After he learned that he had to vacate his room, Eric’s feet barely touched the gangplank as he rushed back onto the ship.
He could have strangled Alvirah Meehan!
“Take your time packing.”
Sure, lady. He had no time! He knew that that jerk Dudley was thrilled that he was being displaced. All this was Dudley’s fault. He had messed up the room count. Now Dudley, cruise director extraordinaire, would be sending an army of stewards to complete the eviction process. I know he hates me, Eric thought, especially since I got a bigger room. Dudley had a small room without a balcony, but if only I had that room now, I could make do. Eric realized that he was scared to death to face Bull’s-Eye and give him the bad news.
Not wanting to wait for the elevator, he bounded toward the companionway.
How am I going to hide them? Where am I going to hide them? How can I possibly keep them in my room in Uncle Randolph’s suite for three days? That guest bedroom is so small. And so is the closet.
All I know is that I have to get them out of my room, and fast.
“Ho! Ho! Ho! Eric!” one of the passengers called to him. “When do I get my Santa Claus suit?”
“Ask Dudley!” Eric snapped, as he hurried past. Then a thought occurred to him. He should get his hands on two of those suits. Bull’s-Eye and the Bean Counter, Barron Highbridge, could put the Santa suits on, and nobody would become suspicious if they ran into them in the passageway.
Where were the suits? They had to be in the supply room on Deck 3, he decided. All of the Santas’ staterooms were on Deck 3. The people who gave of themselves got lesser accommodations than the people who donated money. The way of the world.
Do I have time to go there? Before he could make a rational decision, Eric found himself heading for Deck 3. His set of master keys included a key to the supply room. Please let the suits be there, he prayed.
Eric could hear voices in some of the staterooms as he passed them. He must not be seen near the supply room. Passing the luggage that was still piled outside various stateroom doors, he pulled the keys out of his pocket and turned a corner. Way down the corridor he could see two people, but fortunately their backs were to him. He took giant steps to the supply room, put the key in the lock, turned it, and pushed open the door.
To his delight, the Santa suits were hanging on a clothes rack. He quickly picked two of them that looked as if they might fit a short, portly Bull’s-Eye and a tall, thin Barron, two people who only gave gifts to themselves. He grabbed two white beards, two stocking caps, and two pairs of black sandals. The tropical Santas, he thought. In a cabinet he found a stack of black plastic garbage bags. He jammed all of the Santa paraphernalia into one of them. Time was running out. He was already sweating profusely.
He left the supply room and raced up the companionway to the Boat Deck. He made it to his room without having to explain to anyone why he was carrying a trash bag. The DO NOT DISTURB sign was still there. He opened the door and braced himself for the stowaways’ reactions.
Barron was stretched out on the pullout couch watching television and eating from a bag of potato chips. “Shhhh,” he warned Eric and whispered, “Tony just fell asleep. He’s been very cranky all day.”
“Well, he’s going to get a lot crankier,” Eric snapped. “I’ve got to move you two.”
Tony’s eyes flew open. “What?”
“There was a screwup. They’re one cabin short. A couple of passengers are moving into this cabin.”
“How cozy!” Bull’s-Eye snapped. “Do you have any bright ideas about where you’re going to put us?”
Barron sat up, a look of terror on his face. The bag of chips flipped over, scattering on the sofa bed and on the floor. “You told us this was going to be so easy. That we’d just stay in your room.”
“You are going to stay in my room. The new one is down the passageway.”
“Down the passageway?”
“In my uncle’s suite.”
“As in ‘I love you, Uncle Randolph’?” Tony growled.
“The very one.” Eric dumped the contents of the garbage bag on the bed. “Put these on,” he said, his tone desperate. “Then we’ll go into the suite. My uncle’s not there. If someone sees us they won’t be suspicious because there are ten Santa Clauses on this cruise.”
There was a knock on the door. “May I assist you with your packing, Mr. Manchester?”
Eric recognized the voice of Winston, the pompous butler whom Uncle Randolph thought would give this operation some class. “No thank you,” Eric called out. “I’ll be another fifteen minutes or so, then you can prepare the room.”
“Very well. Just ring for me when you’re ready. Cheerio.”
“Does he think he’s in Buckingham Palace?” Tony hissed.
The imminence of possible discovery propelled both felons to move fast. They quickly undressed and pulled on the costumes. Eric handed them the beards and the caps. The sandals were loose fitting with adjustable straps. They looked ridiculous.
Tony’s heavy-lidded eyes looked malevolent over the mass of white covering half his face. On Barron’s face the beard hung loosely, covering most of his mouth. But at least if someone spotted them, there was a chance of their getting away without arousing suspicion.
“I’ll see if the coast is clear,” Eric said, his heart pounding. He opened the stateroom door and looked both ways. All was quiet. “I’ll go down and check the suite and make sure no one’s there.” He walked down the passageway, opened his uncle’s door, and took a quick survey of the rooms inside the suite. He then hurried back to his own room, opened the door, and nodded to the two men.
They followed him down the passageway and into the Commodore’s suite. Breathing a sigh of relief, Eric shut the door. “The guest room’s over here,” he said.
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Tony growled when he got a look at the room. The only furnishings were a double bed, a night table, and a single chair in front of the built-in desk and storage cabinets.
Barron opened the door of the closet. “You expect us to hide in here?” he asked.
“No,” Eric snapped. “Get in the bathroom.”
Like the closet, the guest bathroom was much smaller than the one in his stateroom.
“Wait in there until I get all my stuff moved in,” Eric continued. “Lock the door.”
With a look of murderous fury, Tony nodded. “I’m warning you, Eric. We’d better not get caught.”