Heather's cross trainers slapped the moving belt of the treadmill as she watched the sun peek its golden head over the horizon. The bank of windows in the ship’s exercise room gave her a lofty view of seemingly endless calm seas in the Gulf of Mexico. She mopped her brow with a towel and looked down at her progress on the digital display. Mile two was almost complete. Beside her, Jack kept a steady pace on an identical treadmill. He preferred to listen to an endless stream of upbeat music as he ran, while she did some of her best thinking in the quiet of the otherwise mindless activity. She couldn’t imagine a better way to spend the early hours of the morning on this full day at sea. Tomorrow they'd dock in Cozumel, a tropical paradise island off Mexico's Yucatan Peninsula.
She glanced to her left, where Steve walked at a good clip on his treadmill. "How are you holding up?" she asked.
His words came between breaths. "I can't believe… you talked me… into doing this… every morning."
"Most people gain a pound a day when cruising. This way you can reward yourself with full meals and not have regrets when we get back home."
"How much longer… before I’m finished?"
She glanced over at the display on his machine. "Three more minutes then we'll go to our rooms, shower, and go to the main dining room. Eggs Benedict sounds good to me."
"I thought you'd order… room service."
"Bella told me Ingrid Webber plans to eat a proper sit-down breakfast at eight o'clock every day. I thought we might try to have a chat with her this morning."
"Will Bella… be there?"
"Not a chance. She and Adam were out dancing until the wee hours of the morning. They plan on having brunch together at ten thirty."
"What about… your father?"
"He's having a light breakfast in his cabin. If he follows his normal pattern, he's been up for two hours checking the foreign markets. He'll make phone calls until noon. We'll meet him for lunch at a specialty seafood restaurant."
"Where's the off button… on this thing?" asked Steve. "Between the treadmill… and you making me walk… up and down stairs instead of taking the elevator, I'll be skinny as a toothpick… by the time we get home."
Heather turned off her machine and did the same for Steve. Jack took notice, followed suit, and took out his earbuds. "The sunrise was spectacular. I could get used to this."
An hour and five minutes later, the three walked into the main dining room. Heather nodded to the maître d' and gave her name.
"Yes, Ms. McBlythe, the captain spoke to me about your request to be seated with Frau Webber. I'll take you to her table."
"That's unnecessary. I prefer our encounter appear random. Point out her table and I'll make sure the captain knows how helpful you are."
"Of course. She's on the starboard side of the dining room, bottom floor." He pointed with an outstretched hand. "It's difficult to see from this angle because the support pillar is blocking her. You'll see her after you've made it halfway to the staircase leading to the second floor."
Heather’s words of thanks earned a bow. She led Steve on a circuitous path through the tables until she spotted Ingrid, facing a window. Her unblinking gaze focused on the horizon. She held a coffee cup, but wasn't drinking.
Heather cleared her throat once she arrived at an appropriate distance to begin a conversation. "Guten morgen, Frau Webber."
Ingrid came back from wherever her mind had taken her. "Oh, it's you. I see you didn't come alone."
Heather ignored the caustic tone and jumped in with introductions. "I'm sure you remember Mr. Smiley. This handsome gentleman is my fiancé, Jack Blackstock.”
The most gracious response Ingrid could muster was a nod of her head. Then, she launched an accusatory question. "Have you come to gloat about inserting that detestable creature into my home to spy on me?"
Heather knew better than to shy away from a bully. "Do you mean the successful and beautiful young woman named Bella Brumley?"
"I don't know how you measure success, Ms. McBlythe, but failing at domestic work isn't my idea of it."
"Perhaps that's because Bella is a television personality, model, and a businesswoman who's in line to inherit a high-end hotel in the U.S. Virgin Islands. Besides, she succeeded in getting into your home."
Heather kept talking. "We're not here to cause you distress, but to give you some information you might find interesting. Do you mind if we have breakfast with you?"
The three didn't wait for a response. Jack positioned Steve as Heather continued the rather one-sided conversation. After all, the worst that could happen would be Ingrid telling them to leave, or leaving herself.
"Since you're already here, you may as well join me."
Even though the tone didn't match the welcoming words, Heather counted the invitation as a minor victory in breaking down Ingrid.
Steve asked, "Have you ordered yet?"
"Not yet. I always have two cups of coffee before breakfast."
"Me, too," said Steve. "At least two cups and sometimes three, if I had a sleepless night."
"If you suffer from insomnia," said Ingrid, "I can suggest a doctor I know. Her pills are magic. I believe she’s the same doctor who treated Lucy Green."
Heather wondered if Ingrid had inadvertently revealed her source of poison for Lucy. She opened her mouth to ask for clarification, but retreated when Steve said, "I hope you're not referring to the 'sleep of death' that Shakespeare spoke of in Hamlet."
A malevolent grin parted Ingrid's lips.
With a change of subject, Steve said, "Your husband and I shared a wonderful meal yesterday, and we even ran into your neighbor, Howard Green, and his new wife."
"Mr. Smiley, it's obvious you've mistaken me for someone who cares about what you and my husband did yesterday. Furthermore, I'm not interested in what either of you are doing tomorrow, or any other day in the future. As for Howard Green, I care even less about him and try my best to ignore him.”
Steve tilted his head in a way that brought to mind a confused puppy. "I can understand you not caring about me, but I thought you might be interested in what I learned from speaking with Howard and his private investigator, Henry Drake."
The muscles in Ingrid's jaw flexed as she ground her molars. "What makes you think that either Howard Green or Henry Drake would have anything to say that might interest me?"
Steve scratched his head. "You're probably right. It was only idle chatter, but it did concern how Howard knows what goes on in your home."
"That's impossible. My grandson, Adam, is a genius with computers. He’s taken steps to make sure we're not monitored."
"That's good to hear, but there may be something you haven't considered."
"And what would that be?"
The server chose that moment to arrive at the table to take drink orders. Ingrid sat with lips pursed together until she could get back to her home leaking information. "Continue, Mr. Smiley."
"Continue what?"
Playing dumb was a ploy Steve sometimes used on suspects to tease them into showing how much they wanted information from him. Ingrid's huff of exasperation and the words that followed confirmed she wanted all the facts and speculation she could accumulate against the Greens, especially Howard.
"Your sight is impaired, Mr. Smiley, but there's nothing wrong with your brain. I'll not allow you to tell me my home is the victim of unwanted intrusions and then not elaborate. I insist you tell me how you believe I'm being spied upon by Howard Green."
The server returned with coffee for three and took breakfast orders. Once he was out of earshot, Steve leaned forward. "This much I know for sure, Bella Brumley isn't the source of information leaking from your home to Howard."
"Then who is it?"
Steve leaned back. "Bella never found out, and because you summarily dismissed Heather and me, we couldn't do a full investigation of your home. If allowed to question you, family members, and the staff, I'm sure we could have ferreted out who's passing along information to Henry Drake, who then gives it to Howard Green."
Heather broke in, "I can understand why you didn't cooperate with us, but we know you've been less than cooperative with the police also. We have a good working relationship with them, and from what we've heard, your memory fades every time they try to question you. That type of behavior only makes them suspicious of you."
Ingrid stiffened. "It's absurd to think either me or my family had anything to do with Lucy's death."
"Perhaps," said Steve. "But what about someone shooting Howard?"
"More wild speculation."
It was Jack's turn. "As a defense attorney, I'd say that keeping silent is usually the wisest thing a suspect can do. However, there comes a time in the investigation when a strong, truthful alibi can save people a lot of grief."
"The police call it eliminating suspects," said Steve.
Ingrid dismissed the talk of cooperation with a wave of her hand. "I subscribe to the belief that if I did nothing, then I don’t worry or waste my time. Let’s get back to something that does concern me. If I'm reading between the lines correctly, Mr. Smiley, you are suggesting there's a spy in my house who feeds information about our family to Howard Green through his lackey."
Steve nodded.
"Again, Mr. Smiley, who is this person?"
Steve raised his shoulders and let them fall. "You're a smart woman, Mrs. Webber. There're only so many people living or working in your home. Go through the list. I'm sure you'll find the culprit, or culprits."
"It would be easier if you'd tell me."
Steve smiled. "I could, but you wouldn't believe me."
Heather moved on with a complete change in the conversation. "I don't know about the rest of you, but I'm looking forward to a massage, spending time in the sauna, having a pleasant lunch with my father, and lounging with Jack by the pool this afternoon. What about you, Ingrid? What are your plans for the day?"
"I haven't thought of anything but how much I'm dreading the rehearsal dinner tonight. Such a waste of money. I still can't believe Anna is so foolish as to marry a Green. I hope she doesn't take his last name. The marriage is bound to fail."
"That's odd," said Steve. "If there's one thing that Sid Green and your husband agree on, it's that Anna and Chad are a perfect match."
"Ridiculous," said Ingrid. "I say it will end in failure."
There was something about the certainty of Ingrid's last statement that sounded a warning in Heather. This bitter woman was a schemer. She'd brow beat her husband into being a gardener when he'd once been an oil executive. She was a manipulator who demanded her way and would take action to see it through, no matter who she hurt along the way. Something had to be done to make sure she didn't ruin the rehearsal dinner and the wedding.
The server arrived with a tiny elongated shot glass of clear liquid and placed it in front of Ingrid. She raised the glass to her lips and threw back the drink in a single gulp. With her head held high she turned the glass over and placed it on the plate on which it was served.
Heather and Jack stared as she completed the strange ritual. They didn't have long to wait for the explanation.
"It's a custom in my family to begin and end the day with a shot of peppermint schnapps. I've never been sick a day of my life and I attribute it to the medicinal power of schnapps."
"I can smell the peppermint from here," said Steve. He added, "Heather, why don't you try it on your head cold."
Heather shuddered. "No, thanks. I'm almost over it and the sauna will complete the job."