The pianist played “Some Enchanted Evening.” The mirror behind the bar reflected lights and clusters of passengers around the shining wooden tables. Laughter and voices sounded pleasant and carefree.
I settled at a small table not far from the piano. By the time the waiter brought a club soda, I felt foolish. I had no cause to be uneasy. I wasn’t a threat to anyone. Yet I’d sensed a malignant presence. Slowly I relaxed, immersing myself in the normalcy of the bar with its soft lamplight and comfortable dark leather chairs and nautical watercolors.
I took pleasure in the occasional bursts of laughter, lively yet restrained. I sipped the soda and admired attractive women in lovely dresses as they smiled at attentive companions, everyone enjoying a holiday. I concentrated on the elegance of my surroundings, determined to force my thoughts away from Sophia and the muddle she’d made of her relationships.
I’d enjoyed many happy holidays over the years, most of them with Richard. Richard…The pianist slipped into the familiar notes of “September Song,” banal yet nonetheless poignant with its haunting evocation of loss and farewell. My thoughts are never far from Richard. It strengthens me to recall his steady gaze, his robust laughter, his sturdy presence, to remember when I could reach out and touch his hands, welcome his embrace. Perhaps it was inevitable that I would feel close to him tonight, a night when I’d spoken of love. Whenever I did, Richard was in my heart.
I don’t know how long I sat, sipping the soda, accepting another, immersed in a world that no longer existed. Yet for this moment my and Richard’s long-ago world lived in my memory: sun-drenched days at Acapulco, starry nights in Mexico City, amorous afternoons in Paris. Oh, Richard, if only you’d not gone to Kauai. But he had gone, and his life ended in a brutal fall down a mountainside. He had been murdered. I’d gone to Kauai, trapped his killer. But Richard was dead and I was left with memories.
I was no longer aware of my surroundings, my mind and heart far away, when a hand pushed at my shoulder.
Startled, I looked up.
Val Riordan clung to the back of a chair with one hand, pushed at me with the other. She peered down, blue eyes bleary, lipstick smeared, face slack. Her dark red hair, long and loose, framed an accusing face. “Where’s your companion in crime?” She looked around. “What’s Jimmy doing now? Plotting poison?”
“Val.” My tone was forbidding.
She clapped an unsteady hand to her lips, made a moue of simulated chagrin. “Oops. Cat out of the bag?” She pushed away from me, wavered unsteadily, then pulled the chair back, sank into it. “Trouble is, you two missed your chance. Now you’ve loused it up for us, put the bitch in a monster mood. If you’d waited until tomorrow, she’d have divvied up the money. Our money. Now everything’s all screwed up.” She spoke with the careful diction of a cunning drunk. “There is a bright side. Bright, bright side. See, I don’t care about the money. Did you know I make a lot of money? Buckets of it. I don’t even spend it.” There was a note of regret, as if she would have liked to spend money but there wasn’t anything she wanted.
Drunks reveal more than they ever realize. Val was so cut off from feeling that she had no desires to fulfill.
She thumped the table.
My glass slid, a little soda slopping over one side.
Val squeezed her eyes, gazed owlishly at me. “You want to know the bright side?”
“The bright side?” I mopped up the soda.
“When you pushed her—”
“I didn’t push her.” It’s pointless to argue with a drunk, but I wasn’t going to let the accusation pass.
Val waved a hand. “Okay, okay. Maybe not you. Jimmy then. Anything for his lady love.” She pointed an unsteady finger. “That’s you.” She laughed and it turned into a hiccup. “Anyway, Sophia got pushed. You like that better? Okay, that’s the good part, she got pushed and she started to fall. She had to be scared, right?”
I remembered Sophia’s shrill scream.
“Scared as hell, right?” Val’s eyes glittered. Her lips parted in a hurtful smile. Her lips began to tremble. “That was good. I wish she’d fallen all the way, screaming and scared just like Vic must have screamed that night and no one heard her. Vic…” Val stopped, tears streaming down her cheeks.
I gestured to a waiter. He was there in an instant. “Some napkins, please.”
He brought them and helped me get Val to her feet. I thrust the napkins in her hand. “We’re going to take a walk, Val. This way.”
I slipped an arm around Val’s waist, smelled the faint but unmistakable scent of vodka, the favorite of heavy drinkers who like to believe it is odorless. She leaned on me, murmuring to herself. The roll of the ship was more pronounced. Our progress was erratic. I caught snatches of her rambling monologue as I guided her to the lift: “…hope you get her next time…wish I had the guts…too bad she didn’t die…Vic died…”
When we reached Val’s cabin, I propped her against the bulkhead, reached into the pocket of her loose jacket, found her electronic key in its dark leather folder. Val waited docilely, eyes almost closed, dark lashes stark against her fair skin. I opened the door, led her inside.
She looked around blankly.
An empty vodka bottle lay on the floor. I wasn’t surprised. Room service wouldn’t hesitate to bring alcohol, but I doubted she would have been served anywhere on the ship in her drunken state. I wondered if she’d wandered up to the bar because the bottle was empty.
She took three steps forward and almost fell as the floor rose with a swell. I caught her, moved her closer to the bed. “Lie down now, Val.”
She pulled away from me, scowling. “Don’t want to lie down.” Swaying, she managed to reach the little sofa, sank down, looked up at me. “Want a drink. That’s what I came up to the bar for.” She looked around. “Got a bottle somewhere. You can fix me a drink.”
There was ice in the bucket. I used tongs, dropped cubes into a glass, poured it three-quarters full with water, took it to Val.
She gave me a brilliant smile, took the glass, lifted it.
I was at the door when she called out. “Damn dirty trick. Don’t want water.”
“You’ve had enough for now. Try to get some sleep.” I opened the door and stepped into the hall, heard her querulous call. I hoped she would stay put. Tomorrow I would talk to Rosie. Val needed help. Out in the hall, I pulled the door shut, heard its quiet click.
Just so had a door clicked as I walked forward after leaving Sophia’s cabin. Again the corridor was empty, but this time I didn’t feel uneasy. I was, however, fatigued. I glanced at my watch. Half past eleven. I’d spent almost an hour in the bar and seeing Val to her cabin.
I walked briskly, several times catching the handrail for balance. In my cabin, I looked toward the phone. The message light was dark. I’d half expected a call from Jimmy, either pleased that Sophia had contacted him or angry that I had gone to see her. Perhaps the lack of a message was a very good sign. Perhaps even now, Sophia and Jimmy were quietly talking, remembering their happiness, excising her folly. All of us make mistakes and need forgiveness.
I prepared for bed, deciding to finish my packing in the morning. I slipped into my favorite yellow cotton gown, but as I turned down the spread, I was too tense to try to sleep. Tense and worried. I moved away from the bed, settled on the small sofa. Why did I feel so uneasy? Surely Sophia wouldn’t be foolish enough to open her door to any of the Riordans tonight. She was safe so long as she kept her door locked.
Perhaps she’d called Jimmy and was no longer alone. I hoped he’d been receptive, but I had done all I could do, for him and for her. It was up to them to reconcile or not. In any event, Jimmy would likely rethink his plan to leave the ship in Helsinki, although he seemed to think Sophia was no longer in danger since Staff Captain Glenn was aware of everything that had happened.
Maybe that made Sophia safe. I wasn’t sure. Actually, until Sophia and Jimmy were publicly reunited, the shadowy figure who had now attempted murder three times would find the prospect of Jimmy as a scapegoat too appealing to resist.
I suddenly found it hard to breathe. I remembered Kent’s smiling face and his casual words: …I’ll bet you and Jimmy blow ship in Helsinki, too.
I had answered as casually. Now the import of those words staggered me. I had told Kent that most likely Jimmy and I would disembark after the ship docked tomorrow morning in Helsinki. What Kent knew, all the Riordans very likely knew. If Jimmy were to be suspected of Sophia’s murder, she had to die before morning.
Before morning…
I jumped up and hurried to the desk, grabbed the phone, dialed Sophia’s cabin. The phone rang, rang again, a third time, a fourth. The automatic voice mail system came on, inviting me to leave a message. I hung up. I stood uncertain, my thoughts frantic. Was I semihysterical, seeing danger where none existed? Almost viciously, I jabbed the numbers again. The result was the same. If Sophia was in the cabin, she slept too deeply to rouse. Or—
I dialed Jimmy’s new cabin. Please God he was there and Sophia too. The phone rang. My chest ached from want of breath. It rang until the automatic voice mail was triggered. I spoke quickly: “Jimmy, call me when you come in.” I glanced toward the clock. Twenty minutes to midnight. Where could he be? “Jimmy, I’m afraid for Sophia. I’ve called her cabin, received no answer.” I was stymied and ever more frightened. “I’m going to call Staff Captain Glenn.”
I cut the connection, dialed Operator.
“Yes, Mrs. Collins?” The voice was young and smooth with only a trace of wariness. I doubted calls were common at this hour.
I didn’t hesitate although I knew I might end up looking foolish. “Please contact Staff Captain Glenn. A passenger is in danger.”
The demand was swift. “State the problem.”
“Passenger Sophia Lennox in Cabin 6088 doesn’t answer her telephone. I have reason to believe she is in danger. I will meet Mr. Glenn at her door.” I heard the sharp voice as I slammed down the receiver. It took only seconds to slip out of my nightgown, pull on a blouse and slacks, and step into sandals, and I was on my way, running down the long empty corridor.
When I reached Sophia’s door, I knocked, kept on knocking. My breaths came quickly, my chest ached. My hand ached from the peremptory blows. Finally, I let my hand fall. I leaned against the bulkhead. In a moment I heard the faint ring of a telephone. I looked at Sophia’s door. Yes, the ring was from her cabin. The telephone rang and rang and rang, continued to ring, the voice mail in abeyance. I knew Staff Captain Glenn had ordered this call.
It was still ringing when Glenn arrived. There were two young crew members with him, a slender thirtyish woman and a red-bearded giant. I supposed Glenn had dressed hurriedly, but his uniform was immaculate. The only indication of irregularity was the bristle that covered his cheeks. He gave me a quick, searching glance but moved straight to the door, knocked: booming, impossible-to-ignore, crashing knocks. Four of them. He pushed an electronic key into the lock. The door swung open to lights and silence and the silky movement of air flowing in from the balcony.
“Mrs. Lennox?” His call was loud, brusque. He moved into the hallway, cocked his head, listening.
I started to follow Glenn. The massive redheaded crewman stepped in front of me, held up a restraining hand. “Ma’am.”
I stayed where I was, craning to see past him. I glimpsed the elegant living area, chintz-covered sofas, wooden table with a book and half-filled glass, open door to the balcony and the darkness beyond. There was no sound but the rustle of the balcony curtains blowing in the breeze and the distant shush of the Clio cleaving the sea.
“Mrs. Lennox?” Again his deep voice was loud, but Glenn was moving as he spoke. He veered to his right to enter the bedroom. It seemed he was gone only an instant before returning to the living area. He gave it another quick scan, then strode out onto the balcony, flipping on the exterior lights.
When he returned, he walked straight to me. His dark eyes were cold, skeptical, and suspicious.
“Sophia?” But I looked at him without hope.
“Mrs. Lennox is not present. We will go to my office, Mrs. Collins.” He gestured toward the young woman. “Officer Watkins, secure the premises until further notice. Touch nothing. No one is to enter. If Mrs. Lennox returns, contact me immediately.” He turned to the young man. “Officer O’Reilly, call up assistance, organize a search of all public areas. Mrs. Lennox is in her fifties, five feet two inches tall, approximately eight stone, short blond hair in tight curls, blue eyes, narrow face.”
Before O’Reilly moved, I added, “At ten o’clock tonight, she was wearing a light blue linen blouse and skirt, matching blue sandals.”
Glenn’s eyes narrowed. “Thank you, Mrs. Collins. If you’ll be kind enough to come with me…”