Santa Cruise Page 14

  But there was no response.

  Footsteps coming down the aisle, getting closer and closer to the altar, made both men break into a cold sweat. The footsteps stopped at what must have been the first or second row, and the faint squeak suggested someone sat down.

  “This is a lovely chapel, isn’t it, Mother?”

  Again no response. Bull’s-Eye and Highbridge looked at each other dumbfounded.

  “I was going to drop you overboard at dawn tomorrow, but we’re moving up the ceremony to sunset tonight. I hope you don’t mind. Dudley says you won’t—that that’s what mothers are for—helping out in time of need. We’ve been having a lot of trouble since we set sail. I swear if I find whoever stole those Santa suits, I’ll thrash them within an inch of their lives. Sorry, Mother, I know I shouldn’t talk that way. I keep thinking of all the trips we took together. Remember when your hat blew off on the crossing of the old Queen Elizabeth? Someone from an upper deck who saw the hat floating away was afraid you were still wearing it and shouted, ‘Lady overboard!’ “

  The Commodore laughed tenderly. “That’s when you said you wanted the sea to be your final resting place. I made you a promise that you would be buried at sea. Today—I’m fulfilling that promise—”

  For five minutes the Commodore sat quietly, the hammered silver box in his lap, fond memories of his mother running through his mind. He got up to leave just as the chapel door opened. The woman who had been screaming about seeing Left Hook Louie last night was standing before him.

  “Commodore Weed! I’m so glad you’re here. I was afraid to come back to the chapel, but they say you should face your fears. That’s what I was doing, and I’m lucky enough to find you here as well.”

  “My pleasure,” the Commodore said stiffly.

  It was obvious to Ivy that he resented the uproar she had created. “I can tell that you are mad at me, Commodore Weed, and I can certainly understand, but I’m telling you I did see someone here in the chapel last night. I wasn’t trying to cause trouble.” Ivy’s voice started to tremble.

  Bull’s-Eye and Highbridge both held their breath. Please God, Highbridge thought, don’t let her start looking under the altar.

  “This cruise is the nicest thing that ever happened to me in my whole life,” Ivy continued. “The ship is so beautiful, the food is wonderful, the people are so exciting. I know you’re responsible for all this, and I know this ship is your dream, and I wouldn’t want to do anything to destroy your dream.”

  Despite himself, the Commodore was touched. “Thank you, Miss Pickering. I appreciate your sentiments. I haven’t felt much gratitude, and I must say it hurts.” He looked closely at her. “There, there, you mustn’t cry now.”

  Ivy wiped her eyes and became aware of the object in the Commodore’s hands. “That’s a beautiful jewelry case you have there. My mother has one almost exactly like it.”

  The Commodore grabbed her hand. “Your mother?” he said, his voice a whisper. He held up the box. “My mother’s ashes are resting in this box. You say your mother has one like it?”

  “Yes, my Papa bought it for her in a museum shop on their honeymoon. She still has it on the dresser at home.”

  The door opened again. This time it was Eric, looking flustered and out of breath. He stared at them, stared at the altar, then back at Ivy and his uncle. He tried to pull himself together. “Uncle Randolph, I just heard about your new plans for Grandma.” With his usual lack of courtesy, he ignored Ivy. “It will be very special.”

  Ivy looked questioningly at the Commodore. It was obvious she hadn’t heard about the sunset ceremony.

  The Commodore touched her hand again. “Would you care to join me for a cup of tea in my suite and I’ll explain?” he asked. He paused. “Please,” he added.

  The Commodore and Ivy left Eric in the chapel. Not knowing what he would find, he ran up to the altar, bent down, and lifted the cloth.

  “Your uncle sounds like a nutcase,” Bull’s-Eye muttered. Then he released the sneeze he’d been holding back.

  42

  There’s no question I’m not as tough as I used to be, Alvirah admitted to herself. Her head was really aching, and now the rest of her body was letting her know that she’d taken a pretty good tumble. At her insistence, Willy had gone down to the gym where he had a treadmill reserved for ten o’clock. By then, Winston had brought Alvirah tea, fruit, and toast, and even Willy admitted that aside from the bandage and goose-egg bump on her forehead, she did seem to be okay. Alvirah said, “Willy, be on your way. I really do have to put my thinking cap on. But first turn on the television. I’d like to see what’s going on in the outside world.”

  “Okay,” Willy agreed. “I’ll be back in less than an hour. That guy Winston is always around. If you feel just a little bit funny, please ring for him.”

  The state of the world hadn’t changed much in the twenty-four hours since she’d seen a broadcast. It was a holiday week, and most of the politicians had taken time off from insulting each other. The day-after-Christmas sales in retail stores had broken records. On the other hand, more gifts had been returned this year than had been brought back in the last ten years. Shows how much junk people give just to get their gift buying out of the way, Alvirah thought. She was just starting to doze off when the picture of Bull’s-Eye Tony Pinto came across the screen.

  “Blessed Mother!” Alvirah murmured. She remembered reading about him when he lived in New York and was often in the headlines of the Post and the Daily News. I loved to read up on him, she admitted to herself. He was so colorful. He spent some time in prison for small stuff, but they could never get him on any of the big charges. Everybody knows he’s a killer. His reputation was that he got rid of anyone who was in his way. . . .

  “Coming up,” the newscaster said, “the latest on the all-out manhunt for mobster Bull’s-Eye Tony Pinto, who disappeared from his home in Miami yesterday. But first this . . .”

  Alvirah ignored the four fifteen-second commercials for various prescription drugs, her mind totally focused on the startling resemblance between Tony Pinto and Left Hook Louie.

  “Is it possible?” she wondered aloud. “I think it’s more than possible,” she concluded. She had to talk to Regan and Jack. If Bull’s-Eye is on this ship trying to make his way to freedom, has he already attempted a murder? He was always accused of murder, never convicted. And what would make him want to kill Crater? And if he did try to kill him, who’s next?

  She snapped on her microphone. “Pinto lives in Miami. He’s desperate to get out of the country. This ship was sailing from Miami the same day he disappeared. He looks like that writer guy in the posters, the same guy Ivy and Maggie thought they saw. But if he is on board, someone has to have helped him get here, and someone is hiding him now. Maybe the same person who stole the Santa suits. But who?”

  A suspicion that was rapidly becoming a certainty had formed in Alvirah’s mind. “I felt from minute one that there was something odd about that nephew, Eric,” she said. “He’s nervous. I’m beginning to think he may have something big to hide.” At that moment, her phone rang. It was Eric.

  “Mrs. Meehan, I do hope you’re feeling better.”

  “Yes, I am.”

  “That deck of cards Mr. Meehan showed me last night. It completely slipped my mind. One of the other officers stopped by to have a drink with me the night before you boarded. They belong to him. He must have put them down, and when we went out to dinner, I bet Winston put them in my drawer, assuming they were mine. May I stop by and pick them up?”

  Alvirah didn’t believe him for a minute. “I’m lying down and Willy’s not here,” she said. “Let me call you back. Or if you give us the name of the officer, Willy would be happy to get them back to him.”

  “That won’t be necessary. He’ll be off duty until tonight. I’ll come by for them later.”

  I’ll bet you will, Alvirah thought as she hung up the phone to make sure the connection was broken. Wait till I tell
Jack and Regan, she exulted as she picked up the phone again and began to dial.

  43

  After the morning newscast, Bianca had been pleased with the number of e-mails she had received. I’ve got to keep it up, she thought. Until she could get more information on what was happening on the ship from her contacts, she had to find a way to keep the story going. Otherwise, she knew that even if something startling surfaced in a couple of days, people would already have lost interest.

  Her viewers were voting on who was the ghost. Most thought it was Mac. Then one e-mail made her gasp as she read it.

  Dear Bianca,

  When MacDuffie died a few years ago, my mother and I went to the estate sale. All the antique dealers were there, combing over the stuff. It was mostly a bunch of junk! But my mother and I can’t resist a bargain and we bought a few pieces of furniture and several cartons of papers and magazines. Well, what did we find but the journal MacDuffie kept of his last years on that yacht! Can you believe that he wrote that his father had squandered much of the family fortune by buying a famous jewelry box that he knew had been stolen from a museum? He claimed it had been given to Cleopatra by Marc Antony, and was priceless. I ask you! What was he smoking?

  Mac wrote that he couldn’t sell the box because it would destroy the family name, and anyhow the museum would claim it back. Here’s a direct quote: “So I sit on my yacht and think of five thousand years ago when a handsome Roman presented it to a young queen.” Yeah, and my mother and I are the Gabor sisters!!!

  Anyhow, thought you’d be interested. My vote is that Mac’s haunting that ship, and maybe Cleopatra’s on board, too. By the way, my mother and I checked the list of items for sale and there was no jewelry box belonging to Cleopatra on it!

  Your fan,

  Kimmie Keating

  Perfect! Bianca thought. Gleefully, she reread the e-mail.

  If there was anything more compelling than a story about a ghost, it was one about a missing treasure.

  44

  Making a list, checking it twice,” Dudley sang, in a feeble attempt to lighten the atmosphere after the Santas had left his office.

  Jack placed a call to his assistant, Keith. “The cruise director is e-mailing you the passenger and crew list right now,” he explained. “Check everyone out, but begin with Harry Crater—he’s a passenger. I’ll talk to you in a few minutes from my room.” Jack hung up, turned to Dudley and asked, “How did Crater end up on this ship?”

  “A nurse wrote me about all the good he had done and said that he was very ill, and this would be his last cruise.” Dudley pulled out a file and handed Jack the letter. It listed the many contributions Crater had supposedly made in the last year.

  “Could you make a copy of that for us?” Regan asked.

  “Of course.”

  When Regan and Jack left Dudley’s office, passenger and crew lists in hand, they found Ted Cannon waiting for them in the corridor.

  “I didn’t want to say anything in front of the others,” he told them, “but something occurred that I thought you might want to know. It might be nothing . . .”

  “What is it?” Regan asked.

  “That fellow Harry Crater, who’s in the infirmary. I know he’s traveling alone. When I went to bed last night, I heard noise coming from his room. The television was on, and I heard people talking and drawers opening and closing. I had seen him being carried off, after he fell at dinner, and I thought he must have been brought back to his room. Apparently not. It just seemed odd, and I thought you might want to know.”

  “These things are always good to know,” Jack said.

  “Have they found out who it was Maggie saw in the waiting room?” Ted asked.

  “Not that we know of,” Regan told him.

  “I have to admit it bothers me to think that Maggie was alone in that waiting room in the middle of the night when some unknown character came wandering through.”

  He’s right, Regan thought. And he doesn’t even know that the man might have tried to suffocate Crater. Maggie could have been in big trouble, especially if there wasn’t any motive for the attempted murder and the intruder was simply deranged. “It is scary to think that she was alone with that guy,” she agreed.

  “I told Maggie that if Ivy starts to feel sick in the middle of the night again, she’s to call me and not go anywhere alone,” he said firmly. “I know you’re reviewing the passenger and crew list. If I can help you in any way, give me a call. Otherwise I’ll see you later.” With a wave of his hand, he turned and headed down the corridor.

  “I think he’s got a crush on Maggie,” Regan observed.

  “He does. I feel dishonest not telling him Maggie might have been face-to-face with a would-be killer.”

  “Me too,” Regan said.

  They were walking past a poster of Left Hook Louie that had been taped to the wall of the corridor. They stopped to examine it, both thinking of the photograph of the missing Tony Pinto they’d seen on television.

  “It’s certainly possible,” Jack said quietly, after a pause.

  Regan knew exactly what he meant.

  When they reached their cabin, the phone was ringing. Regan ran to pick it up. It was Alvirah.

  “Regan, it’s a good thing I stayed here. I have two things to report. I was watching the news, and there’s a mobster who’s missing who—”

  “Bull’s-Eye Tony Pinto,” Regan interrupted. “I know what you’re going to say, and Jack and I have been thinking along the same lines. We joked about it last night, but it’s not a joke anymore.”

  “Two and two makes four,” Alvirah said. “He was trying to get out of the country. He lives in Miami. He has been missing since the day our ship sailed, and two people on this cruise claim to have seen someone who looks just like him. And they didn’t see him out on deck sunning himself. The other thing I want to tell you,” she went on without waiting for a comment from Regan, “is that Eric, the nephew, just called with a phony-baloney story about that deck of cards belonging to one of the officers on the ship, and how he wanted to come by and pick them up. I told him Willy would be happy to deliver the cards to the officer, but of course that nonexistent officer was off duty.”

  “Hold on, Alvirah.” Regan told Jack Eric’s tall story about the cards. Jack took the phone from her.

  “Alvirah, I’ll get pictures of the cards sent to the office right away, then I’ll get them back to you. If Eric is involved in any way with the problems on this ship, we don’t want to tip our hand to him. I’ll tell my office to look at his background carefully.”

  As soon as they had hung up, Jack photographed the backs of the royal cards with his digital camera, e-mailed them to his office, and called Keith. While he was on the phone, Regan took the cards, went into the bathroom, held them up to the magnifying mirror, and jotted down the numbers. If we’re going to give these cards back to Eric, she thought, I want to be sure we have a copy of the information on them.

  She went back into the bedroom. Jack had just hung up the phone. “Keith promised to get back to me as quickly as possible.”

  “I have an idea,” Regan said. “Let’s walk around this ship for a while. If Ivy, Maggie, and Alvirah all managed to run into strange characters without trying, maybe we’ll get lucky when we are trying. Anyhow, I’d like to get some fresh air.”

  “Fine with me. Let’s get cleaned up and see what’s out there. This isn’t that big a ship. If Tony Pinto is on board, he’s not far away.”

  Jack’s cell phone rang. He raised his eyebrows questioningly as he answered it. The caller was Regan’s best friend Kit. “Hey, Kit,” he said. “How’s it going?”

  “Still looking for a date for New Year’s Eve. I went to a party in Greenwich last night hoping I might find someone who doesn’t have plans, either. Needless to say, it didn’t happen. But I did get some scoop I thought you guys might enjoy.”

  “Hold on, Kit. I’ll put your buddy on.”

  Regan took the phone. “I coul
d hear what you were saying to Jack. Don’t worry about New Year’s Eve. It’s always a terrible night anyway.”

  “I know. But that doesn’t mean I’m not going to worry about it all week. But get this! I went to my friend Donna’s annual post-Christmas party last night in Greenwich. All anyone was talking about was this guy Highbridge, who cheated so many investors, including a lot of people at the party. As you may have heard, he’s now on the run. Everyone assumes he headed to the Caribbean. So I thought of you. And there’s more! One of the women at the party said Highbridge’s ex-girlfriend Lindsay, who’d tried to get friendly with a lot of the people Highbridge knew in Greenwich, claimed that he phoned her yesterday. The number was blocked, but a radio was blasting in the background. She was sure she heard someone announce the local temperature in Miami.”

  “You’re kidding!” Regan said. “They must have had a bad breakup if she’s telling people about his call.”

  “She’s out in Aspen with her new beau and told people about the phone call late last night when she was out clubbing. I guess she’d had a few drinks by then. The sister of one of the girls at the party is out in Aspen. She and her husband were within earshot when Lindsay was blabbering on about Highbridge.”

  “Was there any talk of Lindsay going to the police with that story?”

  “No. Now she’s denying she ever said anything about Highbridge. Anyway, I thought you’d be interested since you’re in the Caribbean and sailed from Miami.”

  “I am interested,” Regan said. “You never met Highbridge at any of Donna’s parties, did you?”

  “I met him once, about five or six years ago.”

  “What was your impression of him?”

  “Tall, boring, and full of himself.”

  “I guess he didn’t ask for your number,” Regan chuckled.

  “How did you know?” Kit laughed. “I think when he realized I didn’t have any money he could steal, he moved on.”

  After Regan hung up, they decided Jack should call his office one more time.