pennies since pennies were all she had to pinch together after she shelled out for her monthly bills.
“I can try. I only met him last month when he interviewed for that computer statistics study,” Marsha offhandedly remarked.
“So, how did he end up with the travel agent job if he was applying for an IT position?”
“Oh, he got the position. But, didn’t seem to be his cup of gin, so to speak. Left after a few weeks. When I called him for a follow up with the job satisfaction survey, he simply said he had already found another job. That’s when he invited me for a tour of his new office at the travel agency coupled with dinner at the Big Apple Martini bar that night. How could I refuse? He’s cute and has big biceps. I always was a pushover for the body builder type ever since my high school football Cheerleading days. We horny cheerleaders would hide in the locker room after the games and gawk at the almost naked bodies.”
“Right, I bet you needed to sneak in. Yeah, and you are so correct. I never noticed you falling for any of the intellectual library types since you never darkened the doors of the library,” Yolanda sneered while she perused the cruise critiques.
“Yeah, I was always a sucker for the swagger that type of guy had. Anyway, what’s the bad with liking muscles? They're definitely easier on the eyes. Who cares about a gray mushy brain? Know what I’m saying?” Marsha chuckled as she turned the page of the ET magazine filled with the latest stars’ gossip that she addictively gobbled up. She had quickly lost interest in the overly involved cruise reviews.
“Wow, Kiddo, looky here; it says that there’s a Dario Argento horror movie marathon on TV tonight, you know the famous Italian movie maker? His movies are so creepy.”
“Ah, no horror movies tonight; we got our own horrific amount of work with pouring over these cruise reviews sitting right here scaring us enough already. So, as we were discussing, it wouldn’t hurt for you to call Randy and see what he has to offer us.”
“Oh, honey, I know what he has to offer, at least to me, believe it, Girlfriend.”
“Stop. I’m serious. We need to get this cruise put together, Girl,” Yolanda barked back.
“I am still confused why Randy quit that IT job. It was one of the better offerings that DPTA had to offer. When I asked him about it, all he’d say was that it got very involved and began to encroach on his private life. Like what would be so important about his private life. I had the impression that he didn’t even have a life except for building those muscles.”
The doorbell rang and the Saucy Sancho delivery boy presented two giant pepperoni pizza pies, one laced with anchovies. Yolanda, with gratitude, presented him with an equally giant tip; the pizzas were hot... and so was he! Hey, she didn’t miss the obvious qualities of the male anatomy, either. And, there was always another night when she would be home alone and might need a pizza delivered..hot. She was sorely tempted to inquire what nights this delicious delivery boy worked.
No need for complicated or intricate prior planning when it came to Father Lucky’s cruise arrangements. Lora Galvin, the clergy scheduler from Royal Danish Cruise Line’s headquarters in Miami, took care of those. Beyond Lucky’s purview, Lora was contemplating a name change...or not. She and her immediate supervisor had reached a personal agreement on a recent holiday cruise to legalize their relationship and make it husband and wife. No date was set, yet, but the majority of her mental machinations were taken up with the highly probable fated event.
Lora placed a rush phone call to Lucky. She had been arguing with a newspaper cruise reviewer about the availability of a chaplain aboard the Miami-Bahamas’ three day, two night weekend cruise. The reviewer insisted that since there was a Sunday in the schedule, she would find fault if there wasn’t a religious service offered on board. After all, she reminded Lora, most of the other cruise lines offered a chaplain on a regular basis.
“I’m not in the mood to argue with this newspaper woman,” Lora spoke into the phone to Lucky. She knew she could depend on Father Lucky Harris being available on short notice since he was retired and had informally pledged his services to RDC whenever Lora called. “I don’t put clergy on our ships for shorter runs, as a rule. She’s being such a pain and I don’t want a cruel critique appearing in her column. She is a young, up n’ coming reviewer; trying to make her mark. They tell me that she’s an immensely popular reviewer followed by a large contingent of the local Miami cruise community.”
“It’s your lucky day, Lora, no pun intended; checking with my social secretary, she informs me that there is no problem here with my schedule. I have a few weekend assignments to fulfill, but the particular weekend in question is open. I guess the Lord provides,” he added with a mini clerical type mumble.
“I know that you usually prefer the longer cruises, but I really appreciate you’re helping me out on this one. Hey, there will be two super port calls: Nassau in the Bahamas and George Town, Grand Cayman. The snorkeling is terrific in Grand Cayman. So, that’s it; I’ll confirm you on the Caribbean Star for that weekend. Will you be bringing anyone else along?”
“I haven’t spoken to him, but why don’t you put down Led Daley’s name. He’d kill me if he thought that he missed a weekend of sun and fun with all those luscious women on the ship...and the snorkeling. If he can’t get away, I’ll let you know immediately.”
“OK, perfect; that works. So, I’ll send you the emails later this afternoon. Have a great weekend. Oh, by the way, though there won’t be much time, would you ask Led if he could please make an exception and not
get himself embroiled in some kind of mayhem this time? Remember, the reviewer will be aboard.” Lucky was about to respond in defense of his young traveling companion until he heard Lora giggling.
Just teasing, Father Lucky.” She hung up the phone. Lora had been scheduling Lucky for a good many years; in her email traffic with the various ship cruise directors, she never missed much of the shipboard scuttlebutt.
CHAPTER TWO
Samantha Simmons looked upon herself as a struggling ingénue in the newspaper business. Graduating from the University of Florida’s School of Journalism in Gainesville, she ventured further into south Florida in pursuit of the proverbial pot of gold with her name inscribed on it; well, in less dramatic form, she really needed to find her employment...bread and butter. Samantha decided to take a chance with an established type of mass communication albeit a dying one...the hard print newspaper business.
Full menu daily newsprint papers were fast going out of style in light of the preponderance of the internet news services. Miami offered an opportunity, with its gigantic cruise ship presence, to offer a niche for a classy travel publication. The Deco Beech Weekly was able to publish a weekly neighborhood style rag, freely distributed outside restaurants and strip malls, supported by loads of local advertising. Aptly named, the ambiance of the publication harmonized with the architectural style witnessed on the facades of the dozens of art Deco hotels and restaurants which lined the current touristy South Beach section of greater Miami.
Samantha’s editor had recently transferred her out from the F & P section, read Flower and Pet, and promoted her into the T & L section, as in Travel and Leisure. She instantly demonstrated a natural flare for her new subject matter. The column from its inception began receiving an impressive positive reader response and, more to what an editor drools over, kudos from the paper’s advertisers, as those readily equate to the dollars which keep the budget afloat. As Samantha’s editor constantly reminded her: You can get gossip that rivals the best daily newspaper from any guy on the street, free of charge; our humble weekly edition happens to be a business that relies on paid advertising; therefore, keep the advertisers happy, whatever it takes.
Cruise to Critique (Lucky & Led Cruise Ship Mystery Series Book 5) Page 1
