Ransom at Sea (10 page)

The hallway was only dimly lit now by a pair of shielded night lamps at either corner of the hallway, and muted running lights along the floor on either side. She quietly made her way to the staircase and up to the top deck.

The deck was mostly in darkness, except for one dim electric lamp mounted at the back of the wheelhouse, which gave off only enough light to make it the locus of attention for a swarm of insects. The ship's aft was facing out into the harbor, so offered nothing to view but the inky blackness of the water. In the opposite direction, Lynn could see a few stray lights coming from the inns and houses, so she headed forward.

As she rounded the side of the wheelhouse, she thought she could make out a figure standing at the very prow of the ship: against the general blackness of the background, a silhouette that was blacker still.

Lynn sighed inwardly. Caught in her sleepless state she had wanted to be alone to collect her thoughts, but there was no turning back now. The figure had stirred when it heard her.

“I hope I didn't startle you,” Lynn said as she completed her approach.

“You did a bit, but it's all right,” came the reply.

It was Rebecca, which came as something of a relief to Lynn as she came up beside her at the rail.

“You're up late,” said Rebecca.

“I couldn't sleep. What's your excuse?”

“The same.”

The weariness in her voice didn't go unnoticed. The irritation that Lynn felt toward Rebecca's aunt rushed back into her memory, tempered by the sympathy she felt for the niece.

“Your aunt runs you ragged.”

There was a sigh. “Yes, she does.”

“I hope you don't think I'm prying, but I—” Lynn broke off. She suddenly realized that she really didn't know why she was interested in the relationship between Rebecca and her aunt.

“What?” Rebecca prompted. “Go ahead. It's all right.”

“I was just wondering if you take care of her all the time.”

“No.”

When Rebecca went no further, Lynn thought the invitation to ask her question had been nothing more than politeness. She decided not to pursue it. “Well, you're doing a very good job of it. You obviously love her very much.”

Rebecca made a sputtering sound, then buried her face in her hands.

“Oh! I'm sorry! I didn't mean to—” The normally capable Lynn found herself at a loss. After a lengthy hesitation, she put an arm over Rebecca's trembling shoulders.

“I'm sorry!” Rebecca's voice was muffled by her hands. “I shouldn't break down like this.”

“At the risk of sounding clichéed, sometimes it's good to cry.”

Rebecca raised her head and released a shuddering sigh. “God, I wish they'd never mentioned this damn cruise in the damn church bulletin! Once Auntie saw the mention, you couldn't get her off the topic!”

Lynn didn't know what to say. She certainly didn't think she needed to remind Rebecca that the church couldn't be expected to refrain from putting notices of events in their bulletin for fear the wrong people might become interested.

Rebecca sighed again. “I know, I'm being stupid.”

“No, I think you're being tired,” Lynn said gently.

Rebecca was quiet for a very long time, allowing the calming arm to remain on her shoulder. Finally, she said, “My mother died when I was very young, and my father worked all day, so he was never home. Aunt Marci—my mother's sister—she practically raised us. No, there's no ‘practically' about it, she
did
raise us.” She started to falter. “But … for a long time now, my brother and sister have been saying that we need to put her—that we need to find a place where she could be given proper care. But I know how much Auntie would hate that, and I've stood against them all the time.”

“Until now.”

There was a long pause, then Rebecca nodded reluctantly. “She insisted on coming to this trip … I had to come with her.…” She stopped again and though Lynn could barely see her face, she sensed the surprised knowledge. “I felt I had to come with her, so I suppose I've known … or suspected … how bad things were. I don't see her all that much, you see. Not as much as I should. But it wasn't until spending this past couple of days with her, getting ready for the cruise and … that I've realized how bad she's gotten. I suppose I should say it wasn't until now that I was willing to admit it. I suppose I've known for a long time.”

“It's a hard thing to accept,” said Lynn.

“Yes, but I have to. It's Alzheimer's disease, you know. She can't help it. She does things that are crazy. You wouldn't believe it. I mean, like, when I was helping her unpack, I found this package in her suitcase—this box wrapped in dirty brown paper that's been sitting around for God knows how long. I was the one who packed her suitcase, so she must've put that thing there sometime when I wasn't looking. I'm sure she doesn't even know why.”

“What was in it?'

Rebecca shrugged. “No idea. The minute I asked her about it she snatched it out of my hand like it was a guilty secret. But it's just like her to have packed something worthless.”

Up until that moment, the stillness of the night had only been broken by the sounds of crickets singing, and the gentle waves. Rebecca and Lynn had kept their voices relatively low, as if the darkness were a cathedral in which loud voices would be sacrilege.

But the natural sounds were interrupted by the creak of one of the deck's boards. Though not very loud, it was unexpected enough to startle the two young women. Rebecca gave a muffled cry.

“Is someone there?” Lynn asked in a clear voice.

There was no answer, but Lynn thought she heard another creak, this time farther away.

“Must've been someone who didn't want to disturb us,” she said as the two of them turned back to the railing.

They were silent for a couple of minutes. Then Rebecca said quietly, “It's so peaceful here, it's hard to imagine anything being wrong.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, Aunt Marci.”

“Oh.” Lynn was relieved. For a minute she thought Rebecca was about to tell her that, like Emily, she had been noticing things that didn't seem quite right.

There was a long pause, then Rebecca said quietly, “I wish she were dead.”

“What? You don't mean that!”

“Yes, I do.” Her sorrow was palpable. “I can't bear the thought of putting her in a home, and … and she once told me that she'd rather die than go into one.”

“Everybody says that,” Lynn said. “They don't really mean it. And even if they do, a lot of times there just isn't any choice.”

Rebecca rested her head on Lynn's shoulder and sighed deeply. They stayed like that for several moments, drawing a sense of peace from the surrounding quietude and the companionship.

Lynn was surprised—pleasantly—by the readiness with which Rebecca seemed to accept her warm shoulder, and found herself wondering what that readiness meant. After a while she smiled inwardly at herself; earlier she'd believed Emily might be reading too much into the little things she'd observed, and now Lynn herself was spinning theories around a simple gesture that was obviously nothing more than Rebecca's need for comfort.

All of these thoughts were abruptly halted when a distant cry rang out in the silence. Rebecca raised her head and the two of them strained in the darkness to make out the source of the sound.

“What is that?” Rebecca asked breathily.

“It sounds like a bird being strangled,” said Lynn. “No … wait, it doesn't sound like an animal at all.…”

Rebecca gasped. “It's Aunt Marci! Oh, my God! It's Aunt Marci!”

She took off at a run, but promptly collided with the corner of the wheelhouse in the darkness. When she regained herself, she rounded the corner and kept going.

“Rebecca! Be careful!” Lynn called as she followed her.

They scrambled down the rough metal steps from the white deck to the red, and the screaming continued as they descended to the blue deck. When they reached the bottom, they turned to enter the hallway to the passenger cabins, but found the entrance blocked by the impressive bulk of Mrs. O'Malley, the cook. She was clad in a gun-metal gray dressing gown that closely resembled her uniform, and a white night bonnet that made her look like a Victorian housekeeper. Hoke stood behind her clad only in a pair of briefs, and straining to see over her shoulder. David Douglas, who was wearing a pair of sleek, dark blue silk pajamas, was leaning against the doorjamb and contriving to look both uninterested and amused.

“Excuse me! Excuse me!” said Rebecca.

The crew parted as she shouldered her way past them. She very nearly came to a stop inside the hallway. All of the passengers were standing in their cabin doorways watching the show. Marcella was in the middle of her own doorway, her hands braced on each side of it as if she were fighting some unseen force trying to catapult her into the hallway. Her eyes were wide and she continued to let out short, intermittent animal-like screams.

“Miss Hemsley,
please,
” Samantha Farraday was saying with rising exasperation. “If you could just tell us what's wrong…”

The captain looked on from a discreet distance. It was clear that it had been decided between them that a woman's touch was needed here.

It was then that Rebecca came to her. “Aunt Marci!” She spoke calmly but very firmly. “Stop that right now!”

Marcella was held frozen in stunned silence for several seconds. Then she loosed her grip on the doorjamb and flung her arms around her niece.

“Rebecca!” she sobbed, “Rebecca! He was here!”

“Who was?”

“A man! There was a man in my room!” Her chin was resting on the young woman's shoulder, and when she raised her eyes she suddenly recoiled. She let go of Rebecca and took a couple of steps backward, then raised a pointing finger, and said in a tremulous voice, “It was you!”

All eyes turned toward David Douglas.

“What the hell are you talking about?” he demanded, all traces of nonchalance disappearing.

“You know what I mean! You were in my room! I saw you!”

“Like hell you did!”

“David!” the captain said.

“But she's crazy!”

“David…” The captain turned to Marcella. “Miss Hemsley, I don't think it was him you saw.…”

For the first time, Rebecca turned her eyes from her aunt to the captain. There was something subtle but unmistakable in his tone: it implied a belief that Marcella hadn't seen anything.

“When you cried out, we all came to see what was wrong. David was behind my wife and me.”

“It was him, I tell you!” She said this petulantly, but there was doubt and confusion in her eyes.

The captain allowed a significant pause, then said, “Well, why don't we get this sorted out in the morning? Maybe we'll be able to think more clearly after a good night's sleep.”

He left her standing openmouthed in her doorway, and Samantha trailed after him without a word. As they passed by Hoke, he suddenly became aware of his state of undress and cupped his hands over the front of his briefs, then scurried back to his cabin. He was followed by Mrs. O'Malley, and finally by David, who paused in the entryway long enough to exhale with sharp derision in Marcella's direction.

Claudia Trenton stood in the doorway to cabin one clutching the folds of her blue robe around her. She shook her head sharply and then went into her cabin. The other passengers faded as discreetly as possible into their rooms one by one. Rebecca didn't have to try to coax her aunt back into her own cabin. Once Marcella realized that she wasn't being taken seriously, she stormed into her cabin and slammed the door.

Lynn had stopped beside Emily when she and Rebecca arrived, and once the captain had unceremoniously ended the scene, she followed Emily into her room.

“God, I feel so sorry for Rebecca!”

“Why?” Emily asked as she sat at the foot of the bed.

“Why? Didn't you see what just happened?”

Emily sighed and smoothed out the lap of her light blue dressing gown. “Yes, I did.”

“I was upstairs talking to Rebecca when we heard the screams. She told me that her aunt has Alzheimer's.”

“Yes?”

“You know?” Lynn said with surprise.

“Well, it seemed the most obvious explanation for her behavior.”

Lynn crossed the room and sat next to her. “Rebecca says that she's been trying not to put her in a nursing home—that's what the rest of the family wants to do, put her away. Rebecca's been against it but she says she doesn't think she can avoid it anymore.”

“It's a very weighty decision for a young woman to have to make.”

“Yes, but after what just happened … well, you can see she's right. It has to be done.”

“I suppose that's true.…”

Lynn pulled back slightly. “You don't agree?”

“Oh, no, my dear, I suppose it would be best for Marcella to be somewhere where she could have constant supervision if she's a danger to herself. But not because of what just happened.”

“What do you mean?”

“Only that people with Alzheimer's disease may do many things, but I don't know that they
see
things. Perhaps they do, I don't know that much about it. But I think it's more that they might misconstrue something they see … I don't know that they create phantoms.”

“You mean you really think someone was in her room?”

“I think it's entirely possible.”

3

The mood aboard the
Genessee
the next morning was decidedly tense. Irritation born of interrupted sleep radiated off the passengers like waves of heat. Breakfast was eaten in a stony silence punctuated only by the clinking of utensils against plates, and David Douglas's forced brightness as he poured out juice and coffee. Even Bertram Driscoll's customary bluster failed him. Seated at a table by the portside door with Holmes and Brock, he attempted to start a conversation several times, only to find himself turning red in the face over the lack of response.