Santa Cruise Page 11

  She scrawled a note for Willy, propped it against the lamp on the desk, then with infinite care opened the door quietly and stepped out into the passageway. Closing it with the faintest of clicks, she hurried down the corridor and was startled when the door to the Commodore’s suite opened. A sleepy-looking Eric, dressed in a rumpled jogging suit, appeared.

  “The early bird gets the worm,” Alvirah said cheerfully, then tried to seize the opportunity to corner Eric for a chat. “Join me for coffee. You were so nice, giving up your room to us. I expect to do a very favorable column for my newspaper about the cruise, and I’d love to feature you in it.”

  Eric did not miss the sharp glint in Alvirah’s eyes and was aware that she was studying him carefully. He had pretended to go to bed in his room, but left the door open enough so he could see when his uncle either went to bed or fell asleep on the couch. The trouble was that Eric had fallen asleep before his uncle and had only just awakened with the shocking realization that it was early morning and Crater could return to his cabin at any time. Eric called down to the infirmary and was told by the nurse that Crater’s back was definitely much better and that he insisted on being discharged as soon as the doctor came on duty at seven A.M. That meant Eric had only one hour to get Bull’s-Eye and Highbridge out of Crater’s room and hide them until Winston had straightened up the suite and he could sneak them into his own room.

  “Thank you, Mrs. Meehan,” he told Alvirah, “but I have to go down to the infirmary and check on Mr. Crater, then get back up and dress for the day.” He laughed and patted Alvirah’s arm. “My uncle might seem easygoing, but he runs a tight ship, as they say.”

  A tight ship? Alvirah thought. Judging from what I’ve seen, this ship is going to hell in a handbasket. “Another time,” she suggested sweetly. “Don’t you just love dawn’s early light? I swear my brain tingles when I get up with the birds. I guess you know I have the reputation of being a good amateur sleuth. When I’m trying to figure out what’s going on, I put my thinking cap on and, lo and behold, I often come up with an answer.”

  For the briefest of moments, the muscles in Eric’s neck tightened. “What are you trying to figure out now?” he asked, trying to sound as though he was amused.

  “Oh, this and that,” Alvirah answered airily. She was dying to ask Eric if he liked potato chips, but knew the question would come out of left field and would not be well received. “For example, I’d love to figure out who took those Santa suits. They might not be worth much, but no matter how you slice it, it’s still theft.”

  Eric didn’t want to continue the conversation. With every word the woman uttered, he felt his heart pounding harder in his chest. This tiresome old bag was playing with him, he knew it. “I’m sure you’re quite the sleuth, Mrs. Meehan,” he said. “Enjoy your coffee while I check on our patient.”

  By now they had reached the elevators, but Eric darted down the nearby steps. He must like to get exercise, walking all the way down to the infirmary, Alvirah thought. I’ll spare my knees. She pushed the DOWN button and waited.

  At 6:04, she was in the Lido at the coffeemaker, pouring that first wonderful cup for herself. Behind the heavy swinging doors, she could hear the kitchen workers clattering dishes. I guess I’m the first customer, she thought. But glancing out the window she saw a tall Santa with a tray of coffee, juice, and bagels, walking rapidly along the deck, away from the Lido, toward the stern.

  She wondered if it could be that nice Mr. Cannon. He was one of the taller Santas. She hurried over and pushed open the glass door. “Hey Santa!” she boomed, a smile in her voice. The Santa glanced over his shoulder but instead of slowing up, increased his pace. It was then that Alvirah saw, or thought she saw, that he had only one bell on his cap. She started to run after him, but the deck was slippery and the next thing she knew the coffee had gone flying and she had gone down like a ton of bricks, smashing her head into the side of one of the deck chairs.

  For a moment, she was totally stunned and gasping for breath. Her head began to explode with pain, and she felt blood gushing down her face. Dazed, she looked up. The Santa was nowhere to be seen. I’m going to pass out, she thought, but first, with her left hand, in a reflex action, she snapped on the microphone of her sunburst pin. “I’m sure he saw me,” she began, her voice groggy. “He was tall. I thought it was Ted Cannon. I think he had only one bell on his cap. My forehead is bleeding. I fell chasing him and now I’m sprawled on the deck—”

  Then Alvirah fainted. After that, she had a blurry memory of people around her, of being lifted onto a stretcher, of something cold being pressed to her forehead, of riding in an elevator. When she regained consciousness, she opened her eyes to find Willy peering anxiously down at her. “That was some fall, honey,” he said. “Don’t try to move.”

  Her head was aching fiercely but other than that, Alvirah hoped she hadn’t done herself any damage. She squeezed her toes and fingers. They felt okay. She shifted her shoulders and was relieved that her back still moved.

  Dr. Gephardt, his white uniform jacket not yet fully buttoned, was standing beside Willy. “Mrs. Meehan,” he said, “that was a nasty blow to your head. I’ll stitch up your forehead, and then we’ll take an X-ray. I want you to take it easy for the next several hours.”

  “I’ll be fine,” Alvirah protested. “But believe me, there’s something very funny going on on this ship.”

  “What do you mean, honey?” Willy asked.

  Alvirah’s head was one solid ache, but her brain was beginning to clear. “I saw one of those Santa Clauses right after I got coffee. I thought it was that nice Ted Cannon—”

  “He’s in the waiting room,” Willy interrupted. “He was jogging with Maggie and they came around the corner and found you lying on the deck. You were talking—”

  “Into my microphone,” Alvirah said.

  “Well, then you passed out.”

  “I know Ted wouldn’t have ignored me. But the Santa I saw did. I yelled to him. He turned and looked at me and then kept going. And he had only one bell on his cap! I’m telling you . . . he must have been wearing one of the stolen suits. We’ve got to find out who that Santa is and where he is! Let’s get Dudley and Regan and Jack.”

  “Regan, Jack, Luke, and Nora are right here in the waiting room.”

  “Send them in!” Alvirah ordered.

  “Mrs. Meehan, I think you need to stay calm—” Gephardt began.

  “I’m okay,” Alvirah insisted. “I’ve taken harder knocks than this. My family is famous for thick skulls. I’ll never stay calm knowing there’s a thief who may be up to no good on this ship!”

  From the next room they heard a raised voice. “I hear the doctor. I want him in here now!”

  “If you’ll excuse me,” Gephardt said hurriedly as he dashed out.

  “That must be Crater,” Alvirah told Willy. “He’s got a pretty powerful set of vocal chords for someone who looked like he was about to keel over yesterday.”

  “He sounds better now,” Willy agreed. “Let me get the Reillys.”

  “Tell Maggie and Ted to come in, too. We’ve got work to do.”

  In the couple of minutes it took everyone to get to her room, Alvirah’s thoughts turned to Eric. He was supposed to have come directly down to check on Mr. Crater. Her hunch was that he hadn’t made it.

  “Alvirah! Are you all right?” Nora asked as they all crowded into the room.

  “I’m fine. Never better.”

  “What happened?”

  Alvirah recounted the story of the unfriendly Santa. Ted and Maggie had already explained to the Reillys how they had found Alvirah lying on the deck. “I’m almost certain he was wearing a cap with only one bell,” Alvirah told them. “We’ve got to have Dudley round up all eight Santa suits and make sure they all have two bells on the caps. If they do, then whoever I saw was wearing one of the stolen suits. What I’ve been thinking is we can enlist the other Santas to help us. We’ll have to mark the Santa suits in some
way so that we’ll be able to pick out either of the stolen suits if someone wears them around the ship. . . . I think that someone must have stolen those suits so one or two people can get around this ship in disguise. I almost caught one of them.”

  “Are you sure he heard you call him?” Regan asked.

  “Positive. He turned around. I couldn’t see his face with that beard.” She turned to Ted. “From the back I thought it might have been you. He was on the tall side.”

  Ted smiled. “I’m glad I have a reliable witness.”

  “That’s me, Old Reliable,” Maggie quipped.

  Jack shook his head. “It makes sense that whoever stole the suits wanted to be able to get around the ship incognito. I don’t think any of the real Santas would be expected to roll out of bed and put on their suit to go down and get coffee.”

  “It’s ridiculous!” Alvirah cried. “There wasn’t even anyone else down there for him to ‘Ho-Ho-Ho’ with. And he certainly didn’t want to ‘Ho-Ho-Ho’ with me.”

  Willy grabbed her hand. “I always want to ‘Ho-Ho-Ho’ with you,” he said.

  “I know you do, Willy,” Alvirah said fondly.

  The nurse poked her head in the door. “How are we doing, Mrs. Meehan?”

  “I’m doing fine,” Alvirah answered pointedly. “What’s your story?”

  Regan knew that if there was one thing that got under Alvirah’s skin, it was the collective “we” in a medical situation.

  The nurse ignored her question. Glancing around the room, she noticed Maggie. “You’re up early after having been here in the middle of the night. How’s your friend?” she asked.

  “She was still sleeping when I left.” As the others looked at her inquiringly, Maggie explained. “The patch helped Ivy a lot.”

  “It was so stormy last night. My guess is you handed out a lot of those patches,” Luke surmised.

  “We were very busy until about midnight. Ms. Quirk was our only visitor after that, until Mrs. Meehan arrived.”

  Alvirah saw the look of disbelief on Maggie’s face. “What is it, Maggie?” she asked.

  “Nothing. It’s just that I figured the man I saw coming out of this area through the waiting room last night was a patient.”

  The nurse started to speak, then hesitated. Dr. Gephardt was behind her and had clearly heard the exchange.

  “Was there someone else in this area last night around the time Mr. Crater was having his nightmare?” Gephardt asked the nurse, his voice serious and deeply concerned.

  “Certainly not that I’m aware of,” the nurse answered crisply.

  Dr. Gephardt turned to Maggie. “According to our records, you were here at four A.M.”

  “Yes, I was,” Maggie said.

  “And you say you saw a man coming out from this area into the waiting room?”

  “Yes, I did. I was turned away from him, about to sit down, and he walked right past me.”

  “What did he look like?” Alvirah asked.

  Maggie hesitated. “I knew something was bothering me, and I know this is going to sound crazy—”

  “Say it anyway,” Alvirah insisted.

  Maggie shook her head and grimaced. “He looked like Left Hook Louie.”

  34

  When Eric reached the deck where Crater’s cabin was located, he looked down the corridor and saw Jonathan, the steward for that section, coming out of the end suite. Probably some of the awake-at-dawns sent for coffee, he thought, ducking back before he was spotted. He had absolutely no reason to be here, and if Jonathan caught a glimpse of him, he’d have to come up with some sort of explanation. Rather than stand at the elevator bank, he walked down the companionway for three decks, then turned and walked slowly back up again.

  This time there was no sign of the steward. But, to his horror, he saw a tall Santa Claus he realized was Highbridge, carrying a tray tap on the door of Crater’s room. An instant later, it was opened and just as quickly closed as Highbridge disappeared inside. Pass key in hand, Eric rushed down the long corridor and opened the door. Highbridge was setting the tray on the desk. Ripping off his beard, he looked at Eric.

  “What a pleasant surprise! I thought you had crossed us off your list.”

  “I’ve got to get you out of here right away. Crater is demanding to come back to his cabin immediately. The doctor doesn’t start work till seven, but Crater might just sign himself out.”

  Bull’s-Eye was already wolfing down a bagel. With his mouth full, he snapped at Eric, “All right, Uncle’s Boy, where do you propose to put us now?” Without waiting for an answer, he continued, “We’ll be close enough to Fishbowl Island in twenty-three hours for our people to get us. We’d better make it.” He gave Eric a cold stare.

  By now Eric was terrified of Bull’s-Eye. Being around him was like being in a cage with an angry lion. Eric tried to go back to the moments when he had made the deals to smuggle the two felons onto the ship. It had seemed so easy at the time. A million dollars each to conceal them for less than forty-eight hours. That broke down to more than forty-one thousand dollars an hour. How could he have refused a windfall like that? But now, if they were caught, both men would tell the cops he was their accomplice. Denying it would be useless. Eric knew that he could never pass a lie detector test.

  He stared back at Bull’s-Eye. “All this trouble started because you were jumping up and down in the chapel,” he said defensively. “You were supposed to be wearing your Santa outfit so that if anyone had seen you, they would have thought you were praying or meditating or something. Now let’s get out of here. Once I sneak you upstairs, I have to come back and clean up this place. Get dressed, Bull’s-Eye.”

  “Don’t blame this on me,” Bull’s-Eye retorted. “Where are we going?”

  “Back to the chapel.”

  “What are you, nuts?”

  “It’s temporary, until I can get you back in my room. There’s no other place to hide you.”

  “You better hope your uncle doesn’t end up praying for you in that chapel,” Bull’s-Eye said as he took a last swig of coffee. He had dropped his Santa outfit on the floor when he shed it and changed into the robe. Now a stream of muttered invectives rushed from his lips as he pulled on the wet, wrinkled pants and jacket. The beard was a soggy mass of sour-smelling fuzz. As he hooked it over his ears, he began to sneeze.

  “I’ll go first,” Eric instructed. “Once we make it to the companionway we won’t be likely to run into anyone. It’s still too early.” He opened the door a slit and listened. There was no sound in the corridor. Jonathan was nowhere in sight. “Come on,” he whispered sharply to Bull’s-Eye and Highbridge.

  It was only six twenty-five. The ship was very quiet. On the Boat Deck, Winston wouldn’t show up for at least another twenty minutes. He’s been told to bring in the Commodore’s breakfast at seven fifteen every morning. But Uncle Randolph will be awake soon, Eric realized. He does yoga from six forty-five to seven fifteen, and he told me he’s going to start giving himself extra time so he can perfect the lotus position.

  One deck up and safe so far. Two. Three. The sound of silence calmed Eric’s quivering nerves. They turned right and down the corridor to the chapel. Eric opened the door and looked in. No early worshipers, thank God. He led the two crooks up the aisle. “Get under the altar and don’t move this time,” he ordered. “I’ll be back for you in a couple of hours. Once my uncle’s butler makes the bed and cleans up, he won’t go near my room until tonight. I’ll have food there for you.”

  As Bull’s-Eye squatted down, Eric noticed for the first time that he had a zippered leather briefcase under his arm. “Where did you get that?” he demanded.

  “I found it outside while we were getting soaked last night,” Bull’s-Eye said sarcastically. “Something else. I left my cards in the night table drawer in your first room, where we’re supposed to be right now. Get them. They’re very important.”

  Cards! Eric thought of Willy Meehan offering him the deck of cards. “I did
n’t know—” he began.

  “What do you mean you didn’t know?”

  “Nothing. Nothing. I’ll get them. I’ve got to go now.”

  It was 6:31. Eric rushed out of the chapel and a minute later was inside the supply room, near his uncle’s suite. He grabbed towels and wash cloths and two folded robes to replace the ones Highbridge and Bull’s-Eye had used, dumping them in a plastic bag. Those two could have been a little neater, he thought, remembering the candy wrappers he’d seen on the desk. Why didn’t they put a sign on the door? CROOKS IN RESIDENCE. DO DROP IN.

  Never one to clean up after himself, he worked with enviable speed when he got back to Crater’s room. He replaced the wet towels with fresh ones, rinsed and dried the drinking glasses, polished the mirror over the cabinet and the glass door of the shower, and hung the fresh robes in the closet. During dinner last night, Jonathan had already turned down Crater’s bed and drawn the curtains. Eric fluffed the bed pillows and smoothed the spread. At least whatever sleeping those two jerks had done had been on top of the spread so the sheets and blanket were neat. Had Bull’s-Eye taken that valise from this room? Eric wondered nervously. If so, there’d be hell to pay.

  It was ten of seven. He had to get down to the infirmary and be able to report to his uncle that he’d seen Crater there. First he ran up to the pool area and dropped the soiled towels and robes on a beach chair. He reached the infirmary just as Crater was being wheeled into the waiting room area. Dr. Gephardt was beside him, saying, “Mr. Crater, your records indicate you have a serious health problem. When you get to your room, I suggest you go to bed and stay there. You’ve had a shock to your nervous system.”

  Crater’s face was flushed. Eric could see two purple bruises on either side of his neck. Did the medical attendants cause that when they moved him? he wondered.

  “Mr. Crater,” he began. “My uncle, the Commodore—”