The only time Eric had left the chapel all morning was to run outside and use the house phone to call Alvirah Meehan to ask if he could pick up the cards. Eric knew that he could not leave the chapel unguarded until lunchtime, when he could sneak Bull’s-Eye and Highbridge into his room in his uncle’s suite. Once he got them there, they could hide safely in the closet until four A.M. tomorrow morning.
At that point, the plan was that Eric would lead the two men to the lowest outside deck where they’d blow up the inflatable dinghy Eric had hidden on board, toss it over, and wearing life jackets, they’d jump in after it. Their people would be hovering nearby, ready to rescue the men when the Royal Mermaid was a safe distance away. I wouldn’t want to be in their shoes—their wet shoes—Eric thought, but it’s better than spending a good part of your life in prison.
As he sat in the third pew, he had plenty of time to worry about what would happen if Bull’s-Eye and Highbridge were discovered. Highbridge was the type who cleared his well-bred throat unconsciously, a sound that reverberated through the still chapel. But it had only happened once. Eric had run up the aisle to shush him, but Bull’s-Eye had already clasped a pudgy hand over Highbridge’s mouth and warned him that he’d kill him if he did it again. Eric didn’t doubt for a moment that it was a serious threat. Bull’s-Eye Pinto was a killer, first and foremost.
Eric was counting the minutes until twelve o’clock, when he knew his uncle would go down to lunch. At eleven, a steward came in to dust and vacuum the chapel.
“That won’t be necessary,” Eric said.
“But I was instructed to make the chapel sparkle. People may want to come here before your grandmother’s service.”
“Wait until this afternoon to clean,” Eric ordered. “And bring some fresh flowers for the altar.”
“Of course.”
Eric felt beads of perspiration on his forehead. The steward would undoubtedly have lifted the altar cloth to vacuum. He could only imagine the brush of the vacuum cleaner hitting Bull’s-Eye.
At twelve fifteen, the Commodore opened the chapel door and stood in the doorway. “What a surprise to find you here,” he said.
“I just stopped by to say a prayer for Grandma. She is so in my thoughts today.”
“Oh, how I share that with you! But come now. I want you to join me for lunch. Ivy—I mean, Miss Pickering—will also be at the table. A very sweet woman indeed.”
Eric knew that was a warning not to ignore Ivy again. “I’ll take a moment to freshen up,” he said. He walked with the Commodore to the elevator bank, pushed the DOWN button, and waited until he had seen the back of his uncle’s head before he dashed down the corridor. As he feared, he bumped into Winston, who was on his way to his room. He had a two-hour break at lunchtime.
“Anything I can get you before I leave?” Winston asked.
“No, I’ll be heading to the dining room in a few minutes.”
Eric opened the door of the suite and stood just inside until he was sure Winston was gone. Then he hurried back to the chapel. “Come on. I’m going to stand outside the Meehans’ door. If they come out, I’ll divert them. You make a dash for the suite—quietly, if that’s possible. The door is open.”
The precaution wasn’t necessary. The two felons entered the suite undetected. Eric followed them in. “We can’t take any chances. Grab whatever drinks and snacks you want from my refrigerator. Then get in the closet and stay there. I’ll be back as soon as I can.”
“Don’t forget to get my cards,” Bull’s-Eye warned him.
Eric splashed water on his face and combed his hair. This time when he left the suite, Alvirah and Willy were coming out of their stateroom.
“Hello,” he called to them. “Is it okay if I grab those cards before you close your door?”
Alvirah admired the way Willy could think on his feet. “Eric, do you mind waiting until after lunch? I’m in the midst of a game of solitaire and I’m actually winning,” he joked.
Eric tried to laugh. “Oh sure. This afternoon would be fine.”
But it didn’t feel fine. There was something wrong, he could tell. They knew he wanted the cards back, so why had Willy started another stupid game of solitaire?
He didn’t believe the story, but there was nothing he could do about it.
The memory of Alvirah saying she was a good amateur sleuth nagged at him as they rode down in the elevator together.