Dying for a Diamond

by Cindy Sample

  I doubted my cousin would be in any position to give fashion advice right now. For all I knew, in a few days, or even hours, Sierra could be wearing the latest in prison chic.

  “This is serious and it concerns Sierra. Tom and Bradford discovered some video footage that places her in Sanjay’s vicinity around the time of his murder. Tom left to meet with the captain to question her.”

  “Sierra would never skewer someone with a chopstick,” Mother asserted. “She would devise something far more tasteful––like a poisoned margarita.”

  That was so like my elegant mother. I could just imagine her writing a book titled The Girls’ Guide to Classy Murder.

  “What are you going to do?” she asked.

  “Hopefully, what I do best,” I replied. “Come up with an alternative list of suspects.”

  While I waited for Tom to return, I picked up a pen and a sheet of stationery from the packet provided the passengers. My goal was to come up with a top ten list of suspects with a reason for killing the chief security officer. Although given over two thousand passengers plus eight hundred staff on board, I should come up with a top one hundred list.

  But I had to start someplace.

  1. Sanjay’s girlfriend, Mizuki. She was in good shape with easy access to the weapon. She also had a very strong motive. I put an asterisk beside her name.

  2. The two crew members Sanjay was blackmailing. Did one of them do it?

  3. Were there other blackmail victims? How many more and how could I locate them?

  4. The assistant security chief. Did he want his boss’s job? Always an excellent motive.

  5. The jewel thief. Would he or she kill to avoid discovery?

  6. Evelyn Peabody.

  Okay, I should probably strike her name off the list. Just because she’s an annoying witch wasn’t a good enough reason to place her on my suspect list. I flung my pen down on the desk. Searching for a killer on this ship was like hunting for a needle in the Empire State Building.

  I wondered whether Tom would disclose the names of the two crew who admitted Sanjay had blackmailed them so I could chat them up.

  I didn’t need to ask him that question to know the answer.

  Which meant I would need to be both discreet and creative.

  CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE

  Tom had shared very little about the blackmail victims other than one was a female bartender. That substantially narrowed down the list.

  I glanced at the clock. If I threw on a sundress and a pair of sandals, I could check out the cocktail lounges before the evening rush began. Tom should be tied up for a while interviewing Sierra.

  With the cruise directory in my hand, I set off for a shipboard version of a pub crawl. I decided to start with deck two and work my way up. My first stop would be the Fish Grotto.

  The Fish Grotto resembled a cross between Pier One and Finding Nemo. Rainbow-colored tropical fish swam in a huge aquarium along one wall, while artsy fish sculptures decorated the walls and dangled from the ceiling. I plopped my soft bottom on a very hard metal bar stool whose lone column resembled a mermaid’s tail.

  Although the bartender was a guy, I figured he would know the schedule of the other bartenders for tonight’s shifts. When he asked for my order, I chose the cocktail special of the day. The Ty-D-Bol blue color initially put me off, but it turned out to be quite refreshing.

  Definitely tastier than the toilet bowl cleaner, not that I had any means of comparison.

  There were only two other passengers seated at the bar, providing me the opportunity to chat up the young man.

  “So, Ivan, it looks like you’re from…” I squinted trying to read his name tag.

  “Belarus,” he replied with a slight accent.

  “I haven’t traveled there yet,” I said, not admitting that the list of places I hadn’t traveled was far longer than the places I had visited.

  “It’s not so popular with Americans.”

  “Are there other bartenders from your country on board?” I asked, leading my witness into hopefully identifying the female bartender for me.

  He nodded. “Yes, Natasha, another bartender is from near there.”

  “I think she served me the other night. Is she usually in the Queen’s Lounge?”

  “We rotate around the ship. I think tonight she is up in Trident Lounge. Where the jazz band plays.”

  “She’s very sweet,” I said.

  His face darkened but he merely replied, “If you say so.”

  Interesting response. One of the other passengers waved Ivan over, and he zipped off to serve them. I took a few more sips of my drink and left the glass on the counter. If I planned on conducting my investigation at multiple bars, I needed to limit my alcoholic intake.

  Not to mention my calories. So far the only exercise I’d gotten on this trip was rolling around the mattress with my husband.

  I smiled. Not a bad way to burn off the calories. But probably not sufficient for the fine wine and cuisine I’d been consuming all week.

  I checked my watch once more. The Trident Lounge was only two decks up. I could squeeze in a quick visit before I returned to our cabin. I walked up both flights of stairs, eliminating almost twenty of the calories I’d just swallowed.

  The Trident Lounge proved to be on the opposite side of the ship. Couples dressed in casual or tropical wear milled around in every direction. I walked past the photo gallery. A number of passengers were scrutinizing their formal photos. One of these days I needed to check out ours. Not that we were lacking in iPhone photos. But these eight by ten pictures seemed more glamorous than our spontaneous shots.

  Plus I never seemed to get around to actually printing up any of our photos. Did anyone?

  The Trident Lounge was half full, although more people were seated at the small tables than at the bar. I sank onto a tall, but comfortable bar stool. I mentally congratulated the interior designer who chose comfort over faddish designs.

  Natasha, the bartender, was very pretty with her round, rosy-cheeked face, soft hazel eyes, and long dark-blond hair done up in a ponytail that brushed her shoulders. She wore the same tailored uniform of black pants and burgundy vest that all the bartenders wore, although her vest looked ready to burst open as it struggled to restrain her generous curves.

  When Natasha came to take my order I settled on a diet-cola. She smiled as she set down the glass, a tiny slice of lime neatly attached to the rim.

  “Spasibo,” I replied. Her eyes widened at my thank you.

  “You speak Russian,” she said to me.

  “Da, I mean yes. A tiny bit,” I clarified. Technically the only other Russian word I knew was vodka. “I understand you’re from Belarus. You’re a long way from home.”

  She nodded.

  “Do you enjoy working on the ship?” I realized she probably got asked that question all day long. Cruisers are a curious group.

  She reached for a cloth from under the counter and began wiping a spot of condensation from the bar top.

  “Yes, it is a good job.” Her eyes grew wistful for a split second. Then she straightened and smiled.

  “You are liking your cruise?” she asked.

  “It’s been lovely,” I leaned forward and spoke softly. “Except for that horrible murder. Can you believe someone killed the chief security officer?”

  “Maybe he not such a good guy,” she offered.

  “Did you personally have problems with him?” I asked sympathetically, ready to reverse our roles and have the bartender cry on my shoulder.

  She lowered her eyes, her thick dark lashes forming shadows on her sculpted cheekbones.

  “He preyed on people. On the crew.”

  “You too?”

  Natasha nodded. “A big security guy like that has access to all crew information. Much private stuff, too. It is not good when a bad person know too much.”

  I gasped. “Did he threaten you?”

  Her shoulders drooped. “No, worse. He want to trade information
for something more desirable.”

  “What?”

  She pointed to her chest. “Me.”

  CHAPTER FORTY-SIX

  My short conversation with Natasha resulted in an entirely new line of questioning. One that I was more than happy to hand over to an expert. From what I gathered from her, Sanjay maintained files on every crew member. With his elite position, he had access to criminal records from around the world.

  Sanjay had threatened to share some information about Natasha’s past with the captain. In order to keep him from divulging a previous arrest for shoplifting five years earlier, he’d demanded sex with her.

  Fortunately for Natasha, the combination of her long hours along with the increasing number of thefts on board the ship, had kept Sanjay occupied, and she’d been able to delay any assignation with the man.

  I couldn’t think of a tactful way to ask her if she’d killed Sanjay, so I told her I would keep our conversation to myself. Although I would share it with Tom. Who would, of course, be thrilled with this new information I’d discovered.

  Or not.

  When I returned to the stateroom, I found my husband waiting for me, arms crossed with a dour expression on his face. I shared Natasha’s information with him, hoping that would turn his frown into a smile.

  “Honestly, Laurel, how many times do you have to be clobbered before you get some sense into that thick skull of yours? What if Natasha turns out to be the killer? Now she knows who you are and what cabin we’re in.”

  “She doesn’t know who I am other than a sympathetic bystander.” Wounded by his comment, I added, “And my head isn’t that thick.”

  “When you purchased your soda, did you give her your ship card with your name and cabin number on it?”

  Oops. Reminder to self. Never buy drinks from a potential killer. So much for the ease of a cashless payment system.

  I plopped down on the bed, my thick skull resting against the even thicker pillow. Tears welled up in my eyes. Tears of frustration combined with fear.

  Not the fear of a murderer seeking me out, although if I wasn’t so thickheaded maybe I would be concerned about that. No, it was fear that I’d somehow drilled a tiny hole into our relationship by once again ignoring my husband’s wise advice. Would I ever learn?

  Tom glared at me for a few more seconds before dropping heavily onto the bedspread. His large palm stroked my tear-stained cheek.

  “I’m sorry, honey.” Tom’s voice broke. “You know my only concern is for your safety. I love you so much. I can’t bear the thought of losing you.”

  I sat up and wrapped my arms around his neck. We clung to each other for a few minutes. I finally released him and walked into the bathroom to grab a few tissues to wipe away all signs of my cryfest.

  “Are you okay?” he called out.

  I hurried out of the bathroom. “I’m fine, or I will be. And I promise to try really hard not to land in any trouble. You know I only want to help Sierra.” I stopped and stared at him. “So what is the latest on your conversation with her? Did she satisfy your curiosity about the missing chopstick?”

  He shoved his hand through his thick hair. “Not really. If Sierra wasn’t your cousin, I would have significant doubts about her explanation.”

  “What did she say?”

  He sighed and tugged on his right ear lobe, always a sign that something was bothering him.

  “According to Sierra,” he said, “she’d gone up to the Crystal Lounge on the tenth floor to check on the sound system. One of the performers had complained about it not working properly the previous night.”

  “That sounds innocent enough.”

  “I agree. Then she remembered we were all meeting at Chopsticks that night. She decided to swing upstairs and talk to the hostess to ensure we would get great seating and service.”

  “No good deed goes unpunished?”

  “Possibly. It depends if her explanation holds up. She supposedly chatted with the hostess and asked her if she’d seen Sanjay around. Sierra told the hostess she’d been trying to track him down all afternoon.”

  “She told me the same thing when I stopped to visit her.”

  “That helps somewhat. Sierra stopped in the private cabana area and called out Sanjay’s name, but she didn’t see him anywhere. She claims she doesn’t remember if any of the curtains were drawn across any of the private cabanas.”

  “That’s it?”

  “Pretty much,” Tom said. “According to Sierra, she didn’t even realize she’d lost one of her chopsticks until later. For all she knew, her chopstick was lying at the scene of the crime before it actually became a scene of the crime.”

  My head hurt trying to follow that last sentence. From my biased nepotistic point of view, my cousin had nothing to worry about.

  “So the killer could have picked up the chopstick and murdered Sanjay in a fit of passion.”

  “Or rage. Or whatever.” Tom’s face looked drawn, not the image of a man enjoying his honeymoon. I needed to find a way to make it up to him.

  I bent over and kissed him. Despite our stress levels, I could feel the same magnetic charge I always did. And based on Tom’s expression, he did, too.

  “When this honeymoon is over, I promise I’ll make it up to you,” I said, trying to look as seductive as possible.

  “And I will definitely hold you to that promise.” He wrapped his arm around me and gave me a comforting squeeze. “Now, let’s go eat. I’m looking forward to a crime-free dinner.”

  Who knew homicide cops were such optimists?

  CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN

  Tom and I attempted to find a secluded alcove to dine together. Alone. Without friends, family or murder suspects. And once again, we were unsuccessful. I waved at Danielle dining with her husband. Or, so I assumed, since I could only see Pierre’s back seated in his wheelchair. I certainly couldn’t begrudge them an intimate evening together. It was nice that although wheelchair bound, her husband could enjoy the cruise, too.

  We ended up at a table for eight with some friendly and not so friendly faces. Margaret sat beside an older fellow with a fake orange-glazed tan who looked nothing like her husband, Fred. Evelyn Peabody, bejeweled in a glittering array of emeralds, was seated next to her sister, Vera. Lucille and Glenn smiled and greeted us warmly.

  Once seated, the maître d’ handed us the menus. I held the large menu in front of my face, hoping to block Mrs. Peabody’s view of me. Why I thought that would work was beyond me.

  “I’ve been waiting for you to report in,” she said, waving her fork in the air, sprinkling droplets of gravy in its wake. “Do you know who did it?”

  “Do I know who killed Sanjay?” I asked.

  “Who’s Sanjay?” she asked, looking confused.

  ‘The chief security officer,” Tom informed her, his voice echoing from behind his menu.

  She wrinkled her large nose. “Not my problem. Do you know who took my watch?” When we both shook our heads, she clicked her tongue in reproof. “You two aren’t real quick for detectives. Maybe I should hire someone else.”

  “Excellent idea,” I said as the waiter approached our table. Tom ordered a bottle of chardonnay. An even better idea.

  “What’s the latest on the murder?” asked Margaret’s companion.

  Tom lowered his menu. “I’m sorry but I’m not at liberty to say. Who are you?”

  “Chet Goodman,” the man replied. “Dance host.”

  My ears perked up at his introduction. I so loved to dance. I only wished my almost perfect husband felt the same way. “Do you give lessons?” I asked Chet.

  “I teach a group ballroom lesson every afternoon at three o’clock. In the evenings, I’m available to dance with any single woman looking for a partner.”

  “But Margaret isn’t single,” I blurted out.

  Margaret glared at me. As the saying goes, if looks could kill.

  “Chet has been kind enough to give me a few private lessons,” she explained, “w
hile Fred is laid up with the flu. It’s been such a trial caring for him. The dance lessons are a nice reprieve.”

  Chet beamed at her and she smiled back.

  Mrs. Peabody, not normally the most astute person in the room, added her two cents. “While the cat’s away, the mice will cha-cha.”

  Tom and Chet looked confused, but Margaret and I caught her drift. Margaret blushed and concentrated on eating her dinner.

  “Do you sign a long-term commitment like the rest of the crew?” I asked Chet.

  He shook his head. “Dance escorts basically get to cruise for free. We provide a service for the ship since there are always more single women than single men on board. The cruise lines like to keep those women happy and turn them into repeat passengers.” He and Margaret exchanged glances making me wonder if Chet and the cruise line agreed on the definition of “a happy passenger.”

  Evelyn snorted. “Swell. So back to my missing jewelry. What’s your plan? You’re down to thirty-six hours to recover them before the ship docks. I’d hate to return home empty-handed.”

  Vera jumped in for the first time. “There’s always the insurance, Evelyn, in case they can’t retrieve the items.”

  “That’s not the point, Vera,” Evelyn replied, her face growing redder by the minute.

  Tom and I exchanged glances. Very interesting.

  “I told Laurel I would help with her detectin’,” Lucille chimed in. “And I may have a clue for you.” As she leaned forward, her bifocals slipped down her small pug nose. She shoved them back up and continued, “I was talking to Javier, our cabin steward, and he said he heard the cruise director’s been stealing all the stuff. Can you believe it? The cruise director.”

  “I told you so.” Mrs. Peabody pounded her fork on the table. She turned to Lucille. “Javier is our cabin steward as well. He knows what’s going on.”

  “So who is investigating the thefts?” Glenn asked Tom. “Are you?”