Ransom at Sea (9 page)

Emily smiled and mentally corrected his English.

“Now if you'll excuse me, ladies, I'm going to be toddling off—see if I can't walk off some of that fried fish.”

He rose and slapped his stomach again, then left them just as the waiter waved in their direction from the newly cleared table.

“Come on, Aunt Marci, the table's ready,” said Rebecca.

“I'm hungry,” Marcella croaked irritably as she struggled to her feet. The bench didn't have armrests to hold for support, and her niece helped her up. True to form, Marcella snatched her arm away the moment she'd been righted.

Once they were seated they pored over the menus of an extensive selection of traditional British fare, along with some American additions. In the end all four of them ordered fish and chips, a decision which served to further the festive mood. Marcella regained her equilibrium the moment the food arrived, and appeared to delight in the scurrying of the staff and the roar of the crowd.

The fish was deep fried in a thick batter to a perfect golden brown, and the chips were crisp on the outside, hot and soft in the middle. Marcella smacked her lips around the food, enjoying it with obvious gusto. And though the other three ladies might not have been quite as noisy about it, their enjoyment was none the less.

After a dessert of raspberries and cream and a large pot of tea that was shared among them, they left the pub feeling considerably heavier than they'd been when they'd arrived, and considerably more satisfied as well.

Emily could appreciate Bertram Driscoll's desire for a walk after such a heavy meal, and suggested to the others that they take a turn around Main Street before returning to the boat. The idea was met with approval.

All of the shops appeared to still be open, their windows casting a warm glow onto the darkening street, which was now lit with electric lamps designed to look like gaslights. The foursome strolled in pairs up the right side of the street, with Emily and Lynn in the lead. When they reached the cookery shop, Lynn ran in and purchased some of the lemon curd she'd spotted earlier, then they continued their progress.

It wasn't long after that that Marcella stopped suddenly, and with wide, bewildered eyes, said, “We came this way already.”

Rebecca stifled a sigh. “You're right, we did. But we're just taking a walk now, remember?”

They started once more, but hadn't gone more than twenty feet before Marcella stopped again. “I'm tired!” she announced truculently.

Lynn and Emily had stopped and turned around, and Rebecca hesitated before saying anything. “It's all right, you two go on, I'll take my aunt back to the boat.”

“You don't need to come with me,” said Marcella.

“Oh, no, really, I want to.”

Emily sighed, attempting to sound weary. “I really should go back as well. I'm quite tired myself. It's been a very long day.”

They didn't talk much as they retraced their steps down Main Street, then River, and over the broad lawn to the pier. It had grown considerably darker during their brief walk, and the area leading to the dock was unlighted, though hanging from the nearest post of the pier was an old-fashioned lantern. The boat itself was lit by a row of small white bulbs hung around its perimeter.

Just as the women reached the pier they heard someone approaching, the heavy tread causing the boards to creak, but with the lantern right before them they could see little more than an approaching shadow beyond it.

It was a man who passed by the light. He had a pinched, craggy face and hair that was a mixture of white and bluish gray. He didn't speak to them as he hurried by, and it seemed to Emily that he had tried to avert his face as he passed the lantern. But it wasn't his face that she recognized, it was the red jacket.

“I wonder who that was?” said Rebecca. “He must've been coming from the
Genessee.
It's the only boat docked here.”

“Well, the Farradays run the tour all summer,” Lynn offered. “They must know people all along their route. He was probably here to see them.”

“Or one of the passengers,” Emily muttered.

Lynn went with Emily to her cabin, where the old woman sighed heavily and sat down on the bed.

“Did we overdo it today?” Lynn asked.

Emily chuckled. “You sound much like the nurses when I had my heart surgery.”

Lynn laughed. “I wasn't using the royal ‘we.'”

“Well, in that case, I don't think we exactly overdid it, but I will admit I'm very tired.”

Lynn studied her face for a few moments. “Emily, is something bothering you?”

“Not really,” she replied slowly. “It's probably just old age, that's all.…”

“What do you mean? Don't you feel well?” Lynn sat beside her.

“What? Oh, I don't mean that at all! I'm perfectly all right. No, I was thinking … doesn't it strike you that there's something not quite right about this cruise?”

Lynn's deep brown eyes opened wide. “You mean other than some of the passengers not really liking some of the others? No, I haven't noticed anything at all.”

“You needn't look so concerned,” Emily said with a kindly smile, “I'm not losing my faculties. It probably is only my suspicious mind.”

“Or you've been spending too much time with your favorite detective,” Lynn countered. “But I doubt it. If I look concerned it's because when you think there's something odd, there usually is. What have you seen that I haven't?”

“Little things,” Emily replied vaguely. “Very little things.”

She explained, starting with the exchange she had overheard—or had dreamed—earlier that day on the white deck: the anxious voices she couldn't place talking about a thing that wasn't there, and how that exchange had stopped at the sound of approaching footsteps.

“You probably did dream it,” Lynn said lightly.

“I probably did. But somehow I felt that it was real.”

Lynn thought for a minute, then shrugged. “You said you couldn't identify either voice.”

“That's right. I could barely hear the second one.”

“So it could've been two of the crew, who would've naturally been upset if they'd lost something that either belonged to their employers or one of the passengers.”

“That's true,” Emily said with a thoughtful tilt of her head. “And speaking of the crew, then there's David Douglas, the overly personable head steward.”

Lynn's face clouded at the mention of his name. “Oh, him. He's been bothering Rebecca.”

“I shouldn't think that was anything serious. I was thinking more of his evasiveness when I asked him about his former employment.”

“Why should he be evasive? It was an innocent question.” She smiled. “Wasn't it?”

“Of course,” Emily said innocently.

“Emily…”

The old woman's eyes were lit with amusement. “Well, I did think that young man a bit too sincere to be true. But as you say, for all intents and purposes, it was an innocent question from an old lady who couldn't possibly cause him any real trouble.”

“So why be evasive?”

“Exactly.”

“You have some idea?”

“The most obvious one that springs to mind is because the question was so unexpected … at least, from my quarter.”

Lynn sat back and knit her narrow brow. “What difference would the quarter make?”

“Sometimes all the difference in the world. There are people whose frame of reference relies entirely on context. I once knew a man—a Mr. Gorden—who lived down the street from my husband and me. Mr. Gorden once ran into his own wife unexpectedly in a store in which he'd never seen her before, and it was several minutes before he could remember her name.”

“His own wife?”

Emily nodded. “Oh, yes, that sort of thing happens more often than you think. So it's possible that David has a ready reply handy in case one of the Farradays ask him about his past, but it failed him when the source of the question was someone else.”

“Yes, but…” Lynn couldn't keep the note of doubt from her tone. “It may have been nothing. He may have just been distracted.”

“That's very true.”

They were silent for a while, then Lynn said, “The only thing I can think of that's odd was seeing that stranger coming out of the darkness from the direction of the boat.”

“Oh, I wasn't surprised by him at all!”

“You weren't?”

“No. I'd seen him before.”

“Where?”

“This afternoon. Talking to Stuart Holmes.”

“Really?” Lynn considered this a moment, then shrugged. “But that still probably doesn't mean anything.”

“Of course not,” said Emily. “Many people from Chicago vacation here. It wouldn't be that surprising for Mr. Holmes or any of us to run into someone we know. But … didn't the stranger strike you as rather furtive when he passed us?”

Lynn tried to picture the scene in her head. “You know, come to think of it, he did kind of turn his face away when he went by the light, didn't he? But … a lot of people do that when they run into strangers, especially in the dark.”

Emily sighed. “I daresay you're right, my dear. Maybe I'm just tired. Or maybe I am just getting to be a foolish old woman.”

Lynn emitted a muffled snort. “If you think you're a foolish old woman, then you really are tired. You are the most practical person I know.”

Emily seemed to be turning something over in her mind. “Well, then, if I were to look at it all from a strictly practical standpoint, I'd have to say that these things I've noticed amount to nothing.” A little light flickered in her eyes. “Then, of course, there is the fact that last time I was on vacation in Michigan, there was a murder.”

*   *   *

A wave of weariness washed over Lynn once she was back in her own cabin. She didn't want to admit it to herself, and she certainly wouldn't have admitted it to Emily, but she really had been worried about her elderly friend going on this trip. It wasn't exactly rational: Emily was no more frail now than she was the day they'd met. In fact, since Ransom had hired Lynn to clean for Emily after the old woman's heart surgery, she was actually stronger now than when they'd met. And Emily was a perfect judge of her own limitations. Lynn knew that Emily wouldn't overtire herself or take on tasks that she knew were physically foolhardy.

“Unless, of course, she couldn't still judge her own limitations,” Lynn said to her reflection in the round mirror over the sink. Looking into her own clear eyes, Lynn suddenly laughed.

“I'm the one who's not being rational. I'm letting Rebecca rub off on me.”

She experienced a slight pang when she thought of Rebecca, and shook her head brusquely to dismiss it. As she undressed, she gave some careful consideration to what she'd been feeling. Lynn was, in her own way, a very practical woman—though perhaps not quite so much as Emily. But still, it was possible for her to put aside her fears and worries and take a clinical look at herself. And when she did this, she realized that it was in part Emily's birthday that had brought about her anxiety for the old woman's well-being. With the day-to-day passage of time it was easy to forget that Emily had passed into her eighties, but a birthday was a milestone: it brought home the fact that her friend would not be there forever. Lynn had even found herself feeling cheated because she'd met Emily so late in life.

She slipped into a pair of sensible pajamas in light green and white stripes, paused in the act of buttoning up the top, and sighed with disgust at herself.
What in the hell is going on with me? It's not like me to think that way! It's morbid!

She dropped down onto the end of the bed and laid her hands on her knees as she took stock. When she pushed aside the cloud of worries, she found that behind them was a simple truth: she was lonely. It had been a few years since her lover, Maggie, had died, and despite the bond she'd formed with Emily, who had become like a wise old grandmother to her (just as she had to Ransom), and despite her friendship with Ransom as well, she didn't have someone with whom she could truly share her life. Worse yet, it wasn't until that moment that she was even aware of the desire.

With another sigh she leaned over and switched off the compass lamp on the bedside chest, remarking to herself that the Farradays must've gotten these unusual lamps as a job lot. Then she stretched herself out on the narrow bed. Through the open porthole she could hear the gentle sloshing of the water against the hull, and the occasional call of a bird—gulls, she imagined—from somewhere in the distance. They were peaceful sounds that Lynn expected would quickly lull her to sleep.

But it was not to happen. She lay on top of the blanket for a while, and though exhausted, sleep refused to come. She tried turning on one side, then the other. It wasn't like her to lose sleep over anything, but she couldn't get her newfound realization out of her head. Nor could she dismiss Emily's observations. She knew that Emily was still one of the sharpest individuals she'd ever met. That left her with the belief that if Emily thought there was something amiss, then there probably was. And that thought kept Lynn awake.

She lay on her back again and stared up into the vague blackness, mentally clicking off each of the things Emily hold told her. Like most people unaccustomed to sleeplessness, she felt as if she'd only been in bed a short time, so it was a shock when she turned on her side again and saw the luminous dial on the travel alarm she'd placed on the chest. It was twenty after one.

Oh God,
she thought as she sat up and swung her feet to the floor,
I'm never going to get to sleep.

She sat there for a few minutes trying to decide whether to lie back and try again, or to give up entirely and try to find some way to occupy herself until sleep might come to her. Choosing the latter course, she got up and drew on the dark green cotton robe she'd left hanging on the hook on the door, and left her cabin.