Dying for a Diamond

by Cindy Sample

“And nimble-fingered,” Tom added. “Have they left behind any evidence?”

  Sanjay shook his head. “A couple of purses were found, emptied for the most part, devoid of any fingerprints.”

  “Can your stewards search the cabins and look for the missing items?” I asked.

  “We guarantee privacy for all of our guests,” Sanjay explained. “It would be completely unacceptable for the cabin stewards to rummage through their drawers and luggage. Unless the thief leaves a pile of jewels and wallets on his or her bed and then takes off to eat dinner, there’s not much we can do other than warn the passengers.”

  “That won’t go over well,” Tom said.

  “Not at all. But on to more pleasant news. You’ll be happy to learn that all passengers with cabins above your deck are accounted for. We also found no sign of a struggle, blood or anything out of the ordinary on the observation deck.”

  “Which means…?” I asked.

  “Which means no one fell overboard. So you have nothing to worry about.” Sanjay stood and offered his hand to Tom and then to me. “It was a pleasure to meet both of you.”

  “But, but…” I sputtered. Before I could finish my sentence, he’d ushered us out the door and closed it behind us. Tom guided me toward the elevator while I mulled over our conversation. The doors opened and we entered, alone for a change.

  “Are you disappointed?’ Tom asked. He slung his arm around my shoulders, and I slumped into him.

  “I guess I am, although I should be relieved no one fell overboard.” I gazed at my sandals, replaying the brief meeting in my head. The elevator stopped on the fourth floor, and two familiar faces stepped in.

  “What have you lovebirds been up to?” Gran asked. I was about to explain when I noticed the pink purse that matched her pink plaid camp shirt.

  “They found your purse,” I said. “Did the thief take anything?”

  “The scumbag took all her cash,” Mabel said. “And her sunscreen.”

  “And my pretzels from the plane.” Gran added. She reached into her voluminous handbag and pulled out a bright blue foil package. “Left the peanuts behind though. That could be a clue.”

  “So all we need to do is find a fair-skinned, nimble-fingered person who’s allergic to peanuts,” I summed up.

  “Probably constipated, too,” Gran added. “They kept my five-dollar-off coupon for the seaweed cleanser.”

  “We can’t let this two-bit crook get away with it.” Mabel nudged Gran. “Right, Ginny?”

  “Yep. Looks like TWO GALS DETECTIVE AGENCY has another case.” Gran eyed Tom and me. “You two want to join the firm? We could change the name to THREE GALS AND A HUNK.”

  The elevator pinged our floor before Tom and I could graciously refuse. We jumped out, not really caring what deck we landed on, and left Gran and Mabel hot on the trail of the thief.

  “Do you think those two will get into trouble?” Tom asked, a worried expression on his face.

  “Silly question,” I said. “And the answer is yes.”

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  As I dressed for the first of two formal dining events on our nine-day cruise, I pondered our earlier conversation with the security officer. On the one hand, I felt relieved that no one had plunged to death in the churning sea, either accidentally, intentionally or murderously. Now I could concentrate on my honeymoon, not homicide.

  On the other hand, why couldn’t I erase that niggling suspicion?

  I zipped up my new empire-waist turquoise evening gown, courtesy of Renfro’s Bridal Shop back home. My zipper stopped two inches shy of the fastener so I swirled around to ask Tom for help.

  Be still my heart. My husband could wear a black tuxedo like no other man. His Godiva-brown eyes twinkled as my mouth dropped open.

  “What do you think?” he asked. “Shades of James Bond?”

  “Daniel Craig, watch out.” I gave him a lengthy kiss then turned around so he could finish dressing me.

  We strode out of the room a few minutes later than planned. Tom couldn’t seem to grasp the concept of pulling my zipper up, although he had mastered the opposite direction. We might have continued enjoying each other’s company if my mother hadn’t called our stateroom and interrupted us. Gran and Mabel were supposedly holding down a table for our entire group.

  Honeymoon for eight. The story of my life.

  When we arrived at the table, we found Bradford and Mother already seated, along with Stan, Gran, Mabel, and an older man with a thick thatch of white hair and matching moustache. He sported a double-breasted white dinner jacket with a yellow rose tucked in his buttonhole.

  The elderly man, seated between Gran and Mabel, rose to shake our hands. “I’m Jimmy Bond,” he introduced himself.

  When I started, his lined face crinkled into a sweet smile. “No relation. I was born long before Ian Fleming dreamed up his famous spy.”

  “Are you as spry as that spy?” Gran asked with a mischievous expression.

  He leaned over and in a stage whisper said, “In more ways than one.” Gran giggled and Mabel snorted. Tom put his linen napkin over his mouth to hide his laughter.

  Mother stared down her perfectly-shaped nose at the disorderly octogenarians. “How nice of you to join us, Jimmy,” she said. “Where are you from?”

  “I reside in London, but I enjoy cruising and do it as often as I can. It’s the perfect escape from England’s cold rainy winters.”

  “You must be loaded.” Mabel blurted out what I was thinking.

  “I’m comfortable,” he replied. The wine steward arrived before Mabel could ask Jimmy for copies of his bank statements.

  After settling on our wine selections, I directed my attention to Stan. “Is Zac tied up tonight?” I knew that Jimmy’s seat originally was reserved for the stage director.

  Stan nodded. “I had no idea that a stage director worked 24/7.” He sipped from his water glass. “If it’s not a technical glitch, then it’s a personnel issue.”

  “Are there problems among the performers?” Mother asked.

  “I really can’t discuss it.” Stan leaned forward and in a voice loud enough for the tables around us to overhear announced, “Let’s just say that one of the male singers has been, um, double-dipping with two of the female singers.”

  “So what’s the big deal if he wants to get ice cream cones with two different gals?” asked Mabel, a confused look on her face.

  Stan’s mouth opened wide, but he was saved from answering by the arrival of the wine steward with our bottles of cabernet and chardonnay. I glanced over at our dinner companion, wondering what he thought of our dysfunctional group. Jimmy winked at me then raised his glass in a toast.

  “To new friends,” he said in a smooth baritone. “May our friendship last longer than this cruise.”

  The clinking of glasses was accompanied with strains of “I’ll drink to that” and “cheers.”

  “So what’s new with your floater?” Gran asked me.

  “According to the chief security officer, there is no floater. No one is missing.”

  “So you made it up?” Mabel asked.

  “No. I didn’t make anything up. I’m positive I saw someone fall overboard.”

  When Jimmy looked confused, Gran attempted to enlighten him. “My granddaughter sees dead people.”

  “Do you have a sixth sense?” Jimmy asked, his thick white eyebrows rising almost to his hairline.

  “No, Laurel just has bad timing,” Tom explained, but he placed his palm on my thigh and gave me an affectionate squeeze.

  Our dinners arrived and the conversation turned to food. Mabel and Gran had toured the ship’s kitchen earlier in the day, and they couldn’t wait to share a few pertinent facts.

  “You know, they cook 15,000 meals a day on board this ship,” Mabel stated.

  That was impressive, especially considering that every meal I’d tasted far surpassed my own cooking.

  “And we chow down on over 28,000 shrimp on this cruise alone.”
Gran smacked her thin lips as she finished off the last piece of her garlic shrimp scampi.

  “I wonder what they do with all the excess food.” Mother pointed at the waiters clearing the tables, their heavy metal serving trays loaded with partially eaten entrees. “It seems like such a waste.”

  “They got that handled,” Mabel said. “They grind it all up and feed it to the fish.”

  My appetite disappeared, and I placed my fork back on my plate. Mabel’s comment made me ponder if the person I’d seen fall overboard had ended up as a snack for the local shark population.

  My musings were interrupted when I spotted a familiar face. As the woman strolled by our table, I admired the silver lamé dress and matching jacket that looked terrific with her café au lait complexion.

  “Hi, Margaret,” I greeted our dining companion from the previous night. “Where’s Fred?”

  “He’s laid up.” She made a sad face.

  “Seasick?” Mother asked.

  “I’m not sure. I just hope he hasn’t picked up a…” she looked to make sure the waiter wasn’t listening, leaned in and murmured, “Norovirus, or he’ll be confined to the stateroom for the rest of the trip.”

  “That seems kind of tough,” Bradford said.

  “It’s the cruise line’s policy. They don’t want an outbreak on board ship or they’ll have to turn back.” The maître ‘d beckoned to her. “Probably just something he ate for lunch. You all enjoy yourself.” She scurried over to a table full of women travelers and settled into the one empty seat.

  “Nasty thing, that norovirus,” said Jimmy. “I’ve managed to escape it so far, but one of my ships suffered a horrible epidemic. Even the captain came down with a case.”

  Good grief. First I’d been overcome with worry about seeing someone fall overboard. Now I was fretting about one or all of us getting norovirus. What stressful shipboard event would come next?

  “You’re coming with us after dinner, aren’t you, Laurel?” asked Gran.

  “Sure,” I said. “But where are we going?”

  “Karaoke.”

  There was my answer.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Turquoise waters, a balmy breeze ruffling my unruly bob and a tropical drink in my hand. Now that’s the way to spend a vacation. Our first island stop was Grand Turk, the largest of the many islands in the chain known as Turks & Caicos, and one of the premier diving spots on the planet due to its protected coral reef.

  Bradford, Mother, Tom and I had signed up for a catamaran excursion that would take us to the Coral Gardens Reef, a shallow reef where we were guaranteed to see turtles and stingrays as well as a multitude of unique sea creatures. My mother preferred sailing to snorkeling so she remained on the boat while the three of us chased schools of brightly colored fish.

  After forty-five minutes, I exchanged a wet smooch with my husband and told him and my stepfather to have fun exploring the mysteries of the ocean.

  I relinquished my snorkel gear to an attendant then went looking for my mother. I located her on one of the bench seats chatting with a woman who also looked to be a member of the baby boomer set. I picked up one of the apricot drinks the bartender was pouring for the passengers. It tasted sweet but refreshing. I had no idea what the ingredients consisted of other than alcohol, something there seemed to be no shortage of on this trip.

  I perched on the bench alongside my mother and sipped my cocktail. Between the warm sun and the cool drink, I felt completely at peace, so relaxed my eyelids slowly began to shut. Mother’s next remark caused them to spring open.

  “You saw someone go overboard?” she asked her companion.

  Mother certainly knew how to get my attention. I leaned forward, anxious to hear the other woman’s reply.

  She ran a hand through her short salt-and-pepper hair. “Well, I didn’t actually SEE anyone go overboard.” Behind her thick bifocals, her hazel eyes looked worried as she glanced at us. “Until you mentioned your daughter’s experience, I just thought someone accidentally dropped something heavy over the ship’s railing. Never occurred to me it could be a body.”

  “What cabin are you in?” I asked, curious how close her stateroom was to ours.

  “My husband Glenn and I are in 6070. I’m Lucille Blodgett. Nice to meet y’all.”

  I wiggled my hand in response. “Same here. Your stateroom is one floor below ours and only a couple of rooms over. Do you remember what time you heard the splash?”

  The two indentations between Lucille’s brows shifted closer together as I patiently waited to hear her reply.

  Okay, not so patiently. But I remained silent, not wanting to lead my witness. Hmm. Maybe I’d been watching one too many crime shows lately.

  “I know exactly when it occurred,” she said. “I woke to go to the bathroom. My bladder don’t hold my rum’ n cokes like it used to.” Lucille and Mother exchanged knowing looks. “Anyway, it was 3:33 a.m. On the dot. My husband was snoring away so I knew it would take me awhile to get back to sleep. I figured some sea air might make me drowsy. Just as I opened the door to the balcony, I heard a faint sound. Kinda like a splash. I peeked over the railing, but I didn’t have my glasses on so all I saw was water. Lots and lots of it.”

  “We thought Laurel might have imagined it,” Mother confided to Lucille. “She was a tad tipsy when she went to bed.” She eyed my cocktail. “Those fruity drinks can pack quite a punch, dear. And pack on the calories.”

  Nothing like maternal dieting advice when you’re on your honeymoon. I guess it doesn’t matter how many times a woman gets married, she’ll always be a daughter in her mother’s eyes. As usual, her comment caused me to respond by doing just the opposite.

  I thanked Lucille for her help then ambled to the bar for a refill. On the way over, I pondered our conversation. The fact that someone else heard a noise at the same time warranted a call to the chief security officer. Proof that I wasn’t loopy and I did see someone go overboard.

  But whom?

  My eyes locked on a couple standing at the bow of the boat. Her long dark brown hair was wet and wavy, but it didn’t detract from her model-perfect beauty. She pulled a multi-colored wrap from her Gucci tote bag. As she twisted to tie it around her waist, I realized the woman was Danielle, accompanied by the handsome young man we’d seen her with yesterday. Not that her wheelchair-bound husband could have managed a catamaran trip.

  Being curious, or, as my beloved but blunt-speaking husband would state, nosy, I stepped over a few legs and beach bags and finally reached the bow.

  I tapped Danielle on the shoulder. “Did you enjoy the snorkeling?”

  I didn’t need to be a detective to note the complete lack of recognition on her face.

  “I’m Laurel,” I explained. “We met briefly at dinner the first night on board the Celebration.”

  “Oui. Excusez moi. My English is not so perfect,” she replied.

  I tried to recall my high school French.

  “Ou est votre,” I stopped to search my memory for the correct word before giving up. “Hubby?”

  She laughed. “The boat, she is too tricky for him. He prefer to play the game of bridge.” She turned to her companion and introduced him to me. “This is Jacques, Pierre’s therapeute physique.”

  I must have looked confused because Jacques lifted my hand and said, “Enchanté, Madame. I am Pierre’s physical therapist. He is such a nice employer to give me the day off while he plays his cards.”

  They said goodbye and walked away, spouting French faster than the Paris Metro.

  Was it odd that Danielle and her husband’s physical therapist were enjoying the island without him? While her husband was playing cards, were they playing footsie with one another? If you asked me, it was somewhat suspicious.

  But as usual, no one was asking me.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Tom and Bradford waited until the last second to return to the boat. Deep grooves from the dive mask encircled Tom’s brown eyes, but he wore a b
ig smile on his face. My stepfather’s completely bald head glowed brighter than my tropical drink, but he seemed to have enjoyed the snorkeling excursion as well.

  Tom grabbed beers for both of them, and they joined Mother and me. I was so excited about my sleuthing discovery that I plopped an exceptionally enthusiastic kiss on Tom’s sun-chapped lips.

  “Nice to know you missed me,” he said, lifting an eyebrow at me.

  “What, oh, yeah, of course,” I replied, hoping the blush I could feel rising would be mistaken for sunburn. “I was counting the minutes until you returned.”

  He took a long sip of his beer and narrowed his eyes. “You’re practically vibrating in your seat. What’s going on?”

  I gave both men a quick recap of my conversation with Lucille. “We need to tell Sanjay,” I said.

  “Just because this woman heard a noise doesn’t confirm that someone fell overboard,” Tom objected.

  “Could have been a dolphin jumping in and out of the water,” Bradford suggested. “We saw a herd, or whatever they’re called, of dolphins while we were snorkeling.”

  “Fine. But what about Danielle hanging out with her husband’s physical therapist.”

  “I don’t believe that’s a criminal offense. Plus her affairs aren’t really any of your business,” Tom added.

  I stiffened, but Tom put his arm around me and drew me close. “How about you stop worrying about other people’s romances and concentrate on us having a good time.”

  I relaxed against him. My husband was right. We were visiting one of the most beautiful places in the world. It was time to let loose and have fun.

  After one more drink and some gentle persuasion from the crew, I agreed to enter the limbo contest. Two decades had passed since my last limbo contest, and it turned out I wasn’t as limber in my body as I visualized in my mind.

  Not to mention a few pounds and two cup sizes larger.

  Despite landing flat on my back, the crew gave prizes to everyone who participated. They handed each of us a “buy two T-shirts get one free” coupon at Sam’s Sand & Ocean Shoppe, one of the stores in the Grand Turk cruise port.