Don't Rock the Boat

by Cathie Wayland

  “I can’t help it, Bernie,” Mike giggled. “This is just so much fun. Who knows? One of these characters may be involved in our mystery, or part of a clue to solving the mystery, or a member of one of our investigative parties for the mystery, or—”

  “Or maybe, just maybe, they are just ordinary folks on an ordinary cruise for ordinary reasons, and there’s nothing really extraordinary at all. And, for the record, please stop emphasizing every other word like Sharri Wallace back at St. Bart’s.”

  “Oh, pooh. I’m just excited and you know it.” Mike sniffed.

  I did know it but way too early in the game for my little buddy to let loose her fertile imagination. The time would come when Mike’s ideas would flow like bargain-hunters searching for silken boxer shorts on Valentine’s Day, but not now, not yet.

  Finally, our table number was called, and we all rose to attack the buffet line. Actually, only a few moments had passed, but things happened like a popcorn machine gone mad on board the Caribbean Mermaid. Nearly impossible to keep track of time. So why even try? I mean, for crying out loud, we were on vacation. Time to relax, have fun, and solve a make-believe problem and a not-so-make-believe problem.

  Did it really matter that we’d lost a carry-on bag, suffered from a dysfunctional sense of direction, had repeated encounters with a very unpleasant nemesis named Loretta, and now must somehow get rid of an overnight bag without being accused of stealing it? I mean, we had to decipher cryptic messages while developing a pleasant relationship with this odd assortment of tablemates. We had a mystery cruise to experience, and, damn it, we were going to experience it.

  Yes, it’d be an interesting challenge, but I knew from the get-go we were up to it. Still, a strange little quirky sensation hovered over me. Sort of a feeling, sort of an intuition. May have been a touch of seasickness. Difficult to tell the difference. Yet, a pervasive sense of excitement, muddled with questions, tinged with anticipation filled the air. We already had more clues than we could handle, and the real story wouldn’t unfold until sometime tomorrow.

  In the meantime, we’d an overnight bag to dispose of, an enormous angry woman to avoid, and the daunting task of finding our cabins.

  SEVENTEEN

  After an amazing banquet, Mike and I staggered to our feet, and I believe I may have even swayed back and forth a bit—much to the horror of the diminutive doctor. I could just imagine his brain fast-forwarding to the possibility I might lose my balance and collapse on top of him. Yet, within seconds, I recovered my sea legs and we were off to our cabins waving cheery good-byes to our dining companions. Experienced, wiser patrons ducked and dodged our swinging bags as we weaved between the tables to the door.

  As soon as we hit the fresh air and sunshine, my intrepid companion inhaled. “Thank God. I couldn’t have stood that motley group a moment longer.”

  “What are you talking about, Mike? I mean, some of them were a little peculiar, and some have lots more to them than meets the eye, but it was really a nice dinner, don’t you think?”

  “Just go on. Let’s go. Let’s get back to the cabin,” Mike insisted through clenched teeth.

  “Are you okay, Sweetie?” I looked into her eyes. A few minutes ago we were laughing and gossiping and having a great time. “What’s the matter? Eat too much?”

  Mike made a face and readied for a retort when a loud speaker planted on a towering flagpole interrupted with an announcement. Time to gather by the wave pool for the “Fun Stuff”. Already, several yards away, participants of all shapes and sizes and genders were lining up in swimsuits, each holding a red plastic pail of Ping-Pong balls. Apparently, the person who could stuff the most balls inside his or her swimsuit would win dinner for two at the Bahama Mama Club on our first port of call in San Juan. Incredible.

  Caught up in the wave of tourists, I vied for a prime spot to witness the spectacle. My little buddy, however, was hastening in the opposite direction. Like a light bulb moment, it dawned on me that she’d reached her maximum tolerance time for boob restraint and was hell-bent on a mission to release the girls from the unnatural entrapment they’d endured for the past several hours.

  “Hey, Mike, wait a sec. The Fun Stuff Challenge is about to begin.”

  With a roll of drums and the blast of an air horn, the crowd laughed and clapped as the contestants made frantic movements. I could relate to stuffing things inside your clothing. Good grief. I did that every time I got dressed. Pushing in body parts and tugging at uncooperative, bulging seams came very naturally to me. Half of me wanted to participate in the fun, but Mike followed the ‘drinkin’ gourd’ to ‘freedom’.

  Laughing and shaking my head in submission, I followed her serpentine path back to the cabin. Amazing though it seemed, Mike directed us straight to our destination in two minutes flat. Zipping her card into the lock, she flung open the door, paused, and freaked out.

  “Bernie! Come here. Hurry. Hurry!”

  I rushed into her room, at first failing to recognize what had upset her. Mike’s eyes were fixed on the closet door, which stood ajar. In the soft light I saw what Mike saw…nothing. Loretta’s bag was gone. It’d disappeared. Vanished into thin air.

  Mike scuttled to the closet door and pushed it open with the tip of her index finger, as if some spooky, formidable spirit lurked behind the louvered door. The bag was gone, all right. Loretta’s bag with the gaudy initial was nowhere to be found. Unfortunately, Mike’s bag had not miraculously reappeared in its place. That would’ve been too easy.

  “What else do you think is missing?” Mike wailed. She began checking drawers and nooks and crannies. Within moments, her eyes settled on her little black clue box. A quick examination showed it hadn’t been touched.

  But the bag. Who’d been in the room? And, how did they get in? Furthermore, how do you report that you’re missing a bag that wasn’t even yours in the first place?

  “Okay,” I said, attempting to reassure Mike everything would be okay when I was not one bit convinced of that fact myself. “Okay, let’s say the ship stewards figured out how and where they had made a mistake, and came to get it, and thought they could simply remove it without a big scene. I’ll bet they thought you hadn’t even noticed the mix-up, so there was no need to get you all upset and tell you about it. So, uh, they just snuck in when they noticed you weren’t around, and took the bag back to Loretta. There. That makes sense, don’t you think?”

  I sounded hopeful, but in reality, was uncomfortable with the idea that someone would sneak into or out of or around our cabins for any reason at all. It really didn’t make sense, but I had to say something since she was so distraught, and that was no way to start the first day of the cruise. Actually, Mike was predisposed to becoming distraught no matter what, but this was entirely too soon.

  “And,” I continued, “that awful, horrible Loretta person is probably totally calmed down now that she has all her stuff. I’m sure she won’t even bother to worry about how the bag got to wherever it arrived in the first place.” I smiled, nodding in agreement with my own explanation, and hoped that my clarification and my confident demeanor mollified Mike.

  It didn’t. Instead, she flopped on the edge of the bed and gazed blankly around the cabin. It was as if she saw the room for the first time. I knew that look and it was an omen. There’d be no stopping her now as she dissected every single detail of the strange events of the past several hours. Soon she’d have a theory about every item, every person, and every piece of furniture in the room. I’d seen it many times in the past. Happened only a year ago while we vacationed on Edisto Island.

  I decided it’d be wise to leave her alone for a few minutes. I’d go to my own room and freshen up. I opened the door to the hallway, looked back at her and smiled reassurance one last time, and gracefully and most completely collapsed over an object that’d been left in front of the door to Mike’s cabin.

  “Damn,” I croaked. Mike’s carry-on bag—an ID tag attached to the strap proclaiming her ownershi
p. Well, for crying out loud…

  EIGHTEEN

  It took Mike all of three seconds to realize what sat in the hallway outside the door. Somehow she failed to notice me sprawled on the floor, in a none-too-becoming pose, having just tripped over said bag. Oblivious of my predicament, she jumped up and dashed into the hall to rescue the bag.

  “Oh, Lord,” she exclaimed, lugging the thing into the room. “I hope nothing was broken.”

  “No, no, I’m just fine,” I called from hands and knees. I’d bottled up the flow of traffic; several passengers waited impatiently for me to pull myself to my feet and lurch back inside the room. I thought I overheard someone comment about people of a certain age drinking so early in the day.

  “Say. Thanks for your help,” I announced. Sarcasm was totally lost on Mike at that moment, however, absorbed as she was in inventorying every item in her bag. You just can’t underestimate the value of those tiny plastic bottles of mouthwash and the bitsy tubes of toothpaste. Mike had a stock of oral hygiene products capable of preventing halitosis in every tourist on board the Caribbean Mermaid.

  From inside her cabin, a shrill tune alerted us to the fact that cell phone service had returned. At least that brought her back to reality. Mike executed a frantic search for her small red communicator.

  “Hello, Joe,” she panted into the blasted thing. “We’re doing fine, and everything is fine, and the cabin is really, really fine and—what’s that Joe?” Mike paused to listen. The perennial pucker of concern that graced her forehead whenever she spoke to Joe returned to perch on her face.

  “Joe.” She continued, struggling for the right words. “I really, really wish you’d have waited until I returned home to start a kitchen project. I mean, did we really decide it was necessary to knock out the entire wall behind…uh huh, yes, I know Joe, but… But Joe, what will you do when it rains?”

  I couldn’t help but laugh. Joe sure knew how to get to her. He wanted her attention, and now he had it…to the max.

  “Look, Joe, new windows are great and, yes, I did want more light in that room but I think this is the sort of thing we should discuss before you just take out a wall… No, no, I’m not angry, but I…well, yes, darn it. Yes. In fact, yes, I don’t know what you were thinking and I…hello? Hello? Joe? Joe?” She snapped the phone closed. “Lost the darn signal again.”

  Mike flopped on the edge of the bed once again and stared at me in amazement. It was time for a little distraction. I cleared my throat. “You know…before we accept any more calls, we’d better check on how much they cost. I read online that cell phone use aboard a cruise liner could be expensive since they’re out-of-the-country calls.”

  Mike’s mouth formed an “Oh” and her breath came out in a whoosh. “Lord. What else is there to worry about?”

  “You don’t have to worry. It’s just something to consider.”

  “Lord.” This time her face crumpled.

  “I’ve got an idea,” I announced with as much enthusiasm as I could muster.

  “What?” Mike sighed, raised her head, suspicion pouring from her eyes.

  “Let’s get all our stuff unpacked and arranged, and then go up on deck and talk about our clues and try to make some sense of them. We can have a sea breeze, and I’ll buy since you’re already in the hole.” I slapped on my most winning smile.

  That, at least, drew a flicker of a grin from my poor little buddy. Sometimes life was just a little bit overwhelming. Like every other day.

  “And then,” I barreled on sensing little resistance, “we can make plans for dinner and a show. I hear there is an amazing female impersonator who is a fabulous entertainer. Anyway, we could sit there and let someone perform for us for a change and just soak up the ambiance. How’s that sound?”

  Mike shook her head and smiled. “Okay, but we’ll have to make advance plans for the shows. You can’t just show up, you know. Why, you have to come hours early to get a seat, or wait in line and maybe still not get in. There’re over a thousand people on board who are making the same plans, you know.” Mike sighed again and her shoulders sagged.

  I refused to let her wallow in her funk. “Well, then, we shall just have to get to the theater early. They have two shows, you know, to accommodate both dinner seatings. Stop being such an old worrywart. You’re beginning to sound like poor Mrs. Herrmann back at St. Bart’s.”

  Like watching light dawn on Marblehead, Mike’s face brightened and she chuckled. “I remember her. She always ended every sentence with ‘God willing.’”

  Her giggle was infectious. I laughed, too. “Amen.”

  NINETEEN

  Hermione Haalstrom was an enormous star, emphasis on enormous. A female impersonator, Hermione was in great demand in Vegas and Atlantic City and other grand venues across the country. Her shows were always sold out well in advance. I knew all about her/him from the tabloids I sometimes sneaked a peek at in the grocery store checkout counter. And now Hermione was a headliner on the Caribbean Mermaid. Engrossed as we were in the mystery-aspect of the trip, I hadn’t put as much attention to all the other details of a luxury cruise. Luckily, I’d realized in time that the mystery would not and should not consume every waking minute on board this dream ship, so I spent time and energy checking out various activities, shows and special events, above and beyond our mystery.

  Mike, however, was the absolute authority on cruise etiquette, even though she was also on her maiden voyage. That thought brought forth a throaty chuckle as we settled into protesting deck chairs to soak up the late afternoon rays of the brilliant Caribbean sun. Mike flipped her sunglasses down on her nose, and stared at me over the top rim. I knew that, even though she was delighted with the plans I’d made, she felt she’d lost just the teensiest edge on knowing more than I about cruising. Therefore, it was imperative she make up for lost time in impressing me.

  “You know, Bernie,” Mike said between tiny sips of the fruity drink. “What I’m really looking forward to, besides the mystery of course, is one of those shore trips. I hear Cabeza de Vaca is the most beautiful beach in San Juan.”

  I recalled only a smattering of high school Spanish, but I had just taken a glorious sip of my drink. A snort popped out in response, causing driblets to escape nose and mouth. But I couldn’t help but laugh, especially since Mike looked so stunned by my response.

  “Cabeza de Vaca?” I repeated after wiping my mouth on the pretty cocktail napkin with the bosom-y mermaid embossed in gold.

  “Yes, Cabeza de Vaca, Miss Smartass,” Mike responded.

  “Okay, I admit I don’t know much about anything, but Cabeza de Vaca means ‘head of a cow’. There’s a beach named after a cow’s head?” A maverick snort escaped this time.

  “Well, maybe my pronunciation is a bit off. I took German you know, not Spanish.” Mike tried not to appear hurt. Especially funny when she was so confident she was right about something, and then blew it, royally.

  Unfortunately, we suffered from the same malady. Take the time we drove a rental car in heavy traffic, and some idiot lay on his horn for several miles for no apparent reason, and everyone was turning and looking at us as if it was our fault. And then a road crew of construction guys stopped working and stared at us, as we slowed for a stoplight, and, damn, if the stupid horn didn’t continue to blare. To our total amazement we then discovered I’d had my thumb firmly pressed against the horn the entire time. Afterward we consoled ourselves with the theory that nobody was perfect —idiot or otherwise—not even us.

  Still, the time had arrived to consider our cryptic clues. We chatted for almost an hour, discussing all the possibilities of why we would receive a compass or a golden ring. Mike had been instructed to keep the ring with her at all times, and as I glanced over at her, I realized she’d placed it on the third finger of her left hand, so it bumped right up against her silver wedding band. Even though I received no warnings about keeping my compass handy, I’d shoved it in my pants pocket and patted it now and then to reassure
myself that it was still in place.

  So, even though we had these symbolic items, we still didn’t know exactly what we were looking for, or who, or when, or why. One point was obvious: everyone involved in the Mystery Cruise Package would be receiving the crime scenario at the same time. That’s why we had specific meetings to attend, and had been warned about trusting no one.

  That part of the warning was laughable. Here we were, together on a cruise, even if it was a Mystery Cruise. We’d need to discuss and suggest and theorize together, as a team. That’s how we approached everything: as a team. The dire warnings about trusting no one and suspecting everyone must’ve been intended for all the “no ones and everyones” on board this ship, except the two of us. We needed to work together, just like always. The anxiety mushroomed as we anticipated hearing the whole story, start to finish, allowing us to then begin looking for the mysterious person of interest on board this boat, er—ship.

  After a good hour of lounging and gabbing and surmising, we ambled back to our rooms only to discover that our mystery clues had multiplied. Grabbing our respective letters, written on Caribbean Mermaid stationery, we practically collided in the narrow hallway. Squinting in the yellow light of the dim overhead bulbs, we read identical messages:

  Begin at the beginning,

  The best place to start,

  For the most direct path to the ending

  Could easily drive you apart.

  Mike chuckled with delight. “Oh, this is so cool.”

  “Yes, well, let’s not stand out here in the hall. Come to my room for a minute.”

  Really up Mike’s alley, all this mystery gibberish. And the riddle element was another plus, as far as she was concerned. She’d probably lie awake all night trying to figure it out.

  “You know, Bernie.” Mike lifted her chin and craned her short neck to stare me straight in the eye. “I have a gut feeling about this adventure. I’m sure that, before this trip’s over, everyone on board the Mermaid will know us by name. You and I are going to be celebrities of a sort because of our keen perceptive interpretation of all the clues, and we’re winning this contest hands-down. Everyone will be talking about us and—”