Tapas on the Ramblas (26 page)

My face blanched. My heart turned over. "I never sent you that note, Flora."

"And I never sent you a note," she repeated.

I reached into the pocket where I'd stored Flora's note. From another pocket I pulled one of the notes Charity had received (which I'd made a habit of keeping on hand in case I got a chance to break into one of the Wiser rooms) Charity's note was in block letters. Flora's was also printed, but the letters were much less structured, almost messy. They were obviously prepared by two different hands-or made to look so.

She looked over my shoulder. "That's not my handwriting."

I returned the notes to my pockets and took hold of her thin shoulders, forcing her to focus on my face.

"Where is Charity? I thought she was supposed to be here with you."

She nodded wildly. "Yes, she was. But I got a message from her... a note... saying she'd changed her mind and wanted to stay in the room with Dottie."

Charity and Dottie had been alone all this time. With slow dread the reason for tonight's confusion began to sink in. Whoever it was who'd orchestrated this symphony of fake notes wanted to ensure one thing: that Flora and I were out of the way. All night we'd been running around the ship like mice in a maze, too busy trying to find one another to pay attention to Charity.

He wanted us out of the way.. .so he could make his move on Charity!

We both reached the same horrifying conclusion at the same time. We had to get to Charity and Dottie's room immediately. The crowd in the auditorium had mostly cleared but the exit was still clogged with showgoers. We burst through them to a chorus of eeks and yikes from the guys and somewhat stronger language from the gals. We scrambled down the hallway to the lobby, weaving in and out of groups of passengers, and dashed up the stairs-again!-to Deck Seven where Charity and Dottie's cabin was. We raced down a seemingly endless corridor, Flora easily keeping pace in her hardy Birkenstocks, until we reached 702. My knuckles felt sore as they rapped on the door. It was only then that I realized how badly scraped they were, obviously from my scuffle with Aaron. Jerk. Again I knocked and Flora called out to the women.

"Let's get the purser," I suggested, an urgent tone in my voice.

But then, the door opened a crack. And then wider when Charity saw who it was.

"My goodness," she whispered. "Flora? Russell, what an unholy mess you are. I'd let you in but Dottie's just fallen asleep. Is everything all right?"

"Are you all right?" I asked, searching her face for any indications of trauma.

"Yes, of course. I'm fine. Dottie is a bit under the weather after yesterday's fiasco, but she'll be right as rain tomorrow, I'm sure."

From my recent perspective, there was nothing too right about rain, but whatever. "Nothing odd happened tonight? You didn't get any weird notes? No one tried to get into your cabin?"

Now she eyed me suspiciously. "No, of course not. Flora, I did wonder why you never turned up to escort us to the revue, but no bother. Now one of you tell me what is going on, right this instant."

"It's nothing, Grandma," Flora lied. "We can talk about it tomorrow."

Charity studied me, her eyes boring a hole into mine, knowing something was up but trying to conclude whether it was important enough for her to force it out of us right then or if it could wait. "Russell?"

"Just keep your doors and windows locked. Don't let anyone-a-ny-one-in. No matter who it is," I told her.

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3/15/2011 10:56 PM

D:
BOOKS/Anthony Bidulka - Russell Quant Mystery/Anthony B...

"Of course," Charity said.

When the door closed, Flora assured me she was all right, but I followed her back to her room anyway.

I did a quick sweep of her cabin, found nothing amiss and, after saying our goodnights, I left her there, Once in the hallway, I fell back against the wall and spent a few moments trying to make sense of what had happened over the last few hours. Someone obviously wanted us out of the way. And they had succeeded. But then they hadn't taken advantage of it.

Or had they?

Could it be possible that Charity was not the target? Had something else of import been happening while Flora and I were running circles around the ship? Could someone be playing a hoax on us? Why? Or had something gone wrong with the plan? What had happened-or what was meant to happen-while Flora and I weren't looking?

My watch told me the passenger-participation drag show that Phyllis and crew were signed up for was beginning soon and that I was very late for my date with Richard. I knew that if I went back to my room to clean up and change, by the time I'd make it back, Richard would likely be long gone. My track record with him thus far had been less than stellar. I didn't want to take the chance. The better plan was to find him in Emerald City, torn shirt, bloody wounds and all, tell him to wait for me, and
then
go b
ack to my room and make pretty.
 

Emerald City was packed to its gilt-edged rafters. I stepped into the room and felt that something perceptible that fills a room whenever people are waiting for a show to begin. A half-dozen coloured spotlights were dancing crazily over the stage area which was set up at the rear of the large room. The backdrop, simple but dramatic, was floor to ceiling plate glass overlooking the impressive vista of the passing sea. The crush of people was too thick for anyone to even notice my less-than-impeccable state, and for that I was grateful. I held to one spot near the door and began a scan for Richard. It wasn't going to be easy. The Dorothy crowd was a social one, and in the last few minutes before the show was to begin, they were busy mingling and milling and getting last rounds of drinks from the bar before curtains up (if there had been a curtain). Everywhere I looked was an impenetrable wall of people. Everyone was smiling and laughing so I couldn't get too upset at the situation, but I knew I wasn't going to get anywhere standing still. So I began a slow trip around the room.

The first familiar faces were a surprise to me; Ted, Marsha and Jackson were in a booth with the ever-glowing Harry. Ted and Marsha looked grim, Jackson was characteristically bleary-eyed and Harry was smiling wide, no doubt doing her best to canoodle the others into better moods. I passed by with only a wave. I didn't want Ted and Marsha asking me if I knew the whereabouts of Kayla.

Just as I moved on, Mary Richards /Mary Tyler Moore approached me, looking classy but demure in a beige pantsuit. She smelled of pansies and fresh fruit. "Oh Mr. Quant, are you all right?"

I was tired of people asking me that. I had to get out of these clothes.

"I kinda like the look." This from Rhoda, forever at Mary's side. She smelled like a tree. She reached out and slipped her fleshy hand through the rip in my shirt placing it on my bare chest. "You gotta try some-a-this, Mar."

'Rhoda!" admonished a wide-eyed Mary.

"Have either of you seen Phyllis?"

"I haven't. But she's probably where we should be, Mr. Quant," Mary said with an accusing but long-suffering glance at Rhoda. "She's probably getting ready for the show."

"Oh come on, Mar," Rhoda answered with a roll of her eyes. "There's plenty of time. Let's get a drink from the bar. Then we'll go."

"Why are you looking for Phyllis anyway, Mr. Quant?" Mary asked me. "Can we pass her a message?"

"I wanted to tell her I don't think I'll be able to stay for her show."

"What about our shows?" deadpanned Rhoda, looking decidedly unimpressed with me. "There something wrong with our shows?"

"I.. .no, not at all, it's just that.. .I..." Bugger. I didn't want to be in this conversation. "You see, I just want to find Richard and then go back to my cabin and clean up. It’s nothing to do with your shows."

"I'm afraid I saw Mr. Gray have a drink and then leave," Mary told me with a doleful look.

Shit. This was turning out to be one crappy day, almost as bad as yesterday. Not quite, but almost.

The music suddenly got louder and the chatter in the room began to die off. The show was about to start. Mary and Rhoda looked at one another with horror and disappeared into the crowd. Once the room settled down the music faded away and was replaced with a voice loud enough to wake a circuit boy at an Anne Murray concert. Its owner welcomed us to Emerald City and introduced himself as The Great Oz.

He wore a turban, but that's about as far as his similarity to the movie's character went. Our Great Oz was wearing hotpants and a flowing cape so purple it would make Prince (or whatever his name is now) green with envy. He was shirtless and his torso was a landscape of tattoos and piercings. It was a daring look but this guy could pull it off.

"Are you a good witch or are you a bad witch?" he bellowed the famed line from
The Wizard of
Oz, arching his dramatically plucked eyebrows. There were some rowdy responses from the frothed up crowd.

Most wanted to be a bad witch. "Well there's no need to choose," he continued, his voice hinting that he had something spectacular in store for us. "Because we've got both!" The crowd went wild.. .I'm not sure why. "Here they are folks, straight from Ca-na-da!" Another rousing cheer.

Two tall figures mounted the stage. One was all lily-white taffeta and silk with sequins that sparkled brilliantly in the spotlights. On her head was the most humongous, diamond-encrusted crown I've ever seen. The other was all in black, with a fake hooked nose, pointed hat and green face makeup. Nigel and Nathan. Those two boys had the habit of turning up in the most surprising places.

The two young men began a dance routine that, although amateur, had enough twenty-year-old-straight-boy bump-and-grind sexiness to satisfy almost every gay male taste in the room. And then the women in the room began to howl when a very sexy Dorothy took the stage alongside them. She had the signature blue and white gingham apron dress, but had somehow forgotten the blouse that went underneath it. This was supposed to be a drag show, but Dorothy was definitely all woman playing a woman.

I watched in awe for a few seconds before deciding to backtrack to Ted and Marsha's table. I couldn't resist catching a peek at their faces when they realized the two showgirls were actually their sons. But alas, the table was empty. I couldn't imagine what had driven them away.

When the witch routine was over, a hidden DJ immediately threw on an old Celine Dion remix and the men in the crowd rushed the dance floor as if it were a Harry Rosen fire sale. I was about to leave when a young man, wearing a snug muscle-T over a slender torso, came up behind me and tapped me on the shoulder.

"Oh gosh, thanks," I said, "but actually I was just leaving."

He quirked his head to one side and said, "Excuse me?"

I wanted to melt into the floor. "Throw water on me!" I'd have yelled if I was the Wicked Witch of the West. I realized-too late-that the young'un wasn't asking me to dance. And really, why would he? I looked like an extra from Michael Jackson's "Thriller" video.

As the guy wriggled to get by me, I felt something hard push into me. I looked down, startled, then back up but he was gone, the wake of his passage already flooded with fun-loving people dancing on the spot. I brought my hand up to see what he had pressed into it. It was a DVD in a see-through plastic cover.

What?

I stood there for a moment, transfixed, not sure what to do. Should I chase the young guy down, try to find Richard, or go back to my room as planned? Nigel and Nathan were still boogying on stage, sopping up attention even though their number was over. I watched them for a bit until once again, the music died down and The Great Oz shooed the twins off the stage to much applause. He waited for the noise to subside then began his introduction of the next act.

That was when I heard it.

We all heard it; it was so loud it easily penetrated the thick plate glass behind the stage.

A scream, followed by a sight so terrible I hope never to witness it again.

Behind The Great Oz, the floor to ceiling window acting as a kind of horror flick movie screen, we watched as a body whizzed by, plummeting to almost certain death.

I caught my breath, horrified, not only at the gruesome sight, but because in that one sickening instant, I was certain that the body belonged.. .to someone I knew.

Although it happened quickly, there and gone in one horrifying instant, a surprising number of people witnessed the body plummeting past the window, limbs flailing about grotesquely. It then would have had to fall past four more decks, the hull of the ship and finally into the deep, dark waters below. What happened next was a scattered, confused flurry of activity. Everybody was moving and talking, and some were crying; as the news spread, people tried to react sensibly in a situation that made no sense. Almost immediately the man overboard siren we learned about at the muster stations on our first, innocent day aboard The Dorothy sounded its moaning, mournful wail. People began to scurry about Titanic-style.

I knew we weren't sinking or in any immediate personal danger, but another fear had taken hold of my heart. I'd barely caught sight of our fellow passenger on a speedy descent to an all-but-confirmed grisly fate, but I was certain I'd recognized something familiar about the victim.

I dashed headlong out of Emerald City, fighting my way through the dispersing crowd to the Deck Eight lobby. Everyone seemed to be making for the stairs or elevators. Who knew where they were going?

Anywhere but Emerald City, I guess. Fortunately, where I was headed didn't require stairs or elevators. I had a clear path to the double doors that led outside. There was only one deck above Emerald City. The body had to have come from the running track above the pool.

I burst through the Pool Deck doors and ran for the steps that led up to the running track, the same route I'd taken earlier that evening to look for Flora. It was still raining, the wind was blowing, but I had been rained on and blown at all night, any more wasn't going to make much difference. I scaled the steps and loped towards the area I roughly guessed was above the Emerald City stage. It was near the same spot where I'd found Kayla and her half-naked Romeo, The Dorothy's unofficial Lovers' Lane. But when I got there, I realized I had no idea what I was looking for. Evidence of what had happened? Evidence that I hoped would disprove my guess about the victim's identity? But what could that be? I began a frantic search anyway, impeded by driving rain and darkness and found nothing. I knew I had to get out of there.

It wouldn't take long for FOD security to piece things together and come to the same conclusion I had.

And if they came up here and found me...well, I might as well have called ahead for a reservation in the ship's brig.

I abandoned my search and retraced my steps back to the lobby, still a swirling mass of people.

"Mr. Quant! Thank God!"

I turned to find the voice and saw Flora Wiser waving at me, attempting to make her way through the crowd.

I struggled towards her and she towards me.

"Someone's fallen overboard!" she screamed at me when we finally reached each other. "Who is it?"

I recognized the dread in her eyes and knew she suspected the worst. I grabbed her hand and together we ran down the stairs as best we could, heading for Charity and Dottie's cabin.