Mystral Murder (Julie O'Hara Mystery Series) (3 page)

Julie looked up in awe at a massive chandelier that was suspended high in the center of the room. Ahead of them and directly beneath it was a circular table for twelve. Three ship’s officers in their white uniforms - two men and a woman - stood behind their chairs on the far side, smiling and awaiting their guests. Julie recognized Captain Collier as the tall one in the middle. He was tanned and fit, with dark hair going gray at the temples and a trim mustache and beard.

He wears the commander’s mantle well
.

Although she hadn’t met Andrew Collier, she knew quite a bit about him, having looked him up while in the ship’s Internet Café. The article said he was “fifty-five, a superb raconteur, having travelled all over the world, and one of the most personable cruise ship captains plying the seas for HCL.”

That was nice, but recent news of a smaller ship running aground and tipping over in the Mediterranean was fresh in Julie’s mind. She was relieved to note that Captain Collier also had “extensive maritime training and many years of experience”…especially since he was in charge of this floating city she was presently visiting instead of Paris.

“How do you do, Ms. O’Hara?” he said, extending his hand. “It’s a pleasure to have you aboard.”

“I couldn’t be better, Captain Collier. Thank you for inviting us.”

He immediately turned to Joe and shook his hand as well. “Mr. Garrett, I believe? Welcome aboard. Are you enjoying your cruise?”

“You bet I am!” Joe said, a little loud. “This is some ship. How many tons is she?”

“One hundred-sixty-thousand, Joe, and
she’s longer than the Eiffel Tower.”

“Wow!”

“Indeed,” the Captain said, smiling.  He turned toward the Byrnes and their friends. “Hello, Gill, Cathy. Good evening, Adrienne, Dale. It’s nice to see you again. Please, have a seat, all of you. Make yourselves comfortable while I welcome our other guests.” With that, he quickly moved around the table to greet an older couple on the other side.

Place cards were set all around and they took their seats. Joe and Julie, then Cathy and Gill were to the Captain’s right after a ship’s officer. To his left, after the female officer, the Captain had placed the older couple and beyond them Adrienne and Dale. Directly across from the Captain sat Jonathan Reece, the writer from
Conde Nast Traveler magazine. He was young, black and British. Julie smiled, acknowledging him, and he sketched a little wave at her and Joe.

Waiters with short, pale blue jackets began to pour either a fine Cabernet or Chardonnay for each diner. So unobtrusive was the service that dinner rolls, hot from the oven, and artfully done appetizers seemed to appear like magic: bacon-wrapped scallops with thin sliced salmon and caviar,
bruschetta with feta cheese and fresh basil, colorful crudité with dip.

Cathy whispered, “Those folks are celebrating a special occasion,” nodding toward the older couple chatting with the Captain and the female officer. “They were chosen at random. He seats them close. I think he wants to make sure they’re included in the conversation.
Such a wonderful host.”

So I’ve read
, Julie thought.

Apparently Adrienne and her strapping, sandy-haired companion knew the seating drill, too. They had immediately found their seats. Now, leaning across the table, she said, “Julie, Joe, I’d like you to meet my husband, Dale.”

“Dale Simpson,” Joe said, wide-eyed. “Of the Tampa Bay Rays!”

“Hi, nice to meet you. Yeah, that’s me.  I retired a while ago, though. I work with Adrienne at the agency.”

“Nice to meet you,” Julie said, thinking,
how long ago could it have been? He doesn’t look more than thirty. Certainly younger than her. You’d think she would have used his last name. She diminished him and his baseball career. He’s Mr. Paradis now.

“Hey, great to meet you, man,” Joe said. “I’m a Floridian, born and bred. The Rays are my team! I was so damn excited when y
a’ll won the pennant in 2008. Think they’re going to do it this year?”

Y
a’ll?
What alter-ego was Joe slipping into?
He sounded like an awestruck southern college kid who’d never been out of Florida.  And then it dawned on Julie that the last time Joe had a drink, that’s who he was.

Joe and Dale did their baseball-bonding for a few minutes until Captain Collier tapped his glass.

“Well, good evening everyone and welcome. I’m so glad to have all of you as my guests tonight. May I introduce our officers? I’m sure most of you know Dr. Michelle Sinclair, our Principal Medical Officer.”

The
tall woman in the white dress uniform seated to his left smiled and said, “Good evening,” to everyone around the table. She was naturally beautiful, with a light olive complexion and the kind of teeth movie stars pay for.

Forty, perhaps
, thought Julie, noticing a few strands of silver in her hair and some laugh-lines about her hazel eyes. 

The Captain continued his introductions.  “And on my right, this is our Ship’s Hotel Manager, Bob Sanchez. He’s the fellow behind the scenes who takes care of the cabins, the public rooms and our dining room service, too. That’s a big job and no one could do it better.”

The somewhat portly officer had a ring of brown hair and a bald pate. He smiled and said, “Welcome aboard, everyone. If you ever need any assistance, please give me a call.”

He blushed.  Shy? Not likely,
Julie thought
. This guy might look like Friar Tuck in a white uniform, but he’s the boss in his domain. The flush is more likely due to his weight.

“Next to Dr. Sinclair, may I present Phil and Alice Kent, who are celebrating their
fiftieth
anniversary,” the Captain said, leading a round of applause.

“A toast,” he said, raising his glass, everyone following suit. “To Alice and Phil, may tonight be full of happiness and laughter, and all your tomorrows happy ever after.”

The Kents smiled and thanked everyone.

Julie was smiling and thinking,
nice couple, Northerners,
when Captain Collier suddenly turned the spotlight on her. “I’m sure you know our body language expert, Julie O’Hara, and the gentleman at her side is Joe Garrett. Did any of you attend Ms. O’Hara’s fascinating seminar?”

Cathy and Adrienne both said they did, and how much they’d enjoyed it. Then Alice Kent chimed in.

“Oh, Ms. O’Hara, I’m such a fan! I saw you on The View. Phil and I loved your seminar and we bought
Clues
, but we forgot to get you to sign it.” With that, she pulled the book out of her purse. “I hope you don’t mind; I brought it with me.” She looked across the broad table laden with food and china and, embarrassed, quickly tucked the book back in her bag. “Perhaps after dinner?”

“Of course,” Julie said, thinking,
I love this woman.
“Did you bring a pen?”

“Oh, yes,” she said, extracting the pen and waving it.

Adrienne laughed and said, “I wish I’d brought my copy!”

“Me, too,” Cathy said. “We’ll have to catch you tomorrow, Julie.”

“Ms. O’Hara has an open interview later this week,” the Captain said.  “But I’ll let Mr. Reece, from Conde Nast Traveler magazine tell you more about that,” and he turned the conversation over to him.

“Uh, hello, everyone.
I’m Jon. Like the Captain said, I’m a writer from Conde Nast. I’m here doing a story on cruising, and I’ll be interviewing some of the officers and entertainers. Julie’s interview is Thursday and we’re looking for some audience feedback, so it’s going to be in the Odyssey Lounge again. Speaking of that, I’d like to do some passenger interviews, too.” Looking at the Kents, he asked, “Would you folks be interested in doing a quick interview after dinner?”

“Oh, we’d love to!” they said in unison.

Look at those expressions,
Julie thought with delight.
Their lips are curled all the way up on the sides and they’re all teeth. So happy, so genuine. They can’t believe their good luck.

“Excellent,” the Captain said. “I think that’s a fine idea. And now, may I introduce my good friends, Gill and Cathy Byrne, who are members of HCL’s Captain’s Club and are enjoying their fifteenth
Holiday cruise.

“And last, but certainly not least, I’d like to introduce our good friend, Adrienne
Paradis, travel agent extraordinaire, and her husband, Dale Simpson.”

“Our” friend,
Julie thought
, not “my good friend”, not even “my friend.”

Julie’s eyes slid over to Michelle Sinclair, sitting on the Captain’s left. The doctor was still smiling, but there were subtle changes in her expression. The laugh lines about her eyes that Julie had observed earlier had flattened out. Her beautiful white teeth, upper and lower, were still in view, but her lips, instead of curling up on the outside, were drawn back in an oblong shape.

There’s no depth to that smile; she’s faking it.

The Captain continued his homage to the travel agent. “Adrienne’s prestigious agency,
Paradis Travel, is responsible for booking at least four hundred guests on this cruise alone. And we thank you, Madam,” he said, raising his glass to her.

“No need to thank me, Captain,” Adrienne said, rising. “I enjoy matching people with their perfect vacation, whether it’s watching baby sea turtles hatch at night on the Galapagos Islands, or sailing in luxury on a beautiful ship like the
Mystral.”

Nice pitch. No shrinking violet, our petite friend…

Adrienne raised her glass and said, “
Here’s to perfect vacations!’

The Captain’s table echoed her
toast, “To perfect vacations!”

*
* * * *

CHAPTER 7

E
xcept for the ship’s officers and the Kents - who had left with Jon Reece to do their interview - the Captain’s dinner guests had gone on to the popular Top Hat nightclub on Deck 12, also in the rear of the ship. The dark floor-to-ceiling windows didn’t offer much of an ocean view, as the moon was largely obscured by clouds. Still, the band was good and the place was jumping. 

As the evening wore on, the musicians had steadily dialed-down the decibels and tempo until the room was half full.  A quarter of those folks were slowly swaying on the dance floor. It was one o’clock and the Captain’s guests were resting. Gill was drinking scotch and scowling. Joe, his polar opposite, actually got up to sing with the band and then laughed along with everyone else when they took the microphone away from him. Dale and Cathy were passing the time with banal conversation about their dinner. 

“There’s no way regular guests get a lobster that size,” Dale said.

“And it was sweet,” Cathy added. “I’m sure it was from New England.”

How could you tell?
Julie thought.
You just moved it around your plate, along with the rest of your food.
You’re too thin. You’ve had your eyelids done and your upper lip. Are you afraid of age, afraid of losing Gill, or both?

Julie sighed.
Cathy’s insecurity was screaming at her.

Julie was so tired.  Earlier, at the seminar, she had answered Cathy Byrne honestly. She couldn’t “turn it off”, couldn’t stop reading people.  And watching this particular group interact with each other was exhausting.

Worse, Joe had been dancing with Adrienne half the night, until she finally got the message that Julie was pissed and left.

“Joe, let’s go. It’s late.”

“It’s not late! C’mon, loosen up, babe.”

“Joe. Look, I’m not kidding. I’m tired and I want to go,
now
.”

“Well, I don’t. Nobody else is leaving.”

“What?!  Fine. 
Fine
. Stay here then.
I’m
going back to the room.”

“Fine with me,” he said with a drunken grin, “I’ll see you later.”

* * * * *

CHAPTER 8

J
ulie threw her slim beaded evening bag on the dresser.
I’ll be damned if I’ll be here when he gets back! That drunken sonofabitch isn’t climbing in bed with me tonight.
She picked up the phone and called the service desk.

“Hi. This is Julie O’Hara, Deck 10, 1272. I wonder if you might have a single room
available?  My partner seems to be coming down with something and I don’t want to catch it,” she said, kicking off her shoes and slipping out of her dress.

Her face fell. “Are you sure? I don’t care how small it is or where it is. Please look again; I’d be fine with an inside cabin.” She scrunched the phone between her left shoulder and her ear while she hung up her dress. She was stretching the phone cord and the handset pulled away. She caught it with her left hand.

“What? What did you say? Nothing at all?”

She sighed and said, “I see.
Fully booked. Okay, thank you.”

Julie plopped in a chair in her underwear. Her arms were crossed and she stared straight ahead, her heels tapping a furious tattoo. 
I won’t stay here. I won’t.