The crowd turned expectantly to Hernando.
“And,” Mike interjected, while the faces snapped back to stare at her, reminding me of a ping-pong match, “didn’t you say we’d all been very patient so far? So. Are we finally going to hear something concrete, some—”
“Mrs. Rosales, please,” Hernando pleaded. “I am trying to explain. Our congenial crewman did, it seems, disappear. And yes, there was a rumor that he fell overboard…”
Mike smiled smugly at the crowd, nodding. “That’s right.”
“However,” Hernando continued, struggling a bit, “that rumor is simply not true. No one has fallen overboard. Why, that would be a tragedy. Accidents like that do not happen aboard the Caribbean Mermaid, I assure you.”
“Then please tell us what the mystery is.” Came a plaintive, fragile voice from the fringe of the crowd. “Please,” the voice continued, “I am totally confused and lost.” The crowd murmured their agreement. I peered across the gathering to see who else besides Mike had the nerve to speak up.
None other than little Clarice Juergensmeier, our timid dining companion. Talk about thickening designs. Clarice slipped through the crowd until she stood, thin white hands clasped to her throat, looking right smack dab into the eyes of the baffled Hernando.
Sensing Clarice was on the same page, Mike sidled up beside her. She, too, stared at the now flustered Hernando, who, already outnumbered just going up against Mike, sensed he was fast losing control.
“Patience, patience, my friends,” Hernando soothed. “I have much to share and little time to do so. You see, our initial plan was to present a single crime, a scenario so to speak, and engage all of you in solving the mystery. I believe that is what you all expected.”
So far, everyone understood and nodded. Yes, that was what we’d all expected. Clarice bobbed her head, looking neither left nor right.
“However,” Hernando continued a trifle too loudly, “much has changed in the last few days. You see, our scheme did not unfold the way we intended. Before we could stage our dilemma, our crewman, Benjamin Browning, did in fact, vanish. I assure you, dear people, that had not been part of the original plan.”
The crowd appeared to follow Hernando’s explanation; Mike and Clarice even seemed mesmerized by the web he weaved. Around us, various people clutched trinkets and notes and assorted cryptic items like gold rings, small pocket mirrors, and more than one black box. Yes, I would say the people were more than ready to hear about the mystery.
“And so,” Hernando continued, eloquent and endearing as ever, “I have come to you today to ask two things of you. First of all, continue to assist the crew in finding Benjamin Browning. But, second, I ask you to focus on one other thing: hidden somewhere on this vast floating city is a treasure, a prize of great value. Clues will be left in places you least expect. Each of you, alone or as a couple, must now concentrate on finding the hidden treasure.”
He flashed another disarming smile. “This new conquest promises each and every one of you a most pleasurable time. Good luck. May the best man—or woman—” A titter ran through the group. “—win. And now, if anyone among you holds a golden ring or a doubloon embossed with the logo of the Caribbean Mermaid, please return to your cabins for the first clue of your, uh, revised mystery.”
Clarice and Mike looked at each other and smiled. I’ll bet Mike couldn’t wait to get back to me and give me the scoop since she enjoyed being in the know, especially when I, presumably, am left out of the loop. I wondered if it occurred to Mike that others might have been intentionally, or unintentionally, left out. Hernando didn’t allude to passengers holding tiny compasses, such as mine. Why? Why would Hernando go to the effort of gathering most of the group only to explain to them that they were being rerouted?
But back to Mike. Was she really buying this story, or had she too found it a bit perplexing? I wondered if everybody else would give up trying to locate poor missing Ben and focus on this wonderful prize. I wasn’t ready to dismiss the Ben problem so quickly. I mean, depending upon your perspective, he could be just about anywhere. I couldn’t help but feel this hidden treasure promise was only a diversionary tactic to lure folks away from solving the initial dilemma, which involved one very real young man who’d gone AWOL. Maybe only some of the groups were rerouted, and those of us who were not mentioned in the explanation—like compass holders—were still on the original quest. Time would tell.
THIRTY-FIVE
Still pretty ticked that Mike had sneaked off to see about a mystery clue without involving me, I got a grip. Wasn’t a big deal, right? I’d no cause to be annoyed or alarmed or suspicious, and yet, I was seething. What nerve. The audacity of Mike working around me instead of collaborating with me. Then it hit me. This was yet another aspect of the plot’s ridiculous twists and turns.
The mystery mongers were manipulating the participants against one another; realign affiliations—like Mike hanging with Clarice. Divide and conquer. I realized I needed to play my hand cleverly, and that would include pretending Mike had accomplished her goal of working around me. This time.
Scuttling away, weaving through the mob, I made my way back to my cabin so I could pretend to have been there all along. I’d see how long it took her to spill the news that the mystery had been derailed and would be take on a new direction. In the meantime, I swam upstream against the throngs of people headed toward the pastry-eating contest on the main top deck outside the Cinnamon Scallop Bakery & Pie Shoppe.
Admittedly there were times I would’ve loved to be a part of the festivities, particularly if participating involved all the scrumptious baked goods you could eat, but today I was preoccupied with the fun of beating Mike at her own game.
At my cabin door, I was startled to see it ajar. I distinctly remembered closing and locking it since we were constantly reminded to be aware of normal security precautions. Edging up close, I pushed it open and stepped into the room. Everything appeared to be in order. I exhaled, rationalizing that hospitality had recently visited to clean up a bit and had left the door open by accident. Flipping the wall switch, the light revealed a small scroll tied with a yellow satin ribbon, lying on my pillow. Curious, I closed the door, flopped on the edge of the bed, and slipped the ribbon from the pale beige parchment paper.
A brisk knock startled me and the scroll did a somersault in my hands. I tucked it under my pillow—I’d read it after I dealt with the intruder—and peered through the peephole, fully expecting to see Mike. Clarice Juergensmeier stood outside my door, swaying from foot to foot, gawking about as if she was afraid someone might see her where she didn’t belong. While I gaped at her through my peephole, she ventured another tiny rap on the door. Gulping in a breath, I opened it, grabbed her by the elbow, and yanked her into my room. Poor Clarice looked miserable, yet, for some reason, she’d made it her business to seek me out. And apparently the problem couldn’t wait until dinner.
“May I help you, Clarice?”
“M-Miss Bernie…uh, hi.”
“Hi.”
“Miss Bernie?”
“Ye-es?” My patience was now touring Upper Egypt.
The poor woman’s eyes widened. “Oh. I, uh, believe you, uh, may r-remember me from supper several evenings past?” She spoke with a heretofore-unnoticeable Southern drawl.
“Yes, Clarice, we met over dinner. How are you? Are you enjoying the cruise?”
“Yes. Oh, indeed, yes. But well, I am here on behalf of your lady friend, Miss Mike,” Clarice swallowed. “She, uh, sent me to fetch you.”
“Fetch me? For what—where? Why would Mike send you to get me?”
“Well, Miss Mike has been, well…she is, she has been…somewhat detained. No, not really detained, more like…incarcerated.”
“What? She’s in jail again? What has she done this time?”
Clarice looked shocked, frightened, and just plain horrified. I suppose the prospect of hanging out with a chronic felon was more than her faint heart could endure.
She collapsed onto the edge of the bed and fanned herself with a newsletter.
“Oh, dear. No, no. You do not understand at all that has recently transpired.” Clarice looked every bit the frail little spinster, totally outside her element, yet gamely attempting to function in this wacky, weird world. It must’ve taken an inordinate amount of gumption on her part to assume this new role of messenger for the two of us. After all, Mike and Bernie were worldly women who exuded charm, grace and wisdom. The fact that one of us was in jail at the moment was beside the point.
“Clarice,” I began, counting to ten. “What has happened to Mike—I mean, Miss Mike? What do you mean she’s been incarcerated? What did she do to rock the damn boat this time? Pardon my French.”
Clarice winced at my choice of adjectives. Obviously all the commotion and excitement compounded with the actual mystery element of this cruise was proving too much for her.
“Well, Miss Mike and I—we—just happened to come across each other while attending a little meeting. Of course she and I recognized each other from dinner, and…” Clarice glanced around the cabin. “My, this is a very nice room you have, Miss Bernie.” She smiled.
“Yes, yes, it is, thank you. Go on. Please.” Anxiety had replaced patience.
“Yes, of course. Certainly. Well, the two of us had just left the meeting when Miss Mike stopped to have a word with Dr. Kingston Connolly.” Her pale lashes fluttered. “You do recall him? He sat to my left at the dinner table? Such a handsome and articulate man. So much charm and such a clever wit. He’s a professor. Did you know? A college professor. He is the most dynamic conversationalist and—”
“Clarice! I remember Dr. Connolly just fine, and he was an absolute ass! What are you talking about? I cannot imagine Mike saying two words to that odious man. Just get on with the story, okay?”
“Yes, Ma’am.” Clarice seemed perplexed by my negative view of her dream man. “Miss Mike was speaking to the doctor. I walked off a bit to give them a smidgen of privacy in case I was not intended to be privy to their dialogue. Well, only seconds later two security guards arrived. Before I knew it, they were leading her away.”
“I doubt she went quietly,” I mused.
“Oh, heavens no. Why, Miss Mike caused quite a ruckus, yelling and carrying on about why she was being arrested. But everyone stepped aside as they escorted her off the deck. I truly, truly do not know what happened, but Miss Mike called out for me to go and fetch you right that very minute. By the look on her face and the tone of her voice, I knew in my heart I must not disobey. And here I am,” Clarice finished quite breathless, her smile tremulous but tinged with just a hint of triumph.
“Well, Clarice, I suppose I must thank you for this cryptic message. I’m a bit confused and—” Clarice raised her hand for me to stop.
“Miss Bernie, could I please trouble you for a drink of water? I am quite parched and feeling a bit lightheaded. This has not been a typical day in my life.” Clarice fanned her flushed face with the newsletter again.
I dashed to the bathroom for a paper cup and some tap water, my mind whirling with the strange turn of events. I left the bathroom just as the cabin door snapped shut. Clarice had disappeared. “What the—”
I drank the water myself, shaking my head, wondering what it would take to get Mike out of the pokey. Well, she’d waited this long; another minute or two wouldn’t matter. I strolled to the bed, slipped my hand under the pillow for the scroll, and was shocked to discover it gone. Disappeared. I pulled off the pillow and the sheets and the bedspread, even searching under the bed. Nope. It was gone.
Why that little sneak. There was no other explanation other than Clarice. The gal had stolen my scroll. But why? No time to wonder just now, since I needed to figure out how to retrieve my jailbird friend. Fueled by indignation, I flung open the door just in time to see Mike attempting to slip into her room. She looked just a tiny bit sheepish when I confronted her.
“Bernie!”
“Mike. Thank the Lord, they let you out. What did you do this time?” I laughing and frowned simultaneously, which was another clever teacher characteristic that gets them every time.
“Huh?” Mike responded. “Let me out of what? What did I do? Bernie, did you have another one of those double margaritas?”
“Clarice said you were in the brig,” I fairly shouted, confused and alarmed and annoyed as hell. “She said you were arrested while in the middle of a conversation with Dr. Connolly, and that you told her to come and fetch me.”
“I have no idea what you’re going on about, Bernie. Why would Clarice come here? And have I ever, ever used the word fetch? I did not get arrested. I was actually having a semi-pleasant discussion with that Dr. Connolly jerk we met at dinner, and since it was going relatively well, I chatted him up a bit. That’s all. Then I came back to the cabin. What does Clarice have to do with anything? Why are you acting so weird?” Mike’s eyebrows hopped like a deranged bunny.
“I…she… Oh, for crying out loud. What the hell do I know?” I ran a hand through my thick hair and gritted my teeth. What did the diminutive Clarice have to do with anything? I’d been duped by that mousy little phony that was for sure.
But why? Now I’d never know what that stupid little scroll was all about. Obviously the trust no one; suspect everyone warning had some special significance. For me, anyway.
Mike gazed at me, puzzled, and shook her head. “Look, sweetie, you’re just hungry and tired and crabby…as usual.”
I wanted to respond to that smug remark but bit my tongue. Other ways to get on board this situation, so to speak.
“You’re right.” I smiled in my best, congenial manner. “Let’s get ready for dinner. I’m starved. Dinner may prove to be just as confusing as the entire afternoon, but we can tackle that after the buffet. Be ready by six,” I sung out, and then scuttled back into my room.
Whatever was going on here was spinning out of control. Finding out who or what or why or how would be more confusing than we initially thought. The only constant in this endeavor was the glorious food that awaited us at The Captain’s Table, and I had good reason to want to meet up with almost all those dinner companions again. Ten minutes to dress to dazzle.
We were up to the challenge.
THIRTY-SIX
We were halfway through our cruise but still had two more ports of call to anticipate. This eventful day would culminate in a reunion of sorts with our designated dining companions. It wouldn’t have surprised me if Dr. Connolly switched tables in search of a group who were more socially or professionally his equal, but we were once again graced by his presence. Stan and Melanie were already enjoying drinks. They looked as bored and disinterested in each other as they had on the first day. To the world, they sure weren’t rekindling their romance. But clever women like Mike and me knew these two ship’s detectives were just hired help, and being credible actors was probably not an integral part of the deal.
Naturally, Charmaine and Victoria were seated together in all their radiant glory. Charmaine had enjoyed the sun. Her flaming red face told the tale, as well as her puffy eyes. Her evening attire was similar in design and taste to her flagrant swimming attire that barely covered the essentials. Too bad. Some female body parts are best left to the imagination, especially at dinner.
Victoria, however, was delighted with her appearance, for she took every opportunity to gaze from table to table to see who might be checking her out. To her disappointment, most of the diners were more interested in the main course than in this heady vision wearing too much make-up, too much hair, too much jewelry, and barely enough clothing to cover all the rolls and ridges. She sure wasn’t pining away for her fiancé in jail back home. She intended to make the most of the cruise.
Mike and I, on the other hand, being absolute icons of good taste and decorum had decided that, at least one time, we should appear in identical outfits. Now considering the tremendous differences in sizes and appearance, it amazed us how wonderful we both lo
oked in iridescent pink, shimmery, calf-length caftans. Tropical flowers in flashy sequins enhanced the image, and we each wore an orchid behind the left ear. We ignored the chuckles and stares as we entered the dining room. The last to arrive was Clarice, who owed us a few explanations. However, I bit my tongue, picked up the oversize menu and perused the selections offered for this evening. Selecting something decadent would do wonders for my simmering temper.
“Let’s just enjoy dinner and turn in early,” I murmured to Mike. “Tomorrow we land at St. Thomas in the Virgin Islands. You’ll need all your strength for the swim with the dolphins.”
Swimming with enormous mammals was not exactly appealing to me, but Mike was more than determined to do it once. I chuckled as her face brightened.
“Oh, gosh. I’d almost forgotten about that. I can’t wait.”
Dinner was delightful, as usual. It was mildly interesting to listen to Charmaine and Veronica rattle on and on about all the men on board the ship who were hitting on them. I didn’t believe it, but I guess strange things can happen at sea. Weren’t we great examples of that?
Dr. Connolly chatted a little, and for him, was reasonably cordial. Clarice avoided making eye contact with me, which was in her best interest. I had a patented stink-eye, which I’d used on suspicious culprits during my teaching days. I could provoke even the most seasoned hooligan to confess almost anything if given the chance to give them The Look.
Why had Clarice snatched a clue from me, and how did she finagle Mike in the first place? How could I find a good time to confront her about the deception? Had to be a logical explanation somewhere, but it escaped me at the moment. Had she been directed to do so? If so, by whom?
Stan and Melanie were polite but boring, and once again, we had two empty seats at our table. Someone was missing not only the great food and witty conversation, but the opportunity to mingle with us. Who in the world would want to miss out on that?
Don't Rock the Boat Page 14
