He looked John Saunders squarely in the eye. “Can you give me any good reason why I should keep paying you? After a passenger is murdered and her jewelry stolen, why didn’t it occur to you to have someone in the hallway to stand guard?”
Saunders had taught himself to overlook Morrison’s constant jibes. “May I remind you, Mr. Morrison, we agreed to try to keep things on board as normal as possible. Armed guards in the hallways outside the passengers’ suites is not normal. I specifically recall your saying that we are not running a prison.”
“I suppose you’re right,” Morrison said grudgingly.
Captain Fairfax took over. “Frankly, Mr. Morrison,” he said firmly, “we should be focusing on how we are going to respond to this latest,” he paused, “incident. It had not been picked up by the news sites before I came up here, but—”
Morrison rummaged in his pocket and found his phone. He tapped in the name of the ship. “Just what I was afraid of,” he snarled. “The first headline is ‘Another Passenger Attacked on Queen Charlotte?’?”
Morrison continued to read. “Can you believe this? They’re already referring to the ship as the twenty-first-century Titanic.”
No one spoke.
“My ship,” Morrison added, his voice breaking. “Now, you two get out of here and make sure nothing else happens before we reach port.”
Captain Fairfax and John Saunders nodded and left the room. Morrison settled down into a comfortable chair, tapped his phone and looked at the emails from his office. There was one from his chief financial officer ten minutes earlier saying that thirty passengers who were scheduled to board the ship in Southampton had canceled their reservations.
He got up immediately and went to the bar. This time he chose Johnny Walker Blue and filled his glass. As he sipped, his thought was, That was before what happened to Brenda Martin. I wonder how much I will have to pay for her sore throat.
83
Ten hours after he fell asleep, Roger Pearson opened his eyes. I’m alive, I’m alive, he thought. He was aware that he was breathing through a ventilator tube and that his forehead felt hot when he touched it. But I think I’m going to be okay.
He glanced to the side and saw that a man in a white doctor’s coat was asleep in the reclining chair next to his bed. He realized that was just as well. He wanted to give his name and say that he had gone overboard from Queen Charlotte. He had a very clear memory of the maniacal expression on Yvonne’s face as she charged at him and with all her strength shoved him backwards. He certainly intended to let her know that he was very aware of what she had done, but he was not ready to share what happened with whoever on this ship was going to ask him questions.
Roger closed his eyes and gave in to his sense of being blissfully warm and tucked into heavy blankets. As long as I live, I’ll never go swimming again, he thought, as the memory of being freezing cold, and trying to spit out the salty water, flooded his mind.
84
“Willy, we’ve got to put our heads together,” Alvirah said firmly, even as she grasped his arm to balance herself against the rolling ship.
“Steady, honey, I’ve got you,” Willy said calmly, while holding Alvirah’s arm with one hand and the railing with the other.
“Let’s go into one of the quiet rooms,” Alvirah suggested. “We need to talk.”
“I thought you wanted to walk.”
“No, I don’t. You never know if someone might be able to hear us.”
“I think we’re the only ones out here, but okay.”
They settled in the English Tea Room and ordered cups of coffee. When she was sure that the waiter was back in the kitchen with the door closed, Alvirah whispered, “Willy, we have to figure all this out now.”
Willy took a deep, satisfying sip. “Honey, I’m more worried about what to do with this darn necklace than I am about anything else.”
“Don’t worry. We’ll figure that out,” Alvirah said confidently. “But let’s consider what we know so far. Somebody killed poor Lady Em and tried to rob her. We know her killer didn’t get the Cleopatra necklace because she had given it to Celia. And we know that just before she died, Lady Em told Celia that Roger Pearson, God rest him, and Brenda Martin were cheating her.”
Willy nodded. “I believe every word of what Celia said, don’t you?”
“Of course. If Celia was guilty, why would she have given us the necklace?” Alvirah paused. “But that isn’t the point.”
“Then what is?”
“Oh Willy, it’s as plain as the nose on your face. Whoever killed Lady Em was going after the necklace. And when he or she didn’t get it, the killer decided that Brenda had it and went after her.”
“He or she?” Willy asked.
“Of course, it could be either one. And you know who my bet is?” It was a rhetorical question. “I put my money on Yvonne.”
“Yvonne?”
“Willy, let’s put aside for the moment this Man with One Thousand Faces. Nobody’s even sure if he’s on the ship. Let’s focus on Yvonne. Look at the way she’s been all over the ship since her husband fell—or was pushed—over.”
Willy’s brow creased. “You mean you think Yvonne pushed Roger overboard?”
“I don’t say I believe it, but it’s entirely possible. I mean, look at her. She didn’t miss a breakfast. She’s been hanging around with her two Hamptons friends. I’ve been keeping an eye on them, and I’ll tell you this, Yvonne is no brokenhearted widow. I mean, how would you feel if I fell overboard?”
“It never would have happened,” Willy said firmly. “First of all, I wouldn’t have let you sit on the railing. And second, I would have grabbed you as you started to fall. And if I couldn’t stop you from falling, I’d have gone over too so I could help you.”
Alvirah’s eyes softened. “I know you would, and that’s why I love you so much,” she said. “But I have to say that Yvonne isn’t the only one I have my eye on. Who else? Anna DeMille—”
Willy interrupted. “The one who tells the stupid joke about not being related to Cecil B. DeMille?”
“Exactly. I think she’s harmless.”
“I agree,” Willy said as he finished his coffee. “She’s too busy trying to land Devon Michaelson to get involved with killing somebody for a necklace.”
“Agreed. Scratch her off the list. Now let’s talk about the other people at our two tables. There’s Professor Longworth.”
“The Shakespeare scholar.” Willy shook his head. “I don’t know about him. He strikes me as a little odd, but not the killer type. But what about Ted Cavanaugh? He was certainly trying to cozy up to Lady Em.”
“Yes, he was,” Alvirah agreed. “But somehow I can’t picture him killing Lady Em. And why would he do it? Celia said that Lady Em was planning to give the Cleopatra necklace to the museum in Cairo.”