1 Shore Excursion (19 page)

T
he yellowish green numbers on my travel alarm
clock
read 3:06
a
.
m
.

I rolled ov
er on my back, feeling the
motion of the ship well underway
as it
plow
ed
through the Baltic.
It was storming again, and when I parted the curtains and looked out, big bolts of lightning illuminated the heavy sea.

Someone hurried past my door, then another and another.
I heard
high-pitched
laughing.
Low, sharp
commands followed; then I heard
even more rapid footsteps
.
I reached for the light switch and pressed it, but nothing happened.
The electricity was off.

I was alone in the cabin.
Jay had not returned.

Groping my way across the room,
I pulled on my fleece and my gym shorts
and
slid my feet into flip-flops
. Then I
quietly unlocked and
partially
opened the door
and peeked out.

The passageway was dark and empty, illuminated only by the emergency lights.
No
other
door
s
w
ere
open.

I spotted Abdul’s white jacket in the dimness, headed toward the stairs, and
hurried to catch up with him
just before he turned the corner.

“Abdul, what’s with the lights?
Why is the power out?
What is going on?”

“Not to worry, Miss Marsh.
Not to worry.
Small
electric
al
problem, that’s all.
Will be back on soon.
Everything
okay
now.
Everything fine.
Now back to sleep you go, ok
ay
?
Not to wake old ladies, yes?
Everything fine.”

But it was not fine, not fine at all.

The passageway was silent.
Whatever had awakened me was
gone
, and as I reached my door, the corridor lights came back on.
The lights in my cabin were working now, too.

Frustrated, I climbed back in
to
bed, my brain in turmoil, searching for
the
sense
of
all of this. The more I thought about it all, the more muddled it became.

I tried to read for a while, but the faces of
Jay, Ortiz and
the High Steppers danced across the pages.
Finally I turned
off
the light and just stared at the ceiling until morning.

The flower arranging class was in full swing when I entered the
Starlight Lounge
on Thursday morning.
Seated
at three long tables by the windows
,
a group
of High Steppers watch
ed
intently as the ship’s florist explained how to cut a rose under water to make it last longer in a floral arrangement.

I slipped into an empty chair between Hannah Weiss and Amy Wu.

“Good morning, Miss Marsh,” Hannah stage-whispered.
“We missed you at breakfast.
You should eat a good
breakfast.
A young girl like you can stand to put on a few pounds.
I had
Swedish
waffles this morning with cream and strawberries, and Ethel had prunes, of course, but then after that she had ...”

The florist, a very talented but high-strung Asian man from California
,
stopped speaking, put his hands on his slender hips, and stared at Hannah.

“Oops,” Hannah said, red-faced, “
s
orry.
I’ll be quiet now.
I’ll be good, I promise.
K
eep going. I won’t interrupt again.”

What a jerk
, I thought,
picking on poor little Hannah. How can he be so mean to a sweet old lady?

The hotshot designer opened another bundle of roses and resumed his demonstration of French hand-tied bouquets
.
I was no longer interested in anything
that guy
had to say.
I focused instead on my group, studying their faces, trying to piece together the puzzle that this trip had turned into, hoping to get my sadly diminished group back home safely.

Chill out
, Sidney
, I thought.
Brooke is right.
There’s really nothing you can do.
You can’t freak out over all this, or you’ll go nuts.
Relax.
If you’re going to find anything out, you’re going to have to stay calm.

The Daily Program
listed many
activities, as i
s
always
the case
on days at sea.
That means
more
work for the cruise and kitchen staff but
less
work for me.
On port days, it is just the opposite.

Then the dog and pony show is up to me and Jay.

I planned to chat purpose
fully
all day, all over the ship, to anyone and everyone, gathering whatever scraps of information I could piece together
to solve these murders.

Brooke had kindly offered to do the same
.
I knew I could trust her to be discreet.
She had gone to the perfume seminar to talk with the High Steppers there, and after that, she was going to hear what the bridge players had to say.

The florist finished with a flourish, holding a drawing for the arrangements that he had created during his demonstration.

“Oh, my goodness, I won!
I don’t believe it!
I never win anything!”
Ethel Goldstein was thrilled with her Gerber daisies.
“I’m taking these back to my cabin and heading straight for the casino!
This is my lucky day!”

Maxine Johnson also won.
The ladies clustered around her, admiring the lovely bouquet of pink roses
,
hand-tied with a
silk ribbon.

Maxine admired it, too, and then presented it to Hannah with a smile.
Esther Levy scurried to her cabin with her vase of bright yellow tulips.

The florist and his assistant began packing up as the catering staff set out coffee, tea, lemonade, and big trays covered with paper lace doilies and heaped with fancy cookies.

There was a thirty minute break between activities.
The next class to be held in the room would be a napkin folding demonstration put on by the dining room staff.

After
help
ing
myself to coffee and a generous serving of cookies
, I
joined the girls at a large round table in the corner.
They were gossiping about Sylvia and Abe Klein, who had apparently had a huge public spat in the disco after the midnight buffet.

“Abe was real
ly
drunk
. H
e jerked Sylvia off the dance floor where she was slow dancing with Pete Murphy, and then he yelled at her and called her a
slut
,” reported Marjorie Levy.

“Yeah,” said Hannah, stirring her coffee, “and then Murphy told Abe that he didn’t have any right to talk to Sylvia that way, even if she is his wife
.
Abe tried to swing at Murphy
, bu
t Murphy just stepped out of the way
.
Abe lost his balance and fell right on his keister, and everybody laughed.
Then
Sylvia started crying and ran out of the room
.”

“She
wasn’t upset about Abe
being mad at her
, see
,
”
said
Gertrude
,
barely
able to
conceal
her
delight. “
Sylvia
was upset because Abe said real loud
, ‘I
paid for those tits that
you are
shaking at everybody, and
I can
say anything
I
want
.
’
”

Annoyed with
Hannah and Gertrude
for butting in on her story, Marjorie
again
took up the narrative.
“Sylvia locked Abe out of their cabin and wouldn’t
let him in
for anything.
Abe beat on the door until the neighbors complained, and the little room steward ran and got the
hotel manager
and Jay Wilson
. T
hey took Abe
away
with them, and we don’t know what happened after that because nobody’s seen any of them at all this morning.”

“Well,” I
said
, “where was Mrs. Murphy during all of this?”

“Nobody knows,” Han
nah said, rolling her eyes. “She
wasn’t in the disco, that’s for sure, because old Pete was dirty dancing
then
with Sylvia.
He was squeezing her ass with both hands!”

“Hannah!”
Ethel protested
.

“Well, speak of the devil,” Esther said, “here comes Gladys, poor thing.
Hush, now, all of you. She’ll hear you.”

“Good morning, Gladys,” trilled Gertrude.
“Did you sleep well?
Where’s Pete?”

“Pete’s sleeping in,” Gladys answered.
“He’s all tired out after his big night at Tivoli Gardens.”

“I thought he might
be tired from all that dancing,” Gertrude needled, “
Did yo
u and Pete really
even
go to Tivoli?
You weren’t on the bus.
How did you get there?”

Gladys’ beefy face turned even redder and she bristled.

I rushed in to make peace.

“Of course they were at Tivoli, Gertrude, I saw them there myself with Dr. Sledge.
They must have t
aken a cab.
That’s how I got there.”

To Gladys, I said, “
Changing the subject, I meant to ask you about Dr. Sledge.
I didn’t realize that you and
he
were friends.”

Gladys, happy to be off Edith’s ho
ok, pointedly turned to face me,
keeping
her back to the others.
“W
ell, you see, Miss Marsh,” she s
tammered, “Dr. Sledge’s brother is, uh, my mother-in-law’s doctor.”

“Really?” I said.
“What an amazing coincidence!
Did you know our Dr. Sledge before the trip?”

“No, no,” she replied, “we just got to talking one day when we went to get some medicine for our daughter Muriel
.
Dr. Sledge said that he has a brother who is a doctor
,
too, in Tallahassee, Florida.
I said that my mother-in-law lives in Tallahassee, Florida, with my other daughter
,
Harriet Finkelstein
,
and her husband Bill
. O
ne thing led to another, and what do you know, we found out that Dr. Sledge’s brother is my mother-in-law’s doctor.
S
mall world, isn’t it?”

“It certainly is,” Gertrude
said
, “if Dr. Sledge’s brother really
is
your mother-in-law’s doctor.
It sounds pretty far-fetched to me.”

“Yeah,” said H
annah, “that’s real
confusing.”

“Well, he certainly
is
my mother’s doctor, Gertrude,” Gladys shot back, “and I know that for a fact, because I
called Mom from Copenhagen to double-check
.
S
he said he sure was, so there!”

Just then the assistant maitre d’ announced that the napkin-folding class would begin in five minutes.

He asked for a volunteer to help pass out the napkins and printed instructions
.
I rushed to assist
to avoid
referee
ing
a fight between Gertrude and Gladys.
When I had given everyone their materials, I waved goodbye to the girls and slipped out on deck for some fresh air.