Don't Rock the Boat

by Cathie Wayland

  As the early morning activities came alive aboard the Mermaid, I basked in the glowing grain of sunshine that, minute by minute, mushroomed. I pushed the whole bizarre missing person mystery aside and repositioned my fanny in the comfortable chair. I lounged by the pool, my floppy hat brim pulled down over my eyes, and people-watched.

  A flash of movement caught the corner of my eye. A man peeped through the concealing curtains of a colorful cabana beside the hot tub. Intrigued, I watched Hernando extricate himself, look all around, and then notice me. He froze. I didn’t move a muscle. He must’ve decided I was fast asleep, so stooped to gather up a few items then left his makeshift hiding spot. A blink of the eye and he’d mingled with the growing number of passengers, strolling about the deck, and disappeared.

  My mind raced with the obvious question of why he was hiding in the first place. After all, if he worked for the Caribbean Mermaid, what was the point of pretending to be missing? I exhaled, annoyed that it was necessary to add yet another unanswerable question to my long list of what-ifs and how-comes.

  Mike would be up and about soon, and would be annoyed at my failure to greet her at her cabin door. I could just imagine her frantic calls for medics and detectives when she discovered I wasn’t there. Therefore, I was more than a little surprised when she flopped down beside me, hardly registering a nod, and continued a somewhat heated conversation with her special someone on the cell phone. I recognize that tone, that expression, that look of exasperation. Could only mean one thing.

  “Joe, you are not listening,” Mike enunciated. “All these activities were included in the price. I told you all about it before I left, and you nodded as if you were listening, but you obviously weren’t. I’m not going to discuss this with you right now. Besides, is this the only reason you called? Why were you concerned at this point about the cost?” Mike inquired.

  I always enjoyed the parade of emotions that marched across Mike’s face when she spoke to Joe. Most were repeats, bordering on exasperation or annoyance. Today’s was different. If I wasn’t mistaken, Mike was acting out profound shock. Her eyebrows lifted so high they disappeared into her hairline and her mouth fell open in wonder and amazement. For the briefest of moments, I thought she might hyperventilate. Finally, she composed herself enough to speak.

  “Yes, Joe,” Mike struggled to remain calm. “Yes, I realize I’m not there. But here is something you must realize. I’ll be home in two more days, and when I get there…” Mike paused to inhale. “When I get back home, I expect to find you and my house in one piece. My car had better be in the garage where I left it and…this is costing a mint so I love you and will see you soon. Bye-bye.”

  Mike clicked the phone closed, dropped her hands in her lap, and shook her head. “Bernie, what was I thinking when I married that man?” She sucked in another deep breath. “I mean, he is sweet and lovable, and a dear, dear teddy bear-of-a-man, but he makes me crazy. Really, really crazy.”

  “Say, Mike. Not to change the subject, but…”

  “Please. Do change the subject.” Mike grinned.

  “I saw him.” I sighed.

  “Saw who—Ramón? Sheesh, we see him often enough.” Mike had the audacity to wink.

  “No, not Ramón, you ninny. Hernando. I just saw Hernando.” I made a face and added a saucy wink of my own.

  “No kidding? Well, jeez, Bernie, that’s great. So what?”

  “He was missing. Remember? He didn’t get back on the ship at St. Thomas.”

  “But you say he’s on board now?” Mike questioned.

  “Yes.”

  “Okay, so?”

  “Well, don’t you think it’s strange that he was reported missing, and then I saw him—twice, as a matter of fact—and there haven’t been any announcements that he’s been found, and yesterday Loretta made a big fuss and…” I know I rattled.

  “And…” Mike said, “you are obsessed with that man, my dear. I mean, just because he reminds you of Ricardo Montalban.”

  “I am not obsessed,” I huffed. “I just think that he, and we, well, there’s all those times that we… Oh, never mind,” I exhaled, giving up the battle in hopes of eventually winning the war.

  “Look, if we’re going ashore today, we’d better get scooting,” Mike announced.

  We hauled ourselves out of the too-low deck chairs and scurried to our rooms to get ready for more adventures in paradise. Today was our final port of call. Lord knew what madness awaited us in the tropical port city of St. Maarten. I only knew that Hernando was an integral piece in my adventure-puzzle, and Mike was either the best actress in the world, or oblivious to the sinister make-believe plans of the mysterious powers on board this ship.

  FORTY-THREE

  Mike and I merged with the rush of passengers heading toward the promenade deck. I gazed around the mob scene with a touch of sadness. This was our third and final port of call. We’d racked up so many memories, opened so many cans of worms, it seemed impossible we’d be able to reassemble our former lives once we returned to reality.

  Everyone in this eclectic group had come to be like family. We smiled at each other and chatted with no provocation whatsoever. What a difference from the normal world, where everyone is too busy, preoccupied or terrified to make eye contact, much less enjoy an impromptu conversation. Inhibitions melted away in the warm sunshine, making us so relaxed and refreshed that we could hardly comprehend all this would end very soon. But we had today, and a carpe diem sort of feeling washed over me. Today would be as amazing as promised in all the pamphlets and brochures.

  In the back of my mind, an annoying little voice whispered that there were still many loose ends, and I had an obligation to tie them all together into a neat bow. I pushed the voice back, back, back into the deepest, darkest recesses of my mind so that, for today, I could concentrate on reality. I’d leave all the fantasy and mystery aboard the Mermaid and explore St. Maarten with my best friend, who was blissfully bra-less and proud of it. Yes, even Mike had morphed into a free spirit of sorts, and her devil-may-care attitude was endearing, annoying and funny all in one diminutive package.

  Scanning the crowd of semi-familiar faces, I ruled out the possibility that Loretta would make yet another untimely appearance and ruin this departure for St. Maarten. Mike’s favorite passenger was nowhere to be seen, and we happily wedged ourselves onto the remaining two seats of the tram headed for all the tourist traps. We’d researched all the potential scenic wonders in advance, so we knew that horseback riding in the surf was out, as was snorkeling in the crystal blue waters by the white sand beaches. At least for me. I’d no doubt Mike would’ve embraced the idea had I voiced a desire to accompany her.

  A happy calypso beat punctuated our arrival at the quaint town, designed to give all of us from onboard the Caribbean Mermaid the impression that we’d somehow stumbled onto an unspoiled paradise, complete with music, color, and squawking parrots. Accosted by anxious street vendors, hoping to lure us into their gaudy shops, we dodged and sidestepped like pros. Seasoned veterans that we were, Mike and I strolled along the lane, oozing quiet sophistication, determined to remain in complete control of common sense and dwindling funds. Whatever trinket captured our attention must be worthy of spending the last of our allowances. On the other hand, we’d never, ever do this again so, what the heck. Brassy, obnoxious, gaudy—bring it on. Live for today.

  We’d wandered halfway down a dusty brick street when Mike tugged at my sleeve and almost jumped up and down with excitement. Pushing her hand away, I made a face. “What, for crying out loud?”

  “Over there. Look, Bernie,” she squealed. “There it is. That’s the excursion I read about online. Oh, this is great. You see, you take this little bus to the bottom of a cliff and—”

  “Whoa…wait a minute,” I raised both hands. “Any sentence that contains the word cliff is a little scary.”

  “Oh, it’s just an expression. Now listen,” Mike continued, determined to make a point. “You see, you wa
lk up the side of this hill—is that better? Okay, so you climb the steps on a hillside and get to the top of a gorgeous waterfall. The panoramic view is spectacular, and we can take pictures.” Mike hesitated. “Well, I can take pictures and we can get someone else to snap pictures of the both of us, but anyway, we can have our pictures taken with an ocean background and a waterfall and tropical flowers all around. What do you think?”

  Mike’s question was rhetorical in nature, since it was obvious that she’d already made up her mind. I still felt guilty about blowing the dolphin photos, so I gave in and nodded. We could and should do the waterfall thingy.

  As we made our way to the stand to sign-on for the 11:00 a.m. trip to the waterfall hike, I surveyed the happy crowd. My mind wandered back to the ship, and I couldn’t help but wonder if we’d be able to solve our mysteries before the ship docked in Miami in less than two days.

  Shaking my head, I decided to forget about clues and mysterious comings and goings and strange, intriguing turns of events long enough to enjoy this event with Mike. She was such a treasure, so much fun, and so excitable. Her enthusiasm was contagious, and before long, I was on board for this late morning event.

  We made our way to a giant souvenir stand, The Pirate’s Treasure Shoppe that was done up with a thatched roof, billowing, bright-colored flags, and over-sized silk flowers of the wildest colors. Inside the store, our eyes swept over aisle after aisle crammed with any shape or form of booty imaginable. It seemed as if half of our fellow passengers were already purchasing dried starfish, delicate sand dollars, ornate chunks of coral, and pirate heads carved out of dried coconuts.

  Yes, the pirate’s plunder was almost irresistible. Finally, temptation got the best of Mike. Her hand reached out to caress a shimmering strand of blue-green sea glass beads, and her eyelids fluttered as the lovely beads stole her heart. Just as she decided to take the plunge and make the purchase, a hand darted in front of her face and snatched away her prize.

  “Look, Momma,” Veronica shrieked to Charmaine. “This is it. Ain’t these the absolute perfect accessory for that aquamarine shift?”

  “Now, just a minute…” Mike began, ready to battle for her beloved sea glass. “I saw those first, and you reached right in front of me and grabbed them.” She focused on the souvenir snatcher and blinked, realizing who she was dealing with. Relaxing a bit, Mike smiled. Since she knew them, common sense would prevail.

  She was wrong.

  “I’ll look scrumptious in these beads, don’t you think, Momma?” Veronica asked the admiring Charmaine. “Zak’d sure like ’em. A souvenir of what should’ve been our honeymoon-among-the stars,” she added with nauseating drama, staring at Mike with droopy, albeit, heavily made-up, eyes. Of course that was Mike’s cue to let go, but my little buddy was not about to walk away without a battle.

  “You know, Veronica,“ Mike said after licking her lips twice, “it’s amazing you’d even consider buying those beads. Gosh, I certainly do admire your courage.”

  I wondered just what little trick was up Mike’s sleeve. Hmmm…psychology. Mike was doing battle with a foe unequipped to match her prowess in reasoning and manipulation.

  Veronica gaped at Mike, batting her eyes like a frog in a hailstorm. “Well, hey. Why’d it take courage to buy these little ol’ beads? Them’s just a piece of jew’lry, ’s’all. Nothin’ to be afraid of. An’ th’ price ain’t too bad.”

  Mike winced—most likely at the grammar. “Look, Veronica, if you don’t know the history of sea glass, then I guess it doesn’t matter. Ignorance is bliss, so they say, and I’m sure you’re about as blissful as it gets. Forget I said anything.” Mike turned.

  “Wait. Whadya mean? Is there somethin’ I should know about this here sea glass jew’lry?”

  Mike clucked under her breath, sighed, placed a hand on Veronica’s sunburned shoulder, and stared into her eyes. “Don’t worry about it. Century-old curses don’t mean anything to us these days. Right?”

  “Curse? What curse?”

  “Well…the curse,” Mike throttled up her drama mode and ignored my smirking face, “happened a long time ago. In the eighteenth century, I believe. Poor Isabella Delefuente…and on her wedding night, too.” Mike paused for effect and stared, wide-eyed at her competitor.

  Veronica had bitten the bait. “What? Tell me. Was she wearin’ jew’lry like this? Tell me.”

  Mike cleared her throat, and I had to concentrate on a pair of lapis lazuli earrings in order not to convulse with laughter. “Yes, the poor child was—wearing sea glass, that is—before her wedding.” Mike lowered her voice. “You see, sea glass has no affect whatsoever on married women, regardless of age. However, for the unmarried, well, the legend is very specific and rather frightening. When sea glass is worn by an unmarried maiden, such as yourself, Veronica dear, the unfortunate girl will be doomed to suffer a long separation from her one true love.” Mike lowered her eyes. “So sad…so terribly, depressingly sad.”

  Mike could be impressive in her storytelling prowess, and Veronica was hooked. Jeez, she even had me buying it.

  “Ohh, Mummy. What if Zak don’t make parole?” Veronica wailed. “Then we’ll be separated even longer. Oh, for sure I won’t buy this horrible, nasty thing. What was I thinking? Thank you so much, Mrs. Rosales. Thanks fer lettin’ me in on the truth about the curse. Oh, Lordy. Please. You take them. I sure don’t want ’em.” Veronica practically threw the beads at Mike, and ran from the store with Charmaine close on her heels.

  “Michaela Mercer Rosales,” I snickered. “I didn’t know you had it in you. What a load of you-know-what.”

  “Why so surprised? You know I taught drama for a zillion years.”

  “Yes, but I’ve never seen you stoop so low to get your way. I must say, I’m impressed.”

  “Never underestimate the influence of the proper motivation,” Mike winked, handing the sales clerk the beads and her money. “At least the curse will have no effect upon me,” she chuckled. “Now, had I been home anytime at all this week, I would’ve killed Joe, and then I would’ve been in jeopardy.”

  I looked at Mike in sheer amazement, wondering if her affinity for sea glass had already done her in, and she was the last one to realize her own, personal little curse.

  FORTY-FOUR

  Mike wore a satisfied grin as we headed out in search of the bus that would deliver us to death’s doorstep. Well, it would take us to the waterfall hike, but my own description would be more accurate than Glimmer Falls. The cute tour buses could seat ten passengers—preferably children or Little People—so we weren’t at all surprised when sixteen passengers lined up, expecting to cram themselves into the circusesque vehicle for the thirty-minute trip to our common destination.

  Almost everyone on board looked familiar. To my astonishment, even Clarice and her precious Kingston were along for the adventure. As the bus lurched away from the station, Mike was exhilarated. I was apprehensive. Regardless of how magnificent the view, I couldn’t imagine walking up wooden steps almost six hundred feet to the summit of the falls. Just a week ago, I’d watched a television show about an out of shape, overweight gentleman who’d decided to slip and slide down a huge embankment to frolic in the ocean at a semi-secluded spot. As fate would have it—no luck involved—the gentleman collapsed mid-way up the hill and had to be airlifted by helicopter because the paramedics couldn’t get him up the hillside. I’d visions of a similar fate awaiting me at Glimmer Falls. I doubted anyone would send a helicopter to pluck me off the side of the cliff when I went into cardiac arrest.

  Mike chattered on and on as we flew past the normal tourist attractions, and rattled onto a dusty, earthen road for the final assault. The windows were down—no air conditioning—and the heat and dust made the ride uncomfortable enough that I was actually giddy when we arrived. As we pulled to a stop, I happened to glance out the side window in time to see a familiar face—a nattily dressed, dapper fellow in a pale khaki suit, leaning on a cane, awaiting our arrival.
Startled, I glanced around to see if anyone else noticed or recognized Hernando. Nope. Nobody cared a hoot.

  As the tourists piled off the bus, I remained seated to allow everyone else to exit first. Mike gave me a grimace of annoyance then winked as if to say, I know you can do it, old girl. She seemed oblivious to Hernando, too, and I decided to leave well enough alone…at least for the time being.

  “I’ll run up ahead and buy our tickets,” Mike sang out. I smiled and nodded. I extricated myself from the ridiculous bus, stretched as Hernando strolled up to me. He tipped his hat, bowed, and kissed my hand. As usual, I just stood there, rendered speechless for the moment.

  “Ahh, Mrs. North,” Hernando spoke in his impeccable, smooth dialect. “I am so happy to inform you that the end is near.”

  “That sounds rather dire,” I quipped.

  Hernando looked puzzled for a second, then smiled. “My apologies. Your final clue awaits on board the Caribbean Mermaid, provided,” his lips twitched, “that you make it back to the ship in one piece. You will need your compass, given to you your first day. I do hope you have it in your possession.”

  I offered a weak nod, while my mind attempted to connect all the dots in this crazy puzzle. Hernando turned to leave, and I realized this could well be the last opportunity I’d have to ask some pertinent questions.

  “Hernando,” I called out. The gentleman paused, shrugged, then continued on his way. I took a few long strides toward him. “Hernando, wait. I need to know why Mike and I are on such different paths. We’re both confused and lost, and yet you imply we’re close to the end of our quest. It’s been five days and we still don’t know why so many strange things have happened to us, separately and together. Will this ever make sense?”