“We have the cheaters’ club plus two operations gone wrong—one killed the captain’s wife; the other put an end to Mike Yuen’s acrobatic career.” I took a sip of my cappuccino and gazed across at Chris while we sat at The Mariners’ Hub having coffee prior to going ashore.
“Wow!” he exclaimed in wonder. “You found all that out in the space of an hour?”
I shrugged. “You know how it is; people seem to open up to me.”
“And you’re modest, too.” He grinned. “But seriously, this is a huge leap in the investigation.”
I regarded him pensively. “I don’t know. Right now, it’s only supposition.”
“True,” Chris conceded. “But each of these people had a motive to get rid of Dr van Horn.”
I put down my cup and speculated, “Well, yes and no. Don’t forget van Horn wasn’t a surgeon but merely a GP; and the captain and Mike Yuen’s lives were turned upside down by a surgeon. So why take it out on van Horn? Plus we don’t even know if it’s the same surgeon who operated on the captain’s wife and Mike Yuen; which means we could be looking at two surgeons. This still doesn’t explain why van Horn was murdered.”
Chris looked disappointed. “You’re right, of course. The only one with a more solid motive, then, is Martha Barry.”
“Yes. I guess van Horn was indirectly responsible for her husband’s cheating. But I don’t think she has a motive, either.”
“What do you mean?” Chris exclaimed in surprise. “You just said—”
“I know what I said,” I interrupted. “But don’t you see? Martha only found out about her husband’s philandering—after the death of van Horn.”
Understanding dawned in his eyes. “Oh.”
“Well, I’m fairly certain this is the case,” I added for good measure. “Joy Gerard told me Martha found out when she overheard her husband talking on the phone to a Dr Cliff Downes. In the call, they discussed who would run the club now that van Horn’s dead.”
“In any case, Dobbs and Smythe are fairly certain the killer’s a man; so it can’t be Martha,” Chris pointed out.
I nodded. “I tend to agree. The killer certainly walked like a guy rather than a female. Mind you, the CCTV footage’s not very clear. But let’s assume the killer’s a man for now. How about you; did you find anything on the good doctor?”
“Nothing yet, except that he worked in a practice with four other doctors. He was a GP with an interest in sexual dysfunction.”
I snickered. “I bet! Judging from what Martha said, the guy ran this cheaters’ club where...” I stopped talking as a sudden thought flashed into my mind.
“What is it?” Chris leaned forward in his chair.
I held up a finger to indicate I needed a moment to formulate my thoughts. Chris sat back, waiting. After a few moments, I spoke. “This may be nothing, except a play of words, but when Martha was relating her story about overhearing her hubby on the phone, it seems he referred to the cheaters’ club as ‘the erotics’ club’. At least, this is how she put it.”
“Interesting word to use,” Chris commented. “Maybe, it’s a cheaters’ club called ‘the erotics’ club’.”
“Could very well be.” I glanced at my watch. “Anyway, let’s keep it in mind. Right now, we have to get on a tender if we’re going to make it to lunch on time.”
We stood and started walking toward Crossroads to get a colour ticket for the next tender going ashore. “I hope we’re not lunching in some French place where we have to eat snails,” Chris remarked, screwing his nose in distaste.
I smirked. “With Dobbs and Smythe you can be assured we’ll get something like steak and fries, and never anything slimy. So don’t worry.”
“Yeah, but Noumea’s French,” Chris argued.
“And we’re getting French fries,” I quipped.
~~~
We ended up meeting for lunch in the brasserie at Le Meridien Hotel. The resort hotel was located on the touristy side of the island along with all the other big resorts. We took in the breathtaking view from Pointe Magnin, a small peninsula jutting into the clear blue waters of the Pacific. The hotel had been built on the tip of Pointe Magnin and the atmosphere was magic—white sandy beaches with sparkling blue waters flanking all sides of the triangular point-like peninsula, and framed by palm trees and a profusion of tropical greenery and exotic flowers.
When we arrived, we spotted Dobbs and Smythe seated at a table by one of the expansive windows with a multi-million dollar view. The men were already enjoying steak sandwiches on long baguettes accompanied by salad and fries. They’d ordered light beer to go with their meals.
I wore a look of amusement at the relief on Chris’s face when he saw nothing slimy on their plates. We joined the men just as a waiter handed us our menus. “Couldn’t wait, I see.” I turned to Dobbs with a grin.
He looked up from his food long enough to explain, “Sorry, but we had nothing to eat since a very quick breakfast at around five this morning.”
Smythe picked up the conversation while Dobbs kept eating like a man who had been starved for a month. “We disembarked extra early so we could talk to the local police before any of the passengers went ashore.”
I noticed he looked rather refreshed considering he’d had to rise early. He wore white shorts and a floral-looking shirt that accentuated his tan. My heart fluttered for a moment and I despised myself for letting his good looks affect me. “Well, you both look more rested today,” I uttered with a half smile and buried my face in the menu I was holding.
Chris went for a burger and fries. Surprise, surprise! I chose the Thai beef salad. French food was not to my liking so it was a relief the hotel offered an international menu. By the time our food arrived, Dobbs had finished his and was well into his dessert of crème brûlée. This was probably the only part of French cuisine Dobbs enjoyed—the fatty desserts.
“So how did you get on with the local cops?” Chris asked, popping a few fries in his mouth.
Smythe, who was only having an espresso, answered, “Just a formality. We gave them as much information as we could and then updated the police in Honolulu by phone. They’ll be expecting us upon arrival.”
“But we end our trip on the Big Island,” I pointed out. “Rourke will be expecting us.”
“It doesn’t matter,” Smythe replied. “The voyage ends in Honolulu for us. Dobbs and I are expected by the police.”
I felt my hackles rise at his smugness. Who said he and Dobbs could go all the way through to Honolulu when Chris and I were just as much a part of this investigation?
Dobbs must’ve picked up on the building energy emanating from me because he looked up from his dessert and explained, “The captain asked us to liaise with the Honolulu police on this. We’ve already cleared it with Mr Rourke and Mr Teppler.”
“But what about us?” I protested like a child. “How come we’re not coming to Honolulu with you?” Was that a smirk on Smythe’s face? I felt my temper about to erupt, but managed to control it lest I pick up his glass of beer and throw the contents in his face.
“Mr Rourke wants you both in Waikoloa,” Dobbs reported and went back to his dessert.
I kept on eating silently, a frown on my face.
Dobbs gazed my way and added, “Mia, the boss wants you and Chris by his side. Besides, once we finish with the police we’ll catch a flight across to join you. We’ll only be gone two days at most. I plan a quick visit to Maggie and Rose while I’m there, and then we join you.”
Maggie lived in Honolulu with her husband and baby Rose. Dobbs only got to see them once a year or so. Therefore, I couldn’t berate the man. “Fair enough,” I replied, my voice softening.
“So how did you guys go this morning?” Smythe remarked to break the tension in the air.
I updated them on my findings and theories about the motives.
“Well, you’re way ahead of what we’ve been able to learn. Please keep us informed on further developments.” This sounded like praise from Smythe and I took it at face value, giving him the benefit of the doubt.
Our lunch ended pleasantly enough and afterwards we took a stroll along one of the white sandy beaches before heading back to the ship. Once on the tender, I remembered our invitation to dinner. “By the way, we’re all invited to dine with the captain this evening.”
Dobbs looked pleased. “So we better wear our best bibs,” he joked. “There’s bound to be loads of nice food.”
Chris chuckled. “Trust you to think of food, Dobbs.”
Dobbs patted his tummy. “Murder makes me hungry, my friend.”
It was in this jovial mood that we parted once onboard ship. Dobbs went to his cabin for a siesta and Chris announced he was going to run a few more searches on the victim. Smythe didn’t say where he intended to go, but left us with a wave of the hand and headed toward the lifts. I was at a loose end and decided to go in search of Professor Tully for afternoon tea and a chat. First, though, I slipped into my cabin and changed from the white jeans and T-shirt I had been wearing, and into my swimmers. Over them, I threw on a gauzy forest green and gold see-through caftan that flowed around me like a dream and accentuated my figure to its best advantage. There was always the possibility I would run into Mark Evans, so I might as well look sexy while I was at it.
I headed for the Rockery first—a bar located on the stern of the ship on Deck 8 with two spa pools built into what looked like a rockery, hence the name. They also had the most comfortable deck chairs covered with soft canvas cushions. The back of the ship was usually quiet and rarely windy, so it was the best place to catch a nap in the sun. I thought I’d rest for a while before going in search of the professor.
When I came out the door leading to the back deck, I noticed the Rockery was full of people sunbathing in the early afternoon sun. My heart sank. But just then, I espied an empty deck chair and headed straight for it. Unfortunately, it wasn’t until I reached it that I came face to face with Smythe, who lay on his back with sunglasses on and wet swimmers clinging to his powerful thighs as they dried in the sun.
I quickly did an about-turn, hoping to get away before he spotted me. Unfortunately, just as I was about to make my escape, his hand reached up to his face and he lifted his sunglasses to gaze my way.
“No need to leave on my account,” he remarked with a smirk on his lips.
I wanted to hit him with something while I felt myself blush—and to top things off, I was in this flimsy garment that left nothing to the imagination, at least judging by the look Smythe gave me. I felt like a fool and had no option but to take the chair and pretend I was unfazed. So I spread out a pool towel I picked up from a neatly folded pile on a nearby bench for use by passengers and lay on the deck chair without taking off the caftan. Even though the blasted thing was filmy, it still gave me some cover. Of course, my reaction would have been a lot different had it been Mark Evans who saw me in the garment.
As if Smythe read my mind, he stated, “Mark was by earlier. He told me they managed to inform van Horn’s next of kin back in Australia. A distant cousin, I think.”
Damn! I had missed Mark. So there was no point in hanging around here with the devil. But I couldn’t make a hasty exit just yet and give him the satisfaction of seeing me run from him like the wind. So I nodded. “Then, I guess we’ve done all we can for the time being.” I felt his eyes on me and wished he’d put his sunnies back on. He did, just when I thought of it, but nonetheless he still looked at me as I lay there, stiff as a board. I made myself relax by thinking this man beside me—my archenemy—had not so long ago been involved in a love affair with my dear friend, Amanda Wilson.
Amanda had come to visit me from her home in the UK in order to get away from hubby problems. When she met Smythe, she fell for him straight away and the two ended up in a sexual liaison, much to my disapproval. And it seemed Smythe had more feelings for Amanda than the other way around, so Smythe’s heart was broken when she decided to return to her husband. I took great satisfaction in this. It served him right for thinking he could pick up my friend with his charm.
“Heard from Amanda?” I put in suddenly. This should shake him a bit.
Smythe lay back on his deck chair and let out a sigh. He didn’t answer, but I could tell I’d hit the mark. I felt wicked doing this, but my ploy had worked and he was no longer perving at me.
“Madam, can I get you anything?” I almost jumped out of my skin when a waiter appeared in my field of vision, breaking into my thoughts of retribution.
“Er... yes. I’ll have a non-alcoholic cocktail. The one with pineapple juice.”
“Very well.” The waiter nodded and then addressed Smythe. “And for you, sir?”
Smythe ordered an alcoholic cocktail with coffee liqueur, chocolate, and other equally delicious ingredients. While he spoke with the waiter, I took the opportunity to admire his athletic build and long legs. I had to get out of here.
We hardly spoke as we waited for our drinks and merely exchanged a few comments on the weather and how pleasant it was to travel by ship rather than a stuffy airplane. Other than this, we said nothing. When the drinks arrived, I sipped mine at top speed so I could leave. I almost gave myself brain freeze in my haste to finish; but within a minute or two, I was done. I put down the empty glass and stood up.
Smythe regarded me with mild surprise and I felt compelled to explain, “I’m having afternoon tea with Professor Tully.” I folded my towel and placed it under my arm.
“Who’s Professor Tully?” Smythe’s cocktail glass was still three quarters full.
“He’s an elderly gentleman I met. The poor thing recently lost his wife and he’s taking this cruise to grieve. Anyway, he likes chatting to me, and we sometimes meet for afternoon tea.” Sheesh! Do I have to tell him all this? You’d think he was my father or something.
Smythe nodded slightly. “Well, I guess I’ll see you at the captain’s dinner this evening.” His voice held a tone of amusement, and I turned away abruptly and left him without a word. Smug bastard!