Drowned Under Page 24

  I turned to the isolation tank. Peeking out of it was my former father-in-law’s bald head, in a hot pink bathing cap. I turned off the mini-cassette tape recorder in my purse, grabbed my BlackBerry, and made sure to get a blackmail snap before I helped him out. His orange, overstuffed Speedo clashed with the cap. I handed the dripping idiot a fresh waffle robe.

  “What are you doing here?”

  “Barry sent me to find you and Sandra. Clearly you need keepers.”

  He tried to give a dignified tug on his bathing cap. It slid partway off. “I most certainly do not. And what have you done to Pierce? We’re business partners. Untie him immediately.” Fredo drew himself up and went toward Butler.

  I grabbed the belt on his robe and jerked him back. “Listen to this.”

  I played him the recording I’d made of Butler and Gary. His face provoked the same kind of faint pity I’d felt for Sandra the day before.

  “The other guy is still here. Will you watch Mr. Butler while I go try to save our lives?”

  He gave me the nod of the defeated, as the pink bathing cap slid off and onto the floor.

  I assumed Gary was in the office. I needed to immobilize him and get the papers he was going to plant in my cabin, then call the police.

  I was too late. Gary and the town car were gone.

  At least he’d left a working landline. I dialed the Hobart Police, then hung up. I remembered Inspector Randy’s scorn and Pierce Butler’s face on the front page of the paper. I knew how small towns worked. People protected their own and no one wanted to hear bad news, especially at Christmas. Also, I’d reported two people missing who weren’t missing.

  I remembered Scott, my valiant helicopter cop. I dug his card out of my purse and dialed. I had to tell him about Harriet. That was awful. After we reminisced about her, he said the Melbourne Harbor Police only had jurisdiction when they had evidence that the crime had occurred in harbor waters. I didn’t have that. Yet.

  “It sounds like this Butler guy and his partners have definitely committed fraud, but Interpol’s only going to pursue that, or the murder, if it happened in international waters. Be careful on that ship. If you can get in a twelve-mile radius, I’ll come pick you up.”

  We wished each other happy holidays and I programmed his number into my BlackBerry. I made one more toll-free call, courtesy of The Fountain—to Interpol. Graham Gant’s voicemail said he was away for the holidays. Wasn’t everyone?

  So I tried Frank.

  “Geez, Cyd, enough with the conspiracies already. You sound ridiculous.” He’d had some eggnog. “You come from a family of law enforcement, it’s embarrassing.”

  “Will it help with the Precinct to arrest the man who’s been running an international fraud ring, using and selling senior identities, including lots of people from Bay Ridge?”

  “Probably.”

  “Okay. Here’s what you need to do. Just make sure I get enough credit to keep the business going, that’s all I ask.”

  “You’ve got it, Squid.”

  “In return, you have to call Interpol for me.”

  Now, if I could just get Pierce Butler into international waters. In a wheelchair. Or force him to commit a crime twelve miles or fewer from Melbourne. How was I going to do that?

  It turned out it didn’t matter. He was gone too.

  It was all I could do not to slap Fredo in astonishment. “Wait until the Bay Ridge Masons hear about this,” I said.

  Half an hour later, we were on an overcrowded bus full of holiday revelers headed into Hobart. Fredo had been so mortified, he wouldn’t even speak to me until after I’d located the ride and found us a seat in the very back. Of course, then, we had to shout our conversation over an out-of-tune, communal version of “The Twelve Days of Christmas” involving an emu up a gum tree.

  I kept at Fredo until he admitted he’d heard footsteps and hidden behind the isolation tank. When he thought it was safe to come out, Butler, the wheelchair, and the duffel were gone.

  “Did you at least look around to see who it was? Was it Gary?” Had I just missed him?

  “You played me that recording. I thought my life was in danger.”

  “Actually, your life is in more danger now. You realize I managed to get your money back and you’ve given it to him again, right? The check was in that duffel bag or his wallet.”

  “Don’t overreact. I’ll cancel it. We can go to the bank when we get back to town.”

  “No, and no. First, the banks closed at noon for the holiday, and you can’t cancel a cashier’s check. It’s the equivalent of cash. That’s why people ask for them.”

  Fredo went even more gray than usual. “That was the down payment for Barry and Angela’s house. He said he was going to double it.” He’d looked better in the bathing cap.

  The bus made a lot of stops and got rowdier as we went. We finally reached the middle of Hobart at three. I left Fredo at the hotel. I told him he needed to find Sandra and start pretending to still be married. And that her credit card had been declined, so he would need to pay for the hotel.

  “You didn’t by any chance give your credit card numbers to anyone at The Fountain?” He wouldn’t look at me.

  “Get out.” I gave him a fifty. It was Christmas Eve.

  I dreaded going back on the ship. Doc was furious with me, and Sister Ellery expected me to catch Butler. I thought I knew who’d killed Harriet, but I still wasn’t one hundred percent sure. Even if I had been, I didn’t have enough evidence to go to the authorities.

  I went to a bench by the harbor and let the waterworks loose, just to get it out of my system. So I didn’t see Doc coming my way from the center of town.

  Chapter Fifty

  He didn’t say anything, just sat down beside me and handed me a sleigh-shaped cookie the size of my hand.

  We both looked straight ahead while I ate it.

  “When I was a medical student, a friend and I got drunk one night and broke into the hospital pharmacy for a lark. We didn’t take anything, but they threw me out. That’s why I didn’t finish.” He took my hand. “I overreacted.”

  I turned to him. “No you didn’t. It was an inexcusable thing to do. I was an idiot. I’ll go straight to Captain Lindoff now and tell her it was me.”

  “You don’t need to do that.”

  “I do. I put you at risk. And for nothing. None of the evidence is admissible.”

  “It wasn’t quite for nothing.” He pulled out a reindeer cookie and split it in half.

  I took my half. “What are you talking about?”

  “I just convinced the local ME to do an autopsy. He likes cookies too.”

  Despite my mouth half full of icing, I grabbed him and kissed him. He kissed me back, smearing icing and lipstick everywhere, then put his arm around me. We looked out at the ships.

  “How about you? What have you been doing?”

  I told him.

  “You mean those two are loose?”

  “As far as I know. They’re probably already on a charter to Macao.”

  “I liked Gary.”

  “Me too. Until, you know.”

  “Any word from the island?”

  “Not yet.”

  “Eggnog bar?”

  We liberated Sister Ellery, who was recovered and starving. We stuffed ourselves, then went up to the deck. Red and green holiday lights jumped on the water. The wharf was tasteful by Bay Ridge standards, but there were a few houses and neighborhoods that floated and glowed in familiar, over-the-top glory. I leaned against Doc and tried to figure out what I could do. Get Fredo and Sandra on the boat, for one. I knew there was at least one small, messy cabin available, if they didn’t mind that it had belonged to a missing dead man.

  My cabin, on the other hand, had a very live man in it that night. Doc said he’d walk me to my room, but we
only made it to the elevator before his hands were around my waist again. He was persuasive and imaginative, even finding an erogenous zone I didn’t know I had, on the inside of my knee. As a doctor, he knew his anatomy. Just like Roger had. Roger. Just to convince myself he didn’t matter, I made sure Doc and I finished what we’d started on the museum stairs. Twice. As Gary said, holidays don’t count.

  On Christmas morning, we pulled into Port Arthur. Doc, Sister Ellery, and I had a huge buffet breakfast with Mary Lou and Jack, and then retired to Sister Ellery’s cabin, where we exchanged our Secret Santa presents. I’d found the tackiest possible Tasmanian tiger tea towel for Doc and a new electric blue halter for Sister Ellery. She agreed to call my family with me.

  Aunt Helen wasn’t available, as she’d succumbed to a case of food poisoning from the Pinskys’ “figgy pudding.” What did she expect? I told my mom I would call again tomorrow, when it was Christmas Day in Brooklyn.

  Then, we got our real present—a text from Ron Brazil:

  The eagle has landed.

  We went back to the Castaways Bar to celebrate. As we raised our glasses, Sandra and Fredo walked in. Even in the dark, I could see Sister Ellery straighten her bony spine.

  “The Fountain wasn’t all bad.”

  Oh God, Fredo.

  He kept darting looks her way. Who was I to interfere with the course of true love? Absolutely the right person. But I didn’t get the chance. I got my call back from Graham Gant.

  It cut out immediately, so I went up on deck, hoping for better reception. I stared at the gorgeous, sinister Port Arthur. It seemed a strange place to dock for Christmas, but there were plenty of passengers wandering the grounds. And town cars parking. Where was Gary?

  It was too hot in the sun and Gant still hadn’t called, so I returned to the bar. No Doc. Someone had complained of a dodgy stomach and he had rushed them to his office, and away from the other passengers. Norovirus, just what we needed. Sister Ellery thought it had been a mistake for the cruise line to hang mistletoe in all the bars. I agreed.

  I told her we’d both be better off in a sterile area and I would meet her at the disco later. I wanted to rest, then change into something appropriate, maybe from the lost and found. I was so used to taking the stairs by now, it was second nature. If I hadn’t, I wouldn’t have surprised Pierce Butler and Lisa Callahan making out on the Deck Five landing.

  Chapter Fifty-one

  “Ow!” Butler’s right forearm was in a splint. Good. “Careful, Lele.”

  Gag. Even Butler’s pet names were patronizing. But now it all made sense. Lisa Callahan aka “Lele” was in on the scam—she was the one who organized the “CT” part of the equation. She knew when someone was at the Captain’s Table, so their rooms could be broken into undetected. That must be how she got all the personal information. And if she’d spirited Butler onto the ship last night, she could have gotten him on and off the day Harriet was killed.

  I cracked the door again to find his tongue down her throat. Slimebag bastard. He’d obviously lied about wanting to reconcile with Harriet. She must have threatened to report him to the cruise line, so he killed her, then worked me with a sob story.

  I was just getting my phone out to take a picture of them when Gant called back. They heard the phone and whipped my way. I slammed the door, levered a nearby trash can in front of it, and ran, ducking into a housekeeping closet to take the call.

  Of course Gant kept breaking up. Through the static, he said he’d been on Butler’s trail for years, ever since he was operating as a faux chiropractor in Greece under a different alias. When Gant got the call from Frank, he’d gone straight to the airport and was on his way to Melbourne. He would use local law enforcement (with any luck, Scott) to helicopter him to the ship while it was still in international waters—that way Butler couldn’t escape in the chaos of disembarking and there wouldn’t be any issues with jurisdiction.

  “I’ll be there by...” I lost the call. I inched out of the closet into the empty hallway.

  The ship was beginning to reek of bleach. Two more people had fallen sick, and every housekeeper on the ship was disinfecting railings and door handles. I heard the whistle. The ship was leaving the harbor. Would Butler stay or go?

  I ran to the deck and took my mini binoculars from my Balenciaga. Passengers poured up the ramp, but no one went the other way. I tried Gant again. No answer. It was going to be up to me to keep the ship in international waters until that helicopter got here. I calculated Gant’s potential travel time, factoring in holiday delays. I figured he’d be cutting it close, and might arrive late afternoon the next day. Boxing Day. The day of the yacht race.

  Neither Doc nor Sister Ellery was around. I had a sad, single person’s buffet—with crab legs—and headed to bed early, knowing in the morning, I’d need help.

  I didn’t want Sister Ellery at risk again and, since I passed a woman in a tropical muumuu projectile vomiting over the railing on my way to breakfast, I figured Doc was going to have his hands full. After two short stacks for energy, I went back to my cabin and buzzed for the Koozer.

  While I waited, I searched for the documents Butler had threatened to plant in my cabin. Had Gary done it? Was he on the ship? I’d pulled out everything I could by the time the Koozer opened the door and looked at the mess.

  “Do you want me to get Housekeeping?”

  “No.” I crawled backwards out of the closet. “It’s a very long story, but someone might have planted evidence in the cabin to frame me. I have to find it before we get to Melbourne.”

  “Any chance this is it?” The Koozer held out a package addressed to me. “It was left for you last night, with directions to leave it in the cargo hold until your departure. That seemed weird, so I thought I should let you know.” Over-tipping—never a mistake.

  I took the package. It was full of the financial and medical information on Butler’s “ones through threes.” I hoped it would help Gant prosecute. I hid it under the chair cushion.

  “Koozer, Esmeralda is one lucky girl. In fact, if you can help me with a few more things, I’m going to gift you guys all my air and hotel miles so you can have a proper honeymoon.” He gave me a questioning look. “You’ll get an IOU.”

  “And positive cruise line evaluations for me and Nylo?”

  The Koozer had told me promotions and bonuses were all dependent on passenger recommendations. “That goes without saying.” It did.

  “These are the things I need. Two life jackets, two of those pool flotation toys you put on your arms, a flashing red light that will work in the water, a wet suit—I thought I saw one in the lost and found—and a vintage polyester wrap-dress in a size six, preferably Diane Von Furstenberg.”

  “You got it,” he said, and left.

  There were only three reasons a cruise ship stopped: if it was sinking, if it was on fire, or if someone went overboard. At least with option three, I’d be the only one who could get hurt. Of course, not being able to swim made it more complicated, as did the need to know exactly where international waters stopped and Australian waters began. To be honest, it gave me a headache just thinking about it, so I tried to avoid my terror of death like most people do—by frantic, pointless organizing.

  I hoped Gant would get here before I had to stop the boat, but in case he didn’t, I wanted to increase my risk of survival by entering the water from the lowest point possible. I would need the Koozer’s help with that. If I managed to fall while people were on deck cheering on the yacht racers, I’d have witnesses. I didn’t want the cruise line to cover it up and leave me there to sink, like they had with Elliot Ness. And, being a non-swimmer, I wanted assistance as fast as possible. Preferably instantly.

  Keeping an eye out for Pierce Butler, I went to the ship’s library and got out a nautical map. It looked like I would have to jump at least an hour out of Melbourne. They started slowing the ship
a half hour before then, so at least the wake wouldn’t be quite as bad.

  I could put my BlackBerry and satellite phone in a dry bag. Then I had a terrifying thought. My Balenciaga. The idea of leaving it was much more terrifying than jumping off the boat. I couldn’t do anything without my purse. It was too big for a dry bag.

  I was going to have to entrust it, and my father’s compass, to Sister Ellery. If I drowned, I would leave instructions that it was to be buried with me, King Tut style, so I would have all the vital things I would need in the afterlife, like Tupperware, emergency cash, and dental floss.

  Just then, there was an announcement that, due to an overabundance of caution, there would be a mandatory quarantine for all passengers. Everyone was to stay inside their cabins until further notice.

  Great. There went my witnesses. I tried Gant one more time. Nothing. Then I tried Scott. He didn’t answer either. This plan was starting to seem stupider and stupider. And more likely.

  At least the crew was still allowed to move around. The Koozer eventually returned, sporting a surgical mask and rubber gloves. He said the “flotation toys” were too bulky to carry, but he had everything else. The dress was a knock-off, but it was unlikely anyone was going to be dancing anywhere but to their toilets tonight, so that was fine.

  I explained what I wanted to do. To his credit, he really tried to talk me out of it. In the end, he admitted that he and Nylo could probably lower me on one of their ropes or even with a small inflatable raft. They’d send up the alarm, and the boat would have to stop and rescue me. It seemed pretty foolproof. For someone who could swim.

  I arranged to meet the Koozer and Nylo in a few hours, when the yacht race was due to pass us going toward Hobart.

  I wrote my letter of instructions for Sister Ellery, an apology to Doc for the blatant disregard for my health I was about to take, and my will. I left everything to my nephews and my best friend Debbie and asked the Sister and Doc to witness it retroactively. I still had an hour to kill. Or, depending on how the jump went, to live.