by Amber Crewes
They went into the infirmary and found Mrs. Sheridan stationed beside Frank, who was lying in a hospital bed. “Thank goodness,” Meghan greeted her, rushing over to Mrs. Sheridan and throwing her arms around the old woman. “I was so worried about you two.”
Mrs. Sheridan looked over at Frank. “My darling is on the mend,” she declared. “But he isn’t out of the woods yet.”
Jack stared at Frank. “What’s the matter with him? Have they figured it out yet? He looks quite pale, Mrs. Sheridan.”
“They’re saying food poisoning,” she explained. “Though I’m not so sure; Frank has the stomach of an ox. A little bout of food poisoning couldn’t take this man down. I don’t know what happened…”
Meghan glanced around the infirmary. Every single bed was taken; people young and old were there, and every single patient looked terrible. Meghan thought they looked more dead than alive.
Mrs. Sheridan narrowed her eyes at Jack. “I’m not a stupid old woman like people think I am,” she whispered to the couple. “Mark my words: I don’t think this is food poisoning. I think someone tried to kill my beloved, and next thing you know, they’ll come after us.”
22
Feeling disturbed by their visit to the infirmary, Meghan and Jack walked down the hallway in silence.
“What do you want to do for the rest of the day?” Jack asked when they returned to their suite. “I feel pretty out of it after the trip downstairs. I think we should just relax.”
“I agree,” Meghan told him. “Though I feel like I need to get out of this suite for a bit; I’m going a little stir-crazy in here.”
Jack nodded. “Why don’t you go get a massage or something?” he suggested.
“I’ll get my nails done,” she decided, holding up her right hand. “I chipped my nails while we were making those pastries, and I want to get them cleaned up.”
Jack put his feet up on the coffee table and yawned. “That’s a great idea, Meghan. You go get pampered, and I’ll pamper myself with a little nap.”
She wandered to the salon, hoping it would be a peaceful visit, but her hopes were shattered when she spotted Beth Winterburn sitting in the chair beside the only empty nail station. “I’ll just keep to myself,” Meghan thought as she sat down, but Beth turned to her with a smile.
“How’s it going?”
Meghan bit her lip. “It’s... it’s good. How are you today?”
Beth tossed her frosted shoulder-length blonde hair behind her back and sighed. “It’s been one of those days... that’s why I’m here. Isn’t that why any girl runs off to the salon?”
Meghan nodded. “That’s true.”
Beth crossed her legs and sat back comfortably in her seat. Her fingers were wrapped in little pieces of foil, and she looked more like the Tin Man from the Wizard of Oz than the grieving widow of a television celebrity.
“Have I seen you around?” Beth asked, raising a white-blonde eyebrow and staring at Meghan. “Why do you look so familiar to me?”
Before Meghan could answer, an attendant ran over with a tray of tea, celery, and cucumbers. “Mrs. Winterburn, your snacks, just as you asked.”
“You can leave them there,” Beth gestured at the small table beside her chair. “Thank you.”
She returned her attention to Meghan. “Isn’t it amazing how transformative a manicure can be?”
Meghan smiled nervously. Something about Mrs. Winterburn made her feel uneasy, and she wished she could run away from the salon without causing a scene. “I always feel like a new woman when my nails are done,” she continued.
“I usually stick with the same colors,” Meghan told her.
“That’s a little boring, isn’t it?” Beth asked. “Like sticking with the same man. Boring, boring, boring.”
Meghan’s eyes widened. “What do you mean?”
Beth smirked. “You don’t think a woman could be happy with the same man for her entire life, do you?”
Meghan reached down to touch her wedding ring. “I do,” she whispered. “I do think I could be happy with my husband... until death do us part.”
Beth laughed. “You’re young. You’ll learn how it goes,” she informed Meghan, her voice tinged with cynicism and arrogance. “One man can’t keep you satisfied forever; it just isn’t possible. Humans weren’t created to be monogamous, my dear.”
Meghan stared at her, noticing Mrs. Winterburn’s wedding ring was missing. Had it been missing the entire voyage? “You really don’t think it’s possible to be happy with one person for your whole life?”
“No,” Beth declared. “I don’t. Look, honey, you are young and naïve, and if I could guess, probably newly married?”
Meghan nodded.
“Marriage and monogamy can be fun and sensual and sexy, but after a while, too much time will stand between who you were when you said I DO and who you grow into. You may think you know who you are right now, but in fifteen years, that version of yourself wouldn’t even recognize the little girl sitting here in this nail salon.”
Meghan’s dark eyes widened. “I don’t know if I believe that,” she told her. “I love my husband, and I know we’ll find ways to grow old and happy together.”
Beth let out a loud laugh. “Excuse me,” she half-heartedly apologized. “I’m not laughing at you, I promise. Well, maybe I’m... just a teeny bit. Look, dear, I’m about to start my new life with my new man, and I have never felt so alive.”
Meghan’s heart beat furiously in her chest. “Not to be rude,” she said carefully. “But aren’t you Mrs. Winterburn? Oliver’s wife? Isn’t it hard to move on when someone so close to you just passed away?”
The color drained from Beth’s face. “What do you know about Oliver?” she asked, her eyes dancing with rage. “How do you know who I am?”
“Oh, I don’t” Meghan lied. “You look like that guy’s wife—that guy who died. Sorry, my mistake.”
Beth stood up from her chair and quickly peeled the foil from her nails. She tossed the foil down with force and turned on her heel, leaving the salon.
“Did she leave?” the attendant returned. “Already?”
“I think she was upset about something,” Meghan suggested. “No idea what, though. Say, do you know who she was? Maybe I should go after her.”
The attendant smiled at Meghan. “Mrs. Winterburn is a frequent visitor here,” she shared. “Sometimes, she and her guy come along together.”
“Tell me about her guy,” Meghan murmured. “Oliver Winterburn?”
“Well, I don’t want to speak ill of our guests, but…”
“But…?” Meghan prompted.
“The guy she comes in here with isn’t her husband. Her husband dropped dead earlier on this voyage, but she was coming in here before he died with someone else…”
The attendant described Reuben perfectly, and Meghan wasn’t shocked. “Just don’t repeat that to anyone,” the attendant warned, her face drawn.
“Of course not,” Meghan assured her. “Say, can you tell me what’s going on with the mystery bug on the ship? I’ve heard several crew members have passed away?”
The attendant furrowed her brow. “It’s bad,” she told Meghan. “We don’t know if it’s an accidental bout of food poisoning, or something scarier. Rumor is that there were two rival companies subcontracted to provide catering services onboard, and that they’ve gotten into it and are trying to off each other by making the guests sick. It sounds crazy, but I’ve heard wilder things. Cruises are scary places.”
“I’m learning that,” Meghan agreed.
“HEY.”
Their heads turned as Beth Winterburn marched back into the salon. Her eyes were bright with anger, and she pointed at Meghan. “YOU.”
“Excuse me?”
Beth strode over to Meghan and pointed into her chest, her long unpainted fingernails scratching Meghan’s collarbone. “I have seen you before,” she hissed. “You were the one stalking Celia’s new client and me while we walked. I t
hought you seemed off.”
Meghan shook her head. “I have no idea what you’re talking about,” she replied nervously. “I’m not a stalker. I’m a honeymooner. I’m here with my husband.”
“Sure, you are,” Beth sneered. “I’m calling security. You are a suspicious character, and for all I know, you’ve been stalking me this whole cruise. Perhaps you had something to do with Oliver’s death, and now you’re keeping an eye on me.”
“What?” Meghan stammered. “That’s crazy.”
Before she could stop her, Beth was running out of the salon.
“Oh my gosh,” Meghan screeched. “She’s going to run off and have security throw me in jail. I would rather die than spend the night in jail. I have to go after her!”
23
Meghan tore out of the salon and down the hallway, her body cold with dread as she imagined being hauled away by security. She wondered if she could even bother going after Beth Winterburn; perhaps she would be better off hiding out in her suite?
She rounded a corner and ran straight into an overweight blonde woman. “I’m so sorry,” she apologized as the woman grimaced, dropping to her knees. “I’m sorry. Are you okay? Can I help you?”
She realized it was Oliver’s stalker. The woman was clutching her stomach. “Did I knock the air out of you?” Meghan asked in concern. “I didn’t even see you.”
The woman shook her head, her blonde ringlets bouncing. “My stomach hurts,” she moaned. “I was headed to the infirmary when you bumped into me.”
Meghan reached down and offered her a hand. “Let me help you up.”
The woman accepted, taking Meghan’s hand and leaning against the wall to stand. “I think the egg scramble I had for breakfast did it to me,” she groaned as she held her stomach. “Something didn’t smell right.”
Meghan nodded. “I’ve heard a few people onboard have had some stomach issues…”
“I don’t want my love to see me like this.”
Meghan’s heart sank; did this woman really not know what had happened to the celebrity chef, or did she somehow have something to do with it?
“Can I help you to the infirmary?” Meghan offered. “It’s the least I can do…”
The woman brushed off her skirt and took a deep breath. “I’ll be fine, thanks,” she told Meghan. “Nice running into you.”
“Haha,” Meghan laughed, but quickly realized the woman wasn’t joking. “Yeah, you too…”
She turned to continue her search for Mrs. Winterburn, but as she ascended the stairs to head toward the Palmer Deck, she saw Mrs. Sheridan. “Hey, Mrs. Sheridan,” Meghan greeted her friend. “How is Frank doing?”
“He’s a little better. Thank you for asking.”
Meghan thought about her conversation with Oliver’s stalker. “Say, Mrs. Sheridan? Can I ask you a weird question?”
Mrs. Sheridan crossed her arms over her chest. “Is now really the time?”
“I don’t mean to push,” Meghan continued on. “But when Frank got sick, had he eaten any eggs?”
“Eggs?” Mrs. Sheridan’s eyes bulged. “Eggs? Everyone eats eggs, Meghan. Eggs are used to make almost everything.”
Meghan bit her lip. “Can you please think hard for a second?” she pleaded. “The day Frank became ill; did he have anything with eggs? Anything out of the ordinary?”
Mrs. Sheridan scowled. “He tried some fancy egg thing at breakfast that day. It was the specialty in the dining hall on our floor. Sous vide egg bites or something like that? That’s the only thing I can think of.”
Meghan nodded. “Got it. Sorry to bother you.”
She hurried away. Her mind was racing; the sick stalker and Frank had both gotten sick after eating eggs. Was there a connection? It seemed like the two events had to be related. Wanting to find out more, Meghan turned on her heel and decided to make her way down to the kitchen.
“Chef?” she called out when she arrived at the lower deck.
“Hello, Mrs. Irvin,” Chef Tilley greeted her. Meghan noticed his face looked gaunt, and his eyes were red.
“Are you okay?” she asked. “How is Bev?”
He hung his head. “They let her go, but I’m humiliated. I feel like the laughingstock of the ship, and I feel like a failure of a father.”
Meghan put a hand on his elbow. “It’s okay, Chef,” she said gently. “It’ll all blow over.”
He frowned. “Will it? I don’t know. Bev has been banned from the kitchen for the next week, and I’m still short-staffed. People are getting sick left and right, and I’m working overtime to provide quality meals for our guests. This is a nightmare.”
She nodded. “Is there anything I can do to help?”
He smiled weakly. “My second-in-command, Dante Adams, is healing up nicely and is expected back at work this evening, so we should be able to get meals out to our guests without too much of a hassle after today’s lunch. Thank you for asking, though, and thanks for all of your help over the last few days.”
“No worries,” she assured him. “It really was a treat for me. Being a Chef on a cruise ship still seems like such a glamorous job to me. You get to see the world, meet new people, and are always trying new cuisines. It’s amazing, really.”
He looked around the kitchen, lowering his voice and leaning in closer to Meghan’s ear. “You know, this job is the opposite of glamorous,” he told her. “Did you know that there are two different catering crews on this ship?”
“No?”
“Yes,” he explained. “Two crews, and two different agencies who hired us. We’re in constant competition; each voyage, one crew is assigned to the VIP Section, and one is assigned to the rest of the ship. If the ship’s finances are off, the next month, one crew might be furloughed, and it all depends on which crew provided the very best meals on the previous voyage. Getting furloughed means not getting paid, so we always bust our backs to ensure we are the ones getting to work each voyage.”
“That sounds stressful,” Meghan sighed. “You’re in constant competition?”
“Always,” he confirmed. “And the other crew is shady; they’re constantly trying to undermine our dishes and copy our recipes so they come out on top. I’m always watching my back, too; the other crew is rough, and you never know what they’ll do…”
Meghan bit her lip. “Hey, can I ask you a strange question?”
“Of course.”
“Which crew made the sous vide egg bites a few days ago?” Meghan asked. “Is there a crew responsible for egg-based dishes?”
He nodded. “Of course. With things like eggs, nuts, and other common allergens, it’s important we have one crew assigned to make those things for each voyage. It keeps things easier if we have a guest complain about a reaction to the dish, and it also helps keep things clean for our legal team.”
“So... who is doing the egg-based dishes this trip?” she asked, her dark eyes wide. “The other crew?”
He shook his head. “We are,” he informed her. “In fact, I assigned Bev to the egg-based dishes this trip; eggs are pretty easy to do, and you can’t really screw them up. The sous vide egg bites were her idea, in fact.”
Meghan’s jaw dropped. “Bev? Bev was taking care of egg-dishes?”
He nodded. “Yes?”
She stared at him in horror. “Chef,” she began. “Do you ever worry that Bev isn’t cut out to be a chef?”
“She’s from a long line of chefs,” he insisted. “She was born to be a chef. My great-grandfather was a chef, my grandfather was a chef, my father was a chef, I’m a chef, and my daughter, Bev, will take my place as a great chef.”
Meghan looked him in the eyes. “I think Bev’s carelessness may have caused the ship-wide sickness,” she said matter-of-factly. “I think Bev screwed up the eggs, and people are dying because of her.”
Chef Tilley gasped. “How dare you say that about my daughter? Get out of this kitchen immediately and don’t come back. I would kill for my daughter, and if I ever hear another
lie like that again from you, I’ll find you, Meghan Irvin. You’ll be sorry you ever spoke a word about the Tilley family.”
24
Sweaty and out of breath, Meghan burst into her suite. “Jack? Jack?”
Her husband sauntered into the living room with a grin on his face. “You’ll never believe what happened to us,” he told her.
She shook her head, her eyes bulging out of her head. “You’ll never believe what just happened to me.”
Jack reached behind his back and retrieved two gold slips of paper from his back pocket. “Let me go first. Laia slipped these under our door today with a little note. She has invited us to a private concert tonight. Only fifteen people were invited, and she chose us to attend. Isn’t that cool, babe?”
