Crater had panicked when Fredericka and Gwendolyn had informed him once again that the time of the ceremony had been changed. He had placed an urgent call to his people. “There can be no delays!”
“Don’t worry. We’re almost there,” he was told.
Crater had then informed Dr. Gephardt that he had sent for his helicopter. “With the breakdown of the ship, I don’t feel comfortable, and I can tell from previous experiences that a major asthma attack is building up. My breathing is getting shorter. I want to go home, where good medical care is close at hand.”
What a load of bull, Dr. Gephardt had thought, sitting in his office and twirling a pencil as he listened.
“But I am looking forward to the ceremony for the Commodore’s mother. Those lovely children who have been so kind to me will be singing, I understand.”
“So I heard,” Dr. Gephardt said, thinking how glad he’d be when Crater was gone. Whoever tried to smother him could have another go at it. Jack Reilly might be interested in this, Gephardt thought as he hung up. He dialed the Reilly’s stateroom, but there was no answer.
On the top deck, at the bow of the ship, people were already gathering for the ceremony. Crew members had placed rows of folding chairs on either side of a makeshift aisle through which the Commodore, Eric, and the Santa Claus guard of honor would march. A small table from the Commodore’s suite had been placed in front of the crowd, a bouquet of flowers and a hand microphone on it. Stereo speakers had been set up to play “Amazing Grace.”
The sun was bright, the sea calm, the only movement of the Royal Mermaid being caused by the waves gently lapping against it.
In the distance, the sound of a helicopter approaching caught everyone’s attention. A buzz went through the ship, and in an instant the deck was full. Dudley came running out and rushed to pick up the microphone. “There is no need for alarm!” he began. “Our friend Mr. Crater,” he nodded to Crater sitting in a wheelchair at the end of the front row near the rail, “needs to get home to consult with his family physician.”
“Louder!” someone yelled. “We can’t hear you!”
Dudley put his fingers to his lips and pointed at the helicopter. They all watched as it slowly settled on the helipad—engines roaring and blades whipping not far from where the ceremony was to take place.
Fredericka and Gwendolyn, standing on either side of the wheelchair, covered Crater’s ears with their palms. The remaining seats in the left front row were reserved for the Commodore, Eric, Dudley, and Winston. The front row on the other side of the aisle was reserved for the Santas.
The roaring of the helicopter’s engine abruptly stopped and the rotation of the blades slowed until they no longer moved. Dudley quickly repeated what he’d explained before and then said, “We’ll be starting our lovely tribute to Mrs. Penelope Weed in just a few moments. Please take your seats.”
The four Reillys, Ivy, and Maggie were seated in the second row. They had saved two seats for Willy and Alvirah, but Willy came out on the deck by himself. His face fell when he saw that Alvirah wasn’t with them.
“Where’s Alvirah?” he asked worriedly.
“We haven’t seen her,” Nora told him.
“She was gone from the room when I got out of the shower. I was surprised, but I figured she’d come out here.”
“Oh, I’m sure she’ll be right along,” Nora said soothingly.
All eyes focused on the helicopter as three men in medical scrubs climbed out. Dudley ran over to greet them.
“Something doesn’t feel right,” Regan whispered to Jack.
Jack’s eyes narrowed as he watched the three medics follow Dudley to Crater’s wheelchair. They leaned over and had a brief chat with him. Jack noticed one of the medics look over and make eye contact with Winston. They know each other, he thought. What’s that about?
The opening notes of “Amazing Grace” blared from the speakers, startling everyone.
The procession arrived from the chapel. The two Santa Clauses who didn’t have outfits came down the aisle first, each carrying a tall, lighted candle. The eight costumed Santas followed, then Eric, and finally the Commodore carrying the silver box with his mother’s ashes.
Regan stared at Eric as the congregation sang. “That saved a wretch like me . . .”
Willy had taken his seat but was noticeably upset.
The Commodore placed the silver box on the table between the two lighted candles as the members of the procession took their places in the front row.
A thin, middle-aged man from the Oklahoma Readers and Writers group, who was a deacon in his church back home, came forward. He picked up the microphone. “Merciful God, life has not ended, but changed,” he began.
Willy turned and looked to the back of the rows of chairs, desperate for any sight of Alvirah. He was sure that she would never deliberately miss this ceremony. She just wouldn’t. He knew it in his bones.
Something must have happened to her.