Santa Cruise Read online

  Join the celebrations

  with these sparkling Christmas novels from

  MARY HIGGINS CLARK

  and

  CAROL HIGGINS CLARK

  SANTA CRUISE

  “If you want a frothy, holiday-themed whodunit starring the affable PI Regan Reilly, her husband, and mystery-writing mother—all aboard a luxury liner’s three-day maiden cruise—then this is your ticket.”

  —Booklist

  “Full of mystery-lite cheer.”

  —Publishers Weekly

  THE CHRISTMAS THIEF

  “A fun, speedy read.”

  —Entertainment Weekly

  Santa Cruiseis also available from

  Simon & Schuster Audio

  “Filled with suspense and humor. Entertaining and an easy read.”

  —The Advocate (Baton Rouge, LA)

  “Light reading and good fun.”

  —Richmond Times-Dispatch

  HE SEES YOU

  WHEN YOU’RE SLEEPING

  “A cheerful holiday tale.”

  —Richmond Times-Dispatch

  “These bestselling authors blend suspense with a heartwarming story. . . .”

  —Atlanta Constitution

  “A new spin on It’s a Wonderful Life. . . .”

  —Los Angeles Times

  “Consume in one sitting with a tumbler of hot mulled wine.”

  —San Antonio Express-News

  “Blends suspense and redemption.”

  —The Virginian-Pilot

  “A combination of slapstick and suspense [that] turns out to also be a tale of redemption and insightful observations on how our society has changed in forty-six years.”

  —Toronto Star

  DECK THE HALLS

  “In their first collaboration, mother and daughter have produced a holiday confection.”

  —The New York Times Book Review

  “Mary Higgins Clark and daughter Carol Higgins Clark create a winning detective duo by teaming up favorite characters from their own respective novels. . . . An entertaining . . . Christmas treat.”

  —People

  “Fans will greatly enjoy the pairing of two favorite detectives—and two popular writers—in a Christmas ornament of a book.”

  —Publishers Weekly

  “For fans of either of the Clarks, this book is a real treat.”

  —Bookreporter.com

  “Some delightful Dickensian characters.”

  —Providence Sunday Journal (RI)

  “The authors have created a wonderfully unique cast of characters.”

  —The Pilot (Southern Pines, NC)

  MARY

  HIGGINS CLARK

  CAROL

  HIGGINS CLARK

  Thank you for purchasing this Scribner eBook.

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  Contents

  Acknowledgments

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  Chapter 45

  Chapter 46

  Chapter 47

  Chapter 48

  Chapter 49

  Chapter 50

  Chapter 51

  Chapter 52

  Chapter 53

  Chapter 54

  Excerpt from I Heard That Song Before

  Excerpt from Laced

  Acknowledgments

  The ship has come to shore. Our very special thanks to our fellow passengers aboard the Santa Cruise.

  Our editors, Michael Korda and Roz Lippel.

  Our agents, Sam Pinkus and Esther Newberg.

  Our publicist, Lisl Cade.

  Our copy editor, Gypsy da Silva.

  Thanks to Sigal Miller of Mahwah, New Jersey, who suggested our title, Santa Cruise. Cheers, Sigal!

  And of course our families and friends who saw us off and welcomed us home. A special loving tip of the hat to John Conheeney, the perfect shipmate always.

  Finally, to all our readers . . . until next time. . . . Anchors Aweigh!

  In memory of Thomas E. Newton

  A gentle man and our very dear friend

  With love

  1

  Monday, December 19th

  Randolph Weed, self-styled commodore, stood on the deck of his pride and joy, the Royal Mermaid, an old ship he had bought and paid a fortune to refurbish and on which he intended to spend the rest of his life playing host to both friends and paying guests. Docked in the Port of Miami, the ship was being readied for its maiden voyage, the “Santa Cruise,” a four-day trip in the Caribbean with one stop at Fishbowl Island.

  Dudley Loomis, his forty-year-old PR man, who would also serve as cruise director, joined Randolph on the deck. He took a deep breath of the refreshing breeze blowing off the Atlantic Ocean and sighed happily. “Commodore, I have e-mailed all the major news organizations once again to let them know about this unique and wonderful maiden voyage. I began the release, ‘On December 26th, Santa is turning in his sleigh, giving Rudolph and the other reindeer some time off, and taking a cruise. It’s the Santa Cruise—Commodore Randolph Weed’s gift to a select group of people who have in their own unique way made the world a better place this past year.’ “

  “I’ve always liked giving gifts,” the Commodore said, a smile on his weathered but still handsome sixty-three-year-old face. “But people didn’t always appreciate it. My three ex-wives never understood what a deep and caring man I am. For goodness’ sake, I gave my last wife my Google stock before it went public.”

  “That was a terrible mistake,” Dudley said solemnly, shaking his head. “A terrible mistake.”

  “I don’t begrudge her the money. I’ve made and lost fortunes. Now I want to give back to others. As you know, this Santa Cruise was created to raise money for charity, and celebrate those who have given of themselves.”

  “It was my idea,” Dudley reminded him.

  “True. But the money to pay for this cruise is coming out of my pocket. I spent considerably more than I expected in order to make the Royal Mermaid the beautiful ship she has become. But she’s worth every penny.” He paused. “At least I hope she is.”

  Dudley Loomis held his tongue. Everyone had warned the Commodore that he’d be better off having a new ship built than dumping a fortune into this old tub, but I do admit it cleaned up rather well, Dudley told himself. He had been cruise director on mammoth vessels where he had to worry about several thousand guests, many of whom he foun
d intensely irritating. He would now deal with only four hundred passengers, most of whom would probably be happy to sit on deck and read instead of having entertainment shoved down their throats twenty-four hours a day. Dudley had come up with the idea of the Santa Cruise when reservations for passage on the Royal Mermaid were almost nil. He was a PR man right down to the rubber soles of his yachting shoes.

  “We should have a free cruise the day after Christmas to get the kinks out of the ship before any paying passengers, or reviewers, come on board,” he had told his boss. “You’ll donate passage to charities and do-gooders. It’ll only be a few days, and in the long run it will pay for itself with the good publicity I’ll get for you. By the time our official maiden voyage rolls around on January 20th, we’ll be turning people away. You wait and see.”

  The Commodore had needed a few minutes to think about it. “A totally free cruise?”

  “Free!” Dudley had insisted. “Everything for free!”

  The Commodore had winced. “The bar, too?”

  “Everything! From soup to nuts!”

  Eventually, the Commodore agreed. The special Santa Cruise would set sail in one week, the day after Christmas, and return to Miami four days later.

  Now, as the two men walked along the freshly scrubbed deck, they went over the final details. “I’m still hoping for one of the television stations to at least attend the pre-sailing cocktail party on the deck,” Dudley said. “I’ve sent word to the ten Santa Clauses you are treating to get here early so they can try on the lightweight Santa Claus outfits that you had made for them. They should be ready to mingle with everyone at our evening cocktail party.

  “It turned out to be a blessing in disguise when I had that fender bender with that Santa Claus from Tallahassee last month. While we were exchanging insurance papers, he got weepy and confided how exhausting it was to listen to children all day long, have pictures taken with them, and, worse yet, be sneezed on. By the time Christmas Day rolled around, he’d be exhausted and unemployed again. That’s when the light went on in my head to include ten Santas among the guests . . .”

  “You’re always thinking,” the Commodore agreed. “I just hope we get enough paying passengers in the next few months to keep this ship afloat.”

  “It’ll all be fine, Commodore,” Dudley said in his most cheery cruise-director voice.

  “You said we hadn’t heard from all the people who won this trip at charity auctions. What’s the status on that?”

  “Everyone is coming—we’re just waiting to hear from one passenger. She was by far the highest bidder at an auction for this cruise. I sent her a letter by FedEx, and as an enticement offered her the remaining two staterooms so she could bring friends. She’s a good person for us to have on board. She won forty million dollars in a lottery, appears on television regularly, and is a contributing columnist to a large newspaper.” He did not add that he had lost the name and address of this winner—who had attended his friend Cal Sweeney’s auction—and had just followed up on it. He almost fainted when he realized Alvirah Meehan was not only a celebrity, but a columnist.

  “Splendid, Dudley, splendid. I wouldn’t mind winning the lottery myself! In fact, I may need to—”

  “Good morning, Uncle Randolph.”

  They had not heard the Commodore’s nephew, Eric, come up behind them.

  Sneaky as always, Dudley thought as he turned to greet the newcomer. I swear he could make his living as a mugger.

  “Good morning, my boy,” the Commodore said heartily, beaming at his kinsman.

  The warm smile on thirty-two-year-old Eric Manchester’s face was the expression he reserved for the Commodore and other important people, Dudley observed. With his perfect tan, sun-streaked hair, and muscled body, Eric had obviously divided his time between the beach and the gym. He was wearing a Tommy Bahama floral shirt, khaki shorts, and Docksiders. The sight of him made Dudley ill. He knew that when the passengers came on board Eric would be outfitted as an officer of the ship, although God knows what office he was supposed to hold.

  How come I wasn’t born good-looking, with a rich uncle? Dudley wondered wistfully.

  “I’m running into town, sir,” Eric addressed the Commodore, totally ignoring Dudley. “Anything you need?”

  “I’ll let you two chat,” Dudley said, anxious to get away from the farce of watching Eric pretend he was of any use to the Commodore, the Royal Mermaid, or the upcoming Santa Cruise. Eric had wormed his way onto the payroll immediately after his uncle bought the ship.

  The Commodore smiled at his sister’s son. “Don’t need a thing I don’t already have,” he said heartily. “Have fun at the party you went to last night?”

  Eric thought of the wad of cash he’d been given at that party, the down payment on what would make the Santa Cruise a risky and dangerous trip—and profitable for him . . . “It was lots of fun, Uncle Randolph,” Eric said. “I was bragging to everyone about our upcoming Santa Cruise and how generous you are helping to raise money for charities. Everyone there wished they were coming with us.”

  The Commodore slapped him on the back. “Good work, Eric. Get people interested in us. Get people to sign up for one of our voyages.”

  I did, Eric thought, but you won’t know about them . . . He shivered slightly, yet he couldn’t help but smile at the irony.

  Eric’s guests would be the only two paying passengers on the Santa Cruise.

  2

  Friday, December 23rd

  At seven P.M. on December 23rd, a light snow was falling on New York City as last-minute shoppers and partygoers scurried through the streets of Manhattan. In the festively decorated Grill Room of the Four Seasons restaurant on Fifty-second Street, just off Park Avenue, lottery winners Alvirah and Willy Meehan and their good friends, suspense writer Nora Regan Reilly and her funeral-director husband, Luke, were all sipping glasses of wine. They were awaiting the arrival of Nora and Luke’s only offspring, Regan, and her new husband, Jack, whose surname also happened to be Reilly.

  The two couples had met exactly two years earlier, when Luke had been kidnapped by the disgruntled heir of one of his deceased clients. Alvirah had been a cleaning woman who had won forty million dollars in the lottery and then became an amateur sleuth. She had introduced herself to Regan and helped in the frantic search to save Luke. In the process, Regan had met Jack, who was head of the Major Case Squad in Manhattan, and they had fallen in love. As Luke wryly observed, “It’s an ill wind that blows no one good.”

  Now, Alvirah, her ample figure smartly dressed in a dark blue cocktail suit, was bursting with the invitation she intended to extend to the four Reillys, but also trying to figure out how to make it an invitation they couldn’t refuse.

  Willy, her husband of forty-three years who, with his white hair, map-of-Ireland face, and generous girth, was the living image of the late, legendary Speaker of the House Tip O’Neill, had been no help to her on the cab ride over from their apartment on Central Park South.

  “Honey,” he’d said. “All you can do is invite them. They’ll say ‘yes’ or they’ll say ‘no.’ “

  Now Alvirah looked across the table at petite Nora, elegant as always in a deceptively simple black dress, and six-foot-five Luke, towering beside her, his arm loosely around the back of her chair. We always have fun and excitement when we go on trips together, she thought, then realized that her idea of fun might be their idea of too much excitement.

  “Oh, here they are!” Nora exclaimed as Regan and Jack came up the stairs, spotted them, waved, and started over to the table.

  Alvirah sighed with joy. She absolutely loved this young couple. Regan had her mother’s blue eyes and fair skin, but she was four inches taller than Nora and had inherited her black hair from her father’s side of the family. Jack, six feet two with sandy hair, hazel eyes, and a firm jaw, had an air of no-nonsense self-confidence that had made Alvirah sure from the get-go that he was the right man for Regan.

  Jack apologized for
keeping them waiting. “A few last-minute things came up at the office, but it could have been worse. I’m happy to report that as of now and for the next two weeks, Regan Reilly Reilly and I are at liberty.”

  It was the opening Alvirah needed. She waited until the captain poured wine for the newcomers, then raised her own glass in a toast. “To sharing a wonderful holiday season,” she said. “I have a terrific surprise for the four of you, but first you’ll have to promise you’ll say ‘yes.’ “

  Luke looked alarmed. “Alvirah, knowing you, I can’t make a promise like that without hearing a lot more details.”

  “I wouldn’t either,” Willy agreed. “This is what it’s about. We got roped into attending a charity auction. Need I explain more? You’ve been to plenty of them yourselves. Once they started the live auction after dinner, I knew we were in for trouble. Alvirah got that look on her face . . .”

  “Willy, it was for a good cause,” Alvirah protested.

  “They’re all good causes. Ever since we won the lottery, we’ve been on the list for every good cause known to man.”

  “It’s true,” Alvirah admitted with a laugh. “But I went to this one because it was being chaired by Mrs. Sweeney’s son, Cal. She’s the lady I used to clean for on Tuesdays. Cal is a trustee of their local hospital, and it needs help. Anyhow I got carried away, I admit, and I won a Caribbean cruise for two. I never heard another word about it and didn’t realize it was a Christmas cruise. It’s been such a crazy year that, to be honest, I forgot all about it until this afternoon, when a FedEx envelope arrived from a cruise director. There had been some kind of slipup, and the cruise I won at the auction is set for next week. It leaves on December 26th and comes back on the 30th.”

  “Three days from now! That’s mighty short notice,” Jack said. “Are you going to go? If not, you could probably force them to put you on a different cruise. It’s their fault you didn’t get sufficient notice.”

  “But this is a very special voyage,” Alvirah explained eagerly. “They’re calling it the Santa Cruise. Everyone on board is someone who either won the trip by being the highest bidder in a charity auction; or who is a part of a group that did a great deal of good helping other people during the year; or who, after submitting proof of making a generous donation to a worthwhile charity, was selected in a random lottery.”