Murder on a Ghost Ship (High Seas Mystery Series Book 2)

by Diane Rapp

  Kayla said, “Paula invited us to dinner and we thought it best to keep an eye on her. She had an ugly confrontation in the restroom with Angela. I’m sorry.”

  Buster nodded. “I can’t contain this for long and I’m courting nervous investors. Big name stars generally ensure money but if the situation degenerates, we’ll be forced to postpone production.”

  “What can we do to help?” Steven asked.

  “When we land, take Paula off the ship without talking to reporters . . . I’d kill for just one more week to solidify the money!” Startled, Kayla glanced at Steven. Did Buster realize how he sounded? She wiggled in her chair and squeezed Steven’s hand.

  “What about Vincent?” Steven asked. “Isn’t he wealthy enough to finance the film?”

  Buster shook his head. “Vincent’s money is tied up in trust funds. He gets a generous allowance without control over the capital. Look here. Keep Paula quiet and I’ll work on a solution. Here she comes. I’d rather not get dragged into a conversation.” He bolted as Paula sauntered toward their table.

  “What did Buster want?” Paula took a swallow of bourbon.

  “He’s worried about the incident with Angela, anxious to keep things civil. I told him you preferred to stay out of her way.”

  “Angela had better stay away from Vincent if she knows what’s good for her!” Paula glanced in Angela’s direction. “Was she very upset?”

  Kayla nodded. “Do you think it’s a good idea to talk to the press? If you push Vincent too hard, he’s liable to get stubborn.”

  Paula slumped in her chair. “I know. I wouldn’t really talk to the press—I hate them almost as much as Vincent.” She raised her chin hopefully. “He’ll get tired of throwing tantrums and come back where he belongs.”

  “What set him off?” Kayla asked.

  “This ship. We should never have agreed to come on this trip. It makes Vincent feel guilty about Celeste.”

  She peered nervously around. “I feel like someone’s watching me. It’s creepy. Do you ever get that feeling? You know, Vincent thinks he’s responsible for Celeste’s death. He should see a shrink but he won’t. When he starts acting like this . . . I’m afraid . . . We’ve got to get off this ship!”

  “There are a bunch of reporters waiting in the Azores. You might be in for a big hassle.”

  “How’d they find out?” Paula’s light blue eyes widened with alarm.

  Steven said, “Buster thinks you called them.”

  “He’s lying! Sure, I make threats but I’d never really do it. I don’t want to talk to the press! Can we get ashore without confronting them?”

  Steven shrugged. “We might arrange something.”

  Paula bit her lower lip. “Vincent’s going to be furious! I need to tell him I didn’t call the press.” She started to get up but Steven put his hand on her arm.

  “It’s not a good time. Avoid the press and he’ll believe you didn’t call them. We’ll check to find out who placed the call.”

  “How?”

  “We can check outgoing phone records. Few people carry satellite phones, so a ship-to-shore call must have alerted the press.”

  Paula smiled. “Great! When you find out who called, Vincent will know it wasn’t me.”

  Kayla and Steven danced to a slow tune while Paula floated past with another partner. “Why does Paula make threats that will upset Vincent?”

  Steven shook his head. “She acts like a teenage girl. See? She’s trying to make Vincent jealous by dancing close with a stranger. Paula never grew up. You notice how she switches from acting shy to aggressive? I’m not sure which character is real.”

  Kayla said, “I wonder why Vincent married her?”

  “I’d bet Paula pursued him, worked at him until she got her way.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  Steven shrugged. “As a performer, I’ve attracted my share of fanatic groupies who don’t behave like regular fans; they live in a fantasy world. You can’t discourage a groupie by behaving politely—it makes them ever so persistent. To discourage their attentions, absolutely harsh behavior is necessary.”

  Kayla sipped her drink thoughtfully. “What makes you think Paula’s was a fanatic groupie?”

  “It’s the way she looks at Vincent. A big star like Vincent should avoid a relationship of that nature. It’s not exactly healthy.”

  Paula pranced back to the table, her skin red with exertion. “I haven’t had this much fun in years.” She signaled the waiter to bring another drink. “You see how angry Vincent gets when he sees me with another man? He’s not even dancing with Angela and Vincent loves to dance!”

  Kayla nodded at the door. “He’s leaving.”

  Paula whipped around. As Vincent slipped outside she frowned, stirring the ice cubes in her empty glass with a straw. “Last time he got jealous, he cut in and threatened to deck my partner.”

  “Last time?” Steven asked.

  Paula grinned. “We fight all the time. Sometimes it takes a few days for him to come around but he eventually gets jealous . . . you know . . . it’s a game we play. The best part of the game is making up.”

  “A game? You make each other jealous as part of a game?” Kayla asked.

  “Don’t make it sound so childish!” Paula pouted. “I don’t enjoy making myself look foolish but Vincent’s got quirky ideas about role-playing. Sometimes I get downright confused, trying to guess the role he wants me to play. Am I the harlot, the jealous wife, or the obsessed fan? Last time he nearly got into a fistfight, but it was worth it, believe me! He’s a voracious lover when he wins and I make sure he always wins.”

  Steven rolled his eyes. “Is this behavior an example of foreplay?”

  Paula grinned. “Being married to an actor is always an adventure.” A new drink arrived and Paula took a long grateful sip. “We don’t usually involve other people.”

  “How about Angela?” Kayla said, angrily.

  Paula flinched. “Vincent involved her, not me! Maybe he’s paying Angela back for last time.”

  “What?” Steven asked.

  “After Celeste committed suicide the press hounded Angela. She couldn’t stand the heat and left Vincent high and dry. He never forgave her for abandoning him.” Paula pushed her fingers through damp red curls. “Vincent doesn’t exactly hand out scripts when he plays his game. I take my cues from his actions but it’s not easy.”

  “Did Vincent play similar games with Celeste?” Kayla asked.

  “Sure.” Paula grinned. “But he said that Celeste wasn’t much good at game playing, took things too serious.”

  Steven stood. “We’re not much good at playing games either. I think we’ll call it a night.”

  Paula sighed and picked up her handbag. “I might as well leave if Vincent’s gone. That guy made lewd remarks while we were dancing and I don’t want him following me to my cabin. Can I walk with you guys?”

  Steven gestured toward the door. “Let’s take the short cut.”

  Paula sauntered through the room, wiggling fingers at dancing partners as she passed. Kayla followed Steven, trying to suppress her growing anger. Is Vincent really the degenerate Paula described, playing mental games with his women?

  Outside, the fog was thick and damp. A fishy scent infused with lavender assaulted Kayla’s nostrils. She braced herself, waiting for a ghostly vision-shift but nothing happened.

  Paula shivered and turned back toward the door. “I forgot my shawl.”

  “I’ll get it,” Steven said and swung the glass door open.

  From the corner of her eye, Kayla saw a dark black shape emerge from the open staircase, like a black monster rising from a fog-shrouded lake. The apparition pointed a silver cylinder at them.

  A gunshot shattered the foggy silence.

  Kayla jumped away from the dreaded gun and crashed on top of Paula.

  Zing! The bullet shattered the glass door as a shower of pebble-sized glass fragments pelted the deck.

  Steven
cursed and dove into the shadows.

  Both women skidded across the slippery deck and pain lanced through Kayla’s shoulder. Was she hit? This can’t be happening again! Her stomach clenched as she re-lived the memory of a bullet searing through flesh in a hot jolt of pain. The acrid odor of gunpowder permeated the fog as she lay still.

  “Stop, I’m a policeman!” Steven shouted.

  Footsteps reverberated down the steel staircase, as the assailant bolted and Steven followed in hot pursuit. Groaning, Kayla rolled off Paula’s bony body and scrambled behind a stack of folded beach chairs.

  She gingerly touched her shoulder. No blood oozed out but a throbbing ache shot through her recently healed wound. How stupid was I to think I could protect Paula? I’m unarmed. Was I supposed to fling myself in the path of the bullet?

  Over the pounding of her heart, Kayla heard Paula whimper. “Paula!” she whispered hoarsely. “Are you okay?”

  Paula sobbed, “Vincent doesn’t have the guts to kill me. What was he thinking?”

  “Come here and get out of the open!”

  Crawling across the slick decking littered with glass, Paula asked, “You think Vincent tried to kill me?” Her body trembled as she huddled against Kayla.

  “Did you see Vincent?” Kayla asked.

  “No. It was a dark shape, a large man moving through the mist. I couldn’t see who it was.”

  “What makes you think he was Vincent?”

  “Who else would want me dead?” Paula asked.

  Kayla immediately thought of several other people who fit the bill but stayed quiet.

  Paula shook her head and whined, “Vincent couldn’t do it, could he?”

  “Shh. Someone’s coming.” Kayla crouched behind the flimsy deck chairs, wishing she had more substantial protection. The ominous footsteps grew louder.

  “Kayla?” Steven called. “Where are you?”

  “Over here.” Rising on wobbly legs, she sank into Steven’s arms and sobbed against his chest. Taking comfort in the smell of his spicy after-shave, she snuggled against his hard body.

  “You okay?” he asked, pushing her back to take a look.

  She nodded. “Paula thinks it was Vincent.”

  Extending a hand to Paula, while keeping one arm wrapped around Kayla, Steven asked, “Did you get hit?”

  “No. Did you see Vincent?” Paula asked.

  “He got away,” Steven said. “Let’s go inside where it’s safe.” Leading them cautiously through the door, Steven elbowed his way past a gathering crowd, and commandeered a table. He ordered brandy and said, “Call the captain, there’s been an attempted murder.”

  Hearing Steven’s words, the crowd melted away from the gaping door. Music vibrated but the dance floor stayed empty as patrons fled from a dangerous scene. Paula rubbed her eyes with a damp cocktail napkin, leaving streaks of black across puffy red cheeks. Kayla examined her own fingers for signs of smeared makeup. Funny! Why does a girl worry about makeup after escaping flying bullets?

  “Are you bleeding?” Paula asked, pointing at a smear of blood on Kayla’s bare arm.

  “No. I’m okay.” Glancing at Steven, Kayla saw blood trickling down his cheek. “Steven’s hurt!”

  He shrugged. “I got nicked. It’s nothing.”

  “Don’t act so macho. Let me see.” Kayla stood and gently touched the wound with a dry napkin. Steven flinched. “You see? It hurts.”

  “Of course! When you jab at it like that, any bloody wound will hurt! Leave it alone until the doctor can see to it properly.” He grasped her hand, and then as an afterthought, kissed her fingertips. “Sorry, luv. I get testy when I’m shot at.”

  Kayla grimaced. “Did you get a look at him? You think it was Vincent?”

  Steven glanced at Paula. “I didn’t get close enough to properly see him, but he moved pretty fast for a man of Vincent’s age.”

  Paula’s pale eyes looked haunted. “Vincent runs at the track to keep fit. He’s fast enough. But he wouldn’t—”

  “Did your games ever get dangerous? Did he ever make threats or beat you?”

  “What? You think this is part of a game?” Paula’s eyes narrowed. “That was a real bullet!”

  “A sharp shooter might try to scare us, never intending to do real harm. If you’re still playing games, Paula we need to know!”

  “Vincent trained to shoot for a movie but he doesn’t own a gun.” Tears trickled down Paula’s cheeks. “If Vincent did this, he’s not playing a game, he’s deadly serious.”

  By the time Captain Swenson arrived, the bar was empty. When his gaze fixed on Kayla, she felt unprepared for the shock of meeting his penetrating blue eyes. She’d hate to keep any secrets from him—his eyes seemed to bore into her very thoughts.

  Swenson’s deep baritone commanded concise responses to questions. “Miss Sanders, did you recognize the man who fired at you?”

  “No. The fog obscured my vision I regret to say,” Kayla stammered. The image of the looming dark figure and the explosion of gunfire flashed through her memory.

  Swenson turned to Paula. “Mrs. Bollard, did you recognize the gunman?”

  Paula shook her head. “I . . . it might have been . . . I’m just not sure . . .”

  Swenson demanded. “Who fired the gun?”

  Tears trickled down Paula’s cheeks as she stared at her hands. “My husband Vincent, I guess. He’s really mad at me this time.”

  Swenson nodded thoughtfully. In a softer tone he said, “You recognized your husband as the gunman?”

  “No.” Paula looked up, blinking rapidly. “I just thought . . . that is . . . it might have been Vincent . . . but I didn’t see the man’s face!”

  Turning to Steven, Swenson said, “I understand you chased the culprit?”

  “Yes sir, but the gunman eluded me.”

  Sighing, Swenson leaned back and brought his fingers together in a steeple under his chin. “We don’t have any proof then, do we?”

  A metallic squeak drew his attention. All eyes turned to see the door open, half expecting the gunman to appear, but a collective sigh of relief greeted Emily. Her gaze flicked from face to face before resting on Captain Swenson for a long moment. His stern expression softened into a welcoming grin and Emily blushed.

  “Are you all right, Kayla?” Emily asked as she grabbed Kayla’s hand with a reassuring squeeze.

  “I’m fine,” Kayla said. “The gunman missed all of us.”

  Emily turned to Swenson. “What can I do to help?”

  Swenson smiled. “Escort Mrs. Bollard back to her cabin and stay with her until morning. I don’t expect further danger but I’d rather someone stayed with the girl.” He motioned to his assistant. “Pete will walk with you to the cabin and guard your door.”

  Paula said, “Do you think it’s really necessary? I should be fine once I’m locked in my cabin.”

  Swenson’s expression hardened. “I never make an unnecessary order, Mrs. Bollard! Until I’m convinced of your safety, someone stays with you at all times.”

  Paula said, “Yes, of course you’re right. Couldn’t Kayla come with me?”

  The captain shook his head. “Miss Sanders must answer more questions right now. Emily is a congenial companion.” He looked at Emily with a slight smile then became businesslike. “Emily, please see that Mrs. Bollard goes straight to bed. I’ll have the doctor send down a sedative to help her sleep and I’ll check with you after I’m finished here.”

  “I’ll come by your cabin first thing in the morning, Paula,” Kayla said.

  Paula nodded and left with Emily and Pete.

  As he watched the door shut behind Paula, Swenson’s grin turned predatory. “Now that Paula Bollard is out of earshot, I want to hear the truth!”

  Steven leaned forward. “Emily told you about our investigation?”

  Swenson nodded. “She’s kept me up to date about Celeste Bollard’s ghost. You’ve been busy watching the Bollards, and until now I thought it was just some supersti
tious nonsense that seemed harmless until bullets started flying. Now that your investigation endangers my passengers, I must intervene. Do you believe the assailant meant to kill Paula Bollard?”

  “It seems likely,” Steven said. “Since Vincent moved out of their suite, Paula’s been acting childish.”

  Kayla added, “In front of Vincent she threatened to involve the press but spouts that she hates the press when he’s out of sight. She says that Vincent regularly plays elaborate games to create jealousy, but Paula’s antics might threaten a high budget movie. Someone might be trying to scare her.”

  “Your reasoning sounds logical but we can’t ignore other possibilities. There are two other potential targets. You two were both endangered by the gunman.”

  Steven frowned. “Why would anyone shoot at Kayla or me?”

  “You tell me,” Swenson said. “I understand you’re on leave from Interpol? Your superiors must know where you are. I assume you keep in contact with them.”

  “Yes.”

  “Then why did my staff receive inquiries about you before we landed in Bermuda?”

  Steven stiffened. “That’s impossible.”

  “Is it?” Swenson leaned back, staring intently at Steven. “Who might want to track you down?”

  Kayla said, “Steven, your cover was compromised! Maybe those smugglers are seeking revenge.”

  “Bloody hell!” Steven cursed. “I need to call headquarters!”

  “A sensible idea. What can we do on this end?”

  “I need to examine the pictures in your personnel files—see if I recognize someone,” Steven said. “Did anyone join the ship in Bermuda?”

  “I’ll make our records available.” Swenson turned to Kayla. “Our last possibility is you. Would anyone consider you a target?”

  “I doubt it. I’m just a travel writer.”

  “Good. Help Emily keep track of Paula Bollard and if we identify the culprit, we’ll be prepared for the next attack.”

  Kayla asked, “You think he’ll try again?”