Mike almost fell off her chair. What would Joe say? I shouldn’t have laughed, but I did. Laughing with or at Mike was one of the best parts of our friendship. Oh sure, it was fun to one-up each other occasionally, but the stunned look on her little tanned face was priceless. So much for memorizing the brochures.
Ramón returned within minutes, delivered the drinks for which only Mike signed, and disappeared into the throng of passengers. Poor Mike glared at the beautiful, fruity concoction with resentment. “Well…I might as well enjoy it. Darn it.” She lifted the glass, just missed sticking the little paper umbrella up one nostril, and took a long sip.
I swirled the ice cubes in my tea with my straw, and grinned at my little pal. “Mmmm, this so refreshing. And so nice that it’s complimentary.”
Mike’s expression could’ve sunk the Titanic.
The parade of passengers continued for some time. New face after new face emerged and disappeared as the cruisers explored their floating paradise, scoping out the restaurants, game rooms and casinos. The array of faces and personalities was staggering, and I couldn’t help but wonder if any of these innocent-looking passengers would lock horns with us in the battle to solve the mystery.
Ah, yes. The mystery. Time to return to our cabins and open the boxes. Who knew what excitement awaited us inside those little beribboned black vessels of mystery. We had two boxes between us. Would that provide an advantage, or did we have different problems to solve? Had any of the other mystery tour passengers opened theirs? Now that I thought of it, suppose all of them had opened their boxes already and memorized the clues. And meanwhile, we sat like lumps on a log, sipping drinks like we hadn’t a care in the world.
I swallowed the last of my tea, set the glass beside my chair, and leaned toward Mike. “We have to get a move on. We can’t be dallying here while everyone else is delving into their mystery boxes. Right?”
Mike looked stricken. “Ohmigosh. No, no, we can’t. What were we thinking?”
“Come on. Let’s go back to our rooms.”
At that moment, the nattily dressed gentleman who’d distributed the little black boxes at check-in strolled across the deck. Hernando nodded graciously to one and all, but kept eyes on us as he headed in our direction. He paused, tipped his hat, smiled, glanced over his shoulder, and then disappeared into the milling crowd.
“Now that was decidedly odd.” I lurched to my feet. “Let’s go.”
I realized with painful clarity that we had to try once again to find our way around the massive ship. We needed to get our act together. With resignation, we headed for the nearest door, stepped into the hallway, turned right at the first corner, and found the elevator. Miracle? Six minutes later, we arrived at our rooms. Pausing in front of our cabins, we shook with laughter.
“Okay,” I wheezed, “I’m not even going to analyze or think or wonder. I’m just going to chalk it up to Fate or Kismet or Ripley’s Believe It or Not.”
“We’re not stupid, Bernadette,” Mike sniffed. “I knew we’d figure it out before long. Remember, I grew up backpacking in the Olympic Mountains with my dad and had to find my way through—”
“I know, I know, now stifle it. We just might have a chance at solving this mystery if dumb luck prevails, and we stumble onto the answers the same way we stumbled onto our cabins.”
“Oh, Bernie.”
THIRTEEN
Eager to open our boxes, I unlocked my cabin, let Mike in ahead of me, and stepped on the daily newsletter from the Caribbean Mermaid, which had been slipped under the door. The outline of the day’s events was neatly displayed, complete with times, locations and descriptions.
Mike stooped, snatched up the flyer then squealed. “Oh, Lord. Bernie, listen to this. ‘All passengers are required to participate in the lifeboat drill at one p.m. this afternoon.’”
I shrugged. “Fine. I figured that’s why that thing was laid out on the couch like that.”
Mike’s eyes drifted to the orange monstrosity lying on the small sofa. Then she glanced at my little travel clock. “Bernie, it’s 12:39.”
“Relax, Mike. For crying out loud. It’s only a drill.”
“It’s more than a drill, Bernie. Listen. ‘The drill is mandatory for all passengers. All cabins will be checked by the crew, and a roll call will be conducted at all life boat stations.’”
“Okay…so, we do it. No big deal. Everyone else will be in the same boat—” Snort. “No pun intended.” Double snort.
Mike gave me a withering look and resumed reading. “It says there will be an announcement to tell us when the drill starts. When you hear the announcement, you are to put on your life jacket, fasten it securely, and go immediately to your assigned lifeboat station. Ours is boat station number eleven, deck five, starboard side—that’s the right side.” Mike looked up from the flier and chewed on her lower lip. “Somewhere in your cabin should be a diagram of the ship…find it…we’re running out of time.”
This time I exhaled. “Michaela. Chill. We’re not on the Titanic, and we’re nowhere near an iceberg. Okay?”
“Yeah, well, I saw The Poseidon Adventure and—”
“Enough. Just go get your damn jacket.”
Mike’s eyes focused on a framed diagram of the ship hanging by the door. “There.” she squealed. “Okay…okay, I get it, I get it. See these little arrows pointing out the route from your cabin to your assigned lifeboat station? We must follow this route exactly as it’s marked, and use the stairs because all the elevators will be off during the drill.”
“Got it. Now get your life vest.”
Eyes wide with anticipation, Mike grabbed her black box from the table by my door. “I’ll put this back in my room,” she said, breathing hard. When I nodded, she made a hasty and rather frantic retreat to her own stateroom. I heard her door open then slam. Chuckling, I struggled to slip my arms through the armholes of my vest. I had to marvel how a woman of my stature could be swallowed by something so seemingly simple and compact…and so orange. Grabbing the belt, I threaded it through the loops and tied it. I’d finished the task when another slam cued me to my pal’s return. Sure enough, three seconds later, Mike burst into the room carrying her outrageous orange preserver that was almost as big as she was. The poor thing was out of breath and perspiring.
“Lord. It’s almost time,” she panted.
She wrestled with her preserver like it was a living, breathing thing. “Mike. Stop fighting it. It’s an inanimate object, for crying out loud. You’re the one with the brain.”
Mike managed to put the darn thing on, but her belt hung down to the floor. The jacket’s collar went past her mouth and up to her nose. She looked like a Weeble—as in ‘Weebles Wobble but They Don’t Fall Down’. Her stricken eyes looked up at me, pleading for help.
“Here.” I took the dangling belt ends, wrapped them around her twice and tied them. At that auspicious moment a shrill whistle sounded, followed by a well-modulated voice, ordering us to report to our stations. The drill had begun.
Spurred on by the clarion urgency, we left my stateroom, with enough presence of mind to grab our room keys, and waddled down the hall to— “Lord. Where’re the stairs?” I bellowed, the first inkling of panic setting in.
Thirty-nine minutes later, it was over. We’d survived. Well, I’d survived. Poor Mike had been made the object of demonstration on how not to don one’s life jacket, how not to tie one’s life jacket belt, and how not to report for lifeboat drill. By the time we’d reached our station, Mike’s hair was sticking up in several places, her cheeks were crimson, her breathing close to hyperventilation, and she was barefoot, having stumbled out of both shoes while scrambling up the stairs. A steward had to pick them up for her since her preserver-induced rotund-ness prevented her from bending. Did I say Weeble? No. More like the apple-man in the Fruit of the Loom underwear commercial on TV.
By the time we got back to my room, I thought Mike would collapse. Relieving ourselves of the bulky, life-saving ent
rapments, we fell onto the couch and let out collective sighs of relief.
“Well, I’m glad that’s over,” I chuckled. “Wish I’d had my camera, though. I could’ve made a mint selling that little misadventure to America’s Funniest-Something-or-Other…or YouTube.”
Mike rolled her eyes and made a hideous face. “It wasn’t my fault, Bernadette, and you know it. I mean, you tied the darn belt. It was cruel and humiliating and just not fair for that odious man to single me out. I mean, hundreds of dopey people weren’t wearing the stupid thing right. Why pick me? Who ever devised these life jackets in the first place? Archaic and dysfunctional, to say the least. Humph.”
“Okay, you’ve gotten that out of your system. Let’s move on. We still have these boxes to open, remember?” I leaned forward and reached for mine.
Mike did a visible start and leapt up. “I put my box back in my room,” she wailed.
I lumbered to my feet. “Fine. Come on. We’ll go get it.”
Once settled on her couch, we lifted our identical boxes and examined them from all sides. Together, we slit the cellophane sealing tape, glanced at each other in anticipation and excitement, and dug in.
There was a note in my box, addressed to me, personally. Feeling rather important, I slid out the note, held it up to the light, and read it aloud to Mike.
“‘Dear Mrs. North,’” I read then cleared my throat. “‘Welcome aboard the Caribbean Mermaid. This week will be intriguing, to say the least. You are destined to enjoy each moment of tropical hospitality and pleasure. Inside this box, please find a pewter compass. This compass will come in handy over the next few days, although you do not yet know when or how or why you need it. Do not allow it to fall into anyone else’s hands. It may be the one clue that directs you to the answers you seek. A strange disappearance will mystify and confuse you, but somehow, you will find your way. Tomorrow morning, 8:45 a.m. sharp, meet your team at the Voodoo Lounge. Be ever vigilant. Your quest begins then. Mysteriously Yours in Intrigue, Senor Marco de Guacamole. P.S. Trust no one…’”
I smiled at Mike, nodded and carefully refolded the note. I returned it to the box and plucked out the tiny pewter compass. I stared at it for almost a minute, but I confess it appeared to be quite an ordinary compass. It fit into the palm of my hand and bore no mystifying emblems or hieroglyphics. Yet, the note indicated that I would need it somehow, somewhere, to solve the mystery.
Mike squirmed with delight. Her eyes glistened and sparkled. She breathed deeply, sneezed twice, dabbed at her nose with a pink tissue, and carefully laid her own box in her lap. She paused for dramatic effect, and then ripped open her box so hard it leaped out of her hands.
The contents flew all around the room. She dropped to the floor with an annoyed sound to retrieve the items from the carpet. She, too, had a note. Aware of her position as center of my attention, which she adored, she stretched her neck, bent her head from side to side, winked at me, then read her letter.
“‘Dear Mrs. Rosales. Greetings from the crew of the Caribbean Mermaid. We are delighted that you have joined our little party. Soon, you will be totally immersed in strange happenings, unexplainable comings and goings, and general bedlam. Along the way, you will laugh and sing and drink and dance, but most of all, you will have the time of your life. Plan to meet tomorrow morning, 8:45 a.m., by the Dolphin King swimming pool. Bring along the golden ring. Do not let it out of your sight for even a moment. You cannot anticipate the importance of this ring. It may somehow help you to reconnect with the one who is yet to disappear. I look forward to the pleasure of meeting you in person. Intriguingly Yours in Mystery, Senora Margarita Conchita.’”
The significance of the differences in the letters dawned on us simultaneously. “Well,” I murmured, “since the boxes are identical, I assumed we’d have the same clues.”
Mike screwed up her face. “Yeah, and not only that, we also are meeting different people at different times and at different locations.” She glanced into her box, grimaced, then turned it upside down. “Oh no. I’ve lost my clue.”
“Okay, settle down,” I kept my voice level. “Let’s use our analytical minds and common sense. Your contents went flying, remember? We’re looking for a gold ring. It’s here.”
Mike stared me down for a moment, then rolled her eyes. “Yeah. You look on that side.” She pointed to the area closest to the doorway and the tiny bathroom. “I’ll scrounge around here by the bed and furniture and the closet.”
What happened next must have painted a really pretty picture: two grown—well, over-grown—women, waddling around on all fours with hineys prominently on display. Crawling, I patted the carpet like an idiot. A thump and a grunt from across the small room proclaimed that Mike had whacked her head on the corner of the dresser.
Hysteria prevailed.
“I can’t find it,” Mike wailed.
“You will,” I panted. “Or I will.”
“Maybe they forgot to put it in there,” Mike whined.
“They didn’t. Keep looking.”
We crawled around on our hands and knees, reached under furniture, groped into corners, until, thank God. Mike located the damn ring. It’d rolled all the way into the louvered closet and rested behind the black carry-on bag. Yes, there it was, glinting brightly, right behind the bag with the large “L” emblazoned on the side.
FOURTEEN
“How in the world?” I exclaimed.
“What?” Mike turned to me.
“That bag.” I pointed. “How in the world did you end up with Loretta’s bag again? Impossible.”
Mike and I stared at each other, then at the bag, then back at each other.
“Okay, now this is really weird.” Mike’s voice rose to a shout. She threw herself at the cabin door, opened it a crack, looked up and down the hall then slammed the door. Rather like a scene from a cartoon in which the main character exaggerated every movement for comic effect. “I know she’s on this ship,” Mike stammered, visibly shaken. “But why is she tormenting me? Why?” She leaned back against the closed door, arms across her unshackled bosom that heaved with excitement in a classic Barbara Stanwyck pose.
“Who, Mike?” I demanded, swallowing a grin. “Are you talking about that Loretta person we tangled with at the hotel and on the shuttle? Or, to be truthful, you tangled with. Why in the world do you think she’s tormenting you? And, how in the world did you end up with that awful woman’s carry-on bag in your possession again?”
Too many questions, too few answers, and poor Mike was on the verge of a total core melt-down. Then, to our dismay, commotion sounded outside in the hallway. A woman’s high-pitched voice screamed for security. Personnel scurried up and down the halls to attend to the outcry.
Mike ventured a second peek into the hallway, slammed the door again, narrowly missed pinching her nose, and turned to me. The color drained from her cheeks, and a look of despair flitted across her puckered face. My poor Mike. And then, the color returned with a vengeance. Mike was flushed with excitement and anxiety, and even annoyance.
“Okay. She’s here. Apparently she has the room across from mine. Of all the millions of rooms on this ship, she—Loretta the Lioness—has a room across from mine. It’s Fate. It’s a plot. A room right here on this ship, in this hallway, on this very deck and wing.” Mike grimaced.
I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. I’d seen Loretta in action. The whole thing was so ludicrous I couldn’t take it all in. I could only stare at Mike and watch the slideshow of emotions play across her face.
Mike tiptoed toward the bag, as if it had a life of its own and might attack at any moment. She lifted the bulky thing by its straps and hoisted it onto the bed. Yes, it was definitely the bag Loretta left behind on the plane to Miami; the one Mike accidentally dragged to the hotel. It was the very same bag Loretta and Mike had dramatically and most spectacularly exchanged when they met again in the hotel lobby. Now, the bothersome thing had appeared yet again.
Outside,
the ship’s staff was going from room to room, rapping on cabin doors, questioning passengers they encountered in their cabins. “Quick,” I whispered. “Hide the bag. They’ll be here any minute.”
“What?” Mike almost shouted. “You must be insane. I don’t want to hide the darn thing. I want it out of here right this very minute. And that awful woman…grrrr. That awful woman will…will—”
“Yes, that awful woman,” I interrupted, “will accuse you of taking her bag. How will you explain why you have it, hmmm? Did it just appear in your cabin?” I feigned a calm I didn’t have. My heart pounded with excitement and a smidgen of fear.
“Well, actually, it did just appear in my cabin. I’ll just say I came to my room, opened the closet door, and it was here, and that I was as surprised as anyone to see it.” Mike’s voice trailed off. “Okay,” she agreed, “I see your point. I don’t even believe it, and it’s my own alibi.”
“Okay.” I whispered. “Don’t rock the boat. What we need is a plan. We can stash the bag, or we can dispose of it, or—and I hesitate to bring this up—we can try to return the bag to Loretta in such a way that she finds it herself and has nobody to blame.” I announced all this with the sincerity and self-assurance of a politician. Even I didn’t buy the final option, but as soon as the words left my mouth, Mike started bouncing up and down like a spastic Jack Russell terrier.
Hands on hips and the eye twitch at full throttle, Mike stopped all bodily gyrations and glared at me so intently that I laughed out loud. “Now what?”
“You know, Bernie,” Mike nodded sagely, “it’s really our only option. I am positively certain Loretta will accuse me of stealing the ridiculous thing. God knows where my own bag has gone. You have to admit it looks awfully suspicious. I mean, of all the people on this ship, why would her bag be delivered to my—” Mike stopped in mid-sentence. “That’s it! That’s it. I didn’t bring the bag here. The stewards brought the bags to the cabins, right? So, there is no way I brought the bag myself. Ha.”
Don't Rock the Boat Page 6
