Playing for Keeps (14 page)

Tailing Tommy Jansen the rest of the day wasn’t hard to do. He went from awarding T-shirt prizes to the winners of the scavenger hunt, to emceeing a talent show for kids, to announcing for a mechanical horse race, to emceeing a quiz game for senior citizens. Since Julieta ate dinner at the late seating and Neil and I at the early seating, one of us was free at all times to shadow him.

During my break I paid a visit to the store on the shopping level of the ship and bought one of the sunken treasure pendants for Mom. The peace offering I’d wanted. No, it wasn’t only a peace offering. It was a gift to show how much I loved her. It wasn’t going to be Mom and me or Glory and me. I loved them both.

When Neil and I met Julieta late in the evening at Star Struck, she reported, “Tommy Jansen asked one of the employees who gives that ‘Shopping the Caribbean’ program to tell him the name of a good jewelry store in Cozumel.”

“I thought he was short of cash,” I said.

“You told us he had plans to get Ricky off the ship,” Neil said. “How would a jewelry store figure in?”

I was thinking hard. “You don’t just
buy
jewelry in jewelry stores,” I said. “Sometimes you sell to them.” I began to get excited. “What if he owns an expensive watch and thinks he can get enough for it for two plane tickets from Cozumel to Cuba?”

“What time do we dock?” Neil asked.

“Seven A.M.,” Julieta groaned.

“The stores won’t be open that early,” I told them. “Anyway, it takes about an hour before passengers can leave the ship.”

Neil frowned. “I’ll have to make sure my grandmother has had breakfast and is set for the day.”

“Then I’ll show up at the disembarking area before they allow passengers to go ashore, and I’ll watch for Mr. Jansen,” I said.

“I’ll be with you,” Julieta told me, which surprised me.

“Good,” Neil said to Julieta. “If Rosie follows Tommy Jansen, she shouldn’t be alone. What are the names of the jewelry stores he was told to go to?”

“Just two stores,” she answered, and gave him the names and directions. “They’re on the main street in San Miguel, near the plaza.”

Neil stood and looked at his watch. “It’s getting late. I think I’ll turn in,” he said.

Julieta and I decided to call it a night too.

As we all left Star Struck, I glanced back at Mr. Jansen, who was leading off another round in the trivia contest.
Wherever you’re going tomorrow,
we’re going too,
I thought.

“Rosie,” Julieta said quietly, and I realized she had followed my glance. “We’re not going to let anyone take Ricky off this ship.”

“Thanks,” I said, and smiled, wishing I were as confident as Julieta.

Glory was still awake when I reached our stateroom. “I did a little shopping today,” she said. “The duty-free store had a special on French silk scarves, so I bought one for you to give your mother.”

Looking proud of herself, she opened a thin box and pulled out a square scarf with a swirling design in red, pink, and yellow. I couldn’t keep from wincing. Was that what Glory thought Mom would like? It was much too gaudy, and the colors were all wrong for Mom.

“Thanks, Glory,” I said politely, “but I’ve already bought Mom a present.” I took my package out of my drawer and opened the box to show her the pendant.

I could see the conflicting emotions in her face. “It’s beautiful,” she finally said. “I bet you love it yourself.”

I nodded, and she smiled. “Then why don’t you keep it for yourself and give the scarf to your mother?”

I closed the jewelry box and tucked it away in the drawer. “I won’t. Because I love my mother very much, and I chose this gift for her myself,” I said.

Glory drew back, her hurt feelings showing. “I was only trying to do something nice for you,” she said.

I put an arm around her. “And nice for Mom,” I told her, “which is good, because I love both of you.”

Glory was sharp. She got my message. But she didn’t give up easily. “Ever since you were born, I’ve loved doing special little things for you,” she said.

“You have, and I’m grateful for them all,” I answered. “And Mom is too.”

I shouldn’t have added that last remark, because Glory turned away, swept the scarf back into its box, and climbed into her bed.

“Goodnight, Glory. Sleep tight,” I said.

I bent to kiss her cheek. Sometime I’d have to tell her that when I was little and heard people singing “Glory, glory, hallelujah” from “The Battle Hymn of the Republic,” I thought they were singing about my wonderful grandmother. Gifts had nothing to do with my love for her.

By the time I climbed into bed, my thoughts were once more on what we would find in Cozumel. I had the awful feeling that something terrible was planned for Ricky the next day, and I had no idea how to stop it.

13

THE EARLY-MORNING SUN WAS ALREADY HIGH AND HOT as Julieta and I hailed a taxi, following Mr. Jansen into the shopping area of San Miguel. On our left, lush bushes of red, pink, and yellow hibiscus decorated the seawall. On the right were buildings whose shops and contents were every bit as colorful. I realized that business hours had been set by cruise ship schedules. This would probably be a busy day for the merchants of San Miguel; three cruise ships had already arrived in port.

As we reached the plaza, I saw Mr. Bailey enter a shop with large signs in Spanish and English cluttering the window: FAX MACHINES HERE. FOTOCOPIAS 4 CENTS.

Before I had time to wonder what Mr. Bailey was doing, Julieta leaned forward. “Stop here!” she told the driver. She quickly paid him and we climbed from the cab. Pointing at a large
joyería
with impressive necklaces, bracelets, and rings in the window, Julieta said, “Tommy Jansen just went into that jewelry store.”

Stopping at the doorway, we cautiously looked around, careful not to let him see us. We spotted Mr. Jansen talking to a woman behind a counter at the back of the store, so we made our way toward him through a number of busy shoppers and clerks.

As we came close, he reached into his pocket and pulled out a large gold ring. “This should be worth a lot,” he told the woman. “In dollars. American dollars.”

She held the ring high, turning it around as she studied it, so I was able to get a good look at it.

Shocked, I shouted, “Julieta! That’s Major Cepeda’s ring!”

Mr. Jansen tightly gripped the counter and whirled toward us. He opened his mouth to speak, but was only able to make a gargling sound.

I stepped forward, facing the woman. “That ring belonged to a man who was murdered on our ship,” I told her. “Please call the police and ask them to contact Mr. Wilson, the chief of security.”

Julieta had blocked the aisle, but Mr. Jansen didn’t try to run. He just sagged, leaning against the counter as if he needed it to hold him upright.

Fear was in the woman’s eyes as she held the ring out to me. “Take it. I want nothing to do with it,” she said.

As I reached for it, she shoved it into my hand with such force it hurt.

“Ouch!” I said. I opened my hand and saw the red C-shaped mark the initial had made in my palm. Into my mind came the photograph of the beaten and murdered Raúl with C-shaped bruises on his face. So Cepeda was a murderer murdered in turn. I shuddered.

A firm hand was placed on my shoulder, and a familiar voice asked, “Rose? Are you all right?”

I looked up at Neil and nodded. “I’m glad you’re here,” I told him.

It took only a moment for uniformed
policía
to arrive. They took Mr. Jansen, Julieta, Neil, and me to a small white stucco building, the
comisaria de
policía,
and heard the story of the ring and the murdered Major Cepeda.

We repeated our story several times, to a number of people in and out of police uniform. Mr. Jansen interrupted every so often to claim that he had simply found the ring on the upper deck of the ship when he led the early-morning jogging group and had not killed the major.

Finally, someone in authority in San Miguel decided they wanted nothing to do with the matter because it hadn’t taken place under their jurisdiction. Two officers drove us back to the ship and escorted us to the captain’s office.

“Everyone, please sit down,” the captain ordered in a no-nonsense voice. He thanked the Mexican
policía,
who left when Mr. Wilson and his two assistants arrived.

We had to tell the story again, and once more Mr. Jansen interrupted to claim he knew nothing about the murder.

I hated to admit it, but I began to think he could be innocent. I remembered Major Cepeda fiddling with his ring and how I’d thought it was so loose that he could lose it. If he’d struggled with someone on deck before he went overboard, it was certainly possible that his ring had fallen off and Tommy Jansen—first on the scene at daylight—had found it.

“What are your orders, sir? Do you want me to confine Mr. Jansen to the brig?” Mr. Wilson asked.

“You can’t do that!” Mr. Jansen answered. “Tomorrow we’ll be at sea all day, and there’s the miniature golf tournament, the sixties quiz for the baby boomers, the finale for the Broadway show, and the—”

The door to the captain’s office flew open and Anthony Bailey stood in the doorway. Without paying the slightest attention to the rest of us in the room, he walked straight to the captain and held two sheets of paper out to him.

“What’s this?” Captain Olson asked.

Mr. Bailey looked smug. “It’s a signed release from Mrs. Beatriz Urbino, grandmother and official guardian of the minor child, Enrique Urbino, giving me the right and power to return her grandson to Cuba. This permission was faxed to me less than an hour ago.”

I took a deep breath and stood. “Captain Olson,” I said, “before you make any decisions, I think Ricky’s attorney should be present.” Frantically, I turned to Julieta. “Glory said she’d be relaxing by the pool. Find her! Tell her what happened!” I clutched Julieta’s arm. “Say I trust her promise to do anything I ask, and now I’m asking.”

“Okay,” Julieta said. She slipped out the door and was gone.

The captain didn’t look too happy. He kept rubbing his temples. But he said, “Very well. We will continue our discussion after Mr. Urbino’s attorney is present.”

“That’s ridiculous,” Mr. Bailey protested. “I have the papers. I have the official permission to return Enri—”

“Please be silent!” the captain thundered. “As I told you, we will wait until Mr. Urbino’s attorney arrives. Now, please have a seat.”

I was sure the captain welcomed the chance to think about all that was happening on his ship, which was supposed to involve his passengers in nothing more than a pleasure cruise.

As we waited, I took a good look at him, and I nearly hyperventilated. Mr. Bailey was wearing a light blue polo shirt with a tiny logo embroidered in white over the breast pocket.

I whispered to Neil, “Look at the shirt Mr. Bailey’s wearing. I think it’s Martín Urbino’s shirt.”

There was a polite knock at the door before Glory and Julieta walked in. Glory, in a gauzy white cover-up over her one-piece black bathing suit and red flip-flops, walked straight toward the captain and held out her hand. “I’m Gloria Marstead, attorney for Enrique Urbino,” she told him. “I believe I understand the situation, and I also believe that the proper jurisdiction for any action on the part of Enrique Urbino is with the Immigration and Naturalization Service in the United States.”

Glory didn’t look much like an attorney, but she sounded like one. The captain looked relieved. “My thoughts exactly,” he said.

“Wait a minute,” Mr. Bailey protested.

He began to rise from his chair, but the captain scowled and said, “Sit down, Mr. Bailey. We will resolve this problem in an orderly fashion.”

Mr. Bailey didn’t give in easily. “I have the right to remove the minor, Enrique Urbino, from the ship immediately and take him to Cuba. You saw the papers I gave you.”

“May I see them, please?” Glory asked.

Captain Olson handed them to her, and she quickly read through them. She looked up and said, “At first glance, they seem to be in order. However, since they are faxed, there is a question about their authenticity. I suggest that when we land in Miami, these papers be turned over to the INS for evaluation.”

“I agree,” the captain said.

Mr. Bailey jumped to his feet and grabbed Glory’s arm. “Now, you listen here!” he began.

He didn’t get a chance to continue. Mr. Wilson, his men, and Neil grabbed him, dragging him away from Glory.

I got into the mix-up, too, because I had to see the label on that blue polo shirt. I snatched for the back of the shirt collar and gave it a twist as Mr. Bailey was dumped back into his chair.

“Sit down!” the captain demanded. “Everyone— sit down!”

I did what he said, but I asked, “Captain Olson, did you get my letter with the description of Martín Urbino’s blue polo shirt?”

“Yes,” he said. “I gave it to Mr. Wilson.”

“Mr. Bailey is wearing that shirt,” I said, and I told them about the ink slash on the label. “Mr. Bailey substituted his torn shirt for Mr. Urbino’s shirt to make you think Mr. Urbino had killed Major Cepeda. Then he phoned you to tell you where the shirt was—didn’t he, Mr. Wilson?”

Mr. Wilson addressed the captain, not me. “Yes,” he said, “but when we searched Mr. Urbino’s stateroom, we did not find the shirt.”

“I know where it is,” I said, “but first, will you answer an important question? Was Mr. Bailey the one who let you know where you could find Ricky when you arrested him?”

“Yes.”

“Mr. Bailey is the murderer,” I said.

“You can’t prove anything,” Mr. Bailey said.

“You wanted to ingratiate yourself with Castro and the Cuban government officials so you can build your supercasino in Havana,” I told him. “That’s what you wanted—not the reward money. You approached Major Cepeda, but he wouldn’t cooperate with you. Those flyers he handed out were to turn people against Ricky and intimidate him into returning. I would guess there was no reward at all. Major Cepeda wanted the glory of bringing Ricky back, and he wouldn’t let you share it. Isn’t that right? So you decided to get the major out of your way.”

“Prove it,” Mr. Bailey growled.

The captain looked from me to Tommy Jansen. “But Mr. Jansen was in possession of the major’s ring,” he said.

“The ring was loose on the major’s finger,” I said. “You saw him fiddling with it when we were all here in your office. I believe Mr. Jansen. I think he really did find it on deck while he was jogging.”

Mr. Bailey kept glaring at me, and I saw Glory watching him with a frown. She said to the captain, “If you’ll accept my suggestion, sir, for safety reasons I’d incarcerate Mr. Bailey until we land in Miami and he can be turned over to the proper authorities. And since there’s a question of ownership, if I were you I’d impound the shirt he’s wearing.”

She pinned me with a stern look and added, “Along with Mr. Bailey’s torn shirt, which my other client, Rose Ann Marstead, is going to give to your chief of security. The Miami police should be able to establish the rightful owners of both shirts and determine whether the pocket that was found came from Mr. Bailey’s shirt.”

“Done,” the captain said.

Glory didn’t miss a beat. “For the continued safety of my client, Enrique Urbino, I would suggest that he remain confined under guard until we reach Miami.”

“Glory!” I cried out.

“With permission for his three friends to visit him at various times during the day while we are at sea tomorrow.”

The captain nodded, then turned to Mr. Jansen with an expression of relief. “While we are in port, you will be confined to the ship,” he said, “and will continue your duties until we reach Miami. “As for your further employment with our cruise line—”

“I’m fired,” Mr. Jansen said. He looked relieved too.

“That’s correct,” Captain Olson told him.

As we left the captain’s office, Glory put an arm around my shoulders. “You understand why I want Ricky kept under guard,” she said. “I’m concerned for his safety. This is a very large ship, and there may be others besides Mr. Bailey and Mr. Jansen who will be tempted to try something.”

“I understand,” I said, and hugged her. “Thanks for helping Ricky.”

“And helping you,” she reminded me. “You may find you’re in enough trouble with the INS authorities when we arrive back in the United States. Whatever you do, don’t get involved in any other scheme concerning Ricky.”

I didn’t answer Glory. I couldn’t promise. Glory couldn’t begin to understand that I had to do everything I could to keep Ricky, the one and only love of my life, from being sent back to Cuba.