Devon Michaelson was pleased to see that there was no available table in the Queen’s Lounge and went down to the Lido Bar for a gin martini. He saw two well-appointed couples at the bar who fortunately were deep in conversation. When the chimes sounded, he went down to the dining room.
As on the Titanic, the first-class passengers dined in ultimate style. It was a smaller version of the most exclusive dining room on the Titanic. Decorated in Jacobean style, painted in peanut-white, the furniture, chairs and tables were oak and designed to add luxury and comfort at all times. Specially mounted chandeliers gave a regal look to the room. Candle-style lamps adorned each table. Silk curtains framed the large bay windows. An orchestra was quietly playing from a raised platform. Fine linen tablecloths set the tone for Limoges china and sterling silver utensils.
Michaelson would soon be followed into the dining room by a couple he judged to be in their sixties. As the three of them sat down, he extended his hand and said, “Devon Michaelson.”
“Willy and Alvirah Meehan.” The name struck a chord in Devon’s memory. Where had he seen or heard of them? he asked himself. As they spoke, a second man came to the table. Tall, with dark hair, warm brown eyes and an easy smile, he took his place and introduced himself, “Ted Cavanaugh.” A moment later a fourth guest arrived. “Anna DeMille,” she announced in a loud voice. Devon judged her to be about fifty. She was very thin, with jet-black hair tapered to her chin, and fiercely black eyebrows, her smile wide and toothy.
“This is such an adventure,” she exclaimed. “I have never been on a fancy cruise like this before.”
Wide-eyed, Alvirah was looking around the dining room. “This is so beautiful,” she said. “We’ve been on cruises, but I’ve never seen anything this spectacular. To think that people traveled like this. It takes your breath away.”
“Honey, on the Titanic their breath was taken away. Most of the passengers drowned,” Willy commented.
“Well, that’s not going to happen to us,” Alvirah said firmly.
She turned to Ted Cavanaugh. “In the reception area I heard you say that your father is the retired ambassador to Egypt. I’ve always wanted to go there. Willy and I were at King Tut’s exhibit when it was in New York.”
“It is quite a remarkable sight, isn’t it?” Ted observed.
“I have always thought it a shame that so many of the tombs were looted,” Alvirah said.
“I absolutely could not agree more,” Ted replied emphatically.
“Did you see all the celebrities who are right here in this very room?” Anna DeMille asked. “I mean it’s like being on the red carpet ourselves. Isn’t it?”
No one answered as the first course was placed on the table. A generous heaping of Beluga caviar with sour cream on small triangles of toasted bread was served accompanied by tiny glasses of super-cold vodka.
After she dove into it, Anna turned her attention to Devon. “And what do you do?” she asked.
Devon’s cover identity was that he was a retired engineer living in Montreal. That was not enough for Anna.
“Are you traveling alone?” she asked inquisitively.
“Yes, I lost my wife to cancer.”
“Oh, I’m sorry. When did it happen?”
“A year ago. We were planning to take this trip together. I have brought the urn with her ashes to scatter into the Atlantic. It was her final request.”
That should block off any more cross-examination, he thought. But Anna was not yet satisfied.
“Oh, are you going to have a burial ceremony?” she asked. “I’ve read that people do that. If you want company, I’ll be happy to attend.”
“No, I want to do it myself,” he said as he moved his index finger under his eye to wipe away the beginning of a tear.
Oh, my God, he thought. There may be no getting rid of this woman.
Alvirah seemed to sense that he didn’t want any more personal questions.
“Oh, Anna, tell me all about winning the trip,” she said. “We won the jackpot in a lottery. That’s why we’re able to be here.”
With Alvirah diverting Anna’s attention away from him, Devon gratefully focused on the table to his right. He closely studied Lady Emily Haywood’s pearls. Magnificent, he thought. But tinsel compared with her emeralds. A worthy challenge for the international jewel thief known as the “Man with One Thousand Faces.” No expense had been spared to ensure he could stay close to Lady Em and the precious Cleopatra necklace.
He suddenly remembered what he had heard about Alvirah Meehan. She had been instrumental in solving a number of crimes. But it would be better if she didn’t get involved this time. Between Alvirah and Anna, they could make my job harder, he thought grimly.
After the caviar, a small bowl of soup, a salad and a serving of fish, the main course choices were served. A suitable wine was offered with each course. After dessert, a small bowl, half-filled with water, was placed in front of each diner.
Willy looked at Alvirah pleadingly. Alvirah looked at Ted Cavanaugh and watched as he dipped his fingers in the bowl and dried them with the napkin in his lap, then moved the bowl and saucer to the left of his plate. Alvirah followed his example, and Willy followed hers.
“Is this what they call a finger bowl?” Anna asked.
I wonder what else we’re supposed to call it, Devon thought to himself dryly.
“More dinners like this and I’ll be big as a house,” Anna sighed.
“You’ve got a long way to go.” Willy smiled.
Anna turned her attention to Devon. As dinner was ending, she said, “I know there’s entertainment in the ballroom tonight. Would you like to accompany me?”
“Thank you. But I don’t think so.”
“Well then, would you consider a nightcap?”
Devon stood up. “No,” he said firmly.
He had intended to follow Lady Haywood’s group if they went to watch the entertainment or into one of the ship’s bars for a cocktail. He wanted to try to insinuate himself into her company. But that wouldn’t happen with a type like Anna DeMille hanging on him.
“I’m afraid I have some phone calls to return. Good night, everyone.”