Chapter 8
“Is there a problem here, Sheila?” A warm voice came from behind her. It was Grace Irons, the woman in charge of the whole scrapbooking cruise.
“Well, I . . . I . . .” Sheila started to say. “Allie borrowed my scrapbook and you know what’s happened, right?”
“Yes, it’s a shame. I feel so bad,” she said, her face red with emotion. “This has never happened during one of my events, I assure you.”
“I don’t mean to seem insensitive, but my scrapbook is in her room and I want it back,” Sheila said, crossing her arms.
“Just a minute,” Grace said, and walked by her.
“Well,” Paige said. “This cruise is getting more interesting by the minute. Allie was killed? This will be big news.”
Sheila turned to face her. “Who would want to kill her?”
“I know she was nice to you,” Paige said. “But she was a bitch, from what I heard. She didn’t treat her employees very nicely. The cops might start questioning the people who worked for her.”
“But there are no policemen here on this cruise,” Sheila said, under her breath. “Only this security outfit.”
“Aren’t they police?” Paige asked.
“No, I don’t think so. They’re hired by the cruise company.”
“Surely they have police training or something,” Paige said, bewildered.
“I have no idea,” Sheila said, and flung her arms out. “Just what exactly is taking them so long to get my scrapbook back to me? Seems like it should be easy enough to retrieve it.”
“Sheila! There you are.” Vera’s voice rang through the corridor. She ran down the stretch of the hallway, with Eric trailing behind her.
Sheila stood, discombobulated by Vera’s hysteria. “What on earth?”
“Mama called and was worried about you,” she said, a bit breathless. “I told her there was nothing to worry about.”
“Why was she worried about me? I don’t understand. The old bat,” Sheila scowled.
“No, seriously,” Eric said. “Evidently she thought you were dead. Poisoned.”
She gasped.
Paige’s hands went to her mouth. “So odd,” she said.
“Someone is dead all right,” Sheila said. “But it’s Allie. I have no idea why anybody would think it’s me.”
By that time, Grace had walked back out to her, followed by Matt.
“Matt, Mrs. Rogers is one of our guests of honor. She’s one of the reasons we’re all here on this cruise,” Grace said.
Sheila beamed.
“Why did someone visit Ms. Beatrice Matthews in Cumberland Creek, Virginia, and report that Sheila was dead?” Eric asked, point blank. “What’s going on here?”
“I have no idea who would do that, let alone why. Someone must have mixed up the reports,” Matt said. “I am so sorry.”
“That’s terrible!” Grace said. “Is Ms. Matthews okay?”
“Of course she is. She’s my mother, by the way. She didn’t believe a word of it. But it frightened her. She wanted to know what the hell is going on here. As do I,” Vera said. “What kind of a cruise is this where someone gets killed and it’s reported that someone else was killed? What a bunch of hooey.”
Sheila stood in shock. Hooey, indeed. But in the meantime, she still didn’t have that scrapbook.
“I do apologize,” Grace said. “It’s so embarrassing.”
“Where’s Sheila’s scrapbook?” Paige said, after a few moments of awkward silence.
“We’ve been asked to leave the room as is until the FBI can do a sweep,” Matt said. “Standard procedure. They will meet us at the next port of call. When an American citizen is murdered on a cruise, the FBI takes over the investigation.”
“FBI?” Sheila said. “I’ll never get my scrapbook back!”
“We’ll make sure you do,” Grace said. “Please don’t worry.”
“The next port of call is in two days in Mexico,” Vera said. “Do you mean that we’ll be on the ship with a murderer for the next two days?”
“Our security staff will ensure the safety of our passengers, but please keep all this to yourselves. We don’t want mass hysteria on board,” Grace said, with a tight smile, her cheeks stiff with stress. She wore bright red lipstick, perfectly applied, yet her face glowed with a sheen of sweat. “Why don’t you all go to the crop? Sit back and relax. Have fun. We’ll take care of everything.”
“I wish I could believe that,” Paige said as she turned to go.
“Please let me know when you have my scrapbook,” Sheila said, turning and following Paige. Eric and Vera trailed behind them.
The captain of the ship smiled at them as he walked by on his way to Allie’s room. “Mrs. Rogers, good day to you.”
They had had dinner together the first night she was onboard. Sheila found him an absolute bore. She smiled and nodded politely, but kept moving.
They found their way back to the crop, where Randy was saving their seats.
“Where have you all been?” he said, flinging his arms out.
“You would not believe it,” Paige said, sitting next to him. She motioned to the young server who was passing out champagne.
“I’ll take one, but do you have anything stronger?” Paige asked.
“What would you like?”
“Bourbon, straight up, please.”
“Make mine a double,” Vera said.
“What’s going on?” Randy said, looking over his almost done page. He’d watched his mother and her friends scrapbook for years and sometimes joined the crop when he was a kid, but he hadn’t scrapbooked in a long time. “It just needs a little something. Maybe glitter?”
“Stay away from glitter,” Paige said. “There’s a reason I outlawed it in our house. Lethal stuff.”
“Hmm,” he said, and placed his page back on the table.
Paige then told him what had happened.
“Murder?” he whispered. “This sounds crazy. Nuts!”
“Mama,” Vera said into her cell phone, “Sheila is fine and right here.”
But Sheila wasn’t certain she was fine. This morning she’d fallen over the dead body of Allie Monroe. Her head still ached from her concussion, and her scrapbook was still in a room where a murder investigation was taking place. She took a sip of her champagne and shrugged. At least she wasn’t dead. She glanced around at the people surrounding her—that man was still there. She took another sip and pushed her glasses back up on her nose. She glared back at him and he turned his head quickly.
“Now, croppers, I have a treat for you,” a voice said over the microphone. “I know it’s Christmas, but I love Halloween. So I’m unveiling my new Bloody Bash Halloween papers, inspired by the song ‘Monster Mash.’”
Much laughter from the crowd as “Monster Mash” blared through the intercom.
“Ladies and gentlemen, it’s Halloween in December time! Woo-hoo!”
Servers came out dressed in costumes: vampires, mummies, and Frankenstein’s monsters. They handed out packs of paper tied with a blood red ribbon.
“Well, now,” said Vera, reaching for her bourbon. “Isn’t this just in keeping with the day?”
“Cheers!” Sheila said, holding up her glass of champagne. As she did, the ship rocked and swerved a bit, causing the champagne to spill all over her pretty new paper.