Jack tucked the newsletter back into the centerpiece. “Regan, promise me we’ll never send out one of these.”
“Duly noted,” Regan agreed.
Nora had been studying the poster-sized picture of Left Hook Louie that was hanging on the wall nearest their table. “He was the nicest guy.”
“Who?” Luke asked.
“Left Hook Louie,” she explained, as she pointed to the poster. “He was a prizefighter who became a best-selling mystery writer. I did a signing with him when I was new and he was well established. He had a long line and I only had a few stragglers. He stood up and said to the crowd that he had read my book and loved it and anyone who didn’t buy it should step aside and go a round with him right then.” Nora laughed. “I sold a hundred books!”
Regan and Jack stared up at the poster. They both had the same thought. Left Hook Louie bore a startling resemblance to Tony Pinto, whose picture they had just observed on the computer screen.
“Do you know if he had any kids?” Jack asked Nora.
“Not to my knowledge,” Nora answered. She glanced at the door. “Oh good, here are Alvirah and Willy.”
The Meehans, Willy in a tuxedo like all the other men and Alvirah in a white silk jacket and long black skirt, were coming across the room and heading toward them.
“Sorry!” Alvirah said. “But for once I’m not the one who’s late. Willy started playing solitaire and was convinced he could beat himself. By the time he knew it was a lose-lose situation, he only had a few minutes to get ready. Isn’t that right, Willy?”
“You’re right as usual, honey,” Willy said amiably. “Alvirah found a deck of cards in the night table drawer, and I started fooling around with them. They’re not new, so we figured they belonged to the Commodore’s nephew. But we just bumped into him at the elevator, and he told us he hates cards. I’ve got them in my pocket in case anyone wants to play later.”
The Commodore started tapping against the microphone and blew into it. “Attention! Attention! It’s time to give out the Santa Cruise medals to all of you who have given of yourselves so generously this past year.”
“First I’d like to call up everyone from the Readers and Writers group. It humbles me to be in their presence. . . .”
Dozens of hands shot into the air, waving empty glasses to signal the waiters for a refill. It was clear that the Commodore was just warming up. One by one, he placed medals hanging from ribbons around the necks of each member of the Readers and Writers group. All the people who had donated to charities, including Alvirah, were next. Finally, when the medal was placed around Eldona Deitz’s neck, her husband and children were beside her. The eight- and ten-year-old girls, unable to contain their excitement, were jumping up and down.
“Aren’t you proud of your mommy?” the Commodore asked.
“We did all the work,” Fredericka yelped. “Mommy likes to sleep late. Daddy has to bring her coffee every morning or she can’t open her eyes.”
Eldona grabbed her daughter by the elbow and smiled at the Commodore. “Fredericka is our little jokester. Aren’t you, dear?”
Fredericka shrugged. “I don’t know,” she muttered.
Finally the Commodore called up the ten Santas, two of whom were without costumes. “A little mix-up,” the Commodore explained to the crowd, “but all of these ten wonderful men will be running around the ship in these Santa suits for the next four days.”
“God help us,” Luke said under his breath.
As the Commodore put the medal around Bobby Grimes’s neck, an obviously inebriated Grimes grabbed the microphone. “I should be wearing a Santa suit right now,” he growled. “But there’s a thief on board this ship. Watch out everybody! Anybody who would bother to steal two of these crummy outfits will have a field day with your cash and jewelry!”
13
Harry Crater had scheduled a phone call to his cohorts for seven P.M., but the satellite transmission on his cell phone was not working. With increasing irritability, he waited in his stateroom for an hour, trying to put the call through at ten-minute intervals. At eight o’clock there was a knock at the door. It was Gil Gephardt, the ship’s physician, who had taken it upon himself to check up on Crater.
Crater realized too late that without the oversized jacket, he didn’t look all that puny. He tried to slump as he stood looking down at his small-framed, owl-like visitor.
“Oh, Mr. Crater, we met briefly when you boarded the ship. I’m Dr. Gephardt. When I noticed you weren’t at the cocktail party, I was afraid you had taken ill.”
Mind your own business, Crater thought. “I didn’t expect to nap so long,” he explained. “All the excitement of getting ready for this cruise made my heart pound. I was exhausted.” He was aware that Gephardt was studying him closely, his eyes barely blinking.
“Mr. Crater, in my medical opinion, I must say that you look better already. Only a few hours of beneficial sea air and the difference is already remarkable. I’m sure we’ll have no need to send for that helicopter at all. Now may I suggest you go downstairs and get yourself some nourishment?”
“I’ll be there in a few moments,” Crater promised, ignoring the urge to slam the door in Gephardt’s face. Instead, he closed it quietly and rushed to the mirror. The grayish paste he had applied to his face before boarding the ship had pretty much worn off. He applied more but was afraid to use as much as he wanted. That doctor was sharper than he looked.
Before he left his room, he made one more attempt to reach his fellow conspirators. This time the call went through. He confirmed the plan. At one A.M. tomorrow night, he would fake a medical emergency. Gephardt would ask the captain to send for the helicopter. A reasonable time for it to arrive would be before daybreak. At that hour, most of the passengers and crew would be asleep. It would be like taking candy from a baby.
When he hung up the phone, Crater headed out the door. As he hurried down the deserted corridor, he took grim satisfaction in realizing that in thirty-three hours his mission would be accomplished and his big payoff on the way.
He took the elevator to the lounge. Remembering to limp and lean on his cane, he walked across the deserted area, unaware of the boozy outburst from a frustrated Santa that had sent waves of excitement through the cocktail party.
At the door of the dining salon, the maître d’ rushed to greet him. “You must be Mr. Crater,” he said, placing a supporting arm under Crater’s elbow. “We have a wonderful table for you. Dudley has placed you with a remarkable family. Two special youngsters are so excited to be your little helpers on this cruise.”
Crater, who had no patience for anyone under thirty, was horrified. As he approached his table, he saw that the one empty chair was between the two little “darlings” he had found intensely irritating at the welcoming ceremony.
As he sat down, Fredericka jumped up. “Can I help you cut your meat?”
Not to be outdone, Gwendolyn threw her arms around his neck. “I love you, Uncle Harry.”
Oh my God, he thought, she’s going to smear my gray face paint.
14
As Ivy Pickering found her place at one of the Readers and Writers tables, she was tingling with the excitement of knowing that there was a thief in their midst. She loved to read mysteries, but to be in the middle of a real life mystery was unbelievable good fortune. She was bursting to report it all to her mother in an e-mail before she went to sleep.
A lively discussion about the missing Santa suits began. The waiter had to struggle to complete taking their orders.
“Are you sure you didn’t arrange this, Ivy?” Maggie Quirk, Ivy’s roommate joked. “You wanted to stage a murder mystery on board, but it was just too complicated. Besides, it isn’t our place. We’re guests here.” Maggie’s hazel eyes twinkled. A comfortable size twelve, her short auburn hair fell into waves around her pleasant face. Her lips curved up into a ready smile. There was a certain wryness in her tone, which she’d acquired after the failure of her “perfect” ma
rriage. Three years ago, on her fiftieth birthday, the big surprise had been that her husband told her he wanted a divorce because he needed more excitement in his life. After the shock wore off, Maggie realized it was the best birthday gift she had ever received. “That lump has been boring me for the past ten years,” she laughingly told her friends, “and I’m the one who gets dumped.” An assistant bank manager, Maggie had resolved to make the most of her free time from that moment on. She had joined the Readers and Writers group and was now delighted to come on the cruise.
“Maggie, we don’t need a murder mystery,” Ivy responded. “Wouldn’t it be fun to try and figure out who would take those Santa Claus suits and why?”
“That poor cruise director looks a little confused. There were probably only eight suits to start with,” Tommy Lawton, the vice president of the group, commented as he dug into his smoked salmon.
I believe two suits were stolen, Ivy thought, and I’m going to make it my business to find out what happened. Then I’ll really have an excuse to spend time with the Reillys and the Meehans.
Everyone agreed that the appetizers and the entrées they’d ordered were delicious. “This food is surprisingly good,” Maggie commented, as the entrées were being cleared. “And it tastes even better because it’s free.”
The waiter began serving salads.
Lawton looked perplexed. “Did you forget to pass these around before the main course?”
“No, sir,” the man sniffed. “This is the way they do it in Paris.”
“Never been there,” Lawton said cheerfully. “Maybe if I win the lottery.”
Ivy knew that if she had salad she’d never have room for dessert. Pushing back her chair, she playfully whispered, “Don’t say anything interesting till I get back.” As she exited the dining salon, she made a point of waving to the Santas who were seated at the tables along her path. She knew that one of them would be sitting at her table the next night. She couldn’t wait. She hoped it would be Bobby Grimes, the one who had told everybody to watch their wallets. Unless of course the Commodore banned him from wearing a Santa outfit. They’d given Grimes the hook after his outburst.
After visiting the ladies’ room, Ivy decided to take a quick detour to the Chapel of Repose. It would be nice to include a description of the room in the e-mail she’d send to her mother tonight. No one would be there now, and she’d get a chance to get a good look around in peace and quiet.
* * *
“This stupid suit makes me itch,” Bull’s-Eye complained. “I’ve got to take it off or I’ll go nuts.”
They’d been sitting in the dark behind the altar, complaining to each other about how hungry they were.
“Then do it,” Highbridge snapped.
Bull’s-Eye stood up, removed the jacket and pants, and dropped them on the floor. Clad only in his boxer shorts, he began to stretch his arms and jump up and down. At that precise moment, the door of the chapel opened and the light was flicked on.
For an instant, Bull’s-Eye and Ivy stared at each other.
“Aaaaahhhhhhhhhhhh!” Ivy screamed.
Before Bull’s-Eye could move, Ivy was out the door, her feet flying along the corridor and down the stairs, continuing to shriek as she made her way back to the others.
“Now you’ve done it,” Highbridge said frantically, pulling on his beard and stocking cap. “Get dressed. We’ve got to get out of here.”
Back in the dining salon, the Santa Cruisers were in for their second shock of the evening. Heads swiveled at the sounds emanating from the approaching Ivy. When she appeared in the doorway, she cried out, “I saw Left Hook Louie’s ghost! He’s in the Chapel of Repose getting ready for another fight! He’s with us on the cruise!!!”
There was an instant of silence and then the tables with the Oklahoma Readers and Writers burst into laughter. “That’s our Ivy!” one of them shouted.
The amusement spread to the other tables.
“I mean it,” Ivy protested. “He’s in the chapel. Come see!”
With one exception, everyone in the dining room continued to chuckle.
Eric jumped up and turned to the Commodore. “I’ll check it out, sir.”
The Commodore grabbed Eric’s sleeve and pulled him back into his seat. “Don’t be ridiculous. The woman’s a loon. Now enjoy your dessert.”
15
Bull’s-Eye and Highbridge ran out of the chapel, and down the corridor to the nearest companionway. The bells on their stocking caps tinkled as their feet, barely touching the steps, descended to the next level. Two flights below they found an outside door, pushed it open, and stepped out onto a large deserted deck lined with beach chairs. It was immediately obvious that there was no place to hide. They hurried toward the ship’s stern, up a set of wrought-iron steps, and found themselves on the pool deck. A bar was at one end. A wall of glass windows at the other end of the deck looked into a cafeteria-style dining room marked “The Lido” where several waiters were carrying platters and placing them on a long table.
“They must be setting up for the midnight buffet,” Highbridge whispered. “People do nothing but eat on these cruise ships.”
“Except us,” Bull’s-Eye grunted. “Let’s go in and get some food.”
“You’ve got to be kidding,” Highbridge objected.
“An empty stomach is nothing to kid about. Just stay calm. Act hungry. Follow me.”
They strolled past the pool, through the double doors, and headed for the buffet table. An ice sculpture of Marlon Brando in a naval uniform, his feet in a drip pan, served as the somewhat-watery centerpiece.
“Sorry, the midnight buffet doesn’t start until eleven,” a waiter on his way to the kitchen stopped to tell them.
“Yeah, well we just got back from the North Pole, and it’s too late to have dinner downstairs,” Bull’s-Eye explained, his voice trying to sound jolly. Even to his own ears the words didn’t ring true, so he started to laugh. He realized the laugh didn’t ring true either.
“We’ll grab enough to tide us and the reindeer over,” Highbridge added. “Rudolph gets temperamental when he hasn’t eaten.”
The waiter shrugged. “None of the hot food is out yet. I hope Rudolph likes cheese.”
Bull’s-Eye nodded, then whispered under his breath. “Enough with the small talk. We’ll sneak in later. Let’s grab whatever they have and get out of here fast.”
16
Doesn’t anybody believe me?” Ivy screamed.
As one, the Oklahoma Readers and Writers group yelled, “No!”
At the Reilly-Meehan table, the three couples exchanged worried glances.
“I’ve been to a lot of murder mystery weekends,” Nora said, “but no one ever sounded as convincing as Ivy. I don’t think this is an act.”
“She definitely believes she saw something,” Regan agreed.
Dudley was sitting nearby. He jumped up and ran to Ivy. “Miss Pickering, I know you’re trying to have some fun on this cruise but . . .”
Ignoring Dudley, Ivy ran to Alvirah’s table. “They all think I’m joking. I’m not. I saw Left Hook Louie in tartan plaid boxer shorts in the chapel. He was warming up for a fight. Like this . . .” She started jumping up and down and stretching her arms.
With a regretful glance at her as yet untouched crème brulée, Alvirah hoisted herself out of the chair. “Let’s go take a look,” she said.
“We’ll all go with you, Miss Pickering,” Jack said decisively.
“Thank you. Call me Ivy.”
Not wanting to wait for an elevator, they took the companionway up to the Boat Deck. Nora tucked a reassuring hand under Ivy’s elbow as they started down the corridor to the Chapel of Repose. She’s trembling, Nora realized. She’s really scared.
“I just wanted to take a peek at the chapel because I’m sending an e-mail to my mother . . . I don’t care how good it is for you, I hate salad. Besides, they didn’t serve the salad on time. I thought I’d take a few minutes to check out the
chapel while everyone was chomping on their rabbit food. Maybe even say a prayer for my mother. She’s eighty-five, but still going strong. Sharp as a tack. She took up yoga. It’s been wonderful for her. She goes to church every day. That’s why I knew she’d be interested in what the chapel here was like. . . .”
“The chapel is very special to the Commodore,” Dudley said quickly. “He was hoping someone would decide to get married on this cruise. The chapel is perfect for any special occasion. . . .”
Jack pulled open the ornate chapel door. The sanctuary was in darkness except for the faint glow of the outside lights filtering through the stained-glass windows. “Ivy, was the light on when you got here?”
“No. I pulled open the door and saw the switch right away. It has a glow. I flicked it on and . . . ohhhhhhhhh. But I did not turn it off when I left!” she added positively.
“We plan to encourage our guests to turn out lights whenever possible. It’s so wasteful to leave on your cabin lights when you go to dinner. The Commodore is very concerned about global warming,” Dudley explained, then realized that no one was paying attention to him.
Jack reached over and flicked the switch. The overhead and side lights went on, illuminating the chapel. Ivy pointed to the side of the altar. “That’s where he was jumping and stretching. Left Hook Louie! I know it sounds crazy, but he was here. Or at least his ghost was here.”
“Ivy, did he say anything to you?” Alvirah asked. “I’m sure he wouldn’t have wanted to scare you like this. After all, you’re honoring him on this trip.”
“No. He just stared at me. The boxes with a special classic edition of his first book, Planter’s Punch, never made it on board. Maybe that upset him.”
“Planter’s Punch?” Regan asked.
“Yes. Left Hook Louie’s boxer-turned-detective was named Pug Planter. That first book was a huge bestseller. But as I said, the classic edition we were supposed to sell on board never made it to the ship on time.”
Santa Cruise Page 6
