Santa Cruise (14 page)

The dimly lit corridor was deserted. At the elevator bank he discovered a diagram of the ship, listing where all the different rooms were located. As he expected, the infirmary was on the lowest level. From the diagram, he could tell which companionway to take. He made his way there without encountering a single soul.

With infinite care, he opened the door of the infirmary and found himself in an eerily quiet and empty waiting room. A prominent sign on the desk read
NURSE ON DUTY. PRESS BUZZER FOR ASSISTANCE
.

He walked behind the desk and in a stealthy movement opened the door to the inner sanctum. Moving slowly, guided by the soft baseboard lighting, he peered into a small office on his left where he noticed the silhouette of a nurse asleep in a reclining chair. Her heavy, deep breathing reassured him that she would not be a problem, at least for the moment. For her own sake, he hoped she would continue to sleep.

In the second room on the right, he spotted the man who had caused his family so much misery. Even in the semidarkness, he recognized the profile of Eddie Gordon, the man known as
Crater. Bull's-Eye thought of his poor mother making the long trek to the federal prison in Allentown, Pennsylvania, once a month for fifteen years to see his father. All those years looking at his father's empty place at the dinner table. “This is for you, Papa,” he whispered as he stepped into the darkened room, eased a pillow from behind Crater's head, and with a swift, decisive movement, held it over the sleeping man's face.

From somewhere inside his drug-induced sleep, Crater/Gordon was having a nightmare. He couldn't breathe. He was choking. He began to gurgle and flail the air with his hands. It was real. It wasn't a nightmare. The instinct to survive made him slip his hands under the pillow that was covering his face and yank on it fiercely. He felt strong thumbs pressing against his neck. A voice was whispering, “This is what you deserve.”

“Aahhhhhhhhhh.” Crater knew his scream was coming out as a whisper.

The sound of the buzzer from the waiting room echoed from the nurse's office down the hallway.

Bull's-Eye froze. Wrestling to keep the pillow pressed on Crater's face, he realized that the buzzer would surely wake up the nurse, and that whoever had pushed it was in the waiting room.

He did the only thing he could do—he tossed
the pillow aside, rushed out, and hid in the room next door.

“Aaahhhh,” Crater began yelling.

Bull's-Eye watched as the nurse ran down the hallway and headed into Crater's room. The towel high around his neck, the dark glasses on, he opened the door to the outer waiting room. His hand half covering his face, he left the infirmary without glancing at the woman who had just turned to take a seat.

Crater was struggling to figure out what had happened. He hadn't imagined it, someone
had
tried to kill him. He had always had the suspicion that the big boss had placed another person on the inside on this job. Maybe whoever it is had been afraid he'd talk under sedation and had tried to kill him. He had to get to his room and keep the door double-locked until the helicopter arrived.

“What happened, Mr. Crater?” the nurse asked as she flipped on the light.

“I had a bad dream,” he croaked.

“But your neck is all red. And why is your pillow at the foot of the bed?”

“I'm a rough sleeper.”

“Dr. Gephardt said you could have another sedative if necessary.”

“No!” He knew that until he got off this ship,
he wasn't safe closing an eye. Oddly enough, his back felt better after the struggle. “I'm going back to my room.”

“Absolutely not. Doctor's orders. You'll have to speak to him when he comes on duty at seven o'clock.”

“I'm out of here at 7:01.”

But the nurse had already left the room.

A few minutes later, an exhausted Maggie was slowly making her way back to her room with an ear patch for Ivy. When she finally settled into her bed, she felt bleary-eyed and uneasy but had no intention of changing her plans to jog at six
A.M.

Unless her antenna was way off, Ted Cannon would be up on the track right around that time.

A
lvirah woke up at quarter of six. Willy was still asleep, seemingly in the same position he'd been in all night. The movement of the ship had subsided to a gentle roll. Alvirah got out of bed quietly. In the bathroom, she splashed cold water on her face and brushed her teeth. She slipped on a jogging suit and snapped on her sunburst pin. I do my best thinking in the morning with a cup of coffee, she thought. And I know they serve coffee, juice, and bagels from six to seven in the Lido before they open for the full breakfast.

She scrawled a note for Willy, propped it against the lamp on the desk, then with infinite care opened the door quietly and stepped out into the passageway. Closing it with the faintest of clicks, she hurried down the corridor and was startled when the door to the Commodore's suite opened. A sleepy-looking Eric, dressed in a rumpled jogging suit, appeared.

“The early bird gets the worm,” Alvirah said cheerfully, then tried to seize the opportunity to corner Eric for a chat. “Join me for coffee. You were so nice, giving up your room to us. I expect to do a very favorable column for my newspaper about the cruise, and I'd love to feature you in it.”

Eric did not miss the sharp glint in Alvirah's eyes and was aware that she was studying him carefully. He had pretended to go to bed in his room, but left the door open enough so he could see when his uncle either went to bed or fell asleep on the couch. The trouble was that Eric had fallen asleep before his uncle and had only just awakened with the shocking realization that it was early morning and Crater could return to his cabin at any time. Eric called down to the infirmary and was told by the nurse that Crater's back was definitely much better and that he insisted on being discharged as soon as the doctor came on duty at seven
A.M.
That meant Eric had only one hour to get Bull's-Eye and Highbridge out of Crater's room and hide them until Winston had straightened up the suite and he could sneak them into his own room.

“Thank you, Mrs. Meehan,” he told Alvirah, “but I have to go down to the infirmary and check on Mr. Crater, then get back up and dress for the day.” He laughed and patted Alvirah's arm. “My
uncle might seem easygoing, but he runs a tight ship, as they say.”

A tight ship? Alvirah thought. Judging from what I've seen, this ship is going to hell in a handbasket. “Another time,” she suggested sweetly. “Don't you just love dawn's early light? I swear my brain tingles when I get up with the birds. I guess you know I have the reputation of being a good amateur sleuth. When I'm trying to figure out what's going on, I put my thinking cap on and, lo and behold, I often come up with an answer.”

For the briefest of moments, the muscles in Eric's neck tightened. “What are you trying to figure out now?” he asked, trying to sound as though he was amused.

“Oh, this and that,” Alvirah answered airily. She was dying to ask Eric if he liked potato chips, but knew the question would come out of left field and would not be well received. “For example, I'd love to figure out who took those Santa suits. They might not be worth much, but no matter how you slice it, it's still theft.”

Eric didn't want to continue the conversation. With every word the woman uttered, he felt his heart pounding harder in his chest. This tiresome old bag was playing with him, he knew it. “I'm sure you're quite the sleuth, Mrs. Meehan,” he said. “Enjoy your coffee while I check on our patient.”

By now they had reached the elevators, but Eric darted down the nearby steps. He must like to get exercise, walking all the way down to the infirmary, Alvirah thought. I'll spare my knees. She pushed the
DOWN
button and waited.

At 6:04, she was in the Lido at the coffeemaker, pouring that first wonderful cup for herself. Behind the heavy swinging doors, she could hear the kitchen workers clattering dishes. I guess I'm the first customer, she thought. But glancing out the window she saw a tall Santa with a tray of coffee, juice, and bagels, walking rapidly along the deck, away from the Lido, toward the stern.

She wondered if it could be that nice Mr. Cannon. He was one of the taller Santas. She hurried over and pushed open the glass door. “Hey Santa!” she boomed, a smile in her voice. The Santa glanced over his shoulder but instead of slowing up, increased his pace. It was then that Alvirah saw, or thought she saw, that he had only one bell on his cap. She started to run after him, but the deck was slippery and the next thing she knew the coffee had gone flying and she had gone down like a ton of bricks, smashing her head into the side of one of the deck chairs.

For a moment, she was totally stunned and gasping for breath. Her head began to explode with pain, and she felt blood gushing down her
face. Dazed, she looked up. The Santa was nowhere to be seen. I'm going to pass out, she thought, but first, with her left hand, in a reflex action, she snapped on the microphone of her sunburst pin. “I'm sure he saw me,” she began, her voice groggy. “He was tall. I thought it was Ted Cannon. I think he had only one bell on his cap. My forehead is bleeding. I fell chasing him and now I'm sprawled on the deck—”

Then Alvirah fainted. After that, she had a blurry memory of people around her, of being lifted onto a stretcher, of something cold being pressed to her forehead, of riding in an elevator. When she regained consciousness, she opened her eyes to find Willy peering anxiously down at her. “That was some fall, honey,” he said. “Don't try to move.”

Her head was aching fiercely but other than that, Alvirah hoped she hadn't done herself any damage. She squeezed her toes and fingers. They felt okay. She shifted her shoulders and was relieved that her back still moved.

Dr. Gephardt, his white uniform jacket not yet fully buttoned, was standing beside Willy. “Mrs. Meehan,” he said, “that was a nasty blow to your head. I'll stitch up your forehead, and then we'll take an X-ray. I want you to take it easy for the next several hours.”

“I'll be fine,” Alvirah protested. “But believe me, there's something very funny going on on this ship.”

“What do you mean, honey?” Willy asked.

Alvirah's head was one solid ache, but her brain was beginning to clear. “I saw one of those Santa Clauses right after I got coffee. I thought it was that nice Ted Cannon—”

“He's in the waiting room,” Willy interrupted. “He was jogging with Maggie and they came around the corner and found you lying on the deck. You were talking—”

“Into my microphone,” Alvirah said.

“Well, then you passed out.”

“I know Ted wouldn't have ignored me. But the Santa I saw
did.
I yelled to him. He turned and looked at me and then kept going. And he had only one bell on his cap! I'm telling you . . . he must have been wearing one of the stolen suits. We've got to find out who that Santa is and where he is! Let's get Dudley and Regan and Jack.”

“Regan, Jack, Luke, and Nora are right here in the waiting room.”

“Send them in!” Alvirah ordered.

“Mrs. Meehan, I think you need to stay calm—” Gephardt began.

“I'm okay,” Alvirah insisted. “I've taken harder knocks than this. My family is famous for thick
skulls. I'll never stay calm knowing there's a thief who may be up to no good on this ship!”

From the next room they heard a raised voice. “I hear the doctor. I want him in here
now!”

“If you'll excuse me,” Gephardt said hurriedly as he dashed out.

“That must be Crater,” Alvirah told Willy. “He's got a pretty powerful set of vocal chords for someone who looked like he was about to keel over yesterday.”

“He sounds better now,” Willy agreed. “Let me get the Reillys.”

“Tell Maggie and Ted to come in, too. We've got work to do.”

In the couple of minutes it took everyone to get to her room, Alvirah's thoughts turned to Eric. He was supposed to have come directly down to check on Mr. Crater. Her hunch was that he hadn't made it.

“Alvirah! Are you all right?” Nora asked as they all crowded into the room.

“I'm fine. Never better.”

“What happened?”

Alvirah recounted the story of the unfriendly Santa. Ted and Maggie had already explained to the Reillys how they had found Alvirah lying on the deck. “I'm almost certain he was wearing a cap with only one bell,” Alvirah told them. “We've got
to have Dudley round up all eight Santa suits and make sure they all have two bells on the caps. If they do, then whoever I saw was wearing one of the stolen suits. What I've been thinking is we can enlist the other Santas to help us. We'll have to mark the Santa suits in some way so that we'll be able to pick out either of the stolen suits if someone wears them around the ship. . . . I think that someone must have stolen those suits so one or two people can get around this ship in disguise. I almost caught one of them.”

“Are you
sure
he heard you call him?” Regan asked.

“Positive. He turned around. I couldn't see his face with that beard.” She turned to Ted. “From the back I thought it might have been you. He was on the tall side.”

Ted smiled. “I'm glad I have a reliable witness.”

“That's me, Old Reliable,” Maggie quipped.

Jack shook his head. “It makes sense that whoever stole the suits wanted to be able to get around the ship incognito. I don't think any of the real Santas would be expected to roll out of bed and put on their suit to go down and get coffee.”

“It's ridiculous!” Alvirah cried. “There wasn't even anyone else down there for him to ‘Ho-Ho-Ho' with. And he certainly didn't want to ‘Ho-Ho-Ho' with
me.
”