FIFTEEN

 

Victor Hogan hurled the table off his chest with such force it flipped over backwards, crashing onto the floor and toppling his departed dinner partner’s chair in the process. Then he knocked over his own chair in the opposite direction as he stood. The food, dishes, and utensils that had remained in his lap clattered and shattered onto the floor, joining those items already scattered across the terra cotta tiles.

The applause petered out as Hogan leveled a glare at the roomful of people staring at him, some with their mouths hanging open, Mama included. He smacked his hands against each other, wiping away the pasta that clung to his fingers. “Crazy menopausal dame,” he said, his voice loud enough to carry over the music. He then added an expletive to show exactly what he thought of not only his former dinner date but all women of a certain age, which begged the question: If that’s how he felt about older women, why was he dining with one?

After he kicked the detritus from his path, he plastered a smarmy grin on his face and bowed to the dumbstruck lounge patrons before turning his back on them and wending his way toward the exit.

Chubby Checker ceased twisting. The DJ immediately chose to offer up an editorial comment by way of the next dance number, inviting the crowd to do The Jerk. Most of the people still on the dance floor continued to stand and stare rather than resume dancing. Mama wasn’t one of them. Spying me, she began zigzagging her way around groups of people and tables to reach us.

A buzz of comments filled the room, competing with the music as Victor Hogan, mumbling under his breath, also stumbled toward us. Along the way he bumped into nearly every table he passed.

At one point he lost his balance, and moving to steady himself, his hand landed in the mashed potatoes on a shocked diner’s plate. Hogan reached over to swipe the mess from his hand onto her blouse, lost his balance again, and nearly landed in her lap. She pushed him away with such force he bounced off another table before righting himself.

People watched transfixed. No one offered him any assistance. As soon as he regained his balance, he resumed his staggering departure.

That’s when I realized Mama wasn’t making her way toward me. She had her sights focused on Victor Hogan. They met up directly in front of us. Mama held out her arms to Hogan and said, “Let me help you.”

Hogan abruptly stopped, stared at her for a moment, then cursed as he stiff-armed her out of his way. Luckily, Zack and Shane were there to catch her before she sprawled backwards onto the tile floor.

The crowd gasped. Someone screamed. I think it may have been me. Even though Zack and Shane had broken Mama’s fall, she appeared dazed and confused. As she stared after Victor Hogan’s departing back, she whimpered, “I only wanted to help.”

Poor Mama. I’d tried to warn her about the man, but some lessons can only be learned through personal experience. At least only her pride had sustained injury. She could have broken a hip. Or worse.

Lenore, her date, and Basil rushed to Mama’s side. “Flora, are you all right?” asked Lenore, placing her hand on Mama’s arm.

“I think so.” She graced Zack and Shane with a grateful smile. “Thanks to my knights in shining armor.”

“Let’s get you to a chair,” I said.

Lenore and the men led us across the room to a table at the opposite end of the dance floor. Zack and Shane remained on either side of Mama, guiding her along. They didn’t release her until they’d settled her into a chair.

One of the cocktail waitresses rushed over and offered Mama a glass of water. I realized it was Bianca, the waitress I’d met earlier in the day. She glanced between Mama and me, her eyes growing wide, then she said, “You know this woman?”

“She’s my mother.”

Bianca shook her head. “Odd coincidence, no? I told you someone needs to do something about that man. No one listens to us, but now after this and what happened to you earlier? Maybe if you speak to the captain?”

“I will,” I said. Victor Hogan was out of control. Had Zack and Shane not broken Mama’s fall, Hogan might have seriously harmed her or worse. Sexual harassment was bad enough. Physical attacks took his offenses to an entirely different level.

“What was that about, dear?” asked Mama, looking up at me.

I patted her shoulder. “Nothing, Mama.”

She turned her attention back to the glass of water and sipped gingerly until she’d regained her composure. Finally, she placed the glass on the table, took a deep breath, and said, “I’m fine now, really. No need for any of you to continue fussing over me.”

“Are you sure, Mama?” I knelt down so that I was at eye level with her. Even though she hadn’t hit her head, I studied her pupils for signs of concussion but found no dilation. “You didn’t twist an ankle or anything? Your chest doesn’t hurt where he shoved you?”

She patted my cheek. “A bit shaken but nothing more, dear.”

“Maybe we should have the ship’s doctor check you out anyway.”

“Nonsense. It will take more than a shove to knock me out of commission.” Then she offered me a sheepish grin. “I suppose you were right about Victor Hogan. The man has definitely lost one of his biggest fans.”

“After that drunken demonstration,” said Lenore, “I think he’s lost more than one fan tonight. According to this evening’s copy of GemEvents, he’s giving a talk tomorrow. We should stage a boycott.”

“That sounds like a wonderful idea,” I said. I glanced up at Bianca.

She tipped her head in agreement. “I’ll make sure any staff not on duty joins you.”

Mama sighed. She glanced around at the chaos Victor Hogan had left in his wake. Several crewmembers had begun cleaning up the mess while most passengers either returned to their dinners or dancing. Several exited the lounge.

“Who would have thought that a man who writes such fun books would be such a mean, nasty creep?” asked Mama.

Fun books? From what I knew of Victor Hogan’s unauthorized biographies, they were anything but fun for the victims of his poison pen. I stood and over Mama’s head exchanged a look with Zack. I might not have a talent for reading minds, but I could definitely tell he was thinking the same thing at that moment. I stifled a grin.

Bianca still hovered near Mama. “Is there anything else I can get for you, ma’am?”

“I’d love a drink,” said Mama. “Something frozen and fruity with lots of rum.”

“I’ll have the bartender whip up one of his specialties for you,” said Bianca.

Mama smiled at her. “Thank you, dear.”

As Bianca made her way to the bar, Mama turned to me, Zack, and Shane and waved a hand in dismissal. “The three of you can leave now. As you can see, I’m perfectly fine and don’t need babysitters.”

When I hesitated, Lenore said, “We’ll take good care of her, Anastasia. I’m sure you have plans for the evening.”

“Yes,” said Mama, wrinkling her forehead and narrowing her eyes at me. “What were the three of you doing here anyway? Spying on me?”

“Of course not!” I said. “We have dinner reservations next door.”

Lenore came to my defense. “Really, Flora, if not for Zack and Shane being in the right place at the right time, you could be in the ship’s infirmary right now.”

Mama grew thoughtful. “Well, there is that. And I am grateful.” She looked up at both men. “Thank you again. Now shoo, all three of you.”

I opened my mouth to say something but thought better of it.

Zack linked an arm through mine and nodded to Mama and her friends. “Enjoy the remainder of your evening.” He then nudged me toward the exit.

~*~

Gemme del Mare was filled with classic Italian décor. Tufted red pleather semi-circular banquettes, each paired with a round table, ran along two walls. Square tables with bentwood chairs filled the remainder of the floor space, which was tiled in retro-style black and white hexagons. Red and white checkered tablecloths draped the tables. A Chianti bottle with a faux flickering candle sat in the center of each. The lighting was subdued, conveying an aura of intimacy.

Framed movie posters from the fifties and sixties featuring Sophia Loren, Gina Lollobrigida, and Claudia Cardinale lined the walls. Like the other restaurants and lounges on the ship, Gemme del Mare hadn’t forgotten the upcoming holiday, adding heart-shaped red paper doilies interspersed between the movie posters.

A strolling violinist played what I assumed was a traditional Italian love song, perhaps something from a Verdi or Puccini opera. Although the tune sounded familiar, I couldn’t place it, my knowledge of Italian love songs limited to the standard pizza parlor background music of Dean Martin singing That’s Amore and O Solo Mio. The melody mingled with the muted sounds of conversation and the soft clinking of cutlery.

After the maître d’ seated us at one of the banquettes and handed us menus, a waiter arrived with a complimentary basket of bread, a dish of seasoned olive oil for dipping, and an antipasto platter filled with various cheeses, meats, and olives. The sommelier followed with the wine list.

The atmosphere was perfect for a romantic dinner, but I was seated between two men, one of them not my fiancé, and the three of us had two—if not three—murders on our minds, not to mention the attack on my mother.

There was no mystery surrounding Victor Hogan’s behavior. The guy was a drunken cretin. But as I drizzled olive oil onto a slice of ciabatta, I tried to connect the ever-increasing number of dots that made up a deadlier puzzle.

We’d speculated on various scenarios concerning Orson Gilbert’s death and whether or not it was murder. But what if Gilbert’s death and Emerson’s death were connected? What if Gilbert died, not by suicide, accidentally, or because he hit on some guy’s wife or girlfriend? What if Orson Gilbert was killed because he saw Emerson Dawes dump Colton Brown’s body overboard?

After the sommelier returned with the bottle of wine we’d ordered, poured three glasses, and departed, Zack asked, “How long do you plan to stare at that slice of bread before you eat it?”

I pulled my focus from the bread, looking first right toward Zack, then left toward Shane. Both men stared at me, the slice of bread hovering halfway between my plate and mouth. I had no idea how long I’d zoned out, but from their expressions, it was definitely more than a few seconds. “Sorry. It’s been a long day.”

“And?” asked Zack.

I wish I could read minds as well as he does. “We need to get hold of Colton Brown’s passport photo,” I said. “Either Emerson killed him, and he’s no longer on the ship, or he’s lurking somewhere.”

“Waiting to carry out Emerson’s plan?” asked Shane.

“It’s a theory. We need to know what he looks like.”

“Already on it,” said Zack.

I had no idea when he’d set that particular wheel in motion unless it was while I was getting ready for dinner. Zack had finished dressing first and waited for me in the living room.

“The captain is allowing you to search the ship’s manifest again?” Even under these unusual circumstances, Zack’s continued access of ship records raised questions I had promised myself I wouldn’t ask. Not with our lives in jeopardy.

Zack shook his head as he lifted the wine glass to his lips. After taking a sip, he said, “I decided to use a different source.”

Now it was my turn to wrinkle my forehead. “What happened to doing things by the book?” He’d previously refused to ask Tino for help, having cited that obtaining information in such a manner might compromise any case against Emerson.

Over the rim of his glass he offered me a sexy smile. “Different book.”

“How so?”

“Emerson is dead. We no longer need to worry about some crafty lawyer getting the case tossed on a technicality.”

“So, you did contact Tino?” asked Shane.

Zack nodded. “After receiving Brown’s passport photo.”

“Wait,” I said, “When did that happen? And why haven’t you passed the photo on to all of us?”

“While you were dressing, I texted the officer on the bridge who had helped me search for Emerson. On captain’s orders, Ensign McGuire was already going through the video feeds, trying to locate Brown. I received the passport photo as the drama broke out in the Empress Lounge.”

My jaw dropped open. “You just happened to have his cell phone number?”

Zack shrugged. “He’s a she, and she’s no fan of her captain. She said to contact her if I needed further assistance.” He chose a black olive from the antipasto platter. As he took a bite, he winked at me. “You’d like her.”

I knew he was baiting me. I took a pass on the wiggly little worm at the end of his hook and responded without a trace of sarcasm in my voice, which took Herculean effort. Smiling back, I said, “I’m sure I would.”

Maybe. Although, probably not. Scratch that. Definitely not.

Seriously, what woman in her right mind would like a stranger who offered her phone number to another woman’s fiancé? Besides, I knew the effect Zack had on women. I’m certain Ensign McGuire had something else in mind when she offered him her contact information.

Zack chuckled. “Moving on…” He pulled out his phone, tapped a message, and shot off a text. “Photo on the way to the two of you, the kids, Flora, and Lenore.”

Shane’s phone and mine dinged simultaneously. “Does he look familiar?” asked Zack after we both checked the image.

The man in the photo scowled at me. He looked to be somewhere in his late thirties or early forties with closely cropped light brown hair, five o’clock shadow, and the thick neck of someone who either works out excessively, pops muscle-enhancing steroids, or both. The top edge of an indiscernible tattoo peeked out above his crew neck T-shirt. Other than that, he had no unique features that would set him apart from thousands of other men.

“No,” I said.

“Doesn’t look familiar to me, either,” agreed Shane.

“It will take Ensign McGuire hours to go through all those feeds,” said Zack. “Meanwhile, Tino can run the passport photo through facial recognition software to see if Colton Brown is an alias. He said he’d get on it as soon as he puts Ira’s hellions down for the night.”

“Maybe by the end of this evening we’ll have a few answers,” I said.

“Let’s have some now,” said Zack. He speared me with one of those looks that told me he was on to me about something.

I had a pretty good idea exactly what that something was, but I played dumb. “I had another thought.”

Zack raised an eyebrow. “About?”

“A connection between Orson Gilbert’s death and Emerson’s death.” I offered my theory about Gilbert being in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

“I don’t think anything can be ruled out at this point,” said Zack, “but I’m more interested in another topic right now.”

Again, I played dumb. “And that would be?”

His tone grew serious. “How long are you going to wait before you tell me what really happened between you and Victor Hogan earlier today?”

Shane’s eyes grew wide as he joined Zack to gang up on me. “He didn’t attack you, too, did he?”

“No, it was nothing like what happened in the Emerald Lounge just now.”

Zack grabbed a breadstick and snapped it in half. I’m sure it was a metaphor for what he’d like to do to Victor Hogan’s neck. “I didn’t ask you what didn’t happen.”

I shot a side-eye toward Shane. Did we really have to go into this right now? “It was nothing. Hogan’s a holdover from another era. I handled it.” Or I would have, if I hadn’t frozen from sheer shock at the man’s audacity, but Zack didn’t need to know that.

“I overheard your conversation with the cocktail waitress,” he said. “Do I need to ask her what happened?”

The look he leveled at me told me in no uncertain terms that he’d do just that if I didn’t come clean. I heaved a forceful sigh as I threw my arms up in the air. “Fine. He got fresh with me.”

Anger filled Zack’s voice. “Physically?”

“Sort of.”

His eyes grew wide. “Are you telling me Victor Hogan assaulted you?”

“Calm down, please.” I placed my hand over his and glanced around the room to see if any heads had turned in our direction. Thankfully, none had. “This is why I didn’t want to tell you.”

Zack leaned back and crossed his arms over his chest. “Well, how about telling me now?”

“Only if you drop the caveman act.”

He uncrossed his arms and held his hands up in surrender. “A bit over the top?”

“Slightly. I know it comes from a place of love, but you’re overreacting, Tarzan.”

“I’m sorry.” He leaned over and planted a kiss on my temple. “This Tarzan is worried, though. He loves his Jane and doesn’t want anyone messing with her.”

“I know.”

I glanced between him and Shane. Zack grew up without sisters or a mother. Shane was raising a daughter on his own. #MeToo aside, there were things neither man could truly understand. Shane, especially, needed an education because Sophie would soon be dealing with these issues, assuming she hadn’t already.

As much as I preferred not going into what had happened between me and Victor Hogan, I owed it to Sophie to speak up. I took a fortifying sip of liquid courage. “You men have no idea what it’s like to be a woman. I’ve been dealing with men like Victor Hogan since puberty.”

Worry filled Shane’s face. “Puberty?”

I nodded. It couldn’t be easy, raising Sophie from infancy after his wife walked out on them. The worry in his eyes told me he hadn’t considered his daughter may have already experienced sexual harassment—or worse. “Yes, puberty. Adolescent boys mimic the macho mentality they see around them from other males in their lives, on TV, and in the movies. Sometimes it’s verbal innuendo. Sometimes it’s someone getting handsy. And sometimes it’s a lot worse.”

“You’re telling me Sophie has probably experienced some of this behavior already?”

“Most likely.”

Stunned disbelief filled his face. “She’s never said a word.”

“She’s probably afraid of what you might do. She knows how protective you are of her.”

“Do you think I should broach the subject with her?”

I gave his question careful thought before answering. “I wouldn’t come right out and ask.”

“Then what?”

“Open a dialogue by telling her about Victor Hogan. Allow her some space to open up to you about any experiences she’s had, but don’t press if she doesn’t. As long as she knows she can talk to you about anything, she will. In her own time.”

Zack turned the conversation back to the current situation. “Which was it with Hogan? Handsy or worse?”

I frowned, then mumbled, “Handsy.”

“In what way?”

“An inappropriate pat.”

“Where?”

“My tush. Bianca observed it.”

“Who’s Bianca?” asked Shane.

“The cocktail waitress.” I explained what had happened that afternoon in the Diamond Lounge. “Turns out Hogan has a reputation for sexually harassing female crewmembers.”

“And no one has done anything about him?” asked Shane. “Why hasn’t that man been banned from the cruise line?”

“Bianca said many crewmembers have complained, both to the captain and the cruise line. But apparently when it comes to he said/she said, the powers that be side with the he’s—especially the he’s with Super Gem status.”

“Meaning?” asked Zack.

“Hogan is responsible for a boatload of cash landing in the cruise line’s coffers every year. Bianca said he practically lives on this ship, which might explain Ensign McGuire’s disdain for Captain Halvorson. She might be one of Hogan’s victims.”

“Makes sense,” said Zack. “But that doesn’t give him the right to molest women.”

“Of course not.” But did a quick pat on the backside, no matter how inappropriate, rise to the level of molestation? I knew that many women—and some more enlightened men—now agree that it does.

However, previous generations of women had put up with that sort of behavior and worse for fear of losing their jobs. Thanks to some brave women, men behaving badly is finally becoming no longer the norm.

Victor Hogan either hadn’t gotten the memo or had dropped it into his circular file. It was time he suffered the consequences of his behavior. Because putting aside whether a pat on the tush rose to the level of molestation or not, what he’d done to my mother was definitely assault, and I wasn’t going to let him get away with that.

Victor Hogan was going to pay for what he’d done, and I had a plan to make it happen.