Highbridge and Bull’s-Eye, aware of their close call, and that every passing minute was bringing them closer to freedom on Fishbowl Island, sat hunched under the altar in the chapel. Their hands clasped around their knees, they kept adjusting their bodies, trying to find a comfortable place to rest. There was none.
It was hard to keep perfectly quiet. Bull’s-Eye’s normally heavy breathing seemed outrageously loud to a nervous Highbridge. The damp cold of Bull’s-Eye’s suit was penetrating his body and making him both chilled and itchy. Even though they had both unhooked their beards, they kept them on their laps to be able to refasten them in an instant. Not that that would do either of us any good, Highbridge thought. Suppose someone comes in and lifts this cloth. What are we supposed to do? Pretend we’re playing hide-and-seek?
Tired and realizing how totally vulnerable they were in this public space, they hoped against hope that no one would find them before Eric showed up and brought them to the relative security of his cabin.
At nine thirty, when they heard the door of the chapel open, they both stiffened. Bull’s-Eye almost stopped breathing.
“Here we are, Mother,” they heard a male voice say.
But there was no response.
Footsteps coming down the aisle, getting closer and closer to the altar, made both men break into a cold sweat. The footsteps stopped at what must have been the first or second row, and the faint squeak suggested someone sat down.
“This is a lovely chapel, isn’t it, Mother?”
Again no response. Bull’s-Eye and Highbridge looked at each other dumbfounded.
“I was going to drop you overboard at dawn tomorrow, but we’re moving up the ceremony to sunset tonight. I hope you don’t mind. Dudley says you won’t—that that’s what mothers are for—helping out in time of need. We’ve been having a lot of trouble since we set sail. I swear if I find whoever stole those Santa suits, I’ll thrash them within an inch of their lives. Sorry, Mother, I know I shouldn’t talk that way. I keep thinking of all the trips we took together. Remember when your hat blew off on the crossing of the old Queen Elizabeth? Someone from an upper deck who saw the hat floating away was afraid you were still wearing it and shouted, ‘Lady overboard!’ “
The Commodore laughed tenderly. “That’s when you said you wanted the sea to be your final resting place. I made you a promise that you would be buried at sea. Today—I’m fulfilling that promise—”
For five minutes the Commodore sat quietly, the hammered silver box in his lap, fond memories of his mother running through his mind. He got up to leave just as the chapel door opened. The woman who had been screaming about seeing Left Hook Louie last night was standing before him.
“Commodore Weed! I’m so glad you’re here. I was afraid to come back to the chapel, but they say you should face your fears. That’s what I was doing, and I’m lucky enough to find you here as well.”
“My pleasure,” the Commodore said stiffly.
It was obvious to Ivy that he resented the uproar she had created. “I can tell that you are mad at me, Commodore Weed, and I can certainly understand, but I’m telling you I did see someone here in the chapel last night. I wasn’t trying to cause trouble.” Ivy’s voice started to tremble.
Bull’s-Eye and Highbridge both held their breath. Please God, Highbridge thought, don’t let her start looking under the altar.
“This cruise is the nicest thing that ever happened to me in my whole life,” Ivy continued. “The ship is so beautiful, the food is wonderful, the people are so exciting. I know you’re responsible for all this, and I know this ship is your dream, and I wouldn’t want to do anything to destroy your dream.”
Despite himself, the Commodore was touched. “Thank you, Miss Pickering. I appreciate your sentiments. I haven’t felt much gratitude, and I must say it hurts.” He looked closely at her. “There, there, you mustn’t cry now.”
Ivy wiped her eyes and became aware of the object in the Commodore’s hands. “That’s a beautiful jewelry case you have there. My mother has one almost exactly like it.”
The Commodore grabbed her hand. “Your mother?” he said, his voice a whisper. He held up the box. “My mother’s ashes are resting in this box. You say your mother has one like it?”
“Yes, my Papa bought it for her in a museum shop on their honeymoon. She still has it on the dresser at home.”
The door opened again. This time it was Eric, looking flustered and out of breath. He stared at them, stared at the altar, then back at Ivy and his uncle. He tried to pull himself together. “Uncle Randolph, I just heard about your new plans for Grandma.” With his usual lack of courtesy, he ignored Ivy. “It will be very special.”
Ivy looked questioningly at the Commodore. It was obvious she hadn’t heard about the sunset ceremony.
The Commodore touched her hand again. “Would you care to join me for a cup of tea in my suite and I’ll explain?” he asked. He paused. “Please,” he added.
The Commodore and Ivy left Eric in the chapel. Not knowing what he would find, he ran up to the altar, bent down, and lifted the cloth.
“Your uncle sounds like a nutcase,” Bull’s-Eye muttered. Then he released the sneeze he’d been holding back.