by Maddy Hunter
Pausing on deck six to let the crowd thin out, I glanced down a long, wide passageway with cabins on either side, wondering if any of the Florida group had paid to upgrade to the larger rooms on a higher deck.
“MESDAMES ET MESSIEURS…” I practically leaped into Jackie’s arms as a woman’s voice exploded from the speaker system with another multilanguage message.
“Jeez!” Jackie clapped her hands over her ears. “Did Norway export all its volume control buttons?”
When the woman hit a language that sounded vaguely familiar, we learned we were nearing the port of Vardo and should prepare for disembarkation through the gangway on deck three.
“Are we going ashore?” Jackie tittered. “We can look for a cyber café and check my numbers on Amazon.”
“I’d better start searching for the suitcase with the bilious green ribbon tied to the handle. Maybe there’s another baggage room somewhere.”
“I thought we were supposed to stick together.”
She’d actually listened to me? “That would be great, Jack! To be honest, I could use your help.”
She gave me a long-suffering look. “I meant stick together while we look for a cyber café.”
“Oh.”
“How about this? You look for Tilly’s suitcase, I’ll look for computer access, and when I get back I’ll attach myself to you so permanently, they’ll need the Jaws of Life to pry us apart!”
I forced a smile. “Sounds delightful.”
She handed me her phone. “I hope you can get a signal. Stand outside when you try. All the metal in the ship could be causing interference. Don’t miss me too much!”
“Remember that we’re only going to be here for an hour,” I called after her. “If you’re not back on time, the ship won’t wait for you!”
She flashed me a thumbs-up before disappearing down the stairs. She was really on her own in Vardo, because the rest of my group had announced at our meeting that none of them were going ashore. Nana had spoken for everyone. “We’d be cuttin’ it too close. An hour only gives us enough time to walk down the gangplank, turn around, and walk back again. That’s way too much pressure.”
I tried to think positive thoughts about Jackie’s onshore adventure, but I couldn’t suppress a niggling fear that something dreadful was going to happen to her, the least of which was plummeting Amazon numbers.
Pushing my fears aside, I explored passenger deck six from stem to stern, finding no suitcases still sitting outside cabin doors, or any secret baggage rooms. I did find two Jacuzzis on the narrow aft deck, but I didn’t think guests would be lining up to use them. They were stuck into dark corners and covered with tarps, so they weren’t very inviting.
Working against the clock, I thoroughly examined the dining and gangway decks, rechecked the baggage room, then searched the two passageways on deck two, which felt a little like the bilge. It was darker down here. Danker. I found nothing resembling Tilly’s suitcase in the fitness room or sauna, and when I opened a reinforced steel door at the end of the passageway, I was hit in the face with a blast of diesel fumes and deafened by the revving motors of vehicles, which streamed through the open cargo door. Car deck. Oops. Forcing the door shut, I climbed back up to level five and exited onto the promenade deck, with its Astroturf carpeting.
Vardo sat at the foot of low, green mountains—a sprawling town of two-story blue, red, mustard, and white houses that were exact replicas of the Marshall Plan houses we’d seen in Kirkenes. Tires hung from the quay like hubcabs on a gas station wall. Gulls screeched overhead, dive-bombing at boats laden with heavy nets and orange buoys. Warehouses with peeling paint jutted into the harbor, looking crooked and fatigued. As I stood at the rail, watching the managed chaos of passengers, forklifts, and cars vying for space on the asphalt quay, my nose twitched involuntarily.
Fish. The smell was overpowering—not because it smelled bad but because it was so alien. The only place you can smell fish in Iowa is at a Red Lobster.
Retreating to a quiet section of the deck, I dug Jackie’s phone out of my shoulder bag and powered it up, thrilled when I got a signal. I punched in Etienne’s home number.
“This is Miceli,” he said in his sexy French/German/Italian accent. “Please leave a short message. I’ll return your call as quickly as possible.”
I waited for the beep. “This is Emily. Please get back to me. I have to know why May Peabody is in jail. It’s really important. I also need to beg another favor, which includes another Internet search, so if you could call me back at—”
Shoot! I didn’t know Jack’s cell phone number. I rotated the unit in search of a cheat sheet or label, but no such luck. Damn.
“Okay, here’s the thing. I didn’t expect to be talking to your machine, so I didn’t think to get the number. So I’ll have to call you back. Unless—Wait a sec. If you’re not at home, you’re out. Don’t move! I’ll try your cell.” I punched in another number.
“This is Miceli,” said his voice mail. “Leave a message and I’ll get back to you.”
“Nuts! Where are you? I’m using Jackie’s phone, so would you call me back at the number that popped up on your screen…whatever it is? And let me know what you found out about airplane flights. We’re in Vardo now, but I’m not sure we’re going to be in any port long enough for you to catch up to us. I’ll hope for the best. Love you.”
I tried Mom next, relieved when she picked up. “What a coincidence, Em. I just tried calling you, but all I got was nothing.”
“My phone died. Literally. It’s in a thousand pieces. I hope you didn’t jump to conclusions and think I was dead or anything.”
“I thought you were probably out of cell phone range.”
I frowned. “You didn’t think the worst?”
“What’s worse than being out of cell phone range when you really have to talk to someone?”
Oh, my God. Mom and Jack were on the same wavelength. The world really was going to end.
“I finished researching the names you gave me, Em. Are you ready for the results?”
“Fire away.”
“Lauretta Klick’s legal residence is a retirement community in Florida called the Hamlets. She’s married to Curtis Klick—isn’t that a cute name? I love the alliteration. And they bought one of the first homes constructed in Phase One. They’ve been there so long, I guess you could almost call them the project’s founding fathers. Lauretta’s maiden name was Hauck. I had a hard time finding that out, but I finally hit pay dirt.”
“Special website?”
A pause. “I’d better not say. That way, if the Feds arrest you, you’ll be able to pass the polygraph test. She and Curtis were married in Las Vegas about a century ago, and she worked for years as a dance instructor for Arthur Murray Studios. Just like Grace Stolee! Wouldn’t that be something if they knew each other, Emily? When Arthur Murray was popular, I think they held big conventions for all the instructors.”
Lauretta had met Curtis in Las Vegas. Had she married him knowing about his past? Was it her influence that had helped him find religion? Would she kill him if she discovered that he’d committed murder to ensure that his former life remained a secret? “Anything else on Lauretta?”
“She was a real maverick. When other women were working as telephone operators, dime store clerks, and waitresses, she was a professional, even before she got married.”
“What did she do?”
“I think she made eyeglasses. The company where she worked was called Visions. Do you suppose that’s the founding company that became Pearl Vision?”
Oh. My. God. Lauretta had been one of Curtis’s exotic dancers? You’ve got to be kidding me!
“That’s all I have on her. She’s pretty different from your Peabody sisters, who are a couple of social butterflies. I found a lot of old newspaper articles that went on and on about the parties they attended and where they were wintering. And the society pages were filled with gossip about their string of broken engagements. It wa
s almost as if the two of them were competing to see how many former fiancés they could rack up.”
Gee, what a surprise.
“The family owned mortuaries across the country, but when the father died, the girls closed up shop in every state and moved to Florida. I can’t figure out why they didn’t sell out to someone who wanted to maintain the company under the family name. Peabody was apparently the brand name in burial services. Why would the girls turn up their noses at preserving their father’s legacy?”
Why indeed? “Did you run across any mention of another sister?”
“Yes, I did! Mr. Peabody’s obituary listed a daughter named May, but I never saw her name on any of the society pages. Isn’t that odd? It was almost as if she didn’t exist. How could two sisters attract so much publicity, and one attract none at all?”
“Maybe she was shy,” I suggested. And serving time.
“Would you like me to see what else I can find out about her, Emily? I was only concentrating on April and June before.”
“Could you? And would you check out Portia Van Cleef and August Manning while you’re at it?” I gave her a brief rundown on each of them. “Do you have time?”
“Of course I have time.” She repeated the names and wrote them down. “My whole day is open, except for driving to Ames to meet with the caterer, sampling food for the reception, writing up your wedding program, delivering it to the printer in Des Moines, picking out new invitations, and meeting with Rabbi Karp to discuss how we can pack a few more guests into the synagogue. A day doesn’t get more quiet than this.”
I waited a beat. “You have to drive all the way to Des Moines to find a printer? You can’t find one closer to home? Like in Ames?”
“I’m going to spread the services around this time, Em. Just a precaution. You never know when another tornado is going to hit.”
I massaged a sudden sharp pain between my eyes. “What did you find out about Vern?”
“The military can be so aggravating, Emily. They put up so many fire walls to protect their records.”
“So you couldn’t find anything?”
“Shoot, fire walls don’t faze me. What would you like to know?”
“I’m not really sure. I know he’s a retired general with bad knees who enjoys playing Scrabble. Did you read any profiles that gave more insight into his personal life?”
“I know he has awards up the ying-yang.”
“For his military service?”
“For the cha-cha. He apparently owned that dance when he was younger.”
“You’re kidding me. Vern was a dancer? It must have been a really long time ago, because he can hardly walk anymore.”
“That’s so sad. If he was in better shape, you could probably hold a dance competition. Isn’t it funny how so many people in your tour group have ties to ballroom dance? Grundy, Lauretta Klick, Grace Stolee.”
I wasn’t sure it was funny, but I thought it might be significant in some unfathomable way.
“He’s also a skilled equestrian, kayaker, cyclist, and ping pong player. Isn’t it nice that the military makes sure its officers can be all that they can be?”
A long tone blared above me like an angry foghorn.
“Jesus, Mary, and Joseph,” cried Mom.
“Sorry! Ship’s whistle. Probably a warning blast to tell us we’re about to leave.” I looked over the rail to see passengers hotfooting it toward the gangplank and men in orange vests standing by to cast off the lines.
“You run along then, Em. I don’t want you to miss the boat. I’ll call you after I look into these new names.”
“You can’t call me. Remember? I’ll have to call you. Thanks, Mom.”
The activity in the dock area grew more frenetic. Quick hugs. Quick good-byes. A man in a tie-dyed T-shirt racing down the street toward us, waving his arms and shouting. A final blast of the ship’s whistle. A rush up the gangplank. Lines being cast off. The whine of the gangplank as it creaked upward. The man in the T-shirt pelting across the pavement and windmilling his arms on the edge of the quay as we pulled away.
“Halten sie an!” he yelled, shaking his clenched fist at us. He stomped his foot and kicked a nearby pylon, then turned around to yell at the bystanders.
Tardiness? Yelling? I didn’t know where the guy was from, but I knew it wasn’t Iowa.
As we nosed into the harbor, I cast a nervous glance back at Vardo. The captain hadn’t been kidding when he’d said if we weren’t back in time, he’d leave without us.
I hoped Jackie had made it back in time.
When I climbed back down to the dining deck, I ran headlong into a throng of familiar guests, who were gathered in a noisy circle.
“Lay one finger on her and you’re a dead man!” barked George.
“Get the hell out of the way,” warned Reno. “Can’t you see he’s hurt?”
“Act not in anger,” cried Lauretta. “Turn the other cheek.”
“Make way!” yelled Margi. “I’m a nurse.”
“Hey!” I shouted above the din. “What’s going on?”
“She started it,” accused April.
“Did not,” said Bernice.
“Did so.”
“Bite me.”
“This is Vern Grundy,” Dick Teig said into his camcorder. “He’s flat on his back ’cause he just got the crap kicked out of him.”
What?
I pushed my way to the center of the crowd to find Vern staring dazedly at the ceiling. “What happened?” I cried, dropping to my knees beside him.
A dozen sets of eyes riveted on Nana. I stared at her in disbelief. “You did this?”
She nodded sheepishly.
“Why?”
“’Cause he was lookin’ at Tilly funny. I didn’t wanna take no chances.”
CHAPTER 14
“I have assurances from Mrs. Sippel that this will never happen again.” Annika had gathered us into the Fembfiringen Bar for an embarkation meeting that began as a lecture about how we should conduct ourselves aboard ship. “Isn’t that right, Mrs. Sippel?”
“You bet,” said Nana.
Tucked between the conference room and the library, the bar was a cozy salon with overstuffed chairs and sofas arranged in intimate groupings around small pedestal tables. At least, that was the idea. By the time everyone had finished rearranging the furniture, we were a room divided, with Iowans on one side and Floridians on the other. Kinda the nautical version of the War Between the States.
“How did Marion do it?” asked Joleen Barnum, who had staked out a neutral chair between warring factions. “She really decked Vern, and she’s a foot and a half shorter.”
“She did not deck me,” growled Vern. “I stubbed my toe on the carpet and my knees gave out.”
Nana leaned toward me and whispered out of the corner of her mouth, “I decked him.”
“Spinning roundhouse kick?” I whispered back.
“Flyin’ drop kick.”
“They teach drop kicks in beginners’ Tae Kwon Do?”
“I’m not a beginner no more, dear. I graduated to intermediate. My instructor says I’m a geriatric wonder.”
April Peabody waved her hand lazily at Annika. “Some of us have been talking, and we think you should throw Mrs. Sippel into the brig.”
“Over my dead body!” threatened George.
“If Marion goes, I go,” Tilly spoke up.
“Me too,” said Margi. “I can monitor blood pressure for the folks who are claustrophobic.”
“I’m not committing to anything until I find out if this place has en suite toilet facilities,” said Bernice.
“If you don’t throw that woman in the brig this minute,” April warned Annika, “I’ll write you up for showing partiality to felons.”
“Marion didn’t hurt me!” Vern maintained. “I tripped. She had nothing to do with it.”
I guessed his military status forced him to say that. Better to fudge the facts than admit you’d been clocked by a s
eventy-nine-year-old dwarf.
Osmond stood up. “Show of hands, and I’d like to be neighborly and include the Floridians in this. How many folks would like to be locked up with Marion?”
“Sit down,” Annika snapped, with the kind of irritation that also implied and shut up. “None of you will be sent to the brig because there is no brig.”
“What about an infirmary?” asked Dick Teig.
“There should be an infirmary,” agreed Margi.
“The matter is closed,” Annika decreed. “There are more important matters to discuss. Officer Vitikkohuhta has given me permission to tell you that he has received a preliminary report on the fingerprints found on Mr. Manning’s note.”
An uneasy hush fell over the room.
“The only clear impressions they could identify were of Mr. Manning’s own fingerprints.”
Margi gasped. “Does that mean he strangled himself?”
I hung my head. Oh, God.
“It means that for the moment, you are exonerated. If your fingerprints were on the note, they could not be found.”
But…but…This was terrible! Someone in this room wrote that note. Someone in this room was a killer. How could they not find prints?
“Officer Vitikkohuhta also wishes me to tell you that they are pursuing other avenues of investigation, so you should not congratulate yourselves prematurely on eluding justice.”
I glanced at the Floridians, who all looked pretty smug about the fingerprint results.
“I end with a few housekeeping notes,” said Annika. “I am in cabin three-ninety-two should you need me. Three-nine-two. I suggest you write it down. We have already suffered our first passenger loss—a man left behind in Vardo. So I caution you to double-check the posted departure times before disembarking, and to synchronize your watches with the ship’s clock. You would also be wise to return to the ship earlier rather than later.”
I exchanged a look with Jackie, who had found a cyber café and returned to the ship more depressed than she’d been yesterday—but at least she’d gotten back in time. I wondered if I’d ever learn not to be such a worrywart.
