Drowned Under Read online

  Doc sat at his desk. I careened through the door. “You, defibrillator, stairwell, now!” It took him a minute to detach it from the wall, but finally he was running behind me up to the Deck Six landing. I arrived, breathless, my calves cramping.

  The body was gone.

  I stood, pointing at nothing. Doc panted. “If you wanted to get me alone in the stairwell, you only had to ask.”

  “That’s not funny. Honest to God—and I know I’m jet lagged and I accidentally stood you up—Elliot Ness was lying here four minutes ago, not breathing. Right there.” I pointed again at the landing floor. No stains, no evidence, no body.

  “Elliot Ness? The G-Man?”

  “No, the guy pretending to be the ship’s photographer. That’s who I was meeting last night. He had pictures of Harriet and the Manzonis. When I found him, I thought he might have just fallen down the stairs, but it might be murder.”

  “Two murders in two days on one cruise ship? Come on, Cyd. Be rational.”

  “What good did that ever do? The best people are always irrational—Newton, Einstein, Harriet the Spy, Elvis. I could go on. I didn’t imagine it. Look at my lipstick. Would I ever go out in public like this?”

  “Okay, okay. It probably took two people or a hand truck to get him out of here, so they can’t have gone far.”

  He put down the defibrillator. I picked it back up and glared at him. As we moved toward the door, I saw a wad of paper just inside.

  “See?” I said. “Someone did this to get back in.”

  I handed it to him, hoisted the heart machine on my hip, and opened the door.

  “Cyd?” I turned back. “These are your business cards.”

  I almost dropped the defibrillator. Thank goodness for the sure-grip handle.

  “I can explain that,” I said. “Come on.”

  We ran out onto the deck. There was no one in either direction. We could hear laughter and dishes clattering and then, a faint but unmistakable splash. I stared at Doc. We both ran in the direction of the sound and saw two figures hurrying into another stairwell door.

  “Follow them,” I yelled. “I’ll check for Elliot.”

  I ran to the railing and peered into the water. Even from Deck Six, it was a long way down. I went all dizzy and blank for a minute. I thought I caught a flash of plaid, but by the time Doc returned, it was gone. There was nothing but dark.

  To his credit, he scanned the water for a whole minute or so. “Cyd, I’m not saying you imagined all this, but maybe you imagined all this.”

  It was all I could do not to brain him with the defibrillator, but the way this night was going, I might need it.

  “Okay, give the code for overboard.” I grabbed his walkie-talkie. “Felix! Felix! Felix!”

  “Feliz Navidad to you too,” someone croaked in response.

  Doc rolled his eyes and took the instrument back.

  “It’s not Felix?” I felt dizzy again.

  “Oscar.”

  “Okay, Oscar, Oscar, Oscar!” I yelled into the salt air. Doc took me by the shoulders, and moved me to a damp deck chair. On the deck above, I could hear James Stewart’s George Bailey getting ready to jump off a bridge in Bedford Falls.

  “Breathe.” He took my pulse. For the first time, that particular event felt erotic. My GP, Dr. Kevekian, usually hacked Turkish cigarette smoke into my face during this activity. Doc just kept his thumb steady on my wrist. It made my heart beat faster, but I didn’t tell him that.

  “You don’t believe me.”

  “It’s not that I don’t believe you, exactly. But it’s a very big deal to turn the ship around and hunt for someone. The Captain will want to know what happened and how and, right now, you’re the only person who’s actually seen this person. We didn’t see him go overboard, right?”

  “But you heard the splash, too, right? I’m not insane.”

  “I thought I heard a splash, yes, but that could be a lot of things. And we were listening for one. The mind can play tricks on you. When was the last time you ate?”

  “Breakfast.”

  “And how many seasickness pills did you take?”

  “Four?”

  “Four!”

  “Three didn’t work.”

  “You’re supposed to take one every twelve hours. And you haven’t had any food?” He just shook his head.

  “We have to do something. Please, Doc. Don’t you have that whole Hypocritical Oath thing?”

  “Hypocratic, though that’s probably more accurate. I have a passenger list in the office. Let’s go look him up and go from there.”

  “But we’re losing valuable time. We could still save him.”

  “How long did you do CPR?”

  “Three minutes?”

  “I hate to say it, but if he wasn’t breathing and his heart wasn’t beating then, the chances of him being alive in the water now are pretty much zero. Even if he was just unconscious, the fall probably killed him.”

  He was right. I just didn’t want to believe it. Elliot Ness was a con man, but he’d given me his handkerchief. That meant he had a mother who taught him manners. I knew my mother would want to know my fate, no matter what. I felt a stab of homesickness and responsibility.

  “Even so, we can’t just leave him there. He might have family.” He put his hand behind my head and pulled me forward, kissing me on the forehead. Finally, I let him help me up and followed him back downstairs into his office. He pulled out another one of those cruise ship clipboards I coveted, and flipped through it.

  “Ness, you said?” I nodded. He kept flipping, then shook his head. He handed me the list. He was right. Elliot Ness wasn’t there. No Elliots at all, even under another last name.

  “Maybe it was an alias?”

  “Maybe.” He wasn’t buying it. He had that “you’re more attractive when you’re crazy” look in his eye. He got up, unlocked his drug cabinet, and took out a vial. I stared at the stock of pharmaceuticals.

  “Doc? What’s Dolophine?”

  “It’s a form of methadone. Why?”

  Wow. I guess The Fountain offered deep relaxation. “No reason. I didn’t imagine Elliot Ness. No matter how many pills I took. Wait! I have evidence. I have his flash drive. Here, I’ll show you.” I plugged the flash drive into his desktop. That’s the last thing I remembered.

  Chapter Thirty-three

  I hadn’t pegged Doc as the love bite type, but there were some not entirely unpleasant teeth gnawing on my neck when I came to. It took about three seconds to realize I was back in cabin 710 and they weren’t human.

  “Howard! What are you doing here?” He was shaking himself on the bed and, in addition to my neck, had been at the down pillows. The bed and half the room was dusted in a soft white. At least it finally looked like Christmas.

  “Thanks to you, we missed the handoff. I figured we were safer here.”

  I jumped, spooking Howard. “Sorry, buddy.”

  It was Ron Brazil, complete with pompadour, a yachting outfit, and a pistol in his lap. At least it was pointed at the door instead of me.

  “How did you get in?” He rolled his eyes. “Wait, how did I get in?” I looked down. This time I was still dressed. Thank goodness chiffon was tougher than it looked. My Jimmy Choos were in front of the closet. Oh, God. My Balenciaga. Where was it?

  I did not like to be separated from my bag. The last time it happened, I’d wound up imprisoned in a damp hotel room in Dar Es Salaam preparing to have snakes inserted into my bra. Now, if anyone expected me to check it, anywhere, I insisted that I needed my medication. “My condition could strike at any time,” I would say, my condition being the need to have my bag on my shoulder. I looked around, starting to hyperventilate.

  “Looking for this?” Brazil held it aloft.

  “Yes! Yes. I am looking for that. Give it he
re! And don’t throw it.” He did, of course. It seemed intact. I saw the chewed pillows by my head and put it on the side away from Howard.

  I tried to sit up. Everything was hazy. Where had I been before here? Doc’s office. The flash drive. I dug through my bag and didn’t see it.

  “What day is it?”

  “The twenty-third.” That meant it was the twenty-second in Bay Ridge. Dr. Paglia wouldn’t have the samples yet.

  “How long have you been here?” I sat up and let Howard nuzzle under the covers.

  “Since about four.”

  “Four in the morning? And I was here, then?”

  “Yep. Zonked. I need to leave Howard with you so I can get rid of the guys who’ve been following me.”

  “They’re both loose again?”

  “I think there may be three. Somebody untied the other two.”

  “Great.”

  “They still don’t know who you are, or they’d be in here. Once we’re in Hobart I can get a boat to Maria Island. But I need you to disembark with him, because they’ll be waiting for me. Also, because this is all your fault.”

  “That seems pretty harsh, considering.”

  “Considering that you lost him and then he was drawn back by your vomit? The ‘Circle of Life’ defense?”

  “I hate the Circle of Life.”

  “Tough shit. Get over it. The planet is a ticking bomb. You actually have a chance to do something about it for once.”

  I looked at Howard. His eyes were still sad. He shook his little behind, and his stripes shivered. Then he yawned and I got my first full view of his razor sharp teeth. I touched my neck, amazed I hadn’t bled out.

  As he pounced on a feather, I wondered whether he missed his mom. And whether he knew he was the last of his kind, an honest to God miracle—the kind of once in a millennium thing that terrified me. I didn’t have the skills to save a species. It needed expertise. It might need violence. It needed the lunatic fringe figure sitting across from me.

  “Look, as you said, I keep screwing up. This is too important for me to be in charge of. What if I screw up again? I’m a travel agent, not a secret agent. I’ve never even had a pet. Why don’t you just wear one of your five hundred disguises? You’re a trained eco-warrior, right?”

  “It’s too risky. Help me fix it, or I’ll tell the Hobart Police you broke into my room.”

  “Who is going to believe that?”

  He held up his own digital camera. “It’s always on.”

  “And if I do this, you are going to help me find out what happened to my in-laws, right? And to Harriet? I have to go to this place, The Fountain. I think they might have gone there.”

  “Fine. Once he’s safe.”

  “What’s Sister Ellery going to do while you’re at your compound?”

  “She said she’s going to rest a little.”

  “Why? That’s not like her. Is she okay?”

  “She’s not in her seventies anymore.”

  “I know. It worries me.” Sometimes I forgot that. I think the first person who reads you Dick and Jane seems invincible, if not immortal. I could still see her whipping her wimple out of the way and settling in to hold the book backwards so we could all see.

  “You’re going to let her down easy, right?”

  “What makes you think she won’t dump me?”

  “Yeah, you’re right. When she sees those wigs.”

  There was a knock on the door. And another one, louder. I threw up my hands.

  Brazil grabbed Howard and got into the closet. These closets really weren’t designed for repetitive subterfuge.

  I looked through the peephole. It was Doc. Part of me was glad to see him, but part of me heard alarm bells. Was he a good guy or a bad guy? The last thing I remembered was putting the flash drive in. I leaned my forehead against the door, then cracked it open. I smelled Gillette aftershave and breakfast cooking somewhere. I was starving.

  “Morning. I just wanted to make sure you were all right. Are you?”

  “I’m not sure. What happened?”

  “You keeled over in my desk chair. I’m guessing from an overdose of Dramamine and an underdose of food. I didn’t want to get slapped again, so I left you in your clothes this time.”

  “Thank you. I think.”

  “You’re welcome. You had a rough night.” Oh, God. Elliot Ness. Had I dreamed all that?

  “Can I come in for a minute? I have a couple of things for you.”

  “I’m not really presentable.”

  “Don’t worry, I’m a doctor.”

  I hear Brazil cough “Don’t” under his breath.

  “Come on, Cyd. I brought breakfast. And your flash drive.”

  I needed that flash drive. I shot a look at the closet and undid the chain.

  “Is no one ever sick on this boat? You seem to have a lot of free time.”

  “Yeah, they’re not too happy this trip, as they aren’t getting to charge enough for medical services. Someone’s bound to sprain something on the waterslide. In the meantime, here. You may not feel like eating, but you should.”

  He had a massive room service tray and the whole works in his hands—the covered plate, silverware, a tiny flower vase.

  I realized I was hungry, really hungry for the first time since I’d arrived. He handed me the flash drive and sat down on the chair by the balcony. I walked onto the balcony to keep his eyes away from the closet.

  “There are a few shots on there you should see.”

  “Of Harriet?”

  “I’ll show them to you later. You should eat before it gets cold.”

  He got up and took off the room service lid to reveal eggs, toast, hash browns, and bacon. Oh God, no. Not bacon.

  I heard the yelp of a gigolo imposter being nipped by a mythical creature, and tried to cover by dropping the serving spoon. Onto carpet. Needless to say, it was ineffective.

  “What was that?” Doc said. “Is there someone in here?”

  “Now you’re the one imagining things. I didn’t imagine Elliot Ness, by the way.”

  “I know.”

  He started to walk toward the closet. “Look, let me just check, because there have been odd things going on and I want to make sure you’re safe.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous.” I moved in front of him. Right in front of him. I mean, I had to. And then my mouth was on his and his hands were in my hair and I didn’t want it to stop. He moved his hand to my shoulder, then lower. My hips pulled towards his and the kiss got deeper.

  Dammit, why did I have to have a “Peeping Ron” in my closet at this moment? Or a baby Howard? The longer the tiger was stuck in the closet with bacon in proximity, the more likely he was to yip again.

  I pulled away before I wanted to. Way before I wanted to. And I think before Doc wanted to, too. “Sorry.”

  “No apology necessary. This is crazy. Eat your breakfast. I’ll see you when we dock.”

  “Right. Thanks for, you know.”

  He nodded and left. I redid the chain.

  The closet flew open. “First Aid kit,” Brazil yelled, as Howard made a bee-line for the bacon. I snatched one piece and the toast and put the rest on the floor for him.

  I dug into my purse for Band-Aids and Neosporin. “He’s not rabid, is he?”

  “No. You, maybe. Why did you let him in? It was moronic.” He looked at his watch while he slammed a Band-Aid on the tiny bite marks on his hand. “Okay, here’s the plan.”

  Chapter Thirty-four

  Unfortunately, Brazil’s plan involved Howard’s returning to my Balenciaga. I still hadn’t had the nerve to tell him the bad guys might recognize it, though if they did come after me they would have to tear it, and the tiger inside, from my cold, dead hands.

  If I was transporting Howard, I needed to make p
rovisions for him and for my vintage bag. A tiger had a slightly larger “carbon footprint” than a chameleon and he’d already left a few of those pungent “footprints” in the closet. Thankfully, I’d put all my clothes and shoes up on the wooden shelf for bedbug protection. Still. Bullet holes and cobra venom notwithstanding, there were some things a purse couldn’t recover from.

  I headed into the bathroom. Thank goodness he was still tiny, as I managed to fashion a diaper with a large make-up sponge, dental floss, and two crisscrossed shower caps. At least he was used to having his privates in a pouch. I leaned down, looked into his little eyes, and apologized for his impending humiliation. Then, using a combination of bacon, patience, and lightning fast kickboxing reflexes, I triumphed.

  I figured I would let him run around and get used to his new look before cooping him up. I checked that the sliding balcony door was secure and pulled the curtain. I was too afraid to take a proper shower, but I sluished as best I could, put on my “onshore” outfit of a pale pink gauze tank top over a white poplin miniskirt. Again, my nude heels were designed for this outfit, but I erred on the side of strappy white sandals. Stuart Weitzman, of course.

  The room still looked like a chicken coop but I didn’t have time to clean up. I called housekeeping to say I didn’t need service. I didn’t want Maria or the Koozer to have to deal with, or ask about, Howard’s antics.

  If it was the morning of the twenty-third in Tasmania, it was the night of the twenty-second in Bay Ridge. Smack dab in the middle of the ptomaine potluck. I trusted Eddie and Frank to make sure Mom and Aunt Helen made it through the yuletide ordeal. I would call later to see how it went. Then I remembered. It was Thursday. I had missed my weekly visit to Uncle Ray. I was sure, given his octopus-like network, he knew where I was, but it was the first time I’d missed a visit since he’d gone to prison.