Killer Knots (6 page)

Once they reached the downtown area, the sun had dissipated the clouds. Heat reflected off the pavement, intensifying the odor of exhaust fumes and garbage overflowing from a nearby can. A gentle sea breeze stirred the hairs on Marla’s arm and freshened the air.

Checking her watch, she realized they’d better hurry to do their shopping. John excused himself to return to the ship, while the rest of them scooted toward the recommended shops.

“Daddy, can we go in here? They have Reef sandals,” Brianna said, darting into a store along Calle de la Tanca.

Marla strolled in after her, browsing the souvenirs, opal inlay jewelry, beachwear, and T-shirts. Vail studied the Bacardi rum selections, while Kate checked the blackboard with lucky cabin numbers to see if any of them had won a tanzanite pendant.

“Today isn’t our lucky day, at least not in this place,” Brianna’s grandmother said, eyes twinkling. “Where to? You and Dalton could shop for wedding rings at A Touch of Gold,” she told Marla in a bright tone.

“That’s okay,” Marla said, backing toward the exit. Time to go, before Kate showered her with any more nuptial tips.

“I’ll take these,” Brianna said, dumping a decorated shirt, sun visor, souvenir shot glass, and sandals on the counter.

Vail gave Marla a bemused glance as he pulled out his wallet. “It’s a good thing we didn’t spend all day shopping,” he remarked.

“Oh yeah? Wait until tomorrow, when we’re in St. Thomas,” Marla said, with a grin.

Outside, they headed uphill, past a shop selling Tommy Bahama clothing, a Payless ShoeSource, and the San Juan Fitness Club. Veering around a red motorcyle parked at the curb, they reached Galle Fortaleza. Families with strollers, tourists, and pigeons competed for the right-of-way against noisy buses, motorcyles, and older-model cars.

Pausing at a shady square on Calle de Cristo, Marla consulted her map. A woman slept on a nearby bench, close to where a street worker collected trash. Plants in large ceramic pots lined the cobblestone street. A horse and carriage trotted past, carting a young couple on a romantic ride.

“Let’s go in here,” Marla said, indicating a jewelry store a few doors away from the Coach outlet. “They offer free pina coladas. I’m dying for a drink.”

“Oh, good, I can look for ankle bracelets,” Brianna cried, rushing inside.

“Look who’s there,” Vail said after he’d entered. “The guy from our dinner table.”

Marla spotted Thurston Stark examining a selection of watches. “I’m going to talk to him. Kate, will you see if you can find what Brie wants?” While Vail meandered off with a bored expression, she approached the museum foundation chairman.

“Hi, Thurston. Getting any good buys? Where’s Heidi?”

He gave her a friendly smile. “Hello, Marla. I see you brought the whole family shopping with you. Heidi is in the back looking at the sale items. If you’re heading there, please tell her to come up front, will you? I’d like her to see this necklace. It’s not as though we can’t afford the good stuff. Har har.”

Marla gave him a sharp glance. His chuckle had an insincere ring. Had there been an inkling of truth in his statement?

A gleam of gold caught her eye, and she wandered to a display case. Maybe she could find a new pair of earrings for work. Nothing exciting jumped out at her, so she made her way toward the rear, stopping to admire a collection of Caribbean hook bracelets. Too expensive in gold. Would Brianna like one of them in silver as a gift?

As she rounded the corner, she halted.
Good Lord
. Heidi Stark had her arms around Cliff Peters. The museum’s security guard appeared to be giving Thurston’s wife more than a sociable greeting. Marla cleared her throat before they heard her and sprang apart.

“Oh, hi, Marla,” Heidi said, with a nervous giggle. “We were just, um, saying hello.”

Cliff gave Marla a two-fingered salute. “Heidi was telling me how bad she felt about, uh, leaving her terriers at the kennel. Poor baby.”

Marla didn’t buy their act. “Your husband needs you,” she told Heidi in a cool tone. The woman wore a black tank top with turquoise shorts. Around her neck, she sported enough gold chains to open a store branch.

“I’ll just, like, mosey on along then,” Heidi replied in her girlish tone.

“Here you are,” Thurston’s voice boomed after she’d joined him. Marla had followed her, uncomfortable at being left alone in Cliff’s hulking presence. She noticed Heidi stroke a teasing finger down Thurston’s jaw. Expanding his chest, he gazed at her adoringly. “I’ve found the perfect necklace to go with that red dress you bought recently. The rubies aren’t too small, are they, baby?”

“Oh no, dearest. They’re totally amazing.” When he turned to the display case, Heidi aimed a scorching glance at Cliff and jerked her thumb at him. The security guard took the hint and slunk toward the exit.

Vail approached, handing Marla a cup with a frosty cream concoction. “Be careful, it’s really cold,” he said, but she’d already taken a sip. The liquid froze her throat so she couldn’t speak.

“Marla, come here,” Brianna called. “I like these two ankle bracelets, but I can’t decide. They would look great together,” she said hopefully, while Vail snorted.

“Let me see.” Swallowing, Marla examined the selections. “This one’s too thin. It might break easily. I’d say this other choice is your better bet.”

“Okay.” The teen shrugged, her ponytail swinging. “See, Grandma, I told you she’d like that one the best. Can we look at rings next?”

“Not here,” Vail barked, pulling out his credit card. “Go see what stores are down the street. I’ll meet you.”

“Did you find any earrings you liked?” Kate asked, tapping Marla’s arm as they emerged onto the street.

“Not yet. I think the shopping will be better tomorrow.”

Marla picked her way along the uneven pavement, passing stores selling amber jewelry, discount perfumes, native handicrafts, and liquor. Halting to wait for Vail, she nearly ran smack into Oliver Smernoff. The man took a moment to recognize her.

“Marla, how ya doing? Find any bargains?” The museum director gave Brianna an oblique glance. “I don’t see you ladies holding too many shopping bags.”

“Dalton has them; he’s just behind us,” Marla explained as Kate slipped into a linen shop. “This is his daughter, Brianna. She is staying with her grandparents on the ship. They’re the people Dalton and I were supposed to sit with at dinner. Where’s your wife?”

Oliver grimaced. “Irene went back to the
Tropical Sun
after our tour. She always has trouble walking. It’s those damn heels she wears. Totally impractical.”

“Oh, how was the rum distillery?”

“Interesting, but I don’t care for lectures. I should have brought my iPod.” He hummed a little tune for emphasis.

“We went to the rain forest. It was beautiful but a long ride. At least we got to see some of the terrain along the way.”

“I wonder what Thurston did,” Oliver mused, shading his face with his hand. “He and Heidi have been to San Juan before.”

“We ran into the Starks at a jewelry store.”

“No kidding? I’ll bet the old man couldn’t resist buying Heidi another bauble.” He waggled his eyebrows. “Like she doesn’t have enough already, you know? I shouldn’t criticize him, though. He dotes on that gal, and he’s mighty generous when it comes to the museum. Thurston is one of our biggest contributors. His name makes the platinum circle every year.” He squinted. “Oh look, there’s Martha.”

Marla spied the gift shop lady across the street. Waving, Martha Shore hurried over to join them. “Hi, guys. Olly, I’m glad I caught you. We need to talk.”

His gaze darkened. “What about, Martha? I don’t want to drag past events into my vacation.”

“It’s not about that. You need to keep an eye on Bob Wolfson when we’re in Grand Cayman. Here’s why.” She drew him away, out of Marla’s earshot.

“Darn, I’d like to hear what they’re saying,” she told Brianna, at her side.

“Who cares? I’m hungry. Can we go back to the ship?”

“As soon as your father joins us. What could be taking him so long?” Scanning the street, she noted Kent Harwood veering toward Martha and Oliver, who remained huddled together in low conversation.

“Let’s go look in the window of that hammock store,” Marla suggested to Brianna. “Maybe we should get one for the backyard at our new house. We could string it between the orange trees.”

“Cool.” Buying her excuse, Brianna accompanied her until they paused a few feet away from Kent’s broad backside.

“Find any good buys for the museum gift shop?” Kent was saying to Martha. Oliver didn’t look very happy. His shoulders hunched, and he had a glowering expression on his face.

“Nothing I can’t get at the gift shows back home,” Martha replied. “Have you been shopping?”

“Well now, I’m looking for lots of things, but you won’t find many of them in the stores here. Take those Brighton belts you have in the museum store, for example. I might want to buy one as a gift, but how would I know if you have the item in stock?” Pulling a toothpick from his pocket, he stuck it in his mouth.

Martha’s brow wrinkled. “You can ask. If we don’t have it, I could order the item from a catalog, or you could take the sample from the shelf.”

“How often do you do inventory?”

“Once a week.”

“Which day?”

“I don’t see why it concerns you, Kent. Have you been following me?” Martha fingered her earring.

“Nah, what gives you that idea? Hi ya, Mr. Smernoff. Hope you’re having a good time. Never cared much for San Juan myself.”

He sauntered off, leaving them staring after him.

Marla glanced at Brianna. Why would the mold inspector be interested in the museum’s gift shop inventory? It made no sense for him to care about Martha Shore’s routine.

Unless…he was inspecting for more than mold.

What do you mean, Martha is missing?” Marla asked Helen Bryce at the on board art auction Monday night.

“We’re sharing a cabin together, and we went shopping this afternoon,” Helen replied. “We got separated when I wanted to go back to the ship, and Martha said she had something else to do. When she didn’t show up for dinner, I thought she must have grabbed a quick bite at the Outrigger Cafe.” Brushing aside a strand of auburn hair, she slumped into the seat beside Marla.

“We were late in sailing,” Marla offered. “Your roommate had plenty of time to get back on board. Did you check all the public lounges?”

The museum’s head docent, wearing an attractive moss green silk blouse with black slacks, clutched her handbag. “Security paged me. They said she didn’t make it back from Puerto Rico, and the captain had to sail without her. I spoke to someone in Guest Relations who filled out a report about her last-known whereabouts. I can’t imagine what happened to her.”

“What will she do if she’s stuck in San Juan?”

Helen shrugged. “Get a flight to our next port perhaps. She left her stuff on board. I searched all over the ship, but there’s no sign of her, and then I was in a rush to get here.”

“Tell me about it. I got this invitation for free raffle tickets on my door again, and I didn’t even look at it until the waiters were marching around singing “Finicule Finicula” in the dining room.

The note is addressed to Martha, like the last time. I expected to see her here anyway.”

Deserted by Brianna and Vail, who’d strolled off to browse the photo gallery, and Kate and John, who were listening to music in Deadeye Dick’s Pub, Marla had attended the auction alone.

“More champagne, madam?” said the bar attendant, poising a bottle over her glass.

Marla rubbed her stomach. “No, thanks, I’m too stuffed from dinner.” This had been Italian night, and she’d overindulged with a salad of sliced mozzarella and tomatoes, veal scallopini, angel hair pasta, and tiramisu for dessert.

“What should I do about Martha?” Helen asked. “I’ve spoken to the others in our group, and no one has any news.”

“If you wait until the auction is finished, I’ll go with you to Guest Relations. Their security team must have notified the authorities in San Juan.”

Eric Rand donned his microphone headset while his assistant plunked a canvas onto an easel facing the audience. As before, the Smernoffs, Starks, and Wolfsons sat in the front. Betsy hustled into a far corner, giving Marla a little wave. She took a seat next to Brooklyn Jones. The others from the museum, Kent Harwood and Cliff Peters, sat separately.

“Hello, folks. For those of you who haven’t been here before, my name is Eric Rand, and I’m your auctioneer. If you see an item that interests you, please raise your bidding card. My lovely assistant up here will write down the winning numbers. You can make an appointment to return for delivery arrangements when you hand in your cards at the end.”

He pointed to the first piece. “Here we have a Muhammad Ali signed photograph. Photos of this size on the sports memorabilia market are exceedingly rare. Gallery price is five thousand four hundred dollars. Do I have an opening bid for twenty-two-fifty? There you go, sir. Twenty-three hundred? Right on. Who wants it for twenty-three-fifty?” He scanned the audience. “No one? Are we done? Going once, going twice, third and final warning, sold for twenty-three-hundred dollars! Whoo-hoo!”

One assistant took that item away as another young man in a logo shirt positioned a brightly colored painting on the easel.

“Look at this Peter Max, folks. Max is the living Picasso, with the hottest collectible art on the planet today.”

Marla squinted at the picture. It looked like a sailboat on the ocean with a red sunset, but the lines seemed blurry to her vision. She gripped her bidding card but didn’t raise it.

“…It’s gonna go once, it’s going twice. Third and final warning. Sold for fifty-seven-hundred dollars! Whoo-hoo!”

She tuned out while more modern works, additional keepsakes from sports stars, and Betty Boop pictures revolved in quick succession.

“And now we have one of our mystery suites,” Eric said, while his assistants added a couple of more easels to display three pieces of art facing away from the audience.

Marla jerked upright as Helen gasped beside her. “Those could be Alden Tusk’s triptych,” the head docent rasped, her sea green eyes wide as she stared forward.

Eric tugged on his yellow and gray bow tie. “Listen up, folks. First come, first served for our set of mystery pictures tonight. Gallery price puts these at five thousand dollars apiece. Who wants to give an opening bid for twenty-seven-seventy-five each? Use your collector’s card, folks, and don’t pay anything for thirteen months. Put our money to work for you.”

Thurston Stark’s hand shot up, and so did Oliver Smernoff’s. Through the forest of raised bidding cards, Marla also saw Kent Harwood’s number. Out of curiosity, she raised her own. Judging by the numbers being vigorously copied down by the assistant, the mystery items were more popular than the regular auction items.

At each incremental price, many hands went down, but the people from the museum kept in the race. Thurston, red faced, bounced in his seat, while Oliver clenched his teeth and looked like he’d swallowed his tongue. Kent, a wolfish expression in his eyes, grinned every time the bid increased.

Marla saw Irene lean sideways and mumble something into Oliver’s ear. Scowling, he snapped something back at his wife and then returned his attention to the auctioneer. His jaw slackened when the gavel came down.

“…Sold for a total of ninety-nine-hundred dollars. Whoo-hoo!” Rand cheered, pumping his fist.

Oliver aimed a poisonous glance at his rival bidder. Thurston shrugged, raising his hands, but he appeared pleased. Heidi elbowed him, adjusting her legs for maximum exposure. The museum’s foundation chair responded by kissing her cheek.

Yuck
, Marla thought.
He’s old enough to be her father, and he treats her like a newlywed. Maybe he holds stock in Viagra
.

While the audience collectively held their breath, the auctioneer’s assistant turned the pictures around. “Look at this fantastic collection by Tarkay, a true mover and shaker of modern art, folks,” Eric said, gesturing at the watercolor portraits of ladies in conversational groupings.

Thurston slouched forward, hanging his head, while a look of triumphant relief settled over Oliver’s complexion. Marla twisted forward to view Kent Harwood, who was smirking at them both.

“Tarkay is one of the top-ranking artists in today’s world,” continued Eric, pacing back and forth. “We’re a direct source for his fabulous works of art, and we’ll have more than forty original pieces for sale during our cruise.”

Feeling a wave of fatigue, Marla sagged in her seat while numerous other works were moved forward. Another mystery item brought forth an enthusiastic response, but since it was only one piece, her dinner table mates made a lukewarm effort to win the bid. When the gavel came down on the last item, Marla stretched to her feet.

“I’ll go to Guest Relations with you to ask about Martha,” she said to Helen. “Then I’m supposed to meet Dalton. You’re welcome to join us in the Starlight Lounge for a drink.”

Twisting an emerald ring on her right hand, Helen cast her a grateful glance. “Thanks, but I’d better check our cabin again to see if I have any phone messages, and then I thought I’d go online. Martha could always contact me by e-mail.”

Marla smiled reassuringly. “She’ll turn up, even if she has to take a plane home.”

“And leave her luggage here? Doubtful.”

Marla didn’t care to think about the implications of the museum’s gift shop manager being missing for more nefarious reasons than just getting caught up in shopping. Remembering the creepy look one of the men on shore had given Brianna, she shuddered. That wasn’t a place where she’d want to be left behind. “Let me know what you find out, will you?”

“Okey dokey.” Helen rose reluctantly, as though unsure what to do first.

“Let’s get in line,” Marla said, gesturing toward the registration desk where people waited to hand in their bidding cards. She exchanged her card for a free seriolithograph.

“Isn’t this lovely?” Helen said, pulling her eight-by-ten picture from the envelope. The colorful tropical scene, red beach chairs in front of a cabana overlooking a harbor with sailboats, was a work by Fanch Ledan called
Volets Caraibes
.

“It’ll look nice on one of the walls in our new house,” Marla said, pleased with her acquisition. They’d all received the same signed picture, albeit with different numbers in the limited series.

Helen pointed to Marla’s diamond engagement ring. “Are you getting married soon?”

“We haven’t set a date. I’m a little nervous about taking the plunge for a second time.”

A sad expression crossed Helen’s face. “I can relate. For a long time, I wasn’t ready to date anyone else.”

“Are you divorced?”

“Widowed. Bill had heart disease.”

“I’m sorry.” They moved toward the exit, proceeding down the foyer steps and into the corridor. “Did your husband support the art museum when he was alive?”

“Sure, that’s how I got involved with the docent program. I love learning about art and wish I had the money for my own collection, but I have to be grateful Bill left me enough so I don’t have to work. My volunteer activities keep me quite busy.” She brushed a speck of lint off her slacks.

“Where were you—” Marla began, intending to ask about the night Alden Tusk died, but just then Helen spotted the Wolfsons.

“Excuse me,” Helen interrupted, “but there’s Bob. Maybe he’ll come along to my cabin to see if I have any messages.”

Hey, what about me? I offered to go to the purser’s desk with you
. Watching her scurry away, Marla wondered why Helen would even approach the museum manager to accompany her. But when she saw the woman’s body language, another message came through loud and clear. Bob’s wife figured it out, because Sandy snatched his elbow and propelled him away.

And to think I felt sorry for you
, Marla said silently to Helen’s retreating back.
You’re nothing more than a man-eater disguised as a lonely widow. Keep away from my guy, lady
.

“Hey, Marla,” Betsy said, poking her. “I guess none of us won the raffle again, huh?”

“Nope. Some lucky devil walked off with three thousand dollars’ worth of art. Oh well, there’s always tomorrow night. I could’ve plotzed when they brought out those three mystery pictures. Didn’t you think they might be Alden’s?”

“Too bad they weren’t. Eric is keeping us in suspense.” Betsy fell into step beside her.

They descended the central stairs to deck five. Maybe Dalton and Brianna would be on the promenade. Glancing around, Marla sniffed beer fumes coming from the pub but didn’t spot Kate or John inside. Nor were any members from her party in the Cargo Cafe, shops, champagne bar, or Sailaway Lounge.

“I think Oliver was mad that he lost the bid,” Betsy said. “Irene spoke to him at the last minute, and so he wasn’t paying attention when Eric called the final number.”

Marla gave her companion a curious glance. “Speaking of Oliver, I saw him in town today talking to Martha Shore. Kent was there, too. Now Helen is concerned because no one has seen Martha since the ship cast off. Apparently, she was left behind, and we sailed without her.”

Betsy’s eyes widened. “No shit? Poor gal. I wonder what she’ll do. Man, I wouldn’t want to be stranded in that port.”

“Me neither. I’m hoping she’ll catch up with us in St. Thomas tomorrow if she can get a flight.”

“You said it. I can see why Helen is worried.”

Marla hoped to get voice mail from Helen later on saying the gift shop manager had turned up safe and sound on the island, but by the time she located Vail, enjoyed a drink with him in the fourteenth-floor lounge, and returned to their cabin, no one had left a message.

“Do you think I should give Helen a call?” Marla asked Vail, as she removed her necklace. “She might have heard from Martha via e-mail.”

“It’s late. I wouldn’t bother her until morning.” His gaze darkening, Vail watched her slip out of her dress. “In the meantime, I can think of a way to put your mind at ease.”

“Oh, really?” Stepping closer, she stroked his chest with her finger while the air-conditioning cooled her underwear-clad body. “Show me.”

Ding dong, ding dong
. “Good morning, ladies and gentlemen, and welcome to St. Thomas. This is the captain from the bridge….”

Marla threw her mascara wand on the bathroom vanity when a knock sounded on their door. Feeling rushed because they’d woken late, she’d been hurrying to pack her bag for the day and put some finishing touches on her makeup. She heard Vail, who’d opened the door, greet someone in the hallway.

“Marla,” he called, “there’s an officer here asking us about Martha Shore.”

She reacted to his business like tone by scurrying out. A white uniformed man with a crew cut and clipboard stood there. He had a lean build, blond hair, and cold blue eyes.

“So sorry to disturb you when you’re getting ready to debark, but I have to ask a few questions. Mrs. Helen Bryce has filed a missing person report on her roommate, who failed to return to the ship yesterday before we sailed.”

“Are you with Security?” Marla asked, her heart sinking. This meant Martha must still be out of touch with everyone.

“I’m Carl Jenkins from Guest Relations. Our manager has put me in charge of this investigation.” Wearing an earnest expression, he consulted his paper. “I have here that Ms. Shore was last seen shopping in San Juan by yourself, Kent Harwood, and Oliver Smernoff. Is this correct?”

Marla gestured for him to enter, and then she sank down on the sofa. She noticed how Dalton shook his head in resignation.
Hey, don’t blame me. At least this isn’t another murder…yet.

“Dalton’s daughter was with me,” she told the officer before addressing Vail. “Did you see us talking to Martha and Oliver?”

Pacing, Vail crossed his arms in front of his chest. “I was stuck in the jewelry store. By the time I came outside, you and Brie were down the street at the Guess outlet.”