Murder, Curlers, and Cruises

by Arlene McFarlane

  The room was quiet except for the clatter of cutlery and dishes being piled into heaps. Then the galley doors swung open, and a couple of local police walked out of the kitchen and exited the dining hall.

  The rest of the ship seemed abuzz with the news of Lucy’s death. Passengers murmured in the halls, local officials questioned guests, and everyone seemed on guard.

  I didn’t want to get too comfortable, so I ate standing, meandering toward the galley. One of the waiters gave me a friendly nod, then banged his hamper on wheels filled with soiled tablecloths out through the double doors. The breakfast rush was over. He was probably wishing I’d vamoose so he could finish his job.

  I polished off my fruit salad and refocused on Tantig. I’d seen her taste-testing a piece of baklava from the dessert table last night after Lucy’s death. She’d rolled her eyes and put the hunk back down. I knew what she was thinking. Dry.

  Maybe she found her way into the galley this morning to show them how to saturate the dessert with a syrupy sauce like the Armenians soaked its counterpart, paklava. I wouldn’t have put it past her. I glimpsed at the galley doors. Talking to the chef might be a good place to start.

  I peeked through the window on the door and saw a dozen or so people in white, scurrying around the steamy, stainless-steel area, banging pots, stirring sauces, and chopping vegetables. An industrial-sized production line of sorts. Here goes nothing. I pushed through the doors with a smile on my face, taking in the aroma of cinnamon and warm custard. Everyone stopped what they were doing and looked up.

  “Excuse me,” I said in my sweetest voice, realizing I’d stepped on sacred ground. “May I please talk to the chef?”

  “Roy!” one of the cooks called, wiping his chin on his shoulder while kneading dough. “Someone else here to see you.”

  Roy? I expected something more exotic, like Chef François. But okay. Chef Roy.

  He came out of the walk-in fridge, tall white hat on his head, frazzled look on his face, mustache twitching. “Where are my chives? I can’t do anything without my chives!”

  A petite woman with a net over her head tramped past Roy, dove into the walk-in fridge, and a second later shoved a large bag in his hand.

  He smacked the bag on a chopping block, then inspected me teetering at the kitchen door. “Another cop?” He scowled.

  “No,” I said. “I was at dinner last night and was hoping I could ask you a few questions.”

  “What is this? Murder, She Wrote?”

  “It has to do with my great-aunt.”

  “What’s she got to do with it?”

  “She’s missing.” I started to tremble.

  Roy must’ve noticed the look on my face because he shouted orders to his sous chef, then took me by the arm and whisked me out into the dining room.

  “Talk.” He pulled out a chair for me.

  “My great-aunt—Tantig—is gone.” I dropped on the chair. “She may just be lost, but I’m concerned, especially after last night’s murder.”

  “The frozen spectacle?”

  “Yes.” I showed him Tantig’s picture.

  He sat in a chair across the table from me and studied the photo. “Look, who are you?”

  “My name is Valentine Beaumont. I came on board for the beauty cruise and—”

  “Wait a minute. Did you say Valentine? You run a salon in Rueland, Massachusetts?”

  “Yes?” Oh boy. Here we go.

  “My godmother lives in Woburn. Comes into your salon or did until one of your clients was strangled. You sure have a reputation.”

  So I’ve heard.

  “But I like you, kid. Anyone crazy enough to go after a murderer with a perm rod has got to have chutzpah. How can I help you?” He handed me back the photo.

  “Have you seen my great-aunt?”

  He shook his head. “My days are spent in that galley right behind you. I come out for air occasionally, or when I need to explain to my staff how I want things set up in the dining room. But I rarely see passengers. Except, of course, when there’s a big unveiling, like last night.”

  Last night had changed the course of the cruise. A little person had been frozen inside a statue and put on public display. Not only that, but there was a drug smuggling on board. Now, Tantig was missing. I wasn’t sure if any of this was tied together. And I wasn’t going to worry about what Jock or Romero had to say on the subject. Just because I wasn’t a master-at-arms or a macho detective didn’t mean I didn’t know anything. I knew plenty—even if I didn’t read the newspaper religiously. The more questions I asked, the more I might find out about what could’ve led to Tantig’s disappearance.

  “Then what did you see? How did Lucy end up frozen in an Aphrodite ice sculpture?”

  “Damned if I know,” Roy said. “We poured water in the mold Friday night after the midnight buffet, flipped on the switch, and forgot about it.”

  I recalled the men working in the ice-sculpting room. “I thought ice sculptures were carved by hand.”

  He rolled up his sleeves. “You know how many ice sculptures we display on the ship? About twenty a day. It’s much easier to use molds than to carve each form. The smaller ones, yes, are hand-done.”

  “Did you check on Aphrodite at any time?” I asked.

  “Didn’t need to. It takes up to forty hours to set—almost two days for the bigger molds like Aphrodite, and we place the molds in an ice machine that freezes the water slowly.” He frowned, tapping his chin. “Hold on! I did check it Saturday morning. I ordered Aphrodite for our theme night, and as it was a new mold, I wanted to make sure the casings were snug. Everything looked fine that morning. Then I didn’t see it until the unveiling. By then, Lucy was frozen stiff.”

  Which meant Lucy had to have been dumped in the mold sometime after Friday’s midnight buffet when the water started to freeze, and before Sunday’s unveiling when it was totally frozen. And since Lucy was still alive Saturday night when I left her cabin, her murder and entry into a partially frozen mold must’ve taken place soon after. I thought about this some more. “Maybe one of your assistants saw something.”

  He shrugged. “Nope. And since the mold was pulled out from under the sheet seconds before leaving the galley, we didn’t even see the body inside the statue until the unveiling.”

  The waiter who’d left with the soiled tablecloths came through the swinging doors, whistling to himself.

  “What about the dining staff?” I asked.

  “If anyone had seen something strange, they would’ve reported it. And if I suspected criminal behavior in any of my staff, that’d be the end of them.” He chuckled, smiling in the direction of the whistling waiter. “Some are a bit scraggly, like Devon over there, but as long as they keep their hair in a ponytail or under a net, I’m happy.”

  I looked over at Devon, a fair-haired guy, about five-ten, now polishing silverware. “Is there a high turnover with staff?”

  “Sure. But some have been here forever.” He grinned. “Devon’s one of the funnier ones, always with a joke to crack.”

  I nodded and looked back at the galley. “Could someone have broken into the kitchen during the night?”

  “The galley’s not under lock and key, mostly because there’s usually someone here preparing one meal or cleaning up from another. You might have a quiet hour around three a.m., but after that, we start winding up for the next day.”

  “Then it’s possible someone could’ve brought Lucy here in the wee hours of the night when everything was quiet and placed her in the mold.”

  “Yes, it’s possible. Like I said, it takes up to forty hours to freeze the water solid. I’m sure a little person would’ve even put up a fight from being stuffed inside. And there were no signs of a struggle in my kitchen.” He shook his head sadly. “No. If Lucy Jacobs was tossed in the mold, she was already dead.” He pushed his chair away from the table. “Look, I just want this cleared up. I’ve never been so embarrassed. This is a terrible blow to Chef Roy’s spotless rep
utation.”

  He stood and gazed down at me. “Sorry about your great-aunt, kid.” He patted my shoulder. “If I hear anything, I’ll let you know.” He disappeared back into the kitchen.

  I sat there for another minute, trying to understand things. If Chef Roy didn’t see anything suspicious, and the staff was as honest as he professed, then how did Lucy end up in the mold? The answer had to be here somewhere, and once I found Tantig, I’d make it my goal to find out.

  * * *

  I questioned a few more people, checked Rugert’s and several other stores for myself, and after coming up empty, I decided to go on land after all. Maybe Tantig had gotten off the ship and was rambling around the dock.

  I showed her picture to security at the gangway before I disembarked, and they assured me she’d already gone ashore for the day. I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. “Are you certain?”

  “Absolutely,” one of the guards said. “Scanned her ID and everything. I think she was headed for the straw market.”

  Relief flooded me at such a pace I almost felt giddy. It was a false alarm. Tantig was fine. She just went touring on her own. That’s all. I’d track her down at the straw market and bring her back to the ship.

  I walked away, reaching in my bag for my cell phone to call my mother. I dug around but couldn’t find the thing. Where the heck was it? I retraced my steps and—right. Died when I was talking to Twix earlier this morning. I groaned. It was charging. Yay, me, for remembering that much. I snapped my bag shut. What was I doing trying to call my mother anyway? She didn’t own a cell phone. “I’m always home if you need me,” she’d say. Great. Weren’t we a pair! I’d just have to surprise her when I found Tantig. Maybe I’d even run into her here if she accompanied my father off the ship.

  I relaxed a little, keeping my eyes peeled for my family while I wove among hot, sweaty tourists strolling under colorful tents and storefront awnings. Forgetting to bring something for my head, I bought a huge Babajaan straw hat at one of the stands. Then I ran into Max.

  “You’re here!” He bounced by my side, my faithful Labrador, happy to be on dry land, panting at the prospect of shopping for 22 karat-gold jewelry. “Where should we go first? The gold shop or the diamond shop?”

  After losing the contest money for the hospital kids, I wasn’t in the mood to spend much.

  “You go ahead.” I wiped my sweaty brow. “Security saw Tantig leave the ship this morning. She’s probably here somewhere. I’m going to show her picture around.”

  Max disappeared in the crowd, and I talked to tourists and locals. Nobody had seen an elderly lady wandering aimlessly. I bought a bottled water and roamed to an alley corner between stalls to cool off. Feeling invisible among so many people, I chugged my water and watched vacationers of every shape and size haggle with the locals.

  I was playing with a cloth marionette in front of a store when I spotted Molly and Polly inside the store, dressed for the beach as usual. Then something caught my attention. A man came out from behind the counter, led the girls into a backroom, and began talking to them.

  I darted inside the store and ducked behind a beaded curtain separating clothing racks. I peeked through the beads at the backroom, shadowing my face with the brim of my hat.

  Molly and Polly didn’t look alarmed or scared. In fact, it all looked rather friendly, but also secretive. Polly looked over her shoulder a couple of times, obviously making sure they weren’t being overheard.

  The man handed them a small baggie holding something white and powdery. It was hard to see past Polly, but she angled enough that I saw her slide her long pinky fingernail, palm up, in the powder and hold it under her nose. Then she smiled from ear to ear and nodded at Molly. Molly dug into her canvas bag and handed the man money. He counted the bills, folded one back up, and stuffed it down Molly’s bikini top. What was that? A refund?

  I held still, making sure I didn’t crinkle my water bottle. What was I to do with this new development? I didn’t want to get anyone in trouble, but I wasn’t comfortable hanging around, witnessing a drug deal either. At least, it smelled like a drug deal—more specifically—cocaine. And if it was, was it tied to the drug smuggling Jock had mentioned? And possibly Lucy’s murder?

  I crept out of the store and ran like the devil. I looked over my shoulder to make sure no one was following me and saw Molly and Polly zip inside a florist shop. What were they up to? I took a corner and slammed into Mr. Jaworski, knocking his straw fedora off his head.

  “Valentine Beaumont!” He picked up his hat, shaking his head disgustedly. “What’s the rush? You’re going to break your neck one day in those damn heels.” He slanted his hat on top of his head.

  “I’m looking for my great-aunt.” I let out a heavy breath and peeked around the corner. No Molly or Polly.

  I stared down at Mr. Jaworski and took out Tantig’s picture to refresh his memory. “Have you seen her?”

  He barely glanced at the photo. “Can’t say as I have.”

  I slid the photo back in my bag and told him I was sorry about Lucy. “I thought you might have already gone home.”

  “Gone home? What for?”

  “Because of Lucy’s, uh, murder?”

  He shrugged. “This is my vacation, too. Do you know how long it’s been since I’ve had a real vacation? 1972.”

  I couldn’t close my gaping mouth. Was this my landlord who came on the cruise to be with his little Lucy? His lovely niece? A real joker? For a second, I wondered if he could’ve been responsible for Lucy’s murder, but I dismissed the idea as ridiculous. Mr. Jaworski was cheap, self-absorbed, and insensitive, but he wasn’t a killer. “So, you’re not leaving.”

  “Not on your life. I just might do a little investigating myself. If the cruise line’s responsible for Lucy’s death, there could be a lawsuit here.”

  Bingo. The truth always surfaced.

  “I talked to my brother early this morning,” he continued. “He agreed I should finish the cruise. They’re waiting for the results of the autopsy. The funeral won’t be until next week at the earliest.”

  I bet Romero would know more before then.

  “In the meantime, I’m going to live it up. Do you know I haven’t had a vacation like this since 1972?”

  “Yes, you mentioned that.”

  “And it wasn’t nearly this fabulous, well, except for Lucy dying. You sure didn’t get an all-you-can-eat buffet or those tasty mai tais.” He shook his head. “But you gotta tell them about the maraschino cherries.”

  I never had a migraine before, but this feeling of pins being stuck in my eye made me feel I was getting close.

  “And I’m not too happy about the tours. You know they want you to pay extra for those damn things? When I came on this cruise, I was told it was an all-inclusive. No extra fees. Didn’t I tell you that? I said I was on an all-inclusive cruise with my niece.” He grunted. “Another problem. And if my brother wasn’t such an egghead, he wouldn’t have spoiled her rotten when she was growing up. Where did it get him? Kid was always in trouble. Lying. Cheating. Stealing.”

  This was really none of my business. I only wanted to find Tantig and get back to the ship.

  He squinted up at me. “You’re probably wondering what I’m talking about.”

  “Me? No. I’m just looking for my great-aunt.”

  He wagged a finger in my face. “Yes, you are. You’re wondering why Samuel H. Jaworski would say something so harsh about his niece. Hmm?”

  In the beauty industry, I’d learned to let people talk. My opinion was rarely asked, and for that I was grateful. One Phyllis in the salon was enough. “Okay. Maybe I’m wondering a little.”

  He dragged me over to a bench. “Lucy was like that blasted kid in the story of the prodigal son. You know that story?”

  “Yes.” We sat, and I put my water bottle and bag at my side.

  “Kids today don’t know their Bible. Out stealing hubcaps and spraying graffiti on bridges.” He sucked on his
teeth, shaking his head. “It’s the parable about a man with two sons, one a hard worker, the other dissatisfied with his lot in life.”

  “Yes, I know it.”

  “And the dissatisfied son asks for his inheritance, and then squanders it.”

  “Yes, I remember the story.”

  “Lucy was like the no-good brat in that story. She blamed my brother for everything from her personal problems to money problems, and she caused him endless grief. She finally moved to New York—thank the Lord—but demanded her parents give her her inheritance now.” He pursed his lips. “Can you imagine? He should’ve tanned her hide when he had the chance.”

  I recalled Holly’s news about Lucy’s involvement in drugs. Was it possible Lucy was financially hard up? As pathetic as it was, I almost felt sorry for her and how she’d led her life. “So, what happened?”

  “My brother isn’t a total loser. He works hard and wasn’t about to watch his money vanish. He made a deal with Lucy. She wanted to take the cruise so she could win the contest and turn her life around. He agreed to give her half the money on one condition. She had to stay close to me, let me keep my eye on her. No Samuel H. Jaworski. No money.”

  His brother probably figured if his daughter survived one week with her uncle, she deserved an inheritance.

  He blinked sadly. “Things just didn’t turn out for anyone.”

  I had a feeling somewhere deep down in Mr. Jaworski’s soul, guilt was gnawing away at him. Maybe if he’d stayed closer to Lucy, she’d still be alive. I patted his shoulder, said I was sorry again for his loss, and gathered my things.

  I was still no further ahead at guessing who killed Lucy or why. While I had my doubts about Mr. Jaworski, my biggest suspect was still Kashi. I wanted to rule him out because he seemed harmless, but what did I know? Looks could be deceiving. Of course, if he’d poisoned Lucy, he wouldn’t likely be waving a flag.