Ted could feel his upper body slipping farther over the rail. Willy rushed to the railing, reached his long arms over and grabbed Ted’s elbows. “Pull her and I’ll pull you,” he said. With a final desperate effort he was able to pull Ted back toward the balcony. A moment later he and Ted hoisted Celia over the rail. The three of them fell along with Alvirah onto the floor of the balcony, exhausted and gasping for breath.
The intruder knew he needed to make it the short distance back to his room and he would be safe. He was confident that no one would be able to identify him. The wig, beard and jacket he had worn would quickly be tossed into the ocean below.
He pulled open the door to the hallway and froze. Chief of Security John Saunders was holding a pistol that was aimed at his forehead. He dragged him out into the hallway, where Captain Fairfax and Gregory Morrison, both in Queen Charlotte bathrobes, held his arms behind his back as Saunders snapped a pair of handcuffs around his wrists and pushed him back into the room.
Ted, his arm around Celia, and Willy, his arm around Alvirah, were staggering into the room.
“Is anyone hurt?” Saunders asked.
It was Ted who answered. “No, I think we’re all okay.”
“I’m sorry it took us a few extra minutes to get here,” Saunders said. Turning to Alvirah he added, “When you phoned security, we mistakenly believed the robbery was taking place in your room. We went there first.”
“Sorry,” Alvirah said. “It’s an old habit to give my room number first when I’m calling.”
Willy helped Alvirah into a chair and then moved menacingly across the room at the intruder. “I don’t take kindly to anyone pointing a gun at my wife,” he said, as his hand shot forward.
The intruder braced himself for the expected blow from Willy’s huge fist. But Willy’s hand stopped short, grabbed hold of the intruder’s beard and gave it a hard yank. A yelp of pain followed as the beard was detached from his face.
After throwing the beard to the floor, Willy grabbed a handful of the intruder’s hair and pulled. The wig became detached. Everyone in the room stared at the face of the unmasked assailant.
Willy spoke first. “Well, if it isn’t the poor widower who came to scatter his wife’s ashes. You’re damn lucky I don’t scatter you over the Atlantic Ocean.”
It was Morrison’s turn next, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “Why, it’s Inspector Clouseau from Interpol. I knew you were useless. My Queen Charlotte has a lovely brig. You will be its first guest.”
96
For a moment there was dead silence as Morrison, Saunders and Captain Fairfax shoved Devon Michaelson out of the room. Then as Willy closed the door, Alvirah went to the closet and pulled out a Queen Charlotte bathrobe. “Celia, you’re freezing. Let’s wrap you in this.”
Celia let her arms be pushed into it, then felt the sash being tied around her waist. She realized that she must still be in some level of shock. The memory of trying to hold on to the railing with her foot as she felt herself going backwards kept replaying in her mind. It was all over, she had thought, before Ted’s arms grabbed hers and saved her from falling. She recalled the feeling of the cold wind against her face and arms, and the ominous sense that she was going to die. Trying to shake the memory, she looked from Alvirah to Willy to Ted.
“I can thank the three of you that I’m not in the ocean,” she said. “It’s only because of you that I’m not trying to swim to Southampton.”
“We’d never let that happen,” Alvirah said firmly. “And now we all better get back to bed.” She and Willy headed for the door.
Ted closed it behind them.
“This time I’m not taking no for an answer. And something else.” He put his arms around Celia. “Will you please tell me why you were trying to get your hands out of mine?” he asked.
“Because I didn’t want you to fall. I couldn’t let you fall. I put all of you in danger and—”
Ted stopped her with a kiss. “We’ll finish this conversation later. Now, let’s get you into bed. You’re still trembling.” He guided her into the bedroom, and after she lay down, he tucked the blankets over her.
“I’m pushing the easy chair against the door and sleeping in it until it’s time for us to leave. I don’t trust them to hold on to that guy until you’re off the ship.”
Celia realized how glad she was to not be alone. “No objection, Counselor,” she murmured as her eyes began to close.
97
Everyone except Willy was downstairs at 7:30 A.M. as the Queen Charlotte began to dock in Southampton. As the word spread through the ship that Devon Michaelson, “the grieving widower” as he had become known, was the killer, shock and surprise was the immediate reaction.
At Lady Em’s table Yvonne, Brenda and Professor Longworth stared at each other. “I thought it might be you,” Brenda blurted out to Longworth.
“I don’t think I’d be nearly strong enough to wrestle you into a closet,” Longworth shot back, his voice testy.
Yvonne was silent. Now that the true identity of Lady Em’s killer had been revealed, Roger would know that she had not suffocated Lady Em to save him. The ship that had rescued him would arrive in Southampton one day behind Queen Charlotte. If he tried to tell people that she had shoved him over the rail, she would say that he was traumatized after his ordeal. And if he got nasty, she would tell him that she would blow the whistle on his stealing from Lady Em.
Celia had come over and sat in the chair that had formerly been Devon Michaelson’s at the table with Anna DeMille, Ted and Alvirah. Anna was repeating over and over how she had refused the callous advances made on her by Devon Michaelson.
Devon hitting on her? Alvirah thought sympathetically. I’ll certainly keep in touch with the poor thing.
A few minutes later Willy arrived looking relieved. “Alvirah and I spoke to Ted before we came down to breakfast. Ted told us that the necklace is evidence in Lady Em’s murder and the attack on Brenda and that the necklace had to be turned over to the FBI. Boy, was I glad to hand it over to them.”
There was no lingering at the table. The good-byes had been spoken to newly made friends. The room began to empty when the departing passengers, as one, headed onto the main deck.
Their progress was briefly delayed as two Scotland Yard officials halted the exiting passengers. Through the windows they could see two men in FBI jackets, each holding one of Devon Michaelson’s arms, which were handcuffed behind his back. His legs were shackled. They were escorting the suspect down the ramp.
As soon as they had passed through customs, Brenda reached for her cell phone. Aware that it was four o’clock in the morning back in New York, she began to tap out a loving text. She signed it “Forever, your buttercup.”
Ted had hired a car to take him directly to the airport. He upgraded to an SUV and insisted that Alvirah and Willy and Celia ride with him. They were all sleepy, and there was little conversation on the two-hour trip. He had phoned ahead and booked a first-class reservation for Celia on his flight, in the seat next to him.