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Those words had absolutely no impact on their conversation. It was as if I was silenced by some invisible wind that swept the sound of my voice out to sea. Perhaps I can only be heard in the Bermuda Triangle. I’m sure not being listened to here.
“I just wish she would stick to innkeeping. That’s hardly a hazardous activity,” Laurel groused. “Why would anyone want to kill an innkeeper? But as a sleuth, she’s asking for trouble.”
Obviously I was not going to get that horse back in the barn. If anything, it looked like my mother was going to beat Ole Bessie to death, revive the poor nag, and do it again. It was her way of staving off the fear that something terrible would happen to me. I chalk that up to the fact that I’m the only girl in the family. She always expected my brothers to dig themselves out of their assorted predicaments because they were males. Females, in her view, weren’t supposed to get tangled up in anything questionable. That’s because we’re the creatures made of sugar and spice. We certainly don’t poke our polite, well-behaved noses where they don’t belong, lest we need rescuing from vile villains and creepy cretins.
“But, dearest, your daughter has managed to discern some very important clues in this case, clues that other people missed. Would you deny her that?”
“Why can’t she do it from a safe place, Thaddeus? Why must she get so deeply involved?”
“Sometimes that’s the only way you find the answers. I know that’s not what you want to hear, Laurel, but it’s true.”
They continued to ignore me, chattering on about how I did sometimes get myself into situations that were beyond my abilities and why it was especially dangerous for me when I figured out the bad guy’s identity. I hadn’t heard my mother talk to anyone this way since my father died. I suddenly felt like a kid again, in the back seat of the family station wagon, listening to the adults on a long drive. In a strange way, I kind of liked it. I felt safe, knowing they cared that much about me. Maybe I hit my head when I fell on the sidewalk. Either that or I’m getting dotty in my old age.
It seemed to take forever to traverse the distance from the ferry dock to King’s Wharf. The Liberty of the Seas stood out against the darkening sky, an illuminated beacon glowing with hundreds of lights, waiting to welcome us back for the evening party. It was a shame I couldn’t muster any enthusiasm to join the crowd. I’d be the party pooper holed up in Stateroom 6615 with my swollen ankle propped up on a pillow, topped with a bag of ice.
“Boy, am I going to sleep tonight,” I announced, limping along. “It’s been a long day.”
“To say the least,” my mother agreed. “It’s not exactly the vacation we hoped for, is it?”
“At least we were there for Kathleen in her time of need. Can you imagine what might have happened if we hadn’t taken this trip?” Thaddeus reflected. “Not only would George Delaney have been chalked up as a drowning victim, poor Kathleen might have joined him at the bottom of the ocean.”
“Fate is an unusual thing, isn’t it?” My mother slowed down her wheelchair as we drew closer to the line of people waiting to board. “We think we don’t matter, that the world goes on just fine without us, and then something like this happens. Suddenly, we’re all too aware of our responsibilities as human beings.”
“Fate...destiny....” I sighed, too tired for a philosophical discussion. “It’s six of one, half a dozen of the other.”
“Nonsense! They are not interchangeable concepts, Scarlet. Fate befalls us, but we, as individuals, must determine how we will live our lives. Destiny is ours to make. We choose to put our indelible mark on those circumstances and turn negatives to positives. We are the masters of what our lives become, but only if we take the wheel.”
I was blindsided by the unexpectedly passionate reply from the woman stuck in a wheelchair. It was sometimes easy to forget Laurel’s struggle to get out and about, all because she made it seem so easy. Suddenly compelled to glance down at her as she rolled along in the glow from the lamp posts, I saw the fierce determination etched into every line on her face and the tension in the purposeful hands that gripped the arm rests of her chair. There was no mistaking the depth of Laurel’s belief in the subject. Fate had indeed handed her a cruel blow on the day that car struck her, leaving her permanently disabled. She could have surrendered to her frustration when her legs were irreversibly damaged, but instead, she made up her mind that nothing was going to stop her. She continued to grow as a person. That’s what a real heroine does. She never gives up and never gives in.
“Well said,” Thaddeus smiled, putting a hand on her shoulder. “Your mother is a remarkable woman, Scarlet.”
“I know, Doc. She continues to amaze me.”
Laurel took that as my feeble attempt to apologize, no doubt cutting me some slack because of my exhausted, injured state. She changed the subject.
“It looks like most of the passengers have already returned to the ship.”
Thaddeus concurred. “The line seems to be moving rather quickly.”
We greeted the friendly duty officers with pleasantries about the fine evening and, having nothing to declare, quickly cleared Customs. As we arrived at the gangway, I expected to see a contingent of FBI and Royal Caribbean security personnel waiting. Instead, there were two or three uniformed employees waiting to check passengers back onto the ship and Kenny was nowhere to be found.
“Where can he be?” I admit I was disappointed that he wasn’t there to greet us. I turned to scan the horizon, wondering if he had passed us in the throng as we returned to the ship.
“He is right here,” said that familiar voice, coming up behind me. “I went to the infirmary to grab a wheelchair.”
“Oh, you’re the best,” I sighed, sinking down onto the seat, wincing as the back of my foot hit the right wheel. “Ooh, that hurts!”
“Allow me.” He carefully lifted my swollen ankle and gently placed it on the foot rest. “How is that?”
“That’s much better. Thanks.” I shifted in the seat, trying to find a comfortable position that didn’t put pressure on the swelling appendage.
“Milady,” he replied, bowing from the waist with exaggerated gallantry. “Where wouldst the fairest Scarlet care to go?”
I didn’t have a chance to answer him. Before I could open my mouth, my mother jumped in.
“She’d like to go back to the stateroom. Thaddeus is going to wrap her ankle and give her something for the pain. And then I’m certain she’d like to get some rest.”
Kenny gave me a long, imploring look that spoke volumes; he had plans that didn’t include Laurel or Thaddeus. There was something going on, something he didn’t want them to find out about it. What could it be? Had the killer shown up at King Henry VII Memorial Hospital? Had something terrible happened to Kathleen? That’s not his upset face, Miz Scarlet. That’s his worried face. Whatever the trouble is, it hasn’t happened yet.
“Well, maybe after the good doctor patches me up, Kenny and I can go grab a drink and relax in one of the lounges. It’s been a long day,” I said. A relieved sigh slipped out of his mouth; he tried to pretend he was stifling a yawn. Yes, there was definitely something going on.
“A drink? Is that really a good idea?” My mother frowned.
“Yes, Mother, it is. Fate handed me a crummy day and I’m going to drown my sorrows in something tall and tropical. Call it my destiny,” I smiled wanly, conjuring up my ten-year-old smart Alec self.
“Don’t be facetious, Scarlet. It doesn’t become you.”
“Since when?” I countered, keeping my tone light. It was time to wrestle control back from the woman who had raised me, lest she feel compelled to take over my life just because I was injured. I knew her anxiety over the events during the past few days drove her to do it, but I wanted to be front and center for the show when the FBI nabbed their man. “You suddenly want me to turn into Good Manners Gertie? ‘Yes, ma’am. No, ma’am.’ Or am I supposed to reform myself into Polly Polite and ask ‘Mother, may I?’ every time I want to do something? I am what I am. I am who I am. I’m Scarlet Wilson, not some timid wallflower who sits quietly and watches life from the sidelines.”
Glancing over at her, I could tell Laurel was more than a little reluctant to let me out of her sight. But I was well past the age of eighteen and I certainly didn’t need my mother’s consent to grab a margarita. I had voted in presidential elections on at least five occasions, although I admit one or two of those ballots I had cast had been less than stellar choices on my part. Despite the fact that I, too, was in a wheelchair, I still had every intention of standing my ground. While my ankle might be throbbing from the damage done to tendon and muscle, it wasn’t a terminal condition and Laurel knew it. My foot would heal.
Kenny seemed to sense an opening to exploit. He quickly made his intentions clear. “We won’t be late.”
“That’s what you two said last night.”
“Yes, but we made headway,” I pointed out helpfully, “which we wouldn’t have if we hadn’t worked so late.”
The seconds ticked on as we waited for Laurel to acquiesce. She wasn’t going to give up easily. At last she shrugged, signaling that she knew the decision was out of her hands. I grinned mischievously, acknowledging the figurative white flag she hoisted up the motherhood flag pole. She groaned, shaking her head.
“I will bring her back to your cabin in one piece, Mrs. W.” Kenny vowed sincerely. “You have my word on that.”
“See that you do, Kenneth, or you and I will have to part ways.” She was only half kidding.
Twenty minutes later, with my ankle wrapped in an ACE bandage and my trusty boyfriend manning the handlebars of my wheelchair, I was pushed back through the hallway to the elevator. We took it up to Deck 12, where the evening party crowd gathered at the entrance to the Viking Crown Lounge, chatting as they held half-empty glasses.
“Let’s do Olive or Twist,” Kenny suggested, steering me into the comfortable, classy bar. He found a good spot to park the wheelchair that was out of the path of bar patrons and settled into the club chair beside me. “What will you have?”
“I’ll have a strawberry margarita, light on the tequila.”
“I’ll be right back with that.”
I leaned back, trying to get comfortable. My foot felt like it weighed a hundred pounds, but that was nothing compared to the dull, constant ache. Distract yourself, Miz Scarlet. Focus on something else.
Gazing around the room, I engaged in a little people-watching. One couple was so amorously engaged in long, lusty glances across the bar table they shared, I thought they were going to spontaneously combust the instant their fingers touched. They probably just met the day we sailed. It’s all about the physical chemistry.
I let my eyes wander around the room, seeking out something interesting, something more worthy of attention than my sore ankle. An older man in a tan checkered sport coat, yellow shirt, and brown pants was fiddling with the long green toothpick in his glass. He finally ate the two tiny onions stuck on the end of it, gave the drink another stir, and deposited the plastic spear on the table beside him. He’s waiting for someone, and judging from the fact that his glass is just about empty, I’d say she’s late. A moment later, his companion showed up, well-coiffed, her shoulders draped with a black-and-white silk scarf. She suddenly looked my way, aware of my interest, and shot me a death-ray stare that left no doubt how far she would go to protect her man from a hussy like me. I forced myself to look away, even as I stifled a smile. Well, that was fun. Now what?
A young woman, dressed in a bright red Western shirt with white fringe and tight black jeans, approached the thirty-something couple sitting at the table next to me. She held a stack of blue papers in her left hand.
“Hi. I want to invite you to our country jamboree tomorrow night in the Platinum Theatre. I hope you’ll come out for the show.” She thrust something at them. “Here’s a flyer about it.”
“Thanks.” He took the paper from her, glanced at it with feigned interest, and put it down at the far end of the table, away from his glass.
“We’ll try,” said the blonde woman dismissively. She turned her attention back to her date, picking up the conversation where she left off. Oh, there’s no way they’ll be at the show. These people never let their hair down. When you look up “sticks-in-the-mud” in the dictionary, this couple’s photo is right beside the definition.
A moment later, the young woman was standing beside me in her ruby leather cowboy boots. She seemed to hesitate when she saw my bandaged foot.
“Hi. I hope you’ll come to our show....”
I glanced at the piece of paper she held out to me. “Vicky and the Vixens?”
“That’s us. We’re fresh from Nashville and the Vegas Strip. We do two shows a night and we invite people to join us on stage for some line dancing. Although you probably....”
“Are you Vicky?” I felt my pulse pick up as I spoke that name.
“No, I’m Valerie. I do backup vocals.”
“Can I ask what Vicky’s last name is?” By now I was sitting up, feeling that electricity ripple through my body.
“Her last name?” Valerie seemed a little confused by my request, so I pretended I had a legitimate reason for asking.
“You mentioned Vegas. I just wondered if Vicky is the singer I met when I was out there.” Think fast, Miz Scarlet. You want Valerie to cough up Vicky’s last name. “I think her name was Dorsett or Doucette. It was something like that.”
“Actually, her last name is Vickerson.”
“Vicky Vickerson?”
“No,” said Valerie. A tiny smile crossed her lips. “Don’t tell anyone I told you, but Vicky’s just her stage name. Her real name is Velma Sue. But that didn’t sound very sexy, so we named the group ‘Vicky and the Vixens’ instead. We all thought that was a much better choice.”
“Some would even say it’s foxy,” I kidded. Valerie gave me a bright smile.
“It is! So, do you think you’ll come to the show?”
“Oh, you can count on it,” I promised. “I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”
By the time Kenny returned to our table with the drinks, I was beaming from ear to ear. My whole body was tingling with so much excitement, I thought I might pop right up and do the happy dance on the table, bad ankle and all.
“At last,” I greeted him enthusiastically. “Am I glad to see you!”
“Are you okay?” He sat down, leaning toward me for a closer look. There was a note of concern in his voice. His attention was on my eyes, as if he were checking me for dilated pupils. He thinks I’ve got a concussion and I’ve suddenly gone bonkers.
“Me? I’m fine. In fact, I’m better than fine. No headache, no confusion, no problem.”
“Good,” he nodded, still unconvinced. “Good. So....”
I picked up my frosty drink and gave him a wide grin. I was savoring the moment I would make my big announcement. “Here’s to solving the case. Let’s hope it doesn’t take us long.”
“Amen to that.” He took a long sip of his drink before carefully setting the glass down on the table. I could tell he was still worried about the outcome.
I went ahead and steered the conversation in a more positive direction, eager to spring my surprise on him. “So, were they able to catch the guy trying to board the ship?”
“That’s what I wanted to speak to you about, Scarlet. The security team is still waiting for him to show up. On the off-chance that he doesn’t, I don’t want you to be disappointed.”
“You don’t think he’ll show up?”
“He may not.” Kenny shrugged, trying to minimize the seriousness of the situation. “It’s possible he’s figured out we’re onto him.”
“What happens then?” I wanted to know.
“We keep searching for the elusive Vicky, hoping we can locate her in time to save her life. At least we know when the killer plans to murder her. It’s better than nothing.”
“So, what you’re telling me is that if you could find Vicky, you wouldn’t be so worried about the killer?”
“Well, of course. That’s it in a nutshell. Our goal is to prevent another murder, Scarlet.”
“Hmm....”
“Hmm what?”
“What if Vicky isn’t the target’s real name?”