Santa Cruise (18 page)

Well done, Dudley, Regan thought.

“One more very important matter,” Dudley said. “The Commodore was very close to his mother. Her ashes are on board. We are going to have a memorial service for her at sunset tonight on the Promenade Deck. All passengers will be asked to attend. There will be a brief ceremony, a few hymns sung, the Commodore will say good-bye to his mother as he lovingly drops the box with her ashes over the railing, then we'll share a champagne toast.”

“Why are her ashes going to be thrown over in
a box? I thought you just sprinkle them into the breeze,” Grimes asked with a frown.

“That's environmentally unhealthy,” Nelson explained. “They only do that in the movies. My therapist told me one of his patients wanted to scatter his father's ashes near all the bars he used to frequent, but needless to say the City of New York told him to go jump in a lake with his father's ashes.”

“As long as they were still in a box,” someone added.

“I would like to have a Santa escort for the Commodore tonight,” Dudley continued. “Eight of you in uniform will accompany Commodore Weed and his mother as they travel from his suite to the chapel for a brief prayer, then down the companionway, and out onto the Promenade Deck where the rest of the passengers and crew will be waiting. Who would like to be in the procession?”

Ten hands shot up.

Dudley smiled. “We'll draw straws. And who knows? If we catch the Santa-suit thieves today, then you'll
all
be in the procession.”

H
ighbridge and Bull's-Eye, aware of their close call, and that every passing minute was bringing them closer to freedom on Fishbowl Island, sat hunched under the altar in the chapel. Their hands clasped around their knees, they kept adjusting their bodies, trying to find a comfortable place to rest. There was none.

It was hard to keep perfectly quiet. Bull's-Eye's normally heavy breathing seemed outrageously loud to a nervous Highbridge. The damp cold of Bull's-Eye's suit was penetrating his body and making him both chilled and itchy. Even though they had both unhooked their beards, they kept them on their laps to be able to refasten them in an instant. Not that that would do either of us any good, Highbridge thought. Suppose someone comes in and lifts this cloth. What are we supposed to do? Pretend we're playing hide-and-seek?

Tired and realizing how totally vulnerable they
were in this public space, they hoped against hope that no one would find them before Eric showed up and brought them to the relative security of his cabin.

At nine thirty, when they heard the door of the chapel open, they both stiffened. Bull's-Eye almost stopped breathing.

“Here we are, Mother,” they heard a male voice say.

But there was no response.

Footsteps coming down the aisle, getting closer and closer to the altar, made both men break into a cold sweat. The footsteps stopped at what must have been the first or second row, and the faint squeak suggested someone sat down.

“This is a lovely chapel, isn't it, Mother?”

Again no response. Bull's-Eye and Highbridge looked at each other dumbfounded.

“I was going to drop you overboard at dawn tomorrow, but we're moving up the ceremony to sunset tonight. I hope you don't mind. Dudley says you won't—that that's what mothers are for—helping out in time of need. We've been having a lot of trouble since we set sail. I swear if I find whoever stole those Santa suits, I'll thrash them within an inch of their lives. Sorry, Mother, I know I shouldn't talk that way. I keep thinking of all the trips we took together. Remember when your hat
blew off on the crossing of the old
Queen Elizabeth?
Someone from an upper deck who saw the hat floating away was afraid you were still wearing it and shouted, ‘Lady overboard!' “

The Commodore laughed tenderly. “That's when you said you wanted the sea to be your final resting place. I made you a promise that you would be buried at sea. Today—I'm fulfilling that promise—”

For five minutes the Commodore sat quietly, the hammered silver box in his lap, fond memories of his mother running through his mind. He got up to leave just as the chapel door opened. The woman who had been screaming about seeing Left Hook Louie last night was standing before him.

“Commodore Weed! I'm so glad you're here. I was afraid to come back to the chapel, but they say you should face your fears. That's what I was doing, and I'm lucky enough to find you here as well.”

“My pleasure,” the Commodore said stiffly.

It was obvious to Ivy that he resented the uproar she had created. “I can tell that you are mad at me, Commodore Weed, and I can certainly understand, but I'm telling you I did see someone here in the chapel last night. I wasn't trying to cause trouble.” Ivy's voice started to tremble.

Bull's-Eye and Highbridge both held their breath. Please God, Highbridge thought, don't let her start looking under the altar.

“This cruise is the nicest thing that ever happened to me in my whole life,” Ivy continued. “The ship is so beautiful, the food is wonderful, the people are so exciting. I know you're responsible for all this, and I know this ship is your dream, and I wouldn't want to do anything to destroy your dream.”

Despite himself, the Commodore was touched. “Thank you, Miss Pickering. I appreciate your sentiments. I haven't felt much gratitude, and I must say it hurts.” He looked closely at her. “There, there, you mustn't cry now.”

Ivy wiped her eyes and became aware of the object in the Commodore's hands. “That's a beautiful jewelry case you have there. My mother has one almost exactly like it.”

The Commodore grabbed her hand. “Your
mother?”
he said, his voice a whisper. He held up the box. “My mother's ashes are resting in this box. You say your mother has one like it?”

“Yes, my Papa bought it for her in a museum shop on their honeymoon. She still has it on the dresser at home.”

The door opened again. This time it was Eric, looking flustered and out of breath. He stared at
them, stared at the altar, then back at Ivy and his uncle. He tried to pull himself together. “Uncle Randolph, I just heard about your new plans for Grandma.” With his usual lack of courtesy, he ignored Ivy. “It will be very special.”

Ivy looked questioningly at the Commodore. It was obvious she hadn't heard about the sunset ceremony.

The Commodore touched her hand again. “Would you care to join me for a cup of tea in my suite and I'll explain?” he asked. He paused. “Please,” he added.

The Commodore and Ivy left Eric in the chapel. Not knowing what he would find, he ran up to the altar, bent down, and lifted the cloth.

“Your uncle sounds like a nutcase,” Bull's-Eye muttered. Then he released the sneeze he'd been holding back.

T
here's no question I'm not as tough as I used to be, Alvirah admitted to herself. Her head was really aching, and now the rest of her body was letting her know that she'd taken a pretty good tumble. At her insistence, Willy had gone down to the gym where he had a treadmill reserved for ten o'clock. By then, Winston had brought Alvirah tea, fruit, and toast, and even Willy admitted that aside from the bandage and goose-egg bump on her forehead, she did seem to be okay. Alvirah said, “Willy, be on your way. I really do have to put my thinking cap on. But first turn on the television. I'd like to see what's going on in the outside world.”

“Okay,” Willy agreed. “I'll be back in less than an hour. That guy Winston is always around. If you feel just a little bit funny, please ring for him.”

The state of the world hadn't changed much in the twenty-four hours since she'd seen a broadcast.
It was a holiday week, and most of the politicians had taken time off from insulting each other. The day-after-Christmas sales in retail stores had broken records. On the other hand, more gifts had been returned this year than had been brought back in the last ten years. Shows how much junk people give just to get their gift buying out of the way, Alvirah thought. She was just starting to doze off when the picture of Bull's-Eye Tony Pinto came across the screen.

“Blessed Mother!” Alvirah murmured. She remembered reading about him when he lived in New York and was often in the headlines of the
Post
and the
Daily News.
I loved to read up on him, she admitted to herself. He was so colorful. He spent some time in prison for small stuff, but they could never get him on any of the big charges. Everybody knows he's a killer. His reputation was that he got rid of anyone who was in his way. . . .

“Coming up,” the newscaster said, “the latest on the all-out manhunt for mobster Bull's-Eye Tony Pinto, who disappeared from his home in Miami yesterday. But first this . . .”

Alvirah ignored the four fifteen-second commercials for various prescription drugs, her mind totally focused on the startling resemblance between Tony Pinto and Left Hook Louie.

“Is it possible?” she wondered aloud. “I think
it's
more
than possible,” she concluded. She had to talk to Regan and Jack. If Bull's-Eye is on this ship trying to make his way to freedom, has he already attempted a murder? He was always accused of murder, never convicted. And what would make him want to kill Crater? And if he did try to kill him, who's next?

She snapped on her microphone. “Pinto lives in Miami. He's desperate to get out of the country. This ship was sailing from Miami the same day he disappeared. He looks like that writer guy in the posters, the same guy Ivy and Maggie thought they saw. But if he is on board, someone has to have helped him get here, and someone is hiding him now. Maybe the same person who stole the Santa suits. But who?”

A suspicion that was rapidly becoming a certainty had formed in Alvirah's mind. “I felt from minute one that there was something odd about that nephew, Eric,” she said. “He's nervous. I'm beginning to think he may have something big to hide.” At that moment, her phone rang. It was Eric.

“Mrs. Meehan, I do hope you're feeling better.”

“Yes, I am.”

“That deck of cards Mr. Meehan showed me last night. It completely slipped my mind. One of the other officers stopped by to have a drink with
me the night before you boarded. They belong to him. He must have put them down, and when we went out to dinner, I bet Winston put them in my drawer, assuming they were mine. May I stop by and pick them up?”

Alvirah didn't believe him for a minute. “I'm lying down and Willy's not here,” she said. “Let me call you back. Or if you give us the name of the officer, Willy would be happy to get them back to him.”

“That won't be necessary. He'll be off duty until tonight. I'll come by for them later.”

I'll bet you will, Alvirah thought as she hung up the phone to make sure the connection was broken. Wait till I tell Jack and Regan, she exulted as she picked up the phone again and began to dial.

A
fter the morning newscast, Bianca had been pleased with the number of e-mails she had received. I've got to keep it up, she thought. Until she could get more information on what was happening on the ship from her contacts, she had to find a way to keep the story going. Otherwise, she knew that even if something startling surfaced in a couple of days, people would already have lost interest.

Her viewers were voting on who was the ghost. Most thought it was Mac. Then one e-mail made her gasp as she read it.

Dear Bianca,

When MacDuffie died a few years ago, my mother and I went to the estate sale. All the antique dealers were there, combing over the stuff. It was mostly a bunch of junk! But my
mother and I can't resist a bargain and we bought a few pieces of furniture and several cartons of papers and magazines. Well, what did we find but the journal MacDuffie kept of his last years on that yacht! Can you believe that he wrote that his father had squandered much of the family fortune by buying a famous jewelry box that he knew had been stolen from a museum? He claimed it had been given to Cleopatra by Marc Antony, and was priceless. I ask you! What was he smoking?

Mac wrote that he couldn't sell the box because it would destroy the family name, and anyhow the museum would claim it back. Here's a direct quote: “So I sit on my yacht and think of five thousand years ago when a handsome Roman presented it to a young queen.” Yeah, and my mother and I are the Gabor sisters!!!

Anyhow, thought you'd be interested. My vote is that Mac's haunting that ship, and maybe Cleopatra's on board, too. By the way, my mother and I checked the list of items for sale and there was no jewelry box belonging to Cleopatra on it!

Your fan,

Kimmie Keating

Perfect! Bianca thought. Gleefully, she reread the e-mail.

If there was anything more compelling than a story about a ghost, it was one about a missing treasure.

M
aking a list, checking it twice,” Dudley sang, in a feeble attempt to lighten the atmosphere after the Santas had left his office.

Jack placed a call to his assistant, Keith. “The cruise director is e-mailing you the passenger and crew list right now,” he explained. “Check everyone out, but begin with Harry Crater—he's a passenger. I'll talk to you in a few minutes from my room.” Jack hung up, turned to Dudley and asked, “How did Crater end up on this ship?”

“A nurse wrote me about all the good he had done and said that he was very ill, and this would be his last cruise.” Dudley pulled out a file and handed Jack the letter. It listed the many contributions Crater had supposedly made in the last year.

“Could you make a copy of that for us?” Regan asked.

“Of course.”

When Regan and Jack left Dudley's office, passenger and crew lists in hand, they found Ted Cannon waiting for them in the corridor.