Santa Cruise (22 page)

“Louder!” someone yelled. “We can't hear you!”

Dudley put his fingers to his lips and pointed at the helicopter. They all watched as it slowly settled on the helipad—engines roaring and blades whipping not far from where the ceremony was to take place.

Fredericka and Gwendolyn, standing on either side of the wheelchair, covered Crater's ears with their palms. The remaining seats in the left front row were reserved for the Commodore, Eric, Dudley, and Winston. The front row on the other side of the aisle was reserved for the Santas.

The roaring of the helicopter's engine abruptly stopped and the rotation of the blades slowed until they no longer moved. Dudley quickly repeated what he'd explained before and then said, “We'll be starting our lovely tribute to Mrs. Penelope Weed in just a few moments. Please take your seats.”

The four Reillys, Ivy, and Maggie were seated in the second row. They had saved two seats for Willy and Alvirah, but Willy came out on the deck by himself. His face fell when he saw that Alvirah wasn't with them.

“Where's Alvirah?” he asked worriedly.

“We haven't seen her,” Nora told him.

“She was gone from the room when I got out of the shower. I was surprised, but I figured she'd come out here.”

“Oh, I'm sure she'll be right along,” Nora said soothingly.

All eyes focused on the helicopter as three men in medical scrubs climbed out. Dudley ran over to greet them.

“Something doesn't feel right,” Regan whispered to Jack.

Jack's eyes narrowed as he watched the three medics follow Dudley to Crater's wheelchair. They leaned over and had a brief chat with him. Jack noticed one of the medics look over and make eye contact with Winston. They know each other, he thought. What's that about?

The opening notes of “Amazing Grace” blared from the speakers, startling everyone.

The procession arrived from the chapel. The two Santa Clauses who didn't have outfits came down the aisle first, each carrying a tall, lighted candle. The eight costumed Santas followed, then Eric, and finally the Commodore carrying the silver box with his mother's ashes.

Regan stared at Eric as the congregation sang. “That saved a wretch like me . . .”

Willy had taken his seat but was noticeably upset.

The Commodore placed the silver box on the table between the two lighted candles as the members of the procession took their places in the front row.

A thin, middle-aged man from the Oklahoma Readers and Writers group, who was a deacon in his church back home, came forward. He picked up the microphone. “Merciful God, life has not ended, but changed,” he began.

Willy turned and looked to the back of the rows of chairs, desperate for any sight of Alvirah. He was sure that she would never deliberately miss this ceremony. She just wouldn't. He knew it in his bones.

Something must have happened to her.

W
hen Eric dragged Alvirah back down the companionway, and out onto the deck, Bull's-Eye ripped off his beard and tied it as a makeshift gag around her mouth. Highbridge pulled her hands behind her back and used his Santa cap to secure them. Eric then pushed her down on the floor, against a wall covered with nets and fishing equipment. “I've got to get out of here. I can't be late for the ceremony. The last thing we need is for them to start looking for me. Take good care of her,” he snarled. “She's too nosy for her own good. And on top of that, she's the reason we had to move out of my room.”

He's such a coward, Alvirah thought contemptuously as she watched him go. He doesn't want to kill me. He's leaving it to them.

Bull's-Eye trained his gun on her. “If you're so nosy, tell me what that two-bit punk Crater is
doing on the ship. He's here for a reason, and it has nothing to do with him being a do-gooder,” Bull's-Eye spat. “He ratted on my father. What's he planning now?”

“I wish I knew,” Alvirah answered.

“I'll give you a minute to think about it before I whack you.”

The sound of an approaching helicopter startled all three of them.

“That could be the cops.” Highbridge's voice was panicked. He and Bull's-Eye shifted into high gear. As they threw the dinghy off the back of the ship Alvirah frantically began to twist her hands. She felt some kind of hook or sharp metal poking into her right side. Turning her body slightly, she moved just enough so that her bound hands were covering it. If I can just get a tear in the cap, she thought anxiously, it's thin, cheap material. The one bell at the end of the cap tinkled faintly, but Bull's-Eye and Highbridge were too distracted to hear it.

Bull's-Eye dropped a briefcase into a duffel bag and re-knotted the bag tightly.

Trying to remain calm, Alvirah moved the cap back and forth over the metal until she made a hole in it. Thinking back to her cleaning days when she used to tear up old towels into rags, she
was finally able to shred the cap and free her hands.

Alvirah eyed the low railing on the side of the ship. I can do it, she thought. I have to do it. I'm not ready to leave Willy on his own yet. He needs me. Getting up off the floor is the big problem. It takes me so long I may not get the chance to jump. But I've got to give it a try.

Highbridge climbed up and sat on the rail at the stern, facing the water.

Alvirah watched as Bull's-Eye hoisted the duffel bag onto the railing and Highbridge wrapped his right hand around the top of it. Bull's-Eye then handed him an oar. “Don't drop anything. Especially the bag. I'll be right behind you.”

“I'm not careless when it comes to protecting my money,” Highbridge answered, then pushed himself off the edge. Bull's-Eye, a gun in his right hand, watched Highbridge's descent.

Alvirah heard a splash as Highbridge hit the water. Bull's-Eye's attention was riveted on the duffel bag as he made sure it arrived safely onto the dinghy.

It's now or never, Alvirah realized. Hardly feeling the twisting pangs in her knees, she sprang up, raced to the side of the ship, climbed on the rail, and, as a startled Bull's-Eye turned his head
toward her, she held her nose and jumped. Immediately before she hit the water, she heard a bullet whistle past her ear. That was close, she thought, but no bull's-eye.

Her body completely submerged, she began to swim underwater toward the bow of the ship.

O
ne of the few people who did not attend the ceremony was Bosley P. Brevers, who was upset because his lecture had seemed to have been a failure. The very people he was hoping to impress, the famous suspense writer and her husband, their daughter, the private investigator, and her husband, the big shot with the NYPD, had walked out in a block. He knew they were trying to be discreet, but the sight of the backs of their heads was very disconcerting. Those two women from his group, Maggie and Ivy, clearly couldn't stand him getting any attention. They had walked out first.

It was so mean of them.

He'd retreated to his cabin, where he'd ordered a sandwich from room service, then gone over his notes to see how he might make part two of his lecture more interesting. He had just put his pen down when he heard a helicopter approaching the ship. Stepping out onto his balcony
to catch a glimpse, he quickly became disinterested and went back inside his room to turn on the television. He wanted to see if there was any news on the search for Left Hook Louie's nephew, Tony Pinto. If the police caught him, that would bring some fresh excitement to the lecture scheduled for tomorrow morning. As Brevers flipped the channels, he could hear the faint sounds of “Amazing Grace.” Obviously the Commodore's ceremony had begun.

A clip of a pretty young newscaster appeared on the screen. “Update!” she said excitedly. “I've been reporting to you about the Santa Cruise on the
Royal Mermaid,
which used to belong to the late Angus ‘Mac' MacDuffie. It's been verified that years ago MacDuffie's father bought a priceless antique knowing it had been stolen from a Boston museum. A hammered silver jewelry box, it had once belonged to Cleopatra and is worth untold millions. That's right folks. Cleopatra! This morning, I visited the people who had purchased furniture and papers from the estate sale after Angus MacDuffie died. In a kneehole desk, they discovered a journal, which revealed that MacDuffie knew about the antique. Today, we painstakingly went through hundreds of dusty magazine pages and letters, and we found a note MacDuffie had written to his mother saying that he had hidden
the stolen silver box in a secret drawer he had built in the suite of his yacht so that evidence of his father's disgrace would die with him. Maybe Commodore Weed will start a treasure hunt . . .”

A replica of the box flashed on-screen.

Brevers's eyes bulged. He had been one of the first to arrive on the ship yesterday and had gone to the Commodore's suite to drop off a signed book. The Commodore had invited him into the living room and they had chatted briefly. Brevers had noticed an exquisite, small silver chest in a glass case against the wall and had commented on it. The Commodore had told him it contained his mother's ashes.

Could it be? Brevers wondered, his mind racing. He had heard this morning that the Commodore would be throwing his mother's ashes overboard in a box. Could it be the priceless object that he had just seen? The Commodore's silver box certainly looked like the one they were showing on television.

Not caring that he'd taken off his shoes, Brevers ran out the door and down the deserted corridor in what he believed was a race to save Cleopatra's jewelry box from disappearing to the bottom of the sea.

G
ood-byes are always so difficult, but the time has come to say a loving farewell to the best mother a boy every had. I'm so glad that you all could be with me to share this tender, albeit painful, moment.” The Commodore nodded to Gwendolyn and Fredericka who stepped forward and began to sing.

“My Mommy lies over the ocean . . .”

The Commodore turned and began to walk toward the railing, the silver chest in hand.

*   *   *

Alvirah held her breath as long as she could until, her lungs bursting, she had to come up for air. This water doesn't feel tropical to me, she thought. The beard was choking her. With one hand she grabbed it, and even though it had been tightly knotted around her mouth, she managed to yank it down. Gasping and freezing, she looked over her shoulder. All they care about is getting
away now, she thought thankfully. They haven't got time to worry about me.

Though the ship was stopped, the current was moving it slightly forward. The distance to the bow seemed farther and farther away.

Her slacks and sandals felt as though they weighed a ton. She tried to kick off her sandals, but the effort was pulling her down. Just swim, she thought. Stay afloat and swim.

A wave washed over her face, causing her to sputter and swallow water. “Willy,” she tried to call. By now I'm sure he's worried. But he won't think to look over the railing for me.

Oh, Willy, if that dopey waiter hadn't dribbled hot fudge all over you, you wouldn't have been in the shower when I saw those guys.

Her arms were so heavy. The ship looks as though it's moving forward. They say your life flashes before you when you're drowning, but all I can think of is how that hot fudge stained Willy's new blue shirt.

I love you, Willy.

One arm in front of the other, ever more slowly, she forced herself to keep moving.

*   *   *

It happened in an instant. As the Commodore was slowly walking past Crater's wheelchair, Brevers came running down the deck.

“Don't throw that box overboard!” he shouted. “It's worth
millions!”

Like a shot, Crater jumped out of his wheelchair.

*   *   *

I'm getting closer, Alvirah promised herself, I'm getting closer. Her arms felt like lead. It was getting harder and harder to pull air into her lungs. She was shivering from head to foot. She was almost at the bow, praying that there were people up there. She looked up and saw three men standing directly above her. “Help!” she tried to call, but her voice came out a croaking whisper.

And then, just as she thought they would spot her, the men hurried away from the railing.

*   *   *

The shock of hearing Brevers's frantic outcry was followed by the equally astonishing sight of Crater wrestling the silver box from the Commodore's arms.

The helicopter's engine was suddenly turned on and its blades began to whir.

Regan and Jack sprang to their feet.

“This is preposterous,” the Commodore cried as Crater gained possession of his mother's ashes and, like a football player making a forward pass, tossed the chest to one of his medics who caught it and turned to run for the helicopter.

Fredericka, annoyed that her singing had been interrupted, stuck out her foot. The medic tripped, crashed on the deck, and the box flew from his grasp. By then Regan, Jack, Luke, Willy, and the ten Santa Clauses were galvanized into action. A sea of red suits knocked Crater down and surrounded the fallen medic. The other two raced for the safety of the helicopter.

“Nice try,” Jack shouted as he and Ted tackled the two men.

As the melee ensued, the silver chest was, for the moment, unguarded on the deck. Winston ran over, scooped it up, and started for the helicopter. Gwendolyn, always in competition with her sister, and the fastest runner in her gym class, was right behind him. She dove for his legs and he, too, went sprawling. Grabbing the silver box as Winston released his grip on it, she ran to the rail and shouted, “This isn't nice! The Commodore wanted his Mommy to go into the sea right here!!!” Curling her tongue, she lifted the chest over her head and determinedly threw it as far as she could over the side of the ship.

Regan raced over to the rail. “Oh, my God!” she screamed as she looked out and saw that the airborne box was headed not only for the ocean, but also for Alvirah's head. “Watch out, Alvirah!”
she shrieked, then looked around wildly. She spotted a round, white life preserver hanging on a hook nearby, grabbed it, climbed over the rail, and jumped.