34 - The Queen's Jewels (15 page)

All right, Jessica
, I told myself,
stop playing games.

“Kim Chin-Hwa,” I said flatly.

Dennis sat back, eyes wide. I hoped he wasn’t acting. “How do
you
know about him?” he asked, shooting me an ironic look and taking a final sip of his drink.

“I’ve met him. He was at a dinner party I attended in London at the home of my British publisher. I assume you know he’s on board the ship. In fact, his cabin is next to mine. We’ve spent quite a bit of time together. We’ve played bridge, and I’ve danced with him.”

“I think I need another drink,” Dennis said, disappearing into the cabin and returning with his refill.

When he’d taken his seat again, he said, “Why am I surprised that you’re way ahead of me, Jessica?”

“Pure coincidence, Dennis; several in fact. A coincidence that I’ve ended up on the
Queen Mary Two
with an alleged jewel thief and possible murderer. And, of course, another coincidence that I’ve met up with you.”

“It’s obvious, then, why I’m here.”

“To try to recover the Heart of India from Kim Chin-Hwa—provided he’s the one who stole it, had his partner killed, and has brought it with him on this trip. That seems to me like a long shot, Dennis.”

“A chance worth taking. If it doesn’t pay off, I’ll continue the investigation elsewhere. But for now, I’m focused on this ship and Mr. Kim.”

“Then you must have seen me with Mr. Kim.”

“Well, I may have spotted you from afar. Since you seem to have befriended him, Jessica, perhaps you wouldn’t mind sharing with me what you’ve learned from your relationship with Kim.”

“I’d hardly call it a relationship, Dennis. Because we were at the same dinner party prior to the crossing, we naturally touched base again once we were on board. That was the first night. Actually, his demeanor toward me has changed since then. He questioned whether I was doing research for a new novel. I assured him I wasn’t, but he made it clear that he would not be happy if I was. He also seems to have decided to lower his profile on the ship. I haven’t seen much of him lately.”

“A suggestion of guilt, I’d say.”

“I wouldn’t take it as that at all.” I looked at my watch. There wasn’t a lot of time before dinner and I needed to change into formal clothes. “Dennis, I appreciate you being forthright with me about why you’re on board,” I said, standing and stepping through the door into the cabin.

Dennis followed.

“I don’t mean to question your methods,” I said, “but how does taking your meals in your cabin further your investigation? I’d think you’d be doing everything you can to get close to Kim.”

He laughed away my comment. “I haven’t been a total recluse, Jessica. In fact, I’ve spent some time with Kim’s mistress. I assume you know her, too.”

“Betty LeClair.”

“Right. Beautiful creature.”

“Yes, she is beautiful.”

“We share an appreciation for art. She purchased two lovely paintings at today’s auction.”

“And did you learn anything apart from the fact that she likes art?” I asked.

“Well, she’s partial to expensive clothing and perfume. No question about that. Shalini perfume, if my nose serves me right, and Jacques Vert dresses.”

“Important information.”

I went to the door and was about to open it when I had an idea. “Why don’t you break your pattern and join us for dinner tonight?”

“Couldn’t possibly, Jessica.”

“Kim and his party will probably be there,” I said. “We don’t sit together, but his table is close by. I think that you’ll find the others at my table interesting. The gentleman we bumped into in the hallway is a former merchant marine captain, a lovely, entertaining man. There’s an antiques dealer from Dublin, Wendell Jones. And Wendell has brought two women to the table. One is a jewelry designer, Jennifer Kahn. Her assistant is Kiki Largent. I really think that you’d—”

His expression went from surprise, to shock, back to surprise, and then to a bright smile.

“I’d be delighted to join you,” he said. “What time?”

“We generally are seated at about seven. Drinks in the lounge at six, six fifteen? Oh, Dennis, what name are you using this time?”

“William MacForester. I’m in real estate in San Francisco. You can call me Bill. Can’t wait to dine with you and your friends this evening, Jessica. I am so pleased we’ve joined up again.”

M
y time spent with Dennis Stanton raised a number of questions that I chewed on while dressing for dinner.

His surprise that someone from Kensington, the British insurer, might be on board didn’t make sense to me. Dennis was working for Consolidated Casualty, which had partnered with Kensington Limited to insure the Heart of India. Surely they’d be working closely together to locate the missing gem and avoid having to pay the beneficiary of the policies, Walter Soon Yang’s company, in which Kim Chin-Hwa was now the sole surviving partner. And if they were not cooperating, why not?

Too, what was behind Stanton’s sudden enthusiasm for my dinner invitation? It was after I’d named those who’d be at our table that he’d changed his mind and agreed to join us. Whose name had triggered his abrupt turnaround?

I had almost forgotten about the young couple who’d shared our table that first night at sea. Aside from when I’d seen them engage in horseplay on the deck, and noticed that they now sat at a table for two, Richard Kensington and his wife, Marcia, had slipped my mind. But he shared the same name as the British insurance firm that had coinsured the Heart of India. Of course, the similarity in names could easily have been coincidental. I assumed that “Kensington” was a relatively common name in Great Britain. But that didn’t mean that it
was
coincidental. Was there a link between the sour young man and the coinsurer of the Heart of India? It was too providential to simply disavow the possibility that his presence on board was connected to the theft. Were those young people really on their honeymoon? I had no tangible reason to doubt it, but made a mental note to ask some questions should the opportunity arise.

Rupesh was in the hallway when I exited my cabin dressed in a long black gown with a beaded bodice.

“Good evening, madam,” he said. “You are off to the formal dinner, I see.”

“Good evening, Rupesh. You work long hours,
I
see.”

“Very long hours, madam. It is expected of room stewards.”

“I hope you’ve found time to contact your mother back in India.”

“Oh, yes, I did, madam. I wrote and told her that a lovely lady on the ship had reminded me to do so, and mentioned that you and Maniram live in the same town.”

“Good,” I said, laughing. “I trust it’s the first of many letters to her.”

As I walked away and set out on the long trek to the Princess Grill, I thought about Rupesh. He was an excellent steward, of course, but I wondered why he’d wanted the job in the first place. According to his cousin Maniram, he had a college degree and was skilled in computers and had taught school among other activities. Of course, Maniram had also said that Rupesh was a free spirit, an adventurer who, it was clear to see, had trouble sticking with any career for very long. Some people have a different work ethic. They can’t adjust to a nine-to-five job. Either they need constant change or they don’t like having a boss or they simply want to know what else is out there. Signing on to work on the
Queen Mary 2
probably supported Rupesh’s wanderlust, a chance to see the world and put away some money. I admired him for that. In my estimation, too many young people fail to take advantage of the opportunity to travel, free of family responsibilities, to learn about new cultures and broaden their view of the world and their place in it. Chances were that Rupesh would honor whatever employment contract he’d signed and then move on to another adventure, another life-enhancing experience.

I met Dennis Stanton exiting the elevator, and we walked together into the lounge, where Harry Flynn, Michael Haggerty, Jennifer Kahn, and Kiki Largent had gathered at the bar. I looked around for Mr. Kim and his party, but they either hadn’t arrived yet or had enjoyed drinks earlier and were already in the dining room. I made the introductions and was proud of myself when I managed to introduce Dennis Stanton as William—“call me Bill”—MacForester to “antiques dealer” Wendell Jones without the slightest hitch in my voice.

“Delighted to have another join our party,” said Harry, who wore his double-breasted white tux jacket, a frilly pale blue tuxedo shirt, and a dark blue bow tie and cummerbund with tiny white stars on them. He stood out from the other men, who were dressed in black tuxedos and more conservative accessories. Jennifer, too, stood out in yet another shimmering designer gown, this one of pale pink satin, and her fingers and neck were adorned with obviously expensive jewelry. Kiki’s black “uniform” was identical to what she’d worn the previous evening, the only change being a heavy gold necklace replacing her seashells, and gold earrings in the shape of fish. My gown for this evening fell in between Jennifer’s and Kiki’s in terms of formal wear, and my jewelry, while pieces I love, was not flamboyant enough to draw attention.

“We started the party without you,” Jennifer said. “You’ll have to catch up.”

I accepted Harry’s offer of a sidecar, a refreshing drink that Seth had introduced me to back home.

“That’s quite a lovely brooch you’re wearing,” Dennis said to Jennifer, leaning in so close to observe the pin that his nose was dangerously near her décolletage.

“It’s one of my more popular designs,” she said of the diamond cat’s head with yellow eyes. “The eyes are a kind of chrysoberyl called cymophane,” she said, smiling down at Dennis as he raised his head. “I liked the synchrony of using cat’s-eye gemstones for the cat’s eyes. Amusing, don’t you think?”

“I do,” Dennis said, touching the long earrings she wore.

“Jennifer designs all her own jewelry,” Michael said, scowling.

“What a talent, and so beautiful, too,” Dennis said, holding her gaze. He placed his hand on Jennifer’s bare arm. “Where are you from? I hope it’s somewhere near the West Coast of the U.S.”

“How did you know?” she replied, clearly charmed. “My family moved to San Francisco when I was ten, but I live in London now.”

“My two favorite places in the world,” Dennis said. “My stomping grounds are the city by the bay, San Francisco.” He broke into a few bars of Tony Bennett’s great hit “I Left My Heart in San Francisco.” Haggerty, who sat on the other side of Jennifer, watched Stanton closely. His scowl deepened.

“How long have you lived in London?” I asked Jennifer.

“Oh, for many years,” she replied, her speech taking on a hint of a British accent I hadn’t noticed before. “I’ve even begun to talk like a limey.”

“I hardly think the term ‘limey’ applies to this lovely lady,” Harry Flynn said. “It’s actually American slang for British sailors. Know where it came from?”

“Probably had something to do with limes,” Kiki mumbled.

“You are exactly right,” said Harry.

“Another time, Harry,” Haggerty said. “I think we’re ready to go into the dining room.”

“Oh, of course,” Harry replied, looking around as the dining room captain came to lead us to our table.

“I agree with you,” Stanton said to Harry, clapping the older man’s shoulder with one hand, and taking Jennifer’s arm with the other. “This lady is no common sailor.”

We followed the captain through the lounge, but paused to allow Betty and Kim’s two bodyguards to pass us on their way to the grill. Dennis waved hello to her. The friendly gesture was met with a blank look, Betty’s eyes skimming over our convivial group without comment or even recognition. I looked at Dennis for a reaction. He shrugged and smiled.

We fell in behind and took our table. Harry and Jennifer had many questions for Dennis—“Bill” MacForester, as far as they were concerned—about San Francisco and his world travels, and he handled them with aplomb. Because he was the new face, most of the interest was trained on him, much to Haggerty’s obvious chagrin. His witty repartee steeped in an Irish brogue was absent, his expressive, animated face a more somber mask. It was evident to me that the root of his discontent was the attention paid to Jennifer Kahn by Dennis.
Michael must have developed a real crush on Jennifer
, I thought,
and doesn’t appreciate another alpha male horning in on his territory.
I silently prayed that an ugly scene wouldn’t develop between them.

We left the grill at the same time as Betty and her protectors. I asked as we passed each other, “Is Mr. Kim not feeling well?”

“That’s right,” she said. “He’s not feeling well.”

End of conversation.

Harry’s suggestion that we all repair to the Queens Room after dinner for some libations and a little dancing was welcomed. It was filling up when we arrived, but we found a table large enough to accommodate our group. Two dozen couples whirled around the dance floor, including women who danced with the ship’s gentlemen hosts. Betty and her two muscular escorts were nowhere to be seen, and I wondered what was ailing Mr. Kim. I didn’t dwell on it, however, because before I knew it, Harry had led me to the floor, where we enjoyed dancing to the band’s rendition of “Where or When,” followed by “All the Things You Are.” Kiki, who had made it clear from the first night that she wasn’t interested in dancing, refused all invitations, but Jennifer couldn’t seem to get enough of it. She was happy to let Dennis monopolize her time, laughing loudly at whatever he said, leaving a grouchy Haggerty sitting at the table with Kiki, his mood becoming darker as the hours passed. I was pleased that when Harry and I returned to the table, Dennis had escorted Jennifer there, too. Michael immediately got to his feet and brought her back to the dance floor, but his petulance did little to charm her.