Santa Cruise (21 page)

“Dudley, get Captain Smith,” the Commodore ordered. “I know he's already in the dining room.”

Once again Dudley dashed off. Less than a minute later, he returned with Captain Smith, whose expression did not change when he heard the saga of the probable stowaway.

“I remember on one of my ship's maiden voyage we lost all power during a particularly vicious storm and were battered unmercifully by the waves for two days—”

“Yes, yes,” the Commodore interrupted impatiently.

Dudley knew that only the Captain could match the Commodore in relating every last detail of an event that had happened years ago.

“So it is feasible that we could have an engine failure that could be temporarily corrected,” the Captain continued. “I will go directly to the bridge now, begin to slow the ship, then toward the end of the lunch hour bring her to a complete stop. Then I will come up to the dining salon to ostensibly report the problem to you, Commodore.”

The Commodore was thoughtful. “At which time I will explain what is happening to the passengers. I will also make the announcement that in view of the circumstances my dear mother's ceremony will begin at two thirty.”

“I thought you wanted to have it at sunset?” Dudley interrupted.

“Not anymore! If we are turning back this is the nearest spot to where I had planned to leave Mother.”

With a brief nod but without speaking, Captain Smith left them.

Alvirah was debating. Should they warn the Commodore not to say anything to Eric about Tony Pinto? But what would the reason be for it? Should she explain that Eric was looking for a
deck of cards and might possibly be connected to Tony Pinto? That there were traces of mysterious potato chips on the carpet of his room that he never would have eaten? We can't tell him that, she decided. If Eric was guilty, his uncle would find out soon enough.

The Commodore squared his shoulders. “Our guests are beginning to have lunch. I must join them. Ivy, there's a place for you at my table.” Taking her arm, he steered her to the door.

The others watched them leave.

“That's a classy guy,” Luke commented.

“This could be the ruination of his cruise ship,” Dudley said sadly. “His back is against the financial wall.”

Nora sighed. “Well, we'd better go inside.” She turned to Maggie. “Why don't you sit with us?” With a wry smile she added, “You're our coconspirator.”

“Thank you, but Ted is planning to sit at my table for lunch.”

“Jack and I will be right back,” Regan said as they started walking toward the door.

“I have to call the office and let them know what's going on.” Jack's voice was crisp.

“Bring the cards back,” Alvirah directed them. “Eric is bugging us for them.”

“We will,” Regan assured her.

Regan and Jack turned toward the elevators. The others walked into the dining salon. Fifteen minutes later, Regan and Jack were hurrying toward the table.

“What?” Alvirah asked before they even sat down.

Regan's voice was low. “We just learned that there is a close connection between Bull's-Eye Tony Pinto and Barron Highbridge, the classy crook from Greenwich who ran a huge investment scam and was about to be sentenced. Highbridge disappeared last week, and his ex-girlfriend is sure he called her from Miami. His gofer is a cousin of Bingo Mullens, the guy the police are sure arranged Bull's-Eye's escape.”

“What does Highbridge look like?” Alvirah asked.

“Tall and thin,” Regan answered.

“Like the one-belled Santa who left me high and dry on the deck!” Alvirah cried.

Jack took the cards out of his pocket and slid them across the table. “You can give the cards back to Eric,” he said. “My office is pretty sure these are numbers of Swiss bank accounts. They're working on it and will know soon.”

Alvirah said flatly, “The big question is, ‘What were those cards doing in
Eric's
room?' ”

E
ric could not believe what was going on. The ship was now at a complete stop and would soon be turning back to port. I'm a dead man, he thought despairingly. If I can't get those two off the ship, and they get caught when we dock in Miami, Bull's-Eye will definitely have me killed. Even if I'm in jail, he'll find a way. . . . Eric could not believe how stupid he had been. If I had just helped Uncle Randolph make this operation work, I could have had a good life, he thought. I'm his only heir. There would have been lots of money, lots of single girls on the cruises—I could have had everything.

No matter what, I've
got
to get those two off the ship!

He hurried up to the suite and opened the door of his room. While he was still debating what to tell the two escapees in his closet, Eric heard
the door from the corridor open and realized that the Commodore had followed him.

Eric turned to him. “Uncle Randolph, I can't tell you how sorry I am that we have to go back to Miami. I know how awful it is for you, with the bad publicity we're already getting.”

The Commodore sat heavily on the couch and buried his face in his hands. “My boy,” he said, “it's worse.
Much
worse.”

What could be worse? Eric wondered as he felt his entire body burst into a sweat. “What is it?” he managed to croak.

“We are virtually certain we have a mobster on board as a stowaway—the so-called Bull's-Eye Tony Pinto.”

“Wha . . . wha . . . what?” Eric stammered.

“There is no engine problem. We're only saying that to avoid a panic among the passengers. As you must know, Jack Reilly is the head of the Major Case Squad in New York City. We are following his advice. We will return to Miami, and the police will search from one end of this ship to the other. Wait till I find out where he's been hiding and who's been hiding him.” The Commodore's voice rose. “Give me two minutes with that crook in a locked room! I'll show
him
what a Bull's-Eye is!”

Eric cringed. Bull's-Eye and Highbridge are listening
to this, he thought. At least I don't have to break the news to them. He remembered an expression of his grandmother's, “We get comfort wherever we can find it.” Eric looked at the locked glass case where his grandmother's ashes were reposing in the silver box. You never liked me, he thought. That's why I turned out the way I did.

The Commodore stood. “The ceremony will begin very soon,” he said. “We are going to make it short and sweet, then the Captain will start the engines and we'll head home. I'm going to spend these last precious moments with Grandma in the chapel.”

As soon as his uncle was gone, Eric went into his room and shut the door. His palms so sweaty he could barely open the door of the closet, he braced himself and turned the handle.

“I'd kill you now, but we still need you,” Bull's-Eye said with no emotion in his voice.

“We have to get off the ship while it's stopped,” Highbridge told Eric. “Give me your satellite phone. Get the reading of the latitude and longitude. We'll call our people and tell them to find us in your dinghy. They can figure out how far we'd drift.”

Bull's-Eye reached in the pocket of his Santa suit and pulled out Crater's gun. “All the cash we gave you is coming with us, too.” Eric looked up at
the shelf and realized that his locked suitcase had been pried open.

“We were looking for our clothes,” Bull's-Eye explained. “Too bad you weren't smart enough to put our deposit for this trip in the bank. Forget about it. It would have been easier to swim than to put up with your plans. And I'm not leaving without my cards,” he said flatly.

Eric ran out to his uncle's desk, checked the latitude and longitude of the ship, then hurried back and reported the readings to Highbridge. “While you make the call, I'll get the cards,” he promised desperately. He closed the doors of the closet and of his bedroom, hurried through the suite, and went out into the corridor. He was about to go to the Meehans' door and knock when he glanced down toward the elevator bank. They were just stepping off the elevator. He waited for them and to his vast relief he didn't even have to ask about the cards.

“Oh, Eric,” Alvirah said, “we have your friend's cards.”

Willy piped up. “Tell your buddy if he's getting together a game, I'd love to join him.”

Eric's palms were sweaty as he closed them around Bull's-Eye's cards. “Sure, sure, I'll tell him. Thanks.” His eyes briefly registered the chocolate syrup stains covering the front of Willy's shirt.

Willy laughed. “Don't think I'm a slob. The waiter was being generous, but in my case he missed my bowl of ice cream when he was ladeling out the hot fudge sauce. I'm on my way to change.”

“Sorry about that,” Eric said, his grip on the cards so tight that they were cutting into his palm.

“See you at your grandmother's ceremony,” Alvirah said as they continued down the corridor.

Eric waited until the Meehans were safely inside their stateroom. I need thirty seconds to get Bull's-Eye and Highbridge to the crew companionway, he reasoned. It led directly down to the stern, where he had hidden the dinghy. It was risky using the stairs now, but even if they passed a crew member he would know better than to question Eric or anyone with him. Eric worried that Winston might be a problem—he used those stairs all the time to get down to his cabin and had a way of appearing out of nowhere.

Eric knew that he had to get Bull's-Eye and Highbridge down to the open area on the lowest deck at the stern where nets, hooks, and assorted waterproof paraphernalia for the ship were stored. There was no concealed locker or closet, which was why he had not even considered hiding the two men there. But there
was
an overhang, which meant no one from the upper decks could
see what was happening there from above. The risk was that someone would spot them when they threw the inflatable dinghy over the stern in broad daylight. Once the two men were in the dinghy, Eric had a canvas cover they could pull over themselves so that anyone who saw the dinghy would assume it was empty. But hopefully everyone would be at his grandmother's ceremony.

Eric went back into the suite, strode to his room, and opened the door of his closet. He handed Bull's-Eye the cards. “Let's go,” he snapped, noticing that Bull's-Eye had the briefcase he must have stolen and Highbridge was holding Eric's duffel bag to which they'd obviously transferred the cash they'd given Eric and their clothing.

“Coming,” Bull's-Eye snapped back.

By the grace of God, they made it to the crew companionway without running into anyone. What they didn't know was that Alvirah's ear was at the slightly opened door of her room. When she heard the Commodore's door shut, she poked out her head just in time to see Eric and the two Santas disappear behind the unmarked door at the other end of the passageway. It was the door she had seen Winston use, and she was sure it was intended just for the crew.

Merciful heavens! she thought. That has to be Bull's-Eye and the Santa I was chasing. Eric is hand-in-glove with them! I can't waste a second. Willy's in the shower, but if I take the time to tell him what's up it'll be too late and I'll lose them. She bolted down the corridor as fast as her arthritic knees would permit, silently opened the door they'd gone through, and could hear their footsteps in the distance, echoing several decks below. She grabbed the railing as she hurried after them.

When she reached the bottom deck, there was a metal door to her left. She opened it a crack. A rubber dinghy was being inflated, and two men were strapping life jackets over their Santa suits.

I've got to get help, she thought. She turned and started up the stairs, but before she had gone six steps the door flew open behind her. She tried to run faster, but it was impossible to escape. She felt a strong hand clamp over her mouth, a muscled arm pull her back, and heard Eric say, “You're not
that
good an amateur sleuth, Mrs. Meehan.”

C
rater had panicked when Fredericka and Gwendolyn had informed him once again that the time of the ceremony had been changed. He had placed an urgent call to his people. “There can be no delays!”

“Don't worry. We're almost there,” he was told.

Crater had then informed Dr. Gephardt that he had sent for his helicopter. “With the breakdown of the ship, I don't feel comfortable, and I can tell from previous experiences that a major asthma attack is building up. My breathing is getting shorter. I want to go home, where good medical care is close at hand.”

What a load of bull, Dr. Gephardt had thought, sitting in his office and twirling a pencil as he listened.

“But I
am
looking forward to the ceremony for the Commodore's mother. Those lovely children
who have been so kind to me will be singing, I understand.”

“So I heard,” Dr. Gephardt said, thinking how glad he'd be when Crater was gone. Whoever tried to smother him could have another go at it. Jack Reilly might be interested in this, Gephardt thought as he hung up. He dialed the Reilly's stateroom, but there was no answer.

On the top deck, at the bow of the ship, people were already gathering for the ceremony. Crew members had placed rows of folding chairs on either side of a makeshift aisle through which the Commodore, Eric, and the Santa Claus guard of honor would march. A small table from the Commodore's suite had been placed in front of the crowd, a bouquet of flowers and a hand microphone on it. Stereo speakers had been set up to play “Amazing Grace.”

The sun was bright, the sea calm, the only movement of the
Royal Mermaid
being caused by the waves gently lapping against it.

In the distance, the sound of a helicopter approaching caught everyone's attention. A buzz went through the ship, and in an instant the deck was full. Dudley came running out and rushed to pick up the microphone. “There is no need for alarm!” he began. “Our friend Mr. Crater,” he
nodded to Crater sitting in a wheelchair at the end of the front row near the rail, “needs to get home to consult with his family physician.”