“Well, I hope he doesn’t act on his feelings. By the way,” Harry added, “that young lady Ms. Largent was in the gym, too, lifting weights. I imagine she could hold her own against those big fellows. She raised those weights as though they were balloons.”
I could easily have sat there chatting with Harry for the rest of the day, but I wanted to squeeze in some of the remarkable range of activities the QM2 had in store before the trip ended and we pulled into New York Harbor. That included attending the afternoon production in the Royal Court Theatre of a classic British comedy, Hobson’s Choice. A theatrical group from London’s Royal Academy of Dramatic Art, known as RADA, was part of the ship’s entertainment, and I was looking forward to enjoying a few hours of good theater, particularly since I’d lost my opportunity to see a play in London when I’d accepted Haggerty’s invitation to the Ivy. I’d seen the David Lean film version of Hob-son’s Choice many years ago, starring one of RADA’s most celebrated graduates, Charles Laughton, and thoroughly enjoyed it.
I invited Harry to join me, but he declined. As we walked out of the dining room, he said, “I mentioned that I’d heard scuttlebutt about Mr. Kim. Do you happen to know the genesis of the word ‘scuttlebutt’?”
I smiled. “I haven’t the slightest idea, Harry, but I’m sure I’m about to find out.”
“I’m not boring you with my stories, am I?”
“Not at all,” I said, meaning it. “They’re very enlightening, and I’m eager to learn. But would you mind telling me how the term ‘scuttlebutt’ originated on the way to the elevator? I don’t want to be late for the theater.”
“Well, many years ago at sea, the water barrel that held the crew’s drinking water was called a ‘butt,’ and the hole cut into the butt from which sailors drank was called a ‘scuttle.’ Sailors tended to gather around the barrel and pass on the latest gossip, so when the captain wanted to catch up on what was going on, he’d ask someone what ‘the scuttle butt’ was.”
I laughed. “Like office workers congregating around the watercooler.”
“Precisely.”
“What are your plans for this afternoon?” I asked.
“Some golf—the captain has opened the decks now that the weather has cooperated—and some time in the computer room. I’ve just recently become interested in e-mail and other remarkable means of communication. Never too old to learn, are we?”
“Absolutely not. See you at dinner.”
The theater was at the opposite end of the ship, and I had only a few minutes to get there before the curtain went up. I just made it, sat back as the house lights dimmed, and became lost in the deliciously funny antics on stage. But it was an abbreviated version of the play, and my afternoon’s entertainment was soon ended. The lights came up, and I joined the throng slowly filing out of the theater. Up ahead, in the mass of departing theatergoers, I spotted a familiar face. It was Dennis Stanton.
“Yoo-hoo,” I called out, frantically waving and bouncing up and down to see over those in front of me. “Dennis?”
I saw him turn around.
“Excuse me,” I said, hoping to skirt several people who had stopped to greet one another. “I’m trying to reach my friend.”
I waved and called again, but Dennis was too far away. “Pardon me,” I said to a large gentleman in front of me, thinking I might squeeze by him.
“We’re all trying to get out of here, lady. Wait your turn.”
By the time I reached the theater doors, he was gone, of course. I retraced my steps the length of the ship, looking through the windows of the Mayfair Shops in case he had stopped to buy a souvenir. The day’s art auction was over, but I wandered among the hundreds of works still to be sold, thinking they may have attracted his interest. No Dennis. Finally, I went to Deck Five on the off chance that he might appear from one of the staterooms, provided, of course, that Harry had accurately identified him. I knew it was a long shot, but on such a large ship, with so many places he could be, it was worth the effort.
After twice walking the length of the hallway on Deck Five without seeing my old friend, I went to the Grand Lobby and sat for fifteen minutes in case he happened to stroll by. No luck. All my perambulations had worked up a good thirst, and I stopped at the Golden Lion Pub on Deck Two, where I sat at the long, curved bar and ordered a club soda with lime. It was relatively quiet there, the daily pub lunch crowd having taken off for other parts of the ship. I heard voices from around the bend, people sounding as though they were engaged in some sort of contest or game. Curious, I moved to another barstool that afforded me a view of the goings-on. A dart game was in progress. Eight men and women surrounded a uniformed crew member who was conducting the tournament, keeping track of scores and advising players when it was their turn. Seven of the eight were dressed in afternoon casual wear, shorts and colorful shirts, sneakers and sandals. But one man who’d just been handed the darts was dressed in a white linen suit, pale blue shirt, and royal blue tie.
Dennis Stanton!
I decided simply to watch the competition until it ended before I approached him. I didn’t have to. When a young man was declared the winner, and the others drifted away, Dennis walked in my direction. I said nothing. He stopped, cocked his head, and narrowed his eyes.
“Jessica?”
“Hello, Dennis.”
“How marvelous to see you again.” He gave me a brief hug, but his eyes avoided mine. “I knew you were on board, of course; couldn’t miss your picture in the daily program,” he said, defensively. “Terribly sorry. I meant to attend your lectures but got caught up with other things, I’m afraid.”
“I was hoping to run into you,” I said.
He took the stool next to mine. “How did you know I was here?”
“I saw your picture in the photo gallery, the one taken when you boarded.”
His expression turned sour, then brightened. “Imagine that.”
“You looked as though you didn’t want your picture taken.”
“No, not at all,” he said with a wave of his hand. “Whatever gave you that idea?”
I didn’t answer and instead changed the subject. “So, what brings you on the Queen Mary Two? Vacation?”
“Yes, quite. I’m on holiday. Was due for a holiday. Haven’t been on holiday in some time now. Great place for a holiday—don’t you think? Bracing sea air and all that.”
“You look well rested,” I said. “Are you traveling under a different name?”
“Why would you say that?”
“When I saw your photo, I checked the ship’s passenger manifest. They don’t have any Dennis Stanton listed.”
He forced a small laugh. “Must be a mistake. You know how bloody computers are always making mistakes.”
I nodded.
“What about you, Jessica? On holiday?”
“Part holiday, part work. As you read, I’m lecturing.”
“Oh, yes, yes, of course you are. Going well?”
“Very well. The last time we met, you were serving on a much smaller ship in the Caribbean as security officer. Still doing that?”
“No. I had my fling with a tropical adventure.”
“Back to investigating jewel thefts for that insurance company in San Francisco?”
“That’s all in the past,” he said, running a finger under his collar. “You have quite a memory, Jessica.”
“Yes, I do. What dining room are you in? I haven’t seen you.”
“I’m booked at the Princess Grill level, but I’ve been taking meals in my cabin.”
“Keeping a low profile?”
“No, just more comfortable there.”
“Dennis—?”
“Yes, luv?”
“The theft of the Heart of India diamond in London wouldn’t have anything to do with you being on board—would it?”
“I’m not sure what you’re talking about.”
“It’s been in every newspaper in the country, probably in the world for that matter.”
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His blue eyes lit up, and he raised a finger. “Oh, yes, that diamond. I have heard of it. The chap who owned it was killed, as I recall.”
“Unfortunately.”
There was an awkward lull, and I decided this wasn’t getting me anywhere. I checked my watch. “I really should be going, Dennis,” I said. “I’m so pleased to have bumped into you.”
I swung around on the barstool and was about to step away when he said, “Jessica. Don’t leave just yet.”
I resumed my place at the bar.
“I, ah—I think we should have a private chat, but not here.”
“A private chat about what?”
“Come to my cabin. We can talk safely there.”
“I—”
“Please. Having you on board is—how shall I say it?—well, it’s somewhat difficult for me.”
“How so?”
“Please, I promise only to hold you up for fifteen minutes, twenty at the most. I have a nice little bar set up there and—”
“All right, Dennis, but I don’t want a drink.”
“Splendid. You don’t mind if I have one, do you?”
We went to the stern of the ship and up to Deck Five. As we reached his door, Harry Flynn came from his cabin. “Hello there,” he said. Seeing Stanton, he said to me, “Ah, I see you found him. Good for you, Jessica.” He thrust out his hand to Dennis. “Harry Flynn,” he said.
“My pleasure,” Dennis reciprocated without mentioning his own name.
“Have to run,” Harry said. “See you at dinner, Jessica? We’re formal tonight.”
“Yes, I’ll be there.”
Harry lingered a moment as Dennis unlocked his door. My eighty-two-year-old new friend winked at me—actually winked at me—and sashayed away.
I wanted to call after him, “It’s not what you think, Harry,” but it would have meant yelling.
Oh, well, I thought as I followed Dennis inside. I’ve been on the receiving end of worse rumors.
Chapter Fourteen
Stanton’s stateroom was as neat as its occupant. A small bar had been set up on a table in front of the couch, with a variety of liquors, mixers, and a recently filled ice bucket.
“Sure you won’t have a drink, Jessica?” Stanton asked as he removed his jacket and carefully hung it in the closet, assuring that it faced in the same direction as other jackets.
“Positive, but thank you.”
“You won’t mind if I do.”
“Go right ahead.”
He made himself a gin and tonic, squeezed a wedge of lime into it, and suggested that we go to the balcony. The weather had continued to improve as the day went on; the sun now shone brightly, catching the tops of small whitecaps and turning the vast ocean into a sparkling palette.
We sat in the two chairs, and Stanton raised his glass. “To seeing you again, Jessica.” I raised my fist and touched it to the rim of his glass.
“So,” I said, “why does having me aboard make your life difficult, as you put it?”
He sighed, sipped from his drink, and placed it on the table. “The truth is, Jessica, you were right when you said I’m not listed on the passenger manifest. I’m using a different name.”
I’d already come to that conclusion.
“Obviously, you aren’t taking this crossing for pleasure,” I said.
“You are right, dear lady. I am on assignment.”
“For whom?”
“Consolidated Casualty, of course. They couldn’t do without me. After my sojourn as security officer on that bloody cruise ship in the Caribbean—God, what a slipshod operation that was—I went back to San Francisco and allowed them to entice me back to work. I struck a hard bargain, but they bought it.”
“Am I right in assuming that Consolidated Casualty is the company that insured the Heart of India diamond, and that’s the reason you’re on this crossing?”
“A fair assumption, and a partially correct one. Consolidated is one of two insurers of that particular rock.”
“There’s another?”
“Consolidated likes to share the risk with items of that value. They’re coinsurers with Kensington Limited, a British firm.”
“Kensington?” I said. “I’ve met a Richard Kensington on the ship, at dinner. Do you think he might be connected with the Kensington insurance company?”
“Could be. What did he say he does for a living?”
“Something about working alone.”
“Conveniently vague, wouldn’t you say? I’ll check it out. Richard, you say?” He wrote the name on a pad. “I wasn’t informed that Kensington was sending anyone. Did he say anything about the theft?”
“No. He says he’s on his honeymoon. Or rather his wife, Marcia, said so.”
“Interesting.”
“Mind another question?” I asked.
“Go ahead.”
“What’s led you to believe that the diamond might be on this ship?”
“I didn’t say that, did I?”
I cocked my head at him, and raised my eyebrows, saying nothing.
He coughed and took another sip before answering. “Well, I can’t be specific, of course, but sources we’ve developed in London have led us to that conclusion.”
George hadn’t mentioned that officials suspected someone was bringing the gem on board. I wondered if he knew, or if he thought he was protecting me by withholding that piece of information. Should I mention my friendship with Inspector Sutherland? No, George wouldn’t appreciate that. I did, however, ask, “Dennis, just out of curiosity, do your ‘sources’ include Scotland Yard?”
His simple nod affirmed it, but he added, “Interpol, too. I won’t go into detail, but you should know that there is a possible terrorist link to the theft.”
“Yes, I’ve heard something about that.”
“It was in the papers, of course, but purely as speculation. Our boys say if there’s any truth to the rumor, we’ll have a battle royal on our hands to make certain we don’t pay off on the policy. The governments—yours and mine—are very interested in the outcome.”
I looked away from him and took in the beginning of a magnificent sunset over the ocean. It was all so peaceful out there. But on the ship, “peace” obviously wasn’t in the vocabulary of some people.
“Dennis,” I said, “if Consolidated has to distribute the proceeds from the policy on the diamond, along with this other firm, Kensington, who gets the money? Mr. Yang didn’t have any immediate family, as I understand it.”
“That’s right,” Dennis confirmed. “But the Heart of India was owned not by Yang himself. It was an asset of one of his many corporations.”
“Which means that any business partners he had in this corporation would benefit. Did he have any?”
“Partners, you mean?”
I nodded. I suspected that Kim Chin-Hwa was a likely partner in the ownership of the Heart of India, although he had never said so, and in fact had gone out of his way to hint that the diamond was Yang’s alone. But I hoped Dennis would provide additional information if he thought that I was in the dark.
“Many of his corporate entities had multiple partners,” Dennis confirmed, “but there was only one other than Yang in the corporate name that purchased the diamond.”
All right, Jessica, I told myself, stop playing games.
“Kim Chin-Hwa,” I said flatly.
Dennis sat back, eyes wide. I hoped he wasn’t acting. “How do you know about him?” he asked, shooting me an ironic look and taking a final sip of his drink.
“I’ve met him. He was at a dinner party I attended in London at the home of my British publisher. I assume you know he’s on board the ship. In fact, his cabin is next to mine. We’ve spent quite a bit of time together. We’ve played bridge, and I’ve danced with him.”
“I think I need another drink,” Dennis said, disappearing into the cabin and returning with his refill.
When he’d taken his seat again, he said, “Why am I surprised that
you’re way ahead of me, Jessica?”
“Pure coincidence, Dennis; several in fact. A coincidence that I’ve ended up on the Queen Mary Two with an alleged jewel thief and possible murderer. And, of course, another coincidence that I’ve met up with you.”
“It’s obvious, then, why I’m here.”
“To try to recover the Heart of India from Kim Chin-Hwa—provided he’s the one who stole it, had his partner killed, and has brought it with him on this trip. That seems to me like a long shot, Dennis.”
“A chance worth taking. If it doesn’t pay off, I’ll continue the investigation elsewhere. But for now, I’m focused on this ship and Mr. Kim.”
“Then you must have seen me with Mr. Kim.”
“Well, I may have spotted you from afar. Since you seem to have befriended him, Jessica, perhaps you wouldn’t mind sharing with me what you’ve learned from your relationship with Kim.”
“I’d hardly call it a relationship, Dennis. Because we were at the same dinner party prior to the crossing, we naturally touched base again once we were on board. That was the first night. Actually, his demeanor toward me has changed since then. He questioned whether I was doing research for a new novel. I assured him I wasn’t, but he made it clear that he would not be happy if I was. He also seems to have decided to lower his profile on the ship. I haven’t seen much of him lately.”
“A suggestion of guilt, I’d say.”
“I wouldn’t take it as that at all.” I looked at my watch. There wasn’t a lot of time before dinner and I needed to change into formal clothes. “Dennis, I appreciate you being forthright with me about why you’re on board,” I said, standing and stepping through the door into the cabin.
Dennis followed.
“I don’t mean to question your methods,” I said, “but how does taking your meals in your cabin further your investigation? I’d think you’d be doing everything you can to get close to Kim.”
He laughed away my comment. “I haven’t been a total recluse, Jessica. In fact, I’ve spent some time with Kim’s mistress. I assume you know her, too.”
“Betty LeClair.”
34 - The Queen's Jewels Page 11
