Dying for a Diamond

by Cindy Sample

  “I’m shocked. After getting a taste of live theater up close and personal, I half expected you to quit Hangtown Bank and follow Zac around the country.”

  “Yeah, well, it’s not exactly the romantic vacation I envisioned when Zac first suggested it.” Stan squeezed my hand. “What about you? No surprise that your honeymoon has turned into a murder investigation.”

  “As Sue Grafton would say, H is for Honeymoon has been retitled H is for Homicide.”

  “Do you have any idea who thumped you on your very hard head?”

  “I’ve been wondering that, too,” said a newcomer, who patted my shoulder. I twisted around to discover Sierra slipping into the row behind us.

  “Thanks for helping delay the ship’s departure yesterday,” I said to her. “I don’t think I could have handled waving bon voyage to the Celebration from the pier.”

  “I wish I could have seen the culprit,” she said. “Better yet, surprised him and stopped the attack.”

  “That makes two of us. By the way, how did you happen to end up at the fort in time to help your concussed cuz?”

  “I did a little shopping in old town and had time to kill before returning to the ship. I remembered you and Tom had signed up for the city tour, so I decided to trek up to the fort. Wish I’d arrived sooner.”

  “I guess I’ll never be too old to need a babysitter,” I pouted. “By the way, have you heard any updates about the jewel thief? Any more reported thefts?”

  “Not that I’ve been told. So I’m attempting to do my job while maintaining a low profile. I wanted to see how the production was coming along.”

  I was about to ask Sierra another question when the lights dimmed and the music began. I settled into my seat and looked forward to a preview of the show.

  The performance opened with the full cast singing the title song. Elizabeth Axelgard had taken over the lead role of Sandy that originally belonged to flighty Nicole. Elizabeth and the guy playing Danny Zuko were every bit as good as Olivia Newton John and John Travolta had been in the movie version.

  My feet kept time to the music, and it was all I could do to stay seated. Every now and then Stan would rise in his seat, and I would push him back down. The last thing his boyfriend needed was for us to interrupt what looked to be an excellent dress rehearsal.

  Until Gina, the woman playing the part of Rizzo, the leader of the Pink Ladies, stuck her remarkable breasts against Danny Zuko’s muscled chest. She followed that with a kiss that seemed to last for a full minute and only ended when sweet, demure shirtwaist-wearing Sandy stomped on Rizzo’s foot.

  “What do you think you’re doing?” The new lead yelled at the other singer.

  “Acting,” Gina sneered. “Something you wouldn’t be acquainted with.”

  Even from eight rows back, I could see beads of perspiration forming on the male lead’s forehead as he stepped between the two women. He held out his palms in a supplicating manner, but the women weren’t in an accommodating mood.

  Elizabeth’s right-handed punch landed on his left cheekbone at the same time Gina’s left fist crashed into his full-lipped mouth.

  Before you could say “Greased Lightning” one hot young stud went down for the count.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

  The stage erupted into a cacophony of sound and movement. One of the Pink Ladies shoved Elizabeth into the wings. A guy wearing a leather jacket and cuffed jeans attempted to lead Gina off the stage. She pushed him away and rushed to Danny’s side. With the mikes still on, we could hear every word she said.

  “Oh, baby doll, I never meant to hurt you. I was aiming for that witch.” She crouched by his side and held his hand while he lay prone on the stage. Zac raced up the stairs with Sierra not far behind him. I remembered her chasing me as a kid. Those long legs could still move.

  “Should we leave?” I asked Stan.

  “Are you kidding? This scene has more drama than the actual show.”

  Elizabeth returned to the stage. She dropped down on one knee, opposite Gina, and held Danny’s other hand. The poor guy remained flat on his back. I’d be afraid to get up, too.

  We could hear Sierra requesting that both female performers move away so Zac could assess Danny’s injuries.

  The girls exchanged angry looks, but they exited the stage and headed to opposite wings. As soon as they left, Danny sat up, his hand holding his jaw. With the assistance of another male performer, Zac helped the actor to his feet. A trail of blood dripped across the stage as Zac led Danny down the stairs and up our aisle.

  Zac stopped for a minute to talk to Stan. “We’re going to the doctor’s office.” Then in a lower voice he muttered, “Although we really need a dentist.”

  I smiled at the singer and he smiled back, probably by reflex. He certainly wouldn’t be smiling if he’d known that his two front teeth were nowhere to be seen.

  I could feel myself wanting to rub my own teeth just to make sure they were still in place. Danny would wise up soon enough. And when he did, his screams would carry from the bow of the ship to the stern.

  “Do you want to come along?” Zac asked Stan who then turned to me. “Is it safe to leave you alone?” he asked.

  “Don’t be silly. Zac can use your support. I’ll be fine.”

  Stan followed Zac and Danny up the aisle. I glanced at the stage. The actors stood in a forlorn group as Sierra addressed them. I knew almost nothing about show business, but I had an inkling that the male star usually needed a full set of teeth. Unless he could pick up two new incisors in St. Martin tomorrow, he was basically screwed.

  I hoped the show’s understudy was prepared to go on in the current Danny’s place. But who would replace the understudy?

  Not my problem. I debated whether to wait for Sierra, but it looked like she might be tied up for a while. After four months on board the ship, she would be familiar with what it took to put on the weekly shows, even though the production of Grease was new for this cruise. Perhaps the dress rehearsal would go on after all.

  I picked up my tote bag and debated how to entertain myself. My stomach remained full from lunch, and I’d basked in the sun a sufficient amount of time this morning. I briefly thought about going to the gym but quickly talked myself out of it. My body needed to be pampered not exercised.

  Pampering. What an excellent idea. I checked the map and discovered the ship’s spa located five decks up from my current location. The elevator whisked me to the spa faster than you could say lava rock massage.

  With a decor in soft cream and taupe, the music of Enya playing softly in the background, and a light tropical scent perfuming the air, the spa offered a soothing sanctuary. Even if there were no appointments available, I might just lie down on the plush sofa in the reception area and nap.

  Due to a recent cancellation, one of their estheticians had an opening for a fifty-minute facial. I could relax under her skillful hands and depart with a glowing complexion. The receptionist gave me a soft white robe emblazoned with the ship’s logo.

  I entered the small changing room, quickly disrobed and then re-robed. I stuffed my clothing, key card and watch in the small locker, locked it and stuffed the key in the pocket of my robe. Then I waited for them to call my name.

  Thirty minutes later, I lay blissfully cocooned under a lightweight blanket, my parched-from-the-sun skin revitalizing with layers of magical lotions and potions containing lots of natural products. Including a special ingredient––chocolate.

  Chocolate––the wonder product. Also my favorite antioxidant.

  I felt so relaxed that I began to wish I’d signed up for a three-hour facial. My eyelids closed and my mind drifted into dreamland.

  The door to our room burst open with a thud. A strident voice shouted, “I’ve been robbed!”

  Not again.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

  I sprang up and the woman standing on the threshold screamed. I must have looked like the Bride of Frankenstein after a tour through Willy Wonka�
�s chocolate factory.

  “Hello, Evelyn,” I said to the stocky woman who wore a robe similar to mine although several sizes larger.

  Evelyn Peabody chose to ignore me and instead concentrated on berating my esthetician.

  “Did you take my Patek Philippe?”

  My Filipino esthetician shook her head. Her dark frightened eyes resembled those of a fawn about to be mowed down by a bulldozer. A fairly apt description for the Peabody woman.

  “Who is Patek whatchamacallit?” I asked her, wondering if she was traveling with someone besides her sister. “And why would Andi want him?”

  Her dark penciled-in eyebrows knitted together in disgust. “Patek Philippe produces the finest watches in the world. And mine has gone missing.”

  “When did you last see it?”

  She shoved both hands in her pockets. “I didn’t feel comfortable leaving it in the locker. It’s worth…” she paused, “a lot. So I put it in my robe pocket. I’ve had three treatments today and this,” she pointed at Andi, “person did two of them. I bet she swiped it out of my robe while I dozed on the table.”

  Andi continued to proclaim her innocence. “I take nothing.” She turned to me and pleaded. “Please. You help me?”

  Now why was it that every time Mrs. Peabody confronted a purported thief that I became involved? Maybe I shouldn’t have mentioned earlier in the conversation that I was the cruise director’s cousin. I thought a little nepotistic name-dropping might encourage Andi to slather me with everything on the menu. Instead I was back to playing amateur sleuth.

  So much for a break from my chaotic life.

  Several staff members and one robed client clustered around Mrs. Peabody. I briefly wondered if there was a Mr. Peabody or if he’d escaped with his sanity intact.

  “I’m calling the chief security officer,” Mrs. Peabody forcefully announced. “He’ll get things straightened out.”

  Good luck with that. Evidently the cruise ship gossip line hadn’t reached her ears yet. I wondered if the overworked security staff could handle this new development. Or would they call in reinforcements?

  Which at the rate this cruise was going would be my husband and my stepfather.

  Talk about Honeymoon Hell.

  My vertical position was causing the chocolate to drip on the sheets, the floor and my cleavage. I laid back down hoping to stop the brown deluge.

  “What do you think you’re doing?” Mrs. Peabody screeched as she stomped into the room, her flip-flops flapping on the tile floor. She stared down at my mottled chocolate-dotted cheeks.

  “Um, finishing my facial. If that meets with your approval.” Geesh. The nerve of this woman. Who did she think she was?

  “I thought you were some type of hotshot Nancy Drew.” She poked her finger against my bare collarbone. “You need to figure out who did this to me.”

  Or else what?

  Andi added more encouragement. “Yes. Please, for me, or I could lose job. Find person who do this bad thing to the huge lady.”

  Mrs. Peabody snorted, but she added a “please” as well.

  A small woman attired in a soft beige suit, whom I presumed was the spa manager, stalked past the cluster of uniformed spa staff and into my room. Her shiny dark pageboy swung around her face as she turned to look at each of us. “What is happening here?” she asked.

  Mrs. Peabody employed her usual tactful method of conversing by shoving her finger in the woman’s face.

  “Your gang of crooks here took my watch. I’ll have the whole bunch of you fired.”

  The manager straightened but her action only added a half-inch to her petite stature. “I do not understand what you are saying. Please follow me to my office.” She gestured to Mrs. Peabody and Andi. I sat on my bed, dripping chocolate left and right. “You, too,” she pointed at me and then clarified. “Andi, please clean her up first.”

  Mrs. Peabody followed the manager out of the room. Andi motioned for the other therapists to leave before she closed the door. She then proceeded to remove the chocolate mess from my face before finishing my procedure with some soothing moisturizer that smelled faintly of peppermint.

  We left the room together and headed for the manager’s office. I continued to reassure Andi that I would help resolve the situation, but I wasn’t certain how well she understood English. Her responses alternated between pleading with me and thanking me.

  We crossed paths with Mrs. Peabody and her sister, both changed and now decked out in pastel tops and slacks. “Find my watch,” Mrs. Peabody snarled at me as we walked past the two women. I felt like saluting her and almost said, “Aye, aye, Ma’am.” Her sister, as usual, remained silent, merely smiling at me. It must be difficult to have such a dominating sibling always present in your life.

  Once seated in the spa manager’s office, Andi rattled on in what I guessed to be Tagalog to the boss whose name was Ramona. Hands flew as they chattered back and forth in triple speed. I crossed my legs then pulled my robe tighter to keep my thighs covered, wishing I had changed back into my clothes before this impromptu meeting.

  Andi abruptly stood, and with a quick bow of her head in my direction, left the office.

  I began to rise, unsure what my role was in this situation.

  “No, please stay,” said Ramona. “This is most distressing. The Peabody woman is a platinum member of Nordic American. She has much weight to pull.”

  Not the most flattering way to put it, but I got the gist of her comment. Mrs. Peabody was an influential guest on this cruise line.

  “I would be upset, too, if an expensive watch disappeared, although she could be less abrasive about it,” I replied. “Have other spa patrons suffered any thefts while they were in the treatment rooms this past week?”

  “One woman lost her wallet a few days ago, but she didn’t remember if she lost it here or not. And another woman complained about her watch going missing. I can vouch for my girls. They would not do such a thing. Their employment is very important to them. Some of the girls are the sole support of their families. They can’t afford to lose this job.”

  I rubbed my finger over my chin. It felt silky smooth although I still smelled like a Peppermint Patty.

  “I suppose one of the other guests could be responsible,” I ventured.

  Ramona’s eyes lit up. “Of course. That must be it. A passenger took her watch.”

  “Do you have a list of all the guests here this afternoon? I gather Mrs. Peabody was in the spa for several hours.”

  “I can check,” she said. “I do not know whether I can share that information with you. I must talk to security first.”

  “My husband has an ‘in’ with security.” Unfortunately. “We’re in room 7066, so call me when it’s available and I’ll come down.”

  “Thank you. I am very appreciative of your involvement.”

  I wasn’t certain how appreciative my husband would be, but the ship had been keeping him plenty involved. I left Ramona’s office amid a multitude of thanks and headed for the locker room.

  My hair and chest felt grimy from my chocolate downpour, so I decided to shower before I went back to our room. I hung my robe on the hook near the opening of the shower stall and stepped in. The same giant bottles of shampoo, conditioner and shower gel that were located in our staterooms were attached to the walls of these showers. The sound of water streaming in the shower stall next to mine made me realize how accessible the spa patrons’ robes were to anyone walking by, whether customer or employee.

  I quickly finished my shower, grabbed one of the fluffy bath towels and dried myself off. My locker key was still tucked in the pocket of my robe. But how easy it would be for a thief to snatch a key, steal something from the appropriate locker, and return the key, all before the owner finished an off-key rendition of “I am Woman, Hear me Roar.”

  I walked into the changing area and bumped into another robe-clad woman.

  “Lucille,” I said to the Atlanta resident. “Fancy meeting you he
re.”

  Lucille’s short graying hair was pasted to her skull, evidence of a recent massage or facial. “I always take advantage of the spa on days at sea. The perfect way to relax.” She sniffed. “You smell good. Did you enjoy your treatment?”

  “Until that Peabody woman accused my esthetician of stealing her expensive watch.”

  “Darn. I missed the fireworks. Did they find it?”

  “Not yet. Evidently I’ve been assigned the case.”

  Lucille giggled. “You always seem to end up in the thick of things. Now don’t forget, I’m happy to help. I can be your sidekick. The Watson to your Sherlock Holmes.”

  I threw her a look. My would-be baby boomer sidekick giggled.

  “Well then, how about the Lula to your Stephanie Plum?”

  Sidekick to a bumbling amateur sleuth. Sounded about right to me.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

  I left the spa promising to keep Lucille, my new sleuthing buddy, in the loop. With all the goings on in the spa, I’d lost track of the time. I pulled my watch out of my small tote bag and winced.

  Time certainly flies when you are working on a case. It was already past five. I race-walked to the elevator, not an easy task when wearing flip flops. The ship’s intercom blasted an announcement. I normally avoided their annoying hourly broadcasts about shipboard activities, but it’s difficult to ignore them when the announcer bellows your name.

  “Would Laurel Hunter please return to her stateroom? Immediately.”

  Wow. My first thought was how cool it was to hear my new married name over a loudspeaker. My second thought was––huh?

  Illogically, I pressed the elevator button over and over wondering what was going on. At this point, I didn’t think I could handle one more catastrophe. The elevator finally arrived and I jumped in, almost knocking over one of the elderly women inside. She jabbed her cane at my foot and narrowly missed my instep.

  Danger in every corner of this ship.