Mask on the Cruise Ship (10 page)

The responsible thing would have been to adopt a stiff upper lip and shut down the Hotmail on Talbot's behalf.

I wiggled my upper lip. Nope, nothing stiff about it. Besides, I was hatching a scathingly cunning plan.

“Boo-wa-ha-ha,” I said, in imitation of an evil laugh. “A plan, Liesl the Weasel. And I'm going to carry it out.”

The fill-in woman caught the last part. “You can't carry that triple mocha out,” she said, peeved. “I put it in an
Empress
Marie
mug. No one told me this was a take-out order.”

Eyes welling with tears, Fill-In clip-clopped up to me in very high, very spindly heels. She was clutching a drawstring purse with a plump, smiling kitten embroidered on it. A skinny, miserable kitten, I thought unkindly, would have suited her personality far better.

“I don't have time to put the triple mocha in a Styrofoam cup for you,” Fill-In complained. “I'm due at the perfume boutique. Maybe you could hang in here till my relief arrives. He's late, as usual.”

She clip-clopped out. I hardly noticed. I was putting my creative powers to work. Sneer at Pantelli, would she! I'd show Liesl.

Hi Liesl,
I replied on Talbot's Hotmail.
Y'know what
I fancy? A girl with close-cropped hair. A short do that
doesn't compete with my own soulful lock tumbling down
my forehead.

I paused to giggle appreciatively at my wit, then continued:
Yup. A girl with close-cropped hair — well, I'd ask her
out to lunch at the Belgian fries place.

The Belgian fries place was just up the street from our school, on Commercial Drive. You could get fat, spicy wedge fries with all kinds of toppings. The ideal lunch. And perfect for a first date.

Hope you'll consider it,
I added.
Yours, Talbot.

“Boo-wa-ha-ha,” I said and pressed SEND.

From my own Hotmail account I sent a message to Pantelli detailing my little prank. There's nothing like sharing good entertainment with a friend.

Okay, so “good” was
probably not the word my principal, Ms. Chen, would use to describe what I'd just done.

My phony e-mail to Liesl could well end up in Ms. Chen's office, I reflected. Being a weasel, Liesl would immediately tattle on me when she figured out the message was phony.

It would be more
when
than
if
. Liesl was smart, in her weaselly way.

I might as well start practicing my apology now. I sauntered out to the deck. Fill-In's relief person, a cheerful guy with freckles, had assured me I could drink my triple mocha outside the café,
Empress
mug or not. I intended to empty the mocha over the side. I was still too stuffed to want it.

There was nobody around. I opened my mouth to begin practicing — when Fill-In's whiny voice floated to me.

“Can you believe it? My relief person wasn't even there. And I was waiting.”

Fill-In must be on the deck above me. The
Empress
Marie
had several layers of decks, each one wider than the one above. Like a pile of scalloped potatoes, you might say.

Somebody else, another
Empress Marie
staff member, murmured in sympathy.

“I was so irritated,” Fill-In complained.

Irritated …
I paused, my hand above the railing, ready to pour out the now-tepid triple mocha. A chunk of frozen memory was thawing.

I'd been looking through the binoculars at the Mendenhall Glacier Visitors' Center — and I'd seen someone wearing an irritated, baleful expression. Someone who otherwise didn't appear that way at all.

But who, and why? That part of my memory hadn't thawed yet.

“I should find a job somewhere else,” Fill-In was sniffling. “Someplace where I'm appreciated.”

Realizing it was about time for me to go meet Jack, I tipped the mug.

“Someplace where people don't rain on my parade!”

Splattering sounds and “AAGGGHHH!” screamed Fill-In.

Uh-oh. I'd assumed I was on the lowest deck and she was on the one above. Apparently I'd got that reversed.

“WHO DID THAT?!”

I sped off to change for swimming.

Chapter 12
Lavinia makes like a clam

I
arrived at the pool still clutching the mug. In my hurry to get far, far away from Fill-In, I'd forgotten to return it.

Jack reached into his pocket, found a quarter and dropped it in the mug. “Isn't Trotter paying you enough for crooning?” he inquired.

“I'm not laughing at any of your jokes today,” I told him disapprovingly. “Not after last night. I just can't believe you want to get married!”

A tanned, middle-aged woman was easing herself into the nearby hot tub. Hearing my words, she glanced from me to Jack, startled. I didn't pay much attention. I was too indignant.

Jack, whose back was to the woman, gave my chin a friendly pinch. “Well, you know my feelings, Dinah. Is it so bad to express how I feel?”

The tanned woman's mouth dropped. I hardly noticed; I was thinking of Madge, not even graduated from high school yet. Okay, so she had less than six weeks to go. The whole idea of Jack stealing my sister away from Mother, Wilfred and me was outrageous. “It's way too soon,” I objected.

Jack looked thoughtful. “Maybe you're right. Maybe in a year?” he asked hopefully.

Frozen, the tanned woman mouthed disbelievingly, “A year?”

I glared back at her. Who'd she think she was, eavesdropping on us?
I
was entitled to be upset about the idea of Jack and Madge getting married. It was none of
her
business.

I was so annoyed that I forgot to be squeamish about the water. Setting the
Empress Marie
mug on a patio table, I sat down at pool's edge — at the shallow end, natch — plugged my nose and slipped in.

When I emerged, blowing bubbles furiously the way Jack had instructed, he was regarding me with bemusement.

“Do you want me to take your glasses for you?” he asked kindly.

I did, but I wasn't going to admit it. Not after his behavior.

“I prefer to swim with them on,” I said.

Okay, so this wasn't logical. In a small, petty way it was satisfying.

“Uh … all right. Anyhow, before I teach you how to tread water, I just want you to know I'm sorry if I, y'know, alarmed you last night. With the talk about marriage and everything.”

I shook my head to try to get the drops off my glasses. I saw that the tanned woman had stepped out of the hot tub and was approaching Jack. I squinted. Her face was contorted with rage. I wondered, What are Jack and Madge's plans to her?

“We'll talk about marriage when I'm thirteen,” I told Jack. After all, I thought, my thirteenth birthday was
months
away. An eternity.

The woman stopped behind Jack. She was clenching and unclenching her fists. “Thirteen!” she mouthed.

What was
with
her? However, I then got distracted by the sight of Mr. Trotter, tiptoeing carefully along the pool's edge in a pair of blue-and-white canvas shoes, with matching white pants and a shirt set off by a blue scarf tucked in at the neck.

I forgot about the enraged tanned woman — for the moment.

Mr. Trotter was carrying an
Empress
mug, from which he took a long, delicious slurp before setting it down by mine on the patio table.

I sniffed the scent that was wafting from the mug. I was always interested in what other people were eating and drinking. “Lemon,” I said. “Lemon tea?”

The program director was vaguely annoyed. “Yes, Miss Galloway. But I've come to tell you — ”

“You should order a whipped-cream mocha next time,” I advised. “And from the fill-in woman. Her morale's kind of low right now.” I rested my arms on the edge of the pool and smiled up at him. Time to repair our relationship, I felt. And what better way than to be helpful?

“I can't order anything with whipped cream,” Mr. Trotter snapped. He patted his mustache delicately. “It makes these soggy. I have to drag out the wax again, and — oh, I don't want to get into it.”

He reached for his mug. Or what he thought was his mug. Picking mine up by mistake, he took a long swig — and ended up spitting out the quarter. “WHO PUT THIS HERE?” he shouted, red-faced.

Jack and I assumed blank expressions. Mr. Trotter wiped his hand against his mouth and continued: “What I was trying to tell you is that there's to be no more talk about Gooseberry Eyes. You're frightening the passengers. There's a rumor circulating about the ship that you,” he thrust his mug in my direction, “suspect the mask thief of being the same person who knocked Miss O'Herlihy down at the cruise terminal. And who shoved you in Mendenhall Lake. Yes?”

“
Yes
,” I said.

“NO!” Mr. Trotter took a long slurp of his tea to calm himself. “We can't have
Empress Marie
passengers thinking a crazed stalker is following the ship hundreds of miles from Vancouver to Alaska. I need you to STOP with the theories already, young lady. It's one thing after another with you!”

“She's just a kid,” Jack defended me.

Mr. Trotter's mustache curls trembled. “I was a kid once myself,” he huffed. “
I
never caused trouble. I was a devoted son.” He scowled from me to Jack as if daring us to argue with him.

Jack winked at me teasingly. “I intend to be a devoted son-
in-law
one day, provided a certain young lady will have me.”

“THAT DOES IT!” the tanned middle-aged woman burst out. Raising her arms Frankenstein-style, she stalked toward Jack. “CRADLE-ROBBER!”

And with a
whoomph!
, she pushed him in the pool.

A mini-tidal wave shot up, drenching Mr. Trotter yet again.

After my lesson, I
walked along the deck outside the pool. Laying my palms flat on the air in front of me, I made circles with my arms, very pleased with myself. I'd actually treaded water! Hadn't sunk!

Well, aside from that one time I'd started laughing at the memory of Jack being shoved in the pool. I'd gone under then.

After thinking about it, Jack said the tanned woman must've somehow misinterpreted what we were talking about. Myself, I just thought she should go for therapy. I mean, pushing people into pools! Aggressive or what?

I continued making circles. I couldn't believe it. I, Dinah Galloway, infamous water coward, had swum!

I passed a large room filled with people gesturing just like I was, only more so. They were raising their arms high, and even lifting one leg and then the other.

A banner across the far wall read MEDITATION EXERCISES. Harp music was playing in the background.

“Huh,” I commented. Not really my type of thing.

I would've moved on, but then I noticed Lavinia O'Herlihy in the room. Great! I'd been wanting to talk to her.

If wiggling your arms and legs around was all there was to this meditation exercise stuff, I could easily blend in.

Lavinia had her eyes closed. There was a rapt expression on her face.

I sidled over to her, flailed my arms and asked, “When you were on the day trip to Juneau, did you see Gooseberry Eyes again?”

She popped her eyes open. “What? Gooseberry — no, no, I didn't.”

I noticed then that the other people were exercising very slowly, floating a hand or foot this way and then that. No
oomph
in what they were doing — hardly exercising at all, in my opinion.

The class wasn't even trying. To show that I, at least, was serious about physical fitness, I hopped from one foot to the other,
stomp, stomp, stomp!
, as well as vigorously windmilling my arms.

“Lavinia, you've got to speak to Captain Heidgarten. Tell him Gooseberry Eyes crashed into you at the cruise ship terminal. Mr. Trotter thinks I'm just causing trouble by talking about Gooseberry Eyes. But the same guy tried to break into my house, I'm sure of it,” I puffed, starting to get out of breath.

Lavinia dropped her arms, which she'd been holding up in an arc shape, and glared at me. “The Captain did ask me about that, Dinah Galloway. Most embarrassing it was, too — right in the middle of a bingo game! Dreadful, being stopped and questioned, with everyone listening in.” Lavinia drew a deep breath through her nose and scowled at me down the length of it, as if I smelled. “A lady, Dinah Galloway, does not become involved in notoriety!”

I had no idea what notoriety was. Maybe some other game the ship was offering? “But you're involved in bingo,” I pointed out.

Lavinia screamed, “THERE WAS NO GOOSE-BERRY EYES! I NEVER SAW HIM! NOW LEAVE ME ALONE!”

The room, not surprisingly, had gone silent. The instructor strode up to me. “You may be the
Empress
's singing sensation,” she snapped, flicking her long, blond hair back so angrily that a couple of her students had to duck. “I guess that gives you a giant ego as well as a giant voice.
Fine
.” The instructor turned a blazing pink. “But it does not give you license to intrude on my class and mock us — by
gyrating
.”

“Gyrating!” I put down my arms, which, absentmindedly, I'd been continuing to flail about. “Well, that's nice. After I've been trying to set a good example.”

She marched me out of the room.

I stood outside,
doing some meditating of my own. Another chunk of yesterday's icy memory was thawing.

Just now, Lavinia had been pretty mad at me. I realized I'd glimpsed her fury once before. Through binoculars, yesterday afternoon.
She'd
been the person stomping around the Visitors' Center looking irritated and baleful.

What had Lavinia been so upset about?

And today she'd denied Gooseberry Eyes had bumped into her at the cruise ship terminal.

Why was Lavinia suddenly so reluctant to talk?