Ransom at Sea (6 page)

Marcella followed her down the hallway to cabin number 8. Inside they found her suitcase lying on the bed.

“Here,” Rebecca said with all the cheerfulness she could muster. “Why don't you sit on the edge of the bed while I unpack.”

“I can do that!” Marcella said, though she sat down immediately and made no move to help.

Rebecca popped the latches on the case, flipped the top up, and took out the first garment.

Marcella smiled. “I brought you up right, didn't I?”

“Hmm?”

She lowered herself on the bed. “I used to like doing things, when I was younger. Remember? Baking bread. Whole wheat. Long, long before it was fashionable to do it, and they started selling those … those machines … the bread makers. Pies with crust made by hand, and fillings that had real fruit and were naturally sweetened. Remember?”

“Yes,” Rebecca said as she continued working. As far as she was concerned, sugar was a natural substance. “I remember.”

“And coconut cream pies—the ones that made their own crust?”

Her niece smiled. She remembered them. They were dreadful. But at the time her aunt had been able to convince her they were ambrosia, and she'd been fascinated by the fact that you put a bowl full of a thick liquid mixture into a hot oven, and when it came out it had formed a crust along the bottom—albeit a gloppy, gummy crust.

“And this!” Marcella said. Around her waist was a macramé belt wound from white cord, which she wore tied loosely. She lifted its dangling ends toward Rebecca. “This. Remember this? I taught you how to do this.…”

“Macramé, yes, I remember.” She could also remember when she'd considered the art of knotting cord into a useful article to be magical. She could see her own childish face filled with wonder as her aunt showed her how to form the simple knots, and her aunt's delight as Rebecca was able to do it for herself.

Rebecca hung the dress in the closet, came back to the case and pulled out another, then registered surprise.

“Aunt Marci, what is this?”

Marcella craned her neck and peered into the suitcase. Nestled in the center of her underclothes was a brown paper parcel that looked the very much the worse for wear. Marcella's eyes traveled up to her niece, who was staring down at her with a puzzled frown.

After a moment, Marcella said, “It's mine!”

“I figured that,” Rebecca replied, inwardly rolling her eyes. “But what is it?”

Marcella snatched the parcel up by the twine that bound it and shoved it under the bed.

“It's mine! It's none of your business.”

Rebecca sighed. “I just wondered.”

*   *   *

“I hazard to ask,” Lynn said with a sly smile, “but do you want to take a nap?”

She and Emily had finished their lunch, and Emily folded her napkin and laid it beside her plate. “Not in my cabin. I'm going back up to the top deck to enjoy the view and the sunshine. Whether or not that ends in a nap is purely up to the laws of nature.”

Lynn laughed. “Well, if you'll excuse me, I think it's about time I got my own things unpacked. Do you need any help getting upstairs?”

“I'll be fine.”

They parted, Lynn going down one staircase while Emily went up the other at a much more measured pace. She paused at the top of the stairs. The white deck was empty except for Claudia Trenton, who was occupying one of the lounge chairs on the port side, the sunhat—which Emily found faintly ridiculous—once again perched on her head. Emily was not antisocial by nature, but she had no wish to have her quiet enjoyment of the afternoon punctuated by the inevitable sotto voce criticisms. After calling a cheerful greeting to Claudia, which was met with a slight nod of the hat, Emily went to a seat on the starboard side.

After adjusting the back of the chair to a comfortable angle, she lay back and enjoyed the gentle movement of the boat and the purr of the engine. As the captain had promised, although they were a fair distance out in the lake they were not out of view of the shoreline, and it wasn't long before it developed a dreamy sameness. That, along with the quiet of the nearly deserted deck, soon lulled Emily to sleep.

She wasn't sure how long it had been when something broke in on her sleep. Through half-opened eyes she looked out across the water at the shoreline, which seemed closer than it had been. She had the disquieting, illusory sense that the shoreline itself was moving slowly to the right while the boat sped to the left, as if they were not parallel, but rather turning on the same axis.

Into this image came a woman's voice.

“It wasn't there,” the voice said in a whisper. Emily couldn't decide whether or not the voice was anxious or angry. “I'm telling you it wasn't there! Of course I looked!”

Another voice seemed to say something, and in her half-waking state Emily strained to hear it, but couldn't.

“You've lied to me before!” said the woman.

Emily couldn't make out to whom either of the voices belonged. She tried to turn around to see who it was, but found herself riveted in place, unable to command her head to turn or her limbs to move. She struggled against herself, exerting a monumental effort, but couldn't budge. Knowledge of her paralysis caused a momentary and highly uncharacteristic shock of fear to race through her heart. But the panic brought with it the sudden awareness that she was dreaming, the knowledge of which caused her to quiet down. A feeling of peace overcame her, and she began to drift out of the dream. As the scene dimmed, she heard the woman's voice say, “All right! I know I have to find it … but if you're lying—Wait!”

Footsteps could be heard coming up the metal stairs.

“Emily?”

The old woman opened her eyes and found herself shielded from the sun by the bulky shadow of Bertram Driscoll.

She cleared her throat gently. “Yes?”

“Sorry. I didn't like to wake you, but you were all frowny. You looked like you were having a troubled sleep, there.”

Emily twisted around in her seat and looked over its back. Claudia Trenton was still seated on the opposite side of the deck, as she had been when Emily dozed off, and was now apparently asleep herself. She was also quite alone.

Emily turned back to Driscoll. “Mr. Driscoll, may I ask … did you just come up onto the deck?”

“Yes, ma'am.”

“Did you see anyone else here?”

“Nope. Just you. And the Trenton woman.”

Emily's brows knit closely together, and her mouth pursed into a tiny O.

“Is something wrong?”

She relaxed and smiled at him. “No. Not at all. Thank you for waking me. I was having a rather bad dream.”

“I can't imagine a fine woman like you having anything to cause you nightmares.”

“On the contrary. At my age I've seen enough of life to have very bad dreams. Fortunately, I don't usually.”

Driscoll straightened a chair beside her and carelessly lowered himself onto it. “Must be being out on the water that makes people so sleepy. I dropped off myself, earlier on, before lunch.”

“Yes, I know.”

“Or boredom,” he added incomprehensibly.

“I beg your pardon?”

“Boredom. That makes you drop off, you know. I do that at home—fall asleep in front of the TV set more often than not, right in the middle of the day, now that I'm retired.”

His face was turned toward her, and out of the corner of her eye she could see the eagerness in his florid features. She sought to deflect him.

“You were a salesman, weren't you?”

He nodded. “Medical supplies. Don't get me started on sales! You get me talking about business, and I swear to God I'll end up sounding just like Muriel Langstrom!”

Emily laughed despite herself. “Now, Mr. Driscoll! You were the one who said she was a good soul.”

“Caught by my own words! But you know what I mean. If I start talking about work, I'll never stop.”

Again there was an eagerness in his expression that Emily recognized: the slightest encouragement on her part would allow him to proceed onto his favorite topic, despite the polite objection.

“Isn't the lake peaceful?” she said. “I don't know why, but I always expect that when you're out on the water, it will be rougher than it is.”

“I don't know about that. You know, I wouldn't mind if it was a bit rougher. That would be exciting, at least. I get all the peace I need at home. Near drives me crazy, sometimes. Don't you find it like that? I mean, you live alone, just like I do.”

“Oh, no, not at all,” Emily replied brightly. “There is so much in life in which to be interested. Tending the garden, going to theaters and films, reading the newspapers. And of course, friends. Visiting with them, having lunches and dinners together. Yes, I would say that my life is very, very full.”

“Yes … well…,” Driscoll began falteringly, his usual bluster somewhat daunted. “That's just the way it should be, a woman such as yourself.”

A period followed during which Driscoll clumsily tried to regain his conversational footing, but his attempts were so awkward that Emily, though more than capable of holding her own in any social situation, was relieved when Lynn emerged from the stairwell. She pulled one of the chairs to Emily's side and sat down.

“All unpacked?” the old woman asked.

“Yes. Rebecca and her aunt were down there doing the same. Good grief, you should hear how that woman complains.”

“You sound upset.”

“Oh, I'm not really. I guess I … well, I know how some people get as they get older, and I can understand it.…” Her voice trailed off and she noticed Emily's kindly smile. “What is it?”

“I've a feeling that you wonder why Rebecca puts up with it, and you know why at the same time.”

The young woman sighed deeply. “You're right, as always.”

Emily patted her hand gently, then lay back in her seat.

As the afternoon wore on, one by one the rest of the passengers made their way up to the deck and relaxed in the sun. Lynn could hear Marcella Hemsley coming up the stairs long before she came into view. Apparently Rebecca's aunt had fallen asleep in her cabin not long after Lynn had finished unpacking and left the blue deck, and Marcella was chastising her niece for allowing her to sleep so long.

“We paid good money for this cruise,” she said as her mop of gray hair rose into view, “and I don't want you to let me sleep the trip away!”

“Yes, Aunt Marci,” Rebecca said patiently.

Driscoll grunted from behind closed eyes.

Marcella and Rebecca came onto the deck and seated themselves off the starboard quarter, where Marcella promptly fell asleep again. Rebecca stared off toward the shoreline.

David Douglas came by making one of his rounds of the passengers to see if anyone required him. He made a special point of stopping by Rebecca. “Can I get you anything?”

“No, thank you,” she said in a pleasant but dismissive tone.

“Are you sure? It would be no trouble to run down to the bar and bring you up something. Whatever you like.”

“That's very nice, but no.”

He crouched down beside her and whispered. “I can see how things are for you, with your aunt.… If you want a break”—he paused and a broad smiled spread across his face—“when we get to town I could have Hoke look after the old girl, and maybe I could show you around. There's a nice English pub there … the Red Lion … we could have a few drinks.…”

She eyes him frostily. “I guarantee that you don't know how things are for me.”

With this she lay back and closed her eyes.

Douglas rose with a complacent shrug and moved on.

The
Genessee
continued its leisurely pace along the coast. After another half an hour, Driscoll roused himself with a snort, smacked his lips a couple of times, then rolled his eyes over in Emily's direction.

“Sorry to doze off like that, Miss Charters. Guess it's the sea air.”

“That's quite all right,” Emily said, her face implying that he was not expected to keep her entertained.

“Anyone look at the itinerary?”

“I did,” said Lynn. “We'll arrive at Sangamore in a little while. We'll be anchored there—if that's the right term for it—overnight.”

“What's there to do there?”

“I suppose we shall see,” said Emily.

*   *   *

“Ladies and gentlemen, we will be docking soon at our first stop, Sangamore, Michigan, where we'll stay for the night,” the captain announced over the loudspeaker. “You may like to have dinner at any of the fine restaurants in town, or if you want you can have dinner on the boat. Just let one of the crew know if that's the case and Mrs. O'Malley will be glad to prepare something for you.”

The loudspeaker emitted a loud metallic pop as it was switched off.

The
Genessee
continued to cruise north for several minutes before the passengers noticed a break in the endless shoreline. It was the entrance to a small branch of the Kalamazoo River. The boat veered to the right and headed for it.

They followed the river southeast for a short distance before navigating a corner that took them into a short stretch that went straight south. To their left was the town. The street along the river—appropriately named River Street—was lined with small galleries and shops, most of which looked as if they'd been converted from private residences. After a few more minutes, the
Genessee
reached a small harbor, and Captain Farraday maneuvered the boat up to a long, weather-worn pier.

David and Hoke had come up to the deck, and as soon as the boat was beside the pier, David leaped over the side onto the dock in an ostentatious display of athletics that stole the breath of some of the elderly passengers. Hoke threw him the lines and he tied off the boat. Then Hoke swung the boarding plank into position.