How about Celia Kilbride? Lady Em had attended her lectures, chatted with her when they ended and invited the gemologist to sit at her table.
He typed “Celia Kilbride” into Google. The lead story was a People magazine interview with her accused former fiancé, who swore she was in on his swindle.
As a lawyer he knew that after the release of the interview the FBI would be compelled to take a closer look at her potential involvement in the theft. Her legal fees must be exorbitant.
Could she have been driven to steal the necklace? If she stole it, how did she get into Lady Em’s room?
He tried to imagine what had transpired in Lady Em’s suite. Did Lady Em wake up and find her opening the safe?
And if that happened, would Celia Kilbride have panicked, grabbed a pillow and smothered Lady Em?
But even as all this occurred to him, Ted could visualize Celia Kilbride coming into the cocktail party last night, looking absolutely beautiful as she warmly greeted other people in the room.
59
With increasing despair, Roger Pearson had watched the sun come up. His arms were leaden. His teeth were chattering. A cold rain had provided essential freshwater for him to gulp, but left his whole body shivering.
It was an effort to keep his arms and legs moving. He knew that if he was not in hypothermia, he was very close to it. He didn’t know if he would have the energy to re-inflate the pants he was using as a flotation device when the remaining air escaped. I can’t last much longer, he thought.
And then he thought he saw it. Some type of ship coming his way. He had long ago given up any semblance of religion, but now he found himself praying. Dear God, let somebody be looking this way. Let someone see me.
There are no atheists in foxholes was his last conscious thought, while forcing himself not to wave until he was in visual range of the ship. Now he was struggling to keep afloat in the swells that had suddenly begun to choke his nostrils and push him away from the oncoming vessel.
60
Alvirah and Willy were deep in conversation as they put in their daily mile and a half stroll on the promenade deck. “Willy, there was always the risk of someone stealing the Cleopatra necklace, but for someone to smother that poor lady to get it is so awful.”
“Greed is an awful motive,” Willy said somberly, then noticed that Alvirah was wearing the sapphire ring he had given her for their forty-fifth wedding anniversary. “Honey, you never wear any jewelry during the day except your wedding ring,” he commented. “How come you’re sporting the new one?”
“Because I don’t intend to have anyone sneak into our stateroom and steal it,” Alvirah replied. “And I’ll bet most of the people on this ship are doing the same thing. And if they don’t want to wear it, they’ll be carrying it in their handbags. Oh Willy, to think how this cruise was perfection for the first few days. And then poor Roger Pearson fell overboard and now Lady Em was murdered. Who would have believed it?”
Willy did not answer. He was looking at the dark clouds that were forming overhead and feeling the increased side-to-side rolling motion of the ship. I wouldn’t be surprised if we’re going into heavy weather, he thought. If we do, I hope it won’t start to feel like the Titanic: luxury upon luxury, only to end in disaster.
What a crazy thought. He chided himself as he reached for Alvirah’s hand and gave it a squeeze.
61
The Man with One Thousand Faces had listened grimly as the Captain announced Lady Em’s death over the ship’s public address system.
I’m sorry I had to kill her, he thought. It was for nothing. The necklace was gone. It wasn’t in the safe. I searched through all the drawers in the bedroom. I didn’t have time to look in the living room. But I’m certain she would not have left it there.
Where is it? Who has it? Anyone on this ship could have followed her and seen her enter her suite. Who else would have had a key to her suite?
As he paced around the promenade deck, he began to calm down and plan. The kind of people on this trip certainly aren’t the type who would steal a necklace, he decided.
She obviously didn’t feel well at dinner. Anyone who was watching her as closely as I was could see that. Would her assistant, Brenda, have gone up to the suite after dinner? It was possible, even probable.
It appeared that there was some strain between her and Lady Em. Was Brenda the one who had the necklace now?
Ahead of him on the deck he caught sight of the Meehans. Instinct told him to be careful of Alvirah. He had looked her up. She better not try to solve this crime, he thought.
He slowed his pace so as not to catch up with them. He needed time to think, to plan. There were only three days left until they would reach Southampton, and there was no way he was leaving this ship without the Cleopatra necklace.
And Brenda was the only one whom he was sure had a key to Lady Em’s suite. He knew what his next move would have to be.
62
Celia ran for an hour, then showered, dressed and sent for coffee and a muffin. The words “what shall I do?” were swirling through her mind. Suppose I go to the Captain and give him the necklace, she asked herself, will he believe me? And if he doesn’t, will he lock me in the brig? Can I wipe my fingerprints off it and leave it someplace where it would be found? That’s one possibility. But suppose someone sees me or it is caught on camera? What then? Would they be allowed to search the cabins for it? No, if they had done that, they would have already found the necklace in my safe.
Panicked at that thought, Celia looked around the room frantically. She went to the safe, opened it and took out the Cleopatra necklace. She had dressed for her lecture and was wearing a jacket and slacks. The jacket was the flowing style with one wide button at the neck. The slacks had deep pockets. Could she possibly keep the necklace on her person? Her hands trembled as she shoved the bulky piece into the left-hand pocket and ran to the mirror.
There was no bulge showing.
It’s the best I can do, she thought despairingly.
63
Kim Volpone liked nothing better than taking a walk before breakfast. She was sailing on Paradise, a ship that was headed for her first stop, Southampton. A hard overnight rain had subsided and the sun had just popped through. The deck was almost void of passengers.
As she walked, she inhaled deeply. She loved the smell of the fresh ocean breeze. Forty years old and freshly divorced, she was cruising with her closest friend, Laura Bruno, and experiencing a sense of great relief that the nasty business of dividing assets was over. Her husband Walter had turned out to be a Walter Mitty type, pipe dreams instead of reality.