Norway to Hide

by Maddy Hunter

  “People change, bella. Perhaps he saw the light after he was forced into bankruptcy.” More paper rustling. “Reno O’Brien. Did you know that Reno is another city in the state of Nevada?”

  “Yup. Can you tell me something other than he’s had two wives, built an addition onto his home to display his athletic awards, and was a rookie cop who worked the Boston Strangler case?”

  “Do you know about the drugs?”

  “Reno’s a drug dealer?”

  “A user, purportedly. He attended an international meet in Barcelona, and in an effort to show the world how senior athletes don’t rely on performance-enhancing drugs, the sponsors conducted random drug tests. Unfortunately, Mr. O’Brien failed his. He blamed it on the prescription medication he was taking for a chronic sinus infection, but the organizing committee took it quite seriously and notified the Spanish authorities.”

  “Was he banned from the meet?”

  “Mr. O’Brien wields a great deal of clout because of his impressive athletic history, so he was able to convince the organizing committee of his innocence.”

  “You’re kidding me. They took him at his word and let him off the hook?”

  “It’s not the Olympics, bella. Senior athletes on the amateur circuit aren’t governed by the same laws that regulate Olympic events.”

  “Yeah, but after he failed his test, how could the committee be sure his athletic history was the real thing?”

  “Mr. O’Brien was likewise worried about how the charge would affect his reputation, so his lawyer flew to Barcelona with threats that if this story ever saw the light of day, he would initiate legal action that would keep the sponsors in court for more years than they had left to live.”

  “Wow, strong-arm stuff.” I frowned. “So if this story was supposed to be kept so secret, how did you find out about it?”

  “My third cousin on my father’s side is married to—what is your American expression?—the Big Kahuna at the Barcelona police department. He owed me a favor.”

  “You have a lot of cousins.”

  “The Italian side of the family is very prolific, bella.”

  I kept my eye on the gangway as people streamed onto the ship. “Were you able to find out anything about May Peabody?”

  “Is this woman on your tour, Emily?”

  “No. I’m not even sure there is a May Peabody, but—”

  “She does indeed exist.”

  “No kidding?” Damn, I was good! “Where is she?”

  “In a woman’s federal detention facility in West Virginia.”

  “She’s in prison? Oh, my God. What did she do to land her in—ow!” The Frisbee slammed into my hand like a buzz saw. My fingers numbed. I lost my grip. My cell phone fell to the ground with a sickening thunk.

  I stared in horror, my brain going haywire. Cracked case. Shattered display screen. I fought to remain positive. Maybe it wasn’t as bad as it looked.

  The hikers pounded across the parking lot in their clunky boots, spewing what might have been apologies in a language I couldn’t understand. One of them snatched up my phone and handed it back, leaving shards of plastic and tiny metallic droppings all over the ground.

  As I cupped my beloved phone in my palm, the hiker smiled confidently. “You have five-year protection plan against theft and damage, yes?”

  “I think Etienne was about to tell me something really important. What if the information about May Peabody is the clue we need to break the case?” I was curled up on the convertible sofa bed in our cabin, obsessing over the ruined cell phone in my lap while Jackie scurried between her bed and the closet, unpacking her suitcase.

  “So call him back already.” She dug her mobile phone out of her pocketbook and slapped it into my hand. “Knock yourself out.”

  “Really? You’re a prince, Jack.”

  She flipped her hair behind her head. “Better a prince than a queen.”

  I punched the power button, my excitement quickly dashed. “There’s no signal.”

  “Maybe when we’re closer to land.”

  “You think?” I groaned wearily. “Mom is supposed to call me with the results of her Internet search. What’ll she think if she can’t reach me?”

  “That you’re out of cell tower range?”

  “Her brain doesn’t work like that, Jack. She’ll think the worst.”

  “What’s worse than being out of cell tower range when you absolutely have to talk to someone?”

  “How about being dead? That’s what she’ll think.” I winced. “Poor Dad. She’ll give him an ulcer over this.”

  Jackie shook out a short skirt in a Marimekko print and held it against her waist. “You’re overlooking the upside of being dead, Emily. Dead people don’t have to pay international roaming charges. That’s a tremendous savings. Does this make me look fat?”

  Knockknock, knockknock.

  “Isn’t this cabin somethin’?” asked Nana when Jackie opened the door. She trooped into the room ahead of Tilly and George. “It’s like livin’ in a cracker box without the crackers. But it’s got all the essentials. Vanity. Closets. Potty. Blow dryer.” She stopped to eye Jackie’s new skirt. “Is that one a them Marimekko prints? I was ditherin’ about buyn’ me one in Helsinki, but I was afraid a short skirt like that would make my ankles look thick.”

  “We heard about your cell phone,” George commiserated as he sat down across from me on Jackie’s bed. “You want me to have a look-see? I might be able to patch it back together.”

  I handed him the plastic carcass. He gazed at it.

  “Was a nice thought,” he said before setting it on the narrow shelf that separated the beds.

  “We got more problems than telecommunications,” Nana cautioned as she sat down next to George. “Tilly’s grip has went missin’.”

  “Define missing,” I said.

  “Define grip,” said Jackie.

  “The bus driver removed my suitcase from the luggage bay and set it on the pavement,” Tilly said with conviction. “There’s nothing wrong with my eyesight; I saw him. But it hasn’t been delivered yet. Marion’s was sitting outside our cabin when we returned from lunch, as was everyone else’s, but mine has mysteriously disappeared.”

  “Have you checked the baggage room?” I asked.

  “I checked the baggage room; I told Annika; I reported it to the crewman at reception. They assured me it would probably turn up shortly, but I’m not so sure that someone didn’t take it deliberately.”

  “I bet it was one of the Floridians,” accused Jackie. “They hate us. It’s a trap. Someone is probably waiting for Tilly to go looking for her suitcase, and when she does—wham!” She smacked her fist into her palm. “Adios, muchacha.”

  “But it don’t stand to reason that someone would wanna kill Til’,” puzzled Nana. “Not unless she’s seen somethin’ she don’t know she’s seen, or knows somethin’ she don’t realize she knows.”

  “Duh?” said Jackie. “It’s because she’s the only one with a weapon.”

  “What weapon?” I asked.

  Jackie rolled her eyes. “Her walking stick! You think the perp wants to risk getting clobbered with that thing? No way. He probably figures he’ll take out Tilly, and once she’s gone, the rest of us will be easy to pick off.”

  “Is it possible that her suitcase accidentally got delivered to the wrong cabin?” George inquired.

  “Nothing that simple ever happens to this group,” said Jackie. “Trust me on this. The handwriting is on the wall.”

  I threw my pillow across the room at her. “Cut it out, Jack! You’re scaring people.”

  “I’m not afraid,” Tilly assured us as she settled onto the sofa with me. “I’m quite capable of holding my own against any physical attack. In fact, the thought of confronting a killer isn’t half as frightening as what awaits me on July thirtieth back in Windsor City.”

  “What happens then?” I asked softly.

  “Root canal. I’d rather face death than the
dentist’s drill.”

  “I’d rather face death than talk in front of an audience,” admitted George.

  Jackie sighed dramatically. “I’d rather face death than pee into a cup. It’s so much harder with the new plumbing.”

  Nana regarded her with rapt interest. “You’re very tall, aren’t you, dear?”

  “What cabin are you in?” I asked Tilly. “Maybe I can rattle some cages about your luggage.”

  “Three-sixty-three. The other side of the boat toward the stern. And my suitcase has a bilious green pom-pom attached to the handle.”

  Nana’s face creased with worry. “You really think Til’ could be in danger?”

  “I’m sure Tilly is going to be just fine,” I soothed, “but why don’t you play it safe and stick together when you’re outside your cabin? The buddy system is a great invention.”

  Nana linked fingers with George. “I wish that nice police officer from Saariselka would tell us if the crime lab got any hits off them prints on Gus’s note. I hate not knowin’ nothin’.”

  I jackknifed to attention. “Prepare to be blown away. Are you ready for the latest from Etienne?”

  When I finished relating my recent conversation, I looked around the room for reaction. “Well?”

  “My compliments to your Inspector Miceli,” said Tilly. “This casts an entirely new light on the situation.” Her voice grew steely. “There is a guest on this tour who would rather commit murder than have his secret revealed.”

  “You s’pose Gus mighta found out about Reno’s alleged drug use when he was researchin’ the article he done on him?” asked Nana. “Seems nothin’ stays a secret forever. One a his old newspaper buddies mighta leaked somethin’ to him. If Etienne found out, other folks mighta been able to find out, too.”

  George scratched his head. “What pushed Reno over the edge? He and Gus were friends, unless they had a big falling out.”

  “I can’t get past the friend part either,” I said. “I saw Gus and Reno arguing outside the Sami lodge, but friends don’t kill friends. At least not on a regular basis.”

  “I’ll tell you why Reno whacked him,” offered Jackie. “He discovered that Gus was doing a big exposé on performance-enhancing drugs in senior athletics and was planning to out Reno, so—bam! Reno offed him before he could squeal.”

  Nana looked confused. “Is Reno gay?”

  “Hold on, Jack,” I challenged. “Gus was retired. He wasn’t writing Pulitzer Prize–winning exposés anymore.”

  Jackie rolled her eyes. “He was a writer, Emily. Writers don’t write because we want to; we write because we have to. He probably felt as if he was fading into oblivion in the Hamlets, so he might have been tinkering with groundbreaking material that would open people’s eyes and get him noticed. He was a huge celebrity once. Don’t tell me he wouldn’t sell out his own mother to be a celebrity again. The taste always stays in your mouth. Take me, for example. How could I ever go from being Jackie Thum, bestselling author, to Jackie Thum, Tom’s wife again? I mean, it’s unthinkable.”

  “I would warn you against putting all your eggs in one basket,” said Tilly. “What about Curtis? Can you imagine the consequences he’d suffer if his religious community found out about his checkered past? Neither he nor Lauretta would ever be able to show their face again. The long term effect could be tragic.”

  “Might not be too long term seein’s how the world’s s’posed to end,” offered Nana.

  “You think Gus ran into that story on Curtis when he was researching his exposé?” asked George.

  “I have a problem with Curtis being the killer,” said Jackie. “He knows if he kills someone, he’s going straight down, so there’s no way he’s going to whack anyone.”

  “Maybe he’s not really religious,” suggested George. “Maybe he puts on a front to disguise the Curtis who enjoys drinking, gambling, and fraternizing with exotic dancers. Works for some of those popular televangelists.”

  “Them women dance?” asked Nana. “I bet it’s part a their diet program. Dancin’ probably burns more calories than just standin’ around naked.”

  “What about Jimbob and Joleen?” I piped up. “Should I delete them from our list of suspects?”

  “Because they’re rich?” asked Jackie.

  “Because they’re philanthropists,” I shot back. “Philanthropists are driven by a need to help people, not kill them.”

  Jackie arched an eyebrow. “They’re into helping children. They might not give a damn about what happens to adults.”

  “We could vote on it,” suggested Nana, “but if Osmond ever finds out, it wasn’t my idea.”

  Tilly thumped her walking stick on the floor for attention. “Aren’t we forgetting something?”

  “Ballots?” asked George.

  Tilly regarded us patiently. “We have theories why Reno and Curtis might want Gus dead, but what about Portia? How does she fit into the picture? Was she killed for the same reasons Gus was killed?”

  “Gus might have shared his bombshells with her,” I postulated. “She was at the newspaper office all the time, so they were practically connected at the hip. But on the other hand, Gus didn’t really like her, so I’m not sure that theory is valid.”

  “She mighta found out on her own, if she was given to snoopin’,” said Nana. “Could be that Gus killed Portia for sticking her nose into his business, then one a them other fellas killed Gus for different reasons.”

  “Two killers?” I choked.

  “Wouldn’t that be somethin’?” said Nana. “It don’t get much worse than that.”

  “What was Inspector Miceli able to dig up on Gus and Portia?” Tilly asked me. “Did they have personal secrets they were trying to hide?”

  Prickly heat shot up my throat. “Gus and Portia?”

  “You did ask your young man to investigate the two victims, didn’t you?”

  Uh-oh. I lowered my voice to an embarrassed whisper. “No?”

  “Emily!” Jackie chided.

  “Hey, I wasn’t focused on the murder victims. I was focused on the suspects who might have murdered the victims.”

  “No harm done.” Tilly waved off my omission. “Perhaps you could call him back and ask for further assistance.”

  Nana leaned forward to inspect the directory that hung from the cabin’s wall phone. “She’s not gonna do it from this phone. It don’t do outside calls.”

  “She can use mine when we reach our first port,” offered Jackie. “Does anyone know when that’ll be?”

  George pulled a schedule from his shirt pocket. “We arrive in Vardo at sixteen hundred hours, and we’ll be there for an hour.”

  “How can I do any meaningful shopping in an hour?” Jackie fussed.

  I checked my watch. “Good. We have plenty of time to eat lunch now and check out the situation with Tilly’s luggage. I’ll keep you posted if anything new pops up.”

  “I wanna know more about that May Peabody person,” said Nana. “You think she done someone in? I bet that’s why she’s in the Big House. Could be them three girls got bad genes. Maybe killin’ runs in the family.”

  I held my head, thinking it was about to explode. “No more theories! I’ll talk to Etienne and then maybe we’ll be able to sort things out.”

  “I’d like something sorted out,” Jackie sniped. “How did I end up giving a free book to Joleen and Jimbob? If they’re so rich, they could have bought their own. Freeloaders.”

  CHAPTER 13

  The common areas of the MS Nordmarken gleamed with polished brass fittings, lustrous wood detail, nautically themed wall murals and paintings, and windows whose exteriors wore streaky coats of salt spray. A long arcade of swivel chairs and glass-topped tables lined the entrance to the dining area, allowing passengers to enjoy quiet views of the Arctic Ocean while sipping lattes from the nearby café. The dining salon was nestled into the stern and set up with a central food island that rivaled Blimpie’s once-a-year-only Easter buffet—hot food, cold
food, mouthwatering desserts. Tables with white linens and flowery centerpieces flanked the central island, and because of the off hour they were mostly unoccupied, so Jackie and I had the whole place to ourselves.

  I couldn’t figure out what a lot of the cold food was, and I wasn’t turned on by the hot entrees, so I filled my plate with slices of aged blue cheese, crackers, smoked salmon, shrimp cocktail, and olives, and rounded out my selections with chocolate cake, a brownie, chocolate mousse, whipped cream, and a whole bowl of maraschino cherries. Protein. Dairy. Fish. Fruit. Looked like most of the essential food groups to me!

  Halfway through our meal, an announcement blared throughout the ship, summoning all passengers to the panoramic lounge on deck seven for a mandatory couriers meeting. At least, that’s what I thought it said. The message was repeated in a multitude of languages, none of which sounded like English, so it was anyone’s guess.

  We scarfed down the rest of our meal and climbed the forward staircase to the plush viewing salon on the top deck. After hooking up with the rest of the group, we were introduced to the Nordmarken’s captain and crew, and given instructions about what to do should our ship capsize in the frigid waters of the Arctic Ocean, complete with a demonstration of how to crawl into a one-size-fits-all survival suit. When the formal meeting ended, Annika announced that she’d set up a schedule board by the information desk on the dining deck, and that we should consult it several times daily to keep abreast of activities, meetings, and port walks.

  “Just so you know,” Jackie confided when Annika cut us loose, “if the ship goes down, I’m not jumping into blaze orange Doctor Dentons; just let me drown. The literary paparazzi could be everywhere. Can you imagine how appalled Hightower would be if I appeared on the front page of The National Enquirer dressed like a giant carrot?”

  “Literary paparazzi?” I questioned.

  “I’m sure they’re out there,” she assured me as we followed the crowd down the stairs to the lower deck. “They just haven’t found me yet.”