Analogies aside, after my startling flash of insight and adding everything up, both Mike and I thought we pretty much had it all figured out. Of course Benjamin Browning was on board the Mermaid. We’d been well out to sea when he disappeared. Mike and I hadn’t forgotten meeting him in the passageway—so he had been aboard and had to be somewhere. Knowing what we knew made us feel smug and superior, and we couldn’t wait to announce our findings to the group. We knew we’d blow everyone out of the water, so to speak. Not only did we know the whereabouts of one Benjamin Browning, we knew all about Loretta’s smuggling operations. Like I said, we were damn good.
The following morning, we headed toward the Bake Shoppe, chins in the air, determined to try every breakfast pastry so far untasted on this voyage. A daunting task, but we were up to the challenge. And besides, we were still so wired from our revelations of last night, our metabolisms screamed for sugar. We peered into the glass and chrome display cases like teens admiring some new technological device that’d once again daze and confuse their parents and open their own communications to yet another dimension. What an amazing thing, growing older is. We found raisins far more appealing than iPods, cinnamon more enticing than wireless electronics, and poppy seeds more intriguing than handheld games the size of wristwatches.
When we tore ourselves away from the bakery counter, balancing designer cappuccinos and enormous brown bags bursting with goodies, we waddled over to a secluded alcove in the Centrum of the ship. Flopping down onto an overstuffed couch, which we’d resemble before too long—comfortable, lumpy, bulging delight that it was—we eagerly opened our bakery bags.
Laughing, cheerful, sun-tanned cruise companions strolled about the busy foyer area, checking on reservations or purchasing last-minute gift items. You could not go ashore and return to ship without the ceremonial coconut carved into a monkey’s face or some spectacular designer geehaw encrusted with seashells, but if you’d forgotten something or someone on your list, the ship’s many shops could accommodate.
Since we were no longer welcome at the Mystery Cruise Grand Finale, we’d need to rely on some eavesdropping or just plain snooping to discover when and where the grand event would occur. We couldn’t wait to spill the beans about the make believe crime on board the Mermaid, not to mention the nefarious smuggler. Convinced that everyone would be dazzled and impressed by our revelation of the real true mystery we planned to unveil, we consumed our breakfasts with wild abandon. Yes, revenge would be sweet, and we plotted and planned which of us would say what and when and how.
I’d just swallowed a bite of doughnut when Mike elbowed me. Tempted to shove her off the end of the couch, I glared at her over my coffee cup. Mike needed to have to find another way to catch my attention. “What?” I snapped.
“Look.” Mike pointed across the lobby.
Too many people and movement and colors and…wait a minute. Charmaine and Veronica had just exited one of the more stylish boutiques. Each carried a tiny, bright yellow bag with dangling ribbon handles. The two laughed and giggled like sixth graders, peering into each other’s bags, and then grinning. I could only imagine what type of clothing would cause the two of them to look embarrassed and ecstatic at the same time.
I shrugged. “I don’t even want to think about it.”
“Those two really creep me out,” Mike muttered.
“Stop talking like one of your seventh graders.”
“Oh, hush, Bernadette. Man, I loved that pecan thingy. Did you like it? I wonder if I could ma—”
Mike’s eyes widened as Hernando strolled into view. He looked very dapper dressed out in his resort whites. Today he’d completed the ensemble with a stylish cane. He was obviously searching for someone, since his head bobbed about as he twisted and turned to check out every nook and cranny of the enormous Centrum. His eyes came to rest upon us. He paused and narrowed his eyes when he realized we were staring right back. Ever courteous, he tipped his hat, smiled his charming yet evasive smile, and then sidled away like a crab. Didn’t take a degree to see he didn’t want to make contact with us or, heaven forbid, be seen communicating with us in any way.
When it rains, it pours. From across the expansive lobby, Loretta emerged from an elevator, spied him, and marched in his direction. Hernando was dwarfed next to the imposing woman, who lost no time in launching another verbal tirade. But damn. We were out of earshot.
“Why do you think the poor man puts up with that awful woman?” Mike asked. “She seems to get a heck of a lot of his attention. And I know it was Loretta that had us kicked off the mystery.”
“I agree. He seems to be very concerned about her opinions. Look at him. He acts nervous and upset, and even a bit worried, but he doesn’t leave. Wonder why? We’re not there to antagonize her anymore unless he knows that we know…”
“Shhhh,” Mike cautioned, glancing over her shoulder. “You don’t know who’s listening, and we don’t want to lose our edge.”
“Edge smedge,” I muttered.
Another ten seconds and the two disappeared from our view. With tandem shrugs, we rose to amble around when, to our chagrin, Charmaine and Veronica saw us and rushed over to show their treasures.
“Oh, Lord…” I groaned.
“Looky what we found,” Veronica squealed.
We peeked inside their bags.
“Omigawd,” Mike sucked in a breath, impressed and horrified at the same time. “Is that what they call a thong?” she whispered.
The mother and daughter duo burst into embarrassed laughter. “You’re just the cutest thing.” Charmaine smiled at Mike with dancing eyes. “Did you hear her? ‘Is that a thong?’” She giggled. “Honey, have you been livin’, in a convent or something?”
Mike opened her mouth and I pinched her. Recalling some of the more endearing experiences we’d had with nuns, I knew I had to do something to ward off the explosion that was about to happen. “Very pretty, Veronica. Very skimpy but very pretty.”
“When Veronica asked her fiancé what kind of a souvenir he’d like her to bring home from the cruise, this is what he suggested,” the woman laughed. “So, I decided…what the hey! I’ll get me some, too!”
“It seems that the less there is of somethin’, the more it costs. Why, these here underdrawers set me back almost thirty dollars,” Veronica volunteered.
“Want to see mine?” Charmaine added.
I expected her to flash the unmentionables at us, so graciously declined, waved goodbye, and darted away from the weird twosome, pulling a surprised and shell-shocked Mike after me. Once safe and out of sight, we laughed so hard we cried.
“Oh…Lord, Bern, I-I’ve never seen anything…like that…before.” Mike wiped away tears from her red cheeks.
“Sweetie, you have led a sheltered life.” I grinned through my own tears. “What was that about a convent?”
Well, that sobered her up. Mike stopped laughing and frowned. “Ooh, Bernadette. You’re insufferable.”
“I know.”
Without another word, we ambled to the topmost deck where we enjoyed watching the last-minute flurry of activities in every available corner of the ship. A carnival-like atmosphere was in the air. The music and laughter added to the joyful climate on this our final day at sea. Contests galore, each designed to entertain the guests for one last fling as we sailed back to Miami.
We wandered from event to event, then paused at the Dolphin King Pool. A crowd had gathered to watch the diving contest, which was geared towards the ladies on the cruise, and many of the male passengers volunteered to act as judges. As we settled in to watch the festivities, Mike dived headfirst into her enormous beach bag. She pulled out a crinkly, silvery plastic bag, and shoved it at me.
“Here,” she said with her usual flair for drama. “I was saving this for later, but I think now is as good a time as any to give you this little souvenir I picked up for you at St. Thomas.”
“What did you do?” I asked, suspicious. I took the bag. Mike and I did not share the same taste
in anything, except maybe food. When it came to souvenirs or furniture or clothing, we were not at all attuned, so I peeked inside the bag before reaching in.
“It’s a T-shirt,” Mike announced. “So funny and, well, as soon as I saw it I thought of you.”
I reached into the bag and pulled out a gigantic shirt, size 3X, which right away ticked me off. Pale blue—not my best color—with two enormous, fluffy white sheep scampering across the front.
“What in the world?” I gasped.
Mike beamed. “Read it.”
Beneath the two enormous, ratty old sheep was written: Ewe ain’t fat. Ewe is fluffy! St. Thomas, Virgin Islands
Mike burst out laughing, impressed with herself and her surprise, and the stupid, stupid shirt. I could tell she felt she’d gotten me just the cutest souvenir shirt ever. However, I was rendered speechless.
“Ummmm, thanks,” was all I could muster, remembering how my best friend growing up, Linda, would sweetly and sincerely assure me, an insecure, over-sized pre-teen, that I wasn’t fat, just big-boned—whatever the hell that was supposed to mean. But guileless Mike loved her gift, so I thanked her and settled in to enjoy the contest.
To my utter surprise, a familiar face appeared among the contestants. Could it be…no, no way…yes. Lord, it was. Clarice. Our little shy violet had blossomed. Rather like kudzu. Here she was, set to compete, in a swimsuit, no less, in front of a hundred or more people. Six days ago, she wouldn’t raise her head to look you in the eye or answer a question, and now, love had transformed her into a confident outgoing risk-taker. Ain’t love grand?
“I wonder if Clarice has solved the mystery,” Mike mused.
It dawned on us at the same moment that Clarice might be able to tell us when and where the Mystery Cruise Meeting would take place. She’d been so wrapped up in Kingston that she probably wasn’t even aware of our ‘problem’ with the group and would be happy to share information with us. We smiled and nodded at each other in a conspiratorial manner, and then laughed as our soul sisters bounced and boinged off the diving board to the uproarious cheers and encouragement of the crowd. I still believe to this day that the crowd—comprised mostly of men—was far more interested in the bouncing part of the competition than the boinging, but who am I to judge?
You couldn’t help but wonder how those women with serious built-in flotation devices avoided knocking themselves senseless along the way. Yet, loyalty to the Sisterhood of the Bosom prevailed, and we kept our thoughts to ourselves, more or less.
FIFTY-FOUR
The Ladies’ Diving Contest ended right at lunchtime, and Mike and I made a beeline for Clarice, who stood shivering in a warm, bright orange beach towel, looking around in a daze. Expecting Kingston, and here we were instead.
Clarice smiled at us with those sweet, soulful eyes, and we congratulated her on her bravery.
“Oh, it wasn’t anything,” she whispered. “Kingston thought I should give it a go, so I went.” Her big eyes got even bigger. “Have you seen him? I-I lost him in the crowd. Do you know where he could be?”
“Well, he could be almost anywhere,” Mike answered, “but I doubt he’s wandered too far away.”
Clarice blushed, and dropped her eyes.
“Say, Clarice,” I jumped in, “do you remember where we’re getting together for the final meeting?”
Clarice looked puzzled then brightened. “Meeting? Oh, the Mystery Cruise. You know, I haven’t given it much thought for these past few days. King and I have been busy you know. I sort of lost interest in a make-believe story since I was busy creating my own fairy tale. I do know it’s tonight, and I’m pretty sure Senora Margarita Conchita said we’d meet in the Voodoo Lounge, and if I’m not mistaken, the time is 6:00 p.m.”
“Thanks,” we chimed.
Clarice’s face took on a ruddy glow as she spied her beloved Kingston. Forgetting us, she bounced on tiptoes and waved. He’d been heading toward her, but when he saw us, stopped dead in his tracks, turned and strode away. Clarice looked stricken, and her face fell.
“Kingston,” she shouted, but he either didn’t hear or ignored her.
Clarice gathered up her towel and bag and flip-flops and ran after him, leaving us behind with mouths gaping.
“I hope that rat’s not going to abandon her now that the cruise is almost over, poor little thing,” I mumbled.
“I do believe that man’s a skunk,” Mike pursed her lips. “He’ll break her heart. I just know he will.”
Clarice caught up to him, threw her arms around him, and allowed him to escort her along the deck, headed who-knows-where. I hoped he wasn’t going to use then abandon the poor little naïve spinster, but worldly women such as ourselves—well, such as myself—tended to be a bit cynical in the ways of men.
A bizarre, shrieking noise emanated from Mike’s humongous bag. Her damn cell phone. Couldn’t she just accidentally leave that contraption in the cabin once in a while? But Mike knew the consequences if—heaven forbid—she didn’t speak to Joe on a semi-regular basis, considering his track record for making questionable decisions. In the back of my mind, I decided the frequent calls were a fiendishly clever plot to remind her that she’d abandoned him for a week to be with me. But, then again, I could be giving the poor addled man more credit than due. I watched in wry amusement as she picked up. Yep, the caller I.D. revealed it was, indeed, her one and only.
“Hello, Joe,” Mike answered.
I watched her expressions; enjoying the challenge of decoding what was going on by listening to the one-sided conversation.
“Joe, the carpet shampooer is in the family room closet, behind the home beer maker and the snow cone machine,” she said, rolling her eyes. “Yes, I’m sure there’s a wide variety of stain removers you can get at the… Wait a minute, what kind of stains are we talking about?” Her voice rose a decibel. She listened. Her eyebrows arched in a most Spock-ish manner.
“Grease?” she moaned. “Oh, Joe, what kind of grease is it? Engine grease? Like from a car… The lawn mower? What were you thinking?” She rolled her eyes again. “Okay, okay, just get some paper towels and blot up the spot first and…what? What? What do you mean it’s bigger than a spot? How big an area are we talking about here? Joe? Hello? Joe?” Mike froze in abject horror.
I removed the phone from her hand and shut it. “Everything okay?” I managed to keep a straight face. Meryl Streep, move over. I couldn’t help being a little entertained by her dilemma.
She glowered. “Okay, I suppose Jack has never worked on lawn mower parts on the living room floor…after carefully and methodically placing newspapers all around, then realizing that grease soaks right through newsprint?” Mike’s voice ran an entire octave. “This is what I get for leaving that man alone for an entire week. So, what will you come home to, Miss My-Husband-Is-Perfect?” Mike sniped.
“Well, the house will be immaculate, laundry done, dishes clean, probably a dinner ready to serve. I don’t want your problems, Mike, but I do wish Jack missed me a little more. He gets along just fine without me, and I have to admit, I often wonder if he can do all those things better than I can.” My voice sounded a trifle sad even to my ears. Refusing to sound like a whiny housewife, I added, “Anyway, your problems are funnier than mine, but you have to admit it, he really does miss you. Now, let’s get some lunch.”
So many options and so few hours left.
We made our way to the sushi bar since that was one place we still hadn’t tried. Committed to doing it all, trying it all, enjoying it all, we’d dived into the whole Mystery element of the cruise; anticipated having fun and taking the experience to the limit. Now everything had changed. This evening we’d attend the meeting, uninvited or not, and expose our startling discoveries. It’d be interesting to hear what everyone else had come up. Everyone was so secretive about the mystery, while trying to enjoy the cruise. I knew that whatever happened it’d be fun to hear all the answers—bizarre or otherwise. Whatever, Mike and I had quite a surprise
in store for everyone this evening. I could hardly wait.
FIFTY-FIVE
Throughout the morning, we wandered back and forth to our cabins, reorganizing souvenirs and packing a bit here and there. Packing being the operative word since it soon turned into a mathematical impossibility, an impassability, or, as Mike was fond of saying, a downright pain-in-the-ass conundrum. We had no room for our clothing and toiletries, let alone the ridiculous assortment of gotta-have-it items purchased at bargain prices throughout the eastern Caribbean islands. What were we thinking?
Tired of playing suitcase Rubiks Cube, Mike joined me in my cabin, flopping on the bed with a dramatic sigh. “I need another suitcase,” she moaned. “Or three more of those canvas bags like the one I bought with the pelican on the front. How ’bout you?”
“I think I can get it all in, but the darned thing’s going to be a bear to handle.”
Putting our feet up, we chatted about the events of the past week, then veered to the meeting planned for tonight. That soon had us grinning and chuckling over how we planned to steal the limelight.
“I can’t wait to see their faces,” I mused.
“I wonder if they’ll all applaud,” Mike murmured.
“Well, you-know-who sure won’t be clapping.”
“You got that one right.” Mike shifted, tugging at her blouse. “You know,” she quirked an eyebrow, “we still have a few hours before the tête-à-tête tonight.”
“Okay. Your point?”
Mike yawned and stretched. “Well, even though we’ve made a valiant effort, I don’t think we’ve seen everything there is to see on board this humongous ship.” She struggled to sit up. “Say. Why aren’t you wearing that cute T-shirt I bought you?”
“Ummm,” I hesitated, “it’s, uh…just so adorable, I thought I’d keep it for some special occasion at home.” Yeah…like scrubbing the bathtub.
“Good idea.” Mike lumbered to her feet. “Mind if I use your bathroom?”
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