“All we want,” Savannah added, “is for him to check and see if they left the ship this morning. You scan passengers’ cards when they come aboard and again when they leave. There are cameras surveilling the security checks. I’m sure you could tell us whether or not they’re still on the ship.”
Martell turned to Poole and gave him a less than friendly look. “Yes, we most certainly could give you that information,” he said, his tone calm, but firm. “I’m sure Chief Poole would be happy to help you with that most reasonable request. After all, he knows how important Ms. Van Cleef is to our passengers on this particular cruise. Many of our guests are sailing with us specifically because she’s aboard. They’re looking forward to interacting with their favorite mystery author at the numerous functions we’ve scheduled that involve her. They’re going to be very disappointed if she isn’t with us.”
Poole bristled and Savannah wondered which of the two men had the highest rank. The security chief’s epaulettes were decorated with three bars each, but the cruise director was wearing a simple navy blazer and charcoal slacks, so it was a bit hard to tell.
She had a feeling that, rank or not, the cruise director would have his way, based upon the quiet forcefulness of his personality.
Which, in this case, was just fine with her.
Seconds ticked away as Poole weighed his decision. Finally, with a most disgruntled look on his face, he turned his back to them and strode to the security checkpoint, where passengers were being screened, both coming and going.
He spoke briefly with a female guard there, then hurried away without a backward glance toward the three of them. As the woman walked their way, Dirk said to the cruise director, “Nice fella. I’ll bet he’s popular aboard.”
Martell gave Dirk a smile tinged with something like distaste and said, “Let’s just say that Poole takes his job very seriously. Considering the gravity of his duties, that’s probably a good thing.”
“Perhaps,” Savannah replied thoughtfully. “Though I can’t see how having an important job keeps you from being a decent person. An ounce of civility and a bit of cooperation go a long ways toward making everybody’s job easier.”
“That’s true.” Allan Martell reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a business card. He placed it in Savannah’s hand and said, “I certainly hope you locate Ms. Van Cleef and that she’s fine. Would you please let me know when you do?”
Savannah slipped the card into her purse. “I certainly will. Thank you for your help.”
He gave her a slight, gracious bow. “It was my pleasure. Nice meeting you, Ms. Reid, and you, Detective Coulter. If I can be of any assistance whatsoever, please don’t hesitate to call me.”
Martell walked away as the security guard approached.
“I understand you need to find out when a certain guest left the ship this morning,” she said.
Her attitude seemed a bit cool, and Savannah wondered what Poole had told her. She decided to slather on the Dixie charm.
“We sure do,” she told her in her thickest drawl. “If you could help us, we’d just be ever so grateful.”
Savannah glanced over at Dirk and saw him roll his eyes.
Hey, she thought, whatever works.
It did work. The security guard, whose name tag identified her as Marcia, melted on the spot. “No problem at all,” she assured them. “Just follow me.”
* * *
As Savannah and Dirk followed Marcia into what felt like the bowels of the ship, heading toward what she called the “engine control room,” Savannah sent a text to each member of the Moonlight Magnolia gang. She asked them to assemble in the library in fifteen minutes and wait until she and Dirk could join them.
Marcia led them down the hallways that were far different from the public corridors. There was no plush, brightly colored carpeting here. Only gray, commercial-grade, no-frills coverings. The walls were a bland white, and the doors bore signs with strange symbols that Savannah didn’t recognize.
Near the end of the long hallway, Marcia entered a complex code on the keypad on a door marked RESTRICTED in large, bold lettering. The door swung open for them.
Once inside, Savannah saw a wall of computers, monitors, and numerous men and women in white uniforms manning them. On the screens were graphs, numbers, dials, lists, and live footage of mechanical parts that she assumed were sections of the ship’s massive engine.
Although she understood absolutely nothing of what she was seeing, she couldn’t help being impressed. So, this is what it takes to propel a massive ship through ocean waters, she thought. Who would’ve thought it could be so complex?
Marcia steered them toward a door to the right. In an instant Savannah recognized the symbol on that door—a bright yellow triangle that surrounded the black silhouette of a closed circuit television camera.
This was where the feed from security cameras was viewed, collected, and stored.
With any luck, the questions concerning her client’s disappearance would be answered behind that door.
Marcia led them inside and directed them to take seats near one of the larger computers. Sitting down at the keyboard, she said, “Okay, I need the name of the first person we’re checking.”
“Natasha Van Cleef,” Savannah said.
She held her breath as Marcia entered the name. They waited only two seconds before the information appeared on the screen.
Marcia pointed to the time given. “Ms. Van Cleef is no longer aboard. She passed through the security check at 0822.”
“Was her husband, Colin Van Cleef, with her?” Dirk asked.
“He passed through less than one minute later.”
Savannah turned to Dirk. “Okay, so they left together. I guess that’s good. At least no one dragged her, kicking and screaming, off the ship.”
Marcia gave her a crooked grin. “Nobody drags anyone off this ship, kicking and screaming. We’re a little better at our jobs than that.”
“I’m sure you are,” Savannah replied. “Can you please check Ms. Van Cleef’s personal assistant, Olive Kelly?”
Marcia nodded and typed in the name. “Olive Kelly cleared the checkpoint at 0806.”
“Hmm,” Savannah murmured. “Before the Van Cleefs.”
“Just out of curiosity,” Dirk said, “how about our big, ugly friend Frank Bellissimo?”
Tapping her finger on the screen, Marcia replied, “Franco Bellissimo’s card was scanned at 0736.”
“Before the other three,” Savannah observed. “If you don’t mind, one more, please. Patricia Chumley.”
Marcia pulled up the information, then sat back in her chair and folded her arms over her chest. “Your Patricia Chumley left at 0802.”
Dirk had been writing the times in his pocket notebook. Glancing over the numbers, he said, “Bellissimo was the first to leave. Then the editor, Patricia. Then Olive, the dingbat assistant.”
“The last ones to leave were Natasha and Colin,” Savannah added.
“What does that tell you?” Marcia wanted to know.
“Not a helluva lot,” Dirk replied with a sigh. “For all we know they’re all out there somewhere, shopping for bear coats, muskrat hats, and gold nuggets. Meanwhile, we’re sitting in here, doing this boring crap, instead of having a cold beer at the Red Moose Tail Saloon.”
Savannah thought that over for a moment. “Do moose actually have tails? I can’t say that I’ve ever seen a moose tail.”
“What’s the plural of moose?” Marcia mused. “Mooses? Meece?”
Savannah shook her head, thinking she should have had at least three more cups of coffee before beginning this day. “Marcia, could I ask one more big favor?”
“Ask away. I’d much rather be down here with the two of you than up there scanning cards and searching bags.”
“Could you please show us the actual video footage of each of these people leaving? It might help if we could determine, say, their demeanor. If anything looks out of the ordinary.”
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“Sure. Give me a minute.”
Marcia’s hands flew over the keyboard, and a few moments later they were watching as Frank Bellissimo passed through the checkpoint.
Studying the screen, Marcia said, “He looks grumpy.”
“That appears to be his natural state,” Savannah told her. “Actually, he appears to be in a better mood than he was last night.”
“Not saying much,” Dirk added.
“Here’s your Patricia Chumley.” Marcia pointed to the screen where the editor was calmly moving through the line. She looked upbeat, as though anticipating a pleasant day ashore.
“Moving along to Olive Kelly,” Marcia said.
Carefully, Savannah studied the footage, noting that, unlike Patricia, Olive did not appear to be looking forward to her land excursion.
“She’s a nervous wreck,” Savannah said. “Look at that card shake when she holds it out to be scanned.”
“She’s looking over her shoulder, too,” Dirk observed, “like she’s expecting somebody to come up behind her.”
“Maybe she’s sneaking away from the Van Cleefs.” Savannah had seen a lot of people up to no good in her day. Her intuition told her that whatever Olive Kelly was doing, she didn’t want to get caught doing it. “Okay, let’s see the last ones, Natasha and Colin.”
It took a few moments for Marcia to find that particular video, long enough for Savannah’s anxiety level to build. More than anything she wanted to see her favorite author and client walking casually off the ship, arm in arm with her husband, ready to enjoy a day in the magnificence of Alaska, America’s last frontier.
Somehow she knew that wasn’t going to be the case.
Her worst fears were confirmed when she looked at the screen and saw the Van Cleefs’ faces. Colin looked worried, nervous, and jumpy, like Olive. He had the appearance of a secretive man who was doing something that he wanted to keep private.
But it was Natasha’s face that haunted Savannah. Her favorite author, and more importantly her client, looked deeply frightened. So frightened that Savannah studied the film closely to see if Colin was gripping her too tightly, perhaps forcing her along. His hand was on her back, but the gesture seemed natural enough for a husband and wife.
Savannah watched each frame carefully until the Van Cleefs were outside the ship and had disappeared from sight. She saw nothing to indicate the cause of Natasha Van Cleef’s fear. But Savannah had no doubt whatsoever that the woman was in danger.
She appeared to be running from someone.
Somehow, someway, in this tiny, unfamiliar village, Savannah had to find her missing client. And she had to locate her before whomever Natasha was afraid of found her first.
Chapter 11
When Savannah and Dirk entered the library, they found the Moonlight gang had assembled, just as requested. They had arranged a semicircle of chairs in front of an enormous window and were enjoying the view of the village and its busy waterway.
But their festive mood turned somber the moment they saw Savannah’s and Dirk’s faces.
John jumped up from his chair and offered it to Savannah. “What’s up with you two?” he asked.
Granny reached over and put her hand on Savannah’s knee. “What’s the matter, Savannah girl? You look like you’ve lost your best friend.”
“Not my best friend exactly,” Savannah told her. “But I’ve misplaced my client, her husband, and her personal assistant. Their suite was empty this morning and no one’s seen them, including their fancy dandy butler.”
“We found another of those threatening letters in the bathroom garbage can,” Dirk told them.
“Oh, no,” Granny said. “That can’t be good no matter how you slice it.”
For the next ten minutes, they filled everyone in on the depressing new developments. Savannah noticed that, while each member of the group took the news seriously and with concern, it was Tammy who appeared to be the most upset.
But then, Savannah had noticed that her young friend appeared distraught even when she and Dirk had first entered the room.
She cast a quick glance at her brother and realized that he was watching her. More accurately, he was watching her watch Tammy. Savannah quirked one eyebrow and gave him a questioning, big sister look.
He shook his head slightly, then looked down at the floor, as though to warn her against saying anything.
A new fear, even sharper than the one she was feeling for Natasha Van Cleef, sliced through her.
The baby? she thought. There can’t be anything wrong with the baby. That would just be too, too terrible.
With a tremendous effort, she pulled her attention back to the business at hand.
Dirk was handing out assignments. “Ryan, John, and you, Dad . . . how would you feel about taking Bellissimo duty again? Find him if you can, trail him, and see what he’s up to.”
“You’ve got it,” Ryan agreed.
“Done.” Richard might have been retired from the police force for quite a while, but Savannah observed that the expression on his face, so like his son’s, was all “cop.”
Only John looked the slightest bit reluctant. “With luck we won’t find it necessary to actually lay hands on himself. A fierce big bloke he is, and no doubt nasty tempered as well.” He glanced around at the others, then shrugged, looking a bit sheepish. “You understand, of course, I wouldn’t be concerned if we were carrying any weapons. Even a small Taser would be a comfort under the circumstances.”
“I understand completely,” Savannah said. “Don’t take any chances. If there’s a problem, contact the local authorities. Let them deal with him.”
“Yeah,” Dirk added. “They’re used to wrestling grizzly bears. They have wolf steak for dinner. What’s one measly mobster from Los Angeles when your family pet is a wolverine?”
Ryan chuckled. “Exactly. In a rugged, masculine place like this, Frank Bellissimo isn’t the top of the food chain anymore.”
Savannah tried not to make it obvious that she was worried about Tammy when she said, “Waycross and Tammy, would you mind very much staying here on the ship? It would be very helpful if you would hang out in the atrium and watch the security checkpoints. We need to know if any of these people return to the ship.”
“Sure, Sis,” Waycross replied. “No problem. We’d be happy to.”
Instead of her usual, over-the-top, bubbly response, Tammy simply stared down at her hands, which were folded demurely in her lap, and gave a little nod.
“Thanks,” Dirk said. Savannah noticed that he was staring at Tammy, too.
In fact, everyone in the group was watching her and looking most concerned.
After a long, awkward pause, Dirk turned to his mother and Granny. “Mom, would you and Gran go ashore and see if you can get a line on Olive? Just ask around, try to find someone who noticed her, who can tell you what she was doing. She’s a distinctive gal. Men in particular would probably remember her if they saw her.”
Savannah said, “Everybody keep an eye out for Patricia Chumley, too, Natasha’s editor. She’s the one with the dark hair and black eyeglasses.”
Dirk added, “On the security video she appeared to be pretty happy, just leaving the ship to have a good time. So she’s probably out shopping for smoked salmon to take back to the relatives. But let us know if you see her.”
“We have pictures of all these people.” Savannah began sending the photos to their phones. “They’re courtesy of a security guard who treated us like gold this morning, unlike that stinky Poole fella. Her name’s Marcia. If you see her, give her a big hug.”
Dirk grimaced. “She’s kidding.”
“No, she’s not,” Gran said. “She’s Southern. We hug good folks. Tight. Kiss ’em, too. Sometimes whether they want it or not.” She turned to Dora. “Let’s hit the shore, girlfriend. Raise a ruckus if we can.”
Dora jumped to her feet. “Let’s do. This sounds like fun. If we find her right away, we could go shopping for some cheap souv
enirs or take one of those free historical walking tours. Or would you like to have lunch at one of those exotic eateries, Gran? One with reasonable prices, of course. I can’t imagine myself eating a bear burger, but I’d try a moose steak, if it was on the menu. Would you, Granny? I would if you would, even though I’ve never—”
“I’d try just about anything once,” Granny said, interrupting the flow of words that would have, undoubtedly, gone on for a very long time.
Savannah was most grateful. This new friendship that was forming between her grandmother and Dirk’s mom was proving to be beneficial in more ways than one.
Granny turned to Tammy and Waycross. “If you want, we can come back to the ship after an hour and trade off duties with you. That way you’ll get a chance to walk around town, too. Soak in the local atmosphere and all that good stuff.”
“No, that’s okay,” Tammy said, still staring down at her hands. “We’ll be fine here, surveilling the security station. You go ahead.”
Yes, there’s something wrong, Savannah thought. Very wrong.
Since when did her little Nancy Drew wanna-be prefer the boredom of surveillance duty to hardcore “sleuthing,” as she liked to call it?
The other members of the team were gathering their things, forming their groups, and leaving the library, so Savannah stood and picked up her purse.
She said to Waycross, “I’m fixin’ to go over there to the coffee bar across the room and grab a few cups. I’ll see if they have some chai for our Mom-to-Be. Would you give me a hand?”
He gave her a half smile that showed he hadn’t bought her ruse for a moment, but he joined her anyway.
No sooner did she have him out of Tammy’s earshot than she began the interrogation. “What the heck’s wrong with Tamitha? She’s droopier than Colonel Beauregard’s face. Did you two have a fight? Is there something going on with the baby?”
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