Santa Cruise (5 page)

Tony's heavy-lidded eyes looked malevolent over the mass of white covering half his face. On Barron's face the beard hung loosely, covering most of his mouth. But at least if someone spotted them, there was a chance of their getting away without arousing suspicion.

“I'll see if the coast is clear,” Eric said, his heart pounding. He opened the stateroom door and looked both ways. All was quiet. “I'll go down and check the suite and make sure no one's there.” He walked down the passageway, opened his uncle's
door, and took a quick survey of the rooms inside the suite. He then hurried back to his own room, opened the door, and nodded to the two men.

They followed him down the passageway and into the Commodore's suite. Breathing a sigh of relief, Eric shut the door. “The guest room's over here,” he said.

“You've got to be kidding me,” Tony growled when he got a look at the room. The only furnishings were a double bed, a night table, and a single chair in front of the built-in desk and storage cabinets.

Barron opened the door of the closet. “You expect us to hide in here?” he asked.

“No,” Eric snapped. “Get in the bathroom.”

Like the closet, the guest bathroom was much smaller than the one in his stateroom.

“Wait in there until I get all my stuff moved in,” Eric continued. “Lock the door.”

With a look of murderous fury, Tony nodded. “I'm warning you, Eric. We'd better not get caught.”

P
romptly at four
P.M.,
the
Royal Mermaid
began her Santa Cruise out of the Port of Miami. By then, a thoroughly frazzled Commodore felt a little relief after grilling Dudley about how so many things could go wrong before they had even shoved off. Not getting a satisfactory answer from an equally frazzled Dudley, he headed for the bridge. He stood beside Captain Horatio Smith as the captain fired up the engines. It was reassuring to be in Smith's presence. After a mandatory retirement from a small but excellent cruise line, the seventy-five-year-old Smith had happily accepted the offer to be at the helm of the
Royal Mermaid.

“All aboard, Commodore?” Smith asked.

“Minus one,” the Commodore said grimly, not knowing he was actually plus one. “I just hope I won't have to pitch in and wait tables myself.” Standing with Smith, who hadn't done anything
stupid yet, the Commodore felt his good humor begin to return. Every maiden voyage has its ups and downs, he realized. The Commodore had been disappointed by the anguished expression on Eric's face when he was told he had to give up his room and move in with his uncle. He seemed so anxious to share this time together when we visited last night, the Commodore thought. One would think that he'd be happy to be even closer to me. We'd have more time to share. Oh well.

The Commodore turned to see how many people might be standing at the Peek-a-Boo window, which allowed passengers to watch the captain as he steered the ship. Another disappointment. There was only one observer, Harry Crater, a sickly looking fellow. In fact, he looks like he's about to keel over, the Commodore thought. When I chatted with him at the cocktail party, it was a relief to hear that he owned a helicopter, and if he had a medical emergency, he would send for it immediately. I wouldn't wish him hard luck, but perhaps a passing medical problem requiring the helicopter would be a newsworthy item. It would highlight our ability to respond to emergencies by having our own landing pad. He made a mental note to point that out to Dudley.

The Commodore waved and saluted.

At the Peek-a-Boo window, Harry Crater waved
back. It was the feeble movement of a powerful arm that was being concealed by a jacket two sizes too large. He didn't care about anything except the heliport, and that was obviously satisfactory for his plan.

Remembering to lean on the cane, he shuffled away.

The Commodore watched him depart. His health may be failing, but clearly his spirit has not been broken. I just hope this cruise is of benefit to him. I wonder how much good he did for the rest of the human race this year. I must ask Dudley, he told himself.

“Would you like to push the button?” the captain asked, a twinkle in his eye.

“Indeed!” the Commodore replied. Like a baby with a toy steering wheel, he slapped his hand down on the toot button.

Tooooooooot! Tooooooooot!!

“We're on our way!” the Commodore cried joyfully. “And there's no turning back!”

R
egan and Jack's stateroom was at the opposite end of the passageway from Luke and Nora's. It was a deck below where Alvirah and Willy would be staying.

The six of them had checked out both of the Reilly rooms, found them satisfactory, and went up to Eric's former quarters together. They were all dying of curiosity. The room was in a separate section of the ship, down the passageway from the Commodore's suite, not an area where passengers would normally stay.

The door to the room was open.

“Hello,” Alvirah called as she reached the doorway.

A straight-backed, balding man in a dark steward's uniform was running a cloth over a night table. “
Good
afternoon, Madame,” he replied with a slight bow. “Are you Mrs. Meehan?”

“Yes, I am.”

“My name is Winston. I will be your butler on this voyage. It will be my pleasure to ensure your absolute comfort. I am prepared to serve you everything from breakfast in your suite to a hot chocolate at bedtime. May I add my apologies for your inconvenience because of a reservation mishap?”

“No problem,” Alvirah said heartily as she walked inside and looked around admiringly. “You guys have nice rooms,” she told the Reillys, “but this one really takes the cake.”

“It's terrific,” Regan agreed. She had not missed the expression on Eric Manchester's face when he was told he had to give up the room. I can see why he wouldn't be happy, she thought. But it was more than that. He seemed
agitated.

The closet door was open. Nora glanced into it. “The closet is practically a room unto itself,” she commented.

“With all Alvirah's luggage, she needs whatever space she can get,” Willy said. “Oh, here are the bags now.”

An out-of-breath porter had arrived at the door.

“We'll clear out and give you a chance to get settled,” Luke said. “Remember, there's a lifeboat drill at five o'clock.”

Winston gave a quick last-minute inspection of the room, then shook his head. “How did I miss these?” he said under his breath as he leaned over
and picked up several squashed potato chips from the floor by the couch. “I thought Eric was such a health nut . . .” As he straightened up, he said, “I think everything is shipshape for you now. Anything else you need, just pick up the phone please.” He looked at the Reillys and sniffed. “Shall we leave the Meehans to unpack in peace?” His voice was at its most plummy and British, like a maritime Jeeves.

“We shall,” Jack said dryly. He calls himself a butler, he thought. Give me a break. We don't need to be told it's time to go.

“Here's your hat, what's your hurry?” Luke mumbled.

“We'll meet you downstairs after the lifeboat drill,” Alvirah said quickly, attempting to smooth over Winston's arrogance. “Isn't it wonderful that we're on our way?”

As the others followed Winston out the door, the porter struggled to hoist Alvirah's suitcases on top of the bed. Willy's garment bag was a marvel of efficiency. Except for one other smaller bag, everything he needed was in it. Alvirah opened the drawer of the night table next to her side of the bed and placed calcium pills in it. She had heard they were better absorbed if you took them at night. A deck of playing cards was inside the drawer.

“Ohhhh. Look at these, Willy. Remember how we used to like playing cards? We've gotten away from it these last few years.”

“That's because you're too busy solving crimes,” Willy commented.

The cards were held together with a rubber band. Alvirah picked them up.

Willy glanced at them. “I'll ask that guy Eric if they're his. Bad enough we took his room.”

He stuffed them in his pocket. “If they make us sit too long at that lifeboat drill, we can always play Hearts.”

W
hile Regan was putting away the last of her clothes, Jack hooked up their computer. They had agreed that neither one of them wanted to be out of touch with the outside world for long. Even though they'd only left New York this morning, they already felt that their normal life was a million miles away.

The headlines of the day flashed on the screen.

“Famous Felons Flee!”

Jack whistled as he read the story:

Mob boss “Bull's-Eye” Tony Pinto and white-collar criminal Barron Highbridge are among the missing. The two men, from different worlds, were both due in court this morning. They were allowed to spend Christmas with their families, but obviously did not stay for leftovers. At Pinto's palatial home in Miami, authorities found his wife asleep in bed, wearing
his ankle bracelet. “I don't know how it got there,” she explained. “I'm a heavy sleeper. Where's my Tony?”

At Highbridge's estate in Greenwich, Connecticut, the Christmas tree lights were still burning, but no one was home. His eighty-six-year-old mother, whom he had claimed was terminally ill, was vacationing on the French Riviera with a group of her girlfriends. “We're having such a good time. We call ourselves ‘The Golden Girls,' “she chirped over the phone. “It was a dreadful mistake that the jurors found my son guilty. He's got a good heart. He's made a lot of money for people over the years. . . . I feel
fine.
Why do you ask?”

Highbridge's longtime girlfriend is in Aspen with B–list actor Wilkie Winters. “I won't have anything to do with a convicted felon,” she said piously, flashing the jewelry Highbridge is known to have bought for her.

Regan was reading over Jack's shoulder. Her fingers played with the necklace he had given her for Christmas. “I hope I'm never going to have to say that about
you,
” she joked.

Jack gave her a look and they both continued to read.

Based on his wealthy family's impeccable reputation, forty-four-year-old Highbridge was able to attract numerous gullible investors in his Ponzi scheme. He was convicted of stealing millions of dollars from them. He was about to be sentenced and was expected to receive a minimum of fifteen years in prison. The trial of Bull's-Eye Tony Pinto, charged with ordering the murder of rivals in the construction business, was to have begun on January 3rd.

Jack shook his head. “Those guys both knew their goose was cooked. I had dealings with Tony when he was up in New York, but we could never get enough evidence to present to a grand jury. I was glad to see one of his guys ratted him out.”

Regan sat on the bed. “They've got to be headed someplace where there's no extradition. But they'd have to have surrendered their passports as a condition of bail.”

“With security so tight they won't get away with phony passports,” Jack said. “I'll see what the office knows about it.” He picked up his international cell phone and dialed. Keith, his number one guy, picked up on the first ring.

“Jack, you're supposed to be on vacation,” he said when he heard his boss's voice.

“I am on vacation. I'm also looking at the Internet. I see Bull's-Eye Tony has flown the coop. I'll never understand why they didn't keep him in jail. If anyone's a flight risk, he's it. Have you heard anything about him or Barron Highbridge?”

“An informant claims that Pinto was trying to make contact with someone who could get him out of the country. The Feds have the airports covered. It's possible that either or both of them might be heading to one of those places in the Caribbean that has no extradition treaty with the United States.”

“Is Fishbowl Island one of them? That's our only stop.”

“I've got a list,” Keith said. “Let me take a look.” He laughed. “Guess what? Fishbowl Island
is
on it. So keep an eye out for Tony.”

“We will. Anything else going on?”

“No, Boss. Relax and have a good time with your bride. How's the cruise ship anyway?”

“Don't ask,” Jack said with a laugh. “One of the waiters jumped ship while we were still in port. He was arrested for nonpayment of alimony. And the cruise director fell off the rock-climbing wall.”

“Sounds like you'll be safer on your skis this weekend.”

“Maybe so. Keep me posted about anything I'd want to hear.”

“Which is everything,” Keith cracked. “I'm sure we'll be hearing lots more about Pinto.”

Jack stared at the photograph of Pinto, which had just come up on the screen. “I'd hate to see him get away. He's as bad as they come.”

As he closed his cell phone, an announcement came over the loudspeaker. “Attention Santa Cruisers! Commodore Weed here. We are about to have a mandatory lifeboat drill. All passengers must attend. No excuses. The life this drill saves may be your own. Grab your life jackets, and please don't trip on the belts. Crew members are ready to direct you to the dining room, where you will receive general instructions, then be led to your lifeboat station. Let's not have any Nervous Nellies—this drill is just a precaution.”

Regan opened the closet door, pulled out the two life jackets, and handed one to her husband. “Do you think this is the only time we'll be putting these on?” she asked jokingly.

“With the way things are going, I wouldn't count on it,” Jack said as he helped pull Regan's life jacket over her head. “You even look good in fluorescent orange.”

“You liar. Let's go.”

A
t least the lifeboat drill had gone well, Dudley thought, as he stood in the supply room, waiting to hand out the Santa Claus suits. Except for that idiot who thought it was funny to keep blowing the whistle on his life jacket.