Birds of Prey : Previously Copub Sequel to the Hour of the Hunter (9780061739101) (13 page)

Al-Anon is a separate organization with its own twelve-step program designed for people involved with drinkers and druggies. It helps members gain tools to maintain enough serenity that they don't resort to killing or leaving their loved ones or end up falling into the same trap of drinking and drugging themselves. One woman, a grandmotherly type in her sixties, announced that she belonged to Overeaters Anonymous. OA must have worked for her because she looked great, although it occurred to me that dealing with a food addiction on board a cruise ship had to be a very real kind of hell.

On dry land, AA, NA, OA, and Al-Anon sort themselves into separate meetings. On the
Starfire Breeze
we were all part of one group. We had finished introductions and someone was reading from the Big Book when a latecomer burst into the room and dived into the first available chair. Her tardy arrival created a small stir. I judged her to be a woman in her seventies—sturdy but a little stooped at the shoulder. Once seated, she seemed to have a difficult time sitting still. Her hands fluttered nervously in her lap. She shifted back and forth in her seat and checked her watch time and again. Of all the people in the room, she was the one who seemed most in need of a meeting.

When it was time for sharing, some people spoke, some didn't. When the group leader nodded at the woman, she launched into her story.

“My name's Lucy,” she said. “Me an' Mike have been married for almost fifty-five years. Twenty-five of those we was both drunk. We sobered up on our twenty-fifth anniversary, and we've both been straight ever since. But now . . .” She faltered and shook her head. It took several seconds for her to gather herself again.

“Now things is different,” she said. “It's not like Mike has fallen off the wagon or nothin'. It's worse.”

In AA nothing is supposed to be worse than falling off the wagon, but from the grim set of Lucy's mouth, I knew what was coming would be bad news.

“It started with him just forgetting little stuff. At first we both sort of laughed about it together and more or less ignored it. But it's a lot worse than that now, and I've been hidin' it—keepin' things to myself because I didn't want to worry the kids none. There's nothin' nobody can do about it anyways. Nothin' that'll make it better.”

By then everybody in the room knew what Lucy and Mike were up against. If developing Alzheimer's isn't everybody's worst nightmare, then it's got to be right up there, close to the top. I glanced at Lars. Unsmiling, he nodded. He probably knew more than anyone in the room about what Lucy and Mike were dealing with. Alzheimer's disease was what had killed his first wife, Aggie, eight years earlier.

“The kids pooled their money to send us on this trip,” Lucy continued. “I didn't have the heart to try talkin' 'em out of it. I thought I could handle things same as I do at home, but all of a sudden it's taken another turn for the worse. Mike won't so much as come out of our room or even get dressed. He just sits there in his underwear or not all day long watchin' that damned TV set, excuse my French. And he's not watchin' on one of the channels where there might be a program worth watchin'. Oh, no, it's the same stupid channel, hour after hour, the one that shows what's happening off the back of the boat. That's all he watches.

“Mike says he's scared. He's afraid if he leaves the room they'll probably throw him overboard, too. I keep tellin' him they won't—that nobody's throwin' nobody off the back of the boat, but that don't make no difference. He won't listen. I feel like I'm in a jail cell instead of on some hoity-toity cruise. This afternoon, I wanted a drink so bad I could taste it. After thirty years, that's what I wanted to do today—go out and get fallin'-down drunk. That's why I'm here. I gave the room attendant fifty bucks and asked him to watch Mike for me till I got back. I knew if I didn't come to a meeting today, I was gonna lose it.”

Lucy's words had tumbled out so fast that when she finally stopped speaking, she was almost breathless. She sank back into her chair. Spent with effort, her fluttering hands lay still for the first time.

“We're glad you're here,” the self-appointed leader said after a moment's pause. “And if you want to hang around for a little while afterwards, maybe some of us can give you a hand with Mike, help take a little of the pressure off.”

There were nods of assent and murmurs of agreement and encouragement all around the room. Before I came into AA I thought it was going to be a bunch of deadbeat, down-at-the-heels drunks sitting around a room complaining about not being able to drink anymore. What I didn't realize at first is that AA is a fellowship. People who go there end up caring for one another. Strangers don't stay strangers for long.

“Thanks,” Lucy mumbled. “I'd really appreciate it.”

The meeting went on for several more minutes, but I had fallen off the track, stopped cold by the implications of what Lucy had said—that her husband was afraid someone else would be thrown off the ship. Did that mean that he had already seen someone go overboard? Was that real, or was it simply a figment of his unraveling imagination?

When had it happened?
I wondered with that old familiar catch in my gut that always used to tell me when separate pieces of a case were starting to fall into place.
About the same time Margaret Featherman disappeared? Did that mean that Mike possibly had witnessed what had happened to her?

The bad part of all this was that I had learned about this potential witness in the course of an AA meeting. That second A stands for anonymous. What's said during meetings is strictly confidential. Without Lucy's full agreement in the matter, there was no way anyone in the room could reveal a word of what she had said there—me included.

Once the meeting finally broke up, Lars Jenssen was the first to approach Lucy with his offer of help. Several others did the same, saying they'd be glad to come sit with Mike from time to time during the cruise in order to give Lucy a break so she could go to the dining room for dinner or have some fun on one of the shore excursions. I hung back because I wanted to talk to Lucy alone. That was easy to do since I knew Lars would pick up all pertinent information, including the location of her room as well as her last name.

“Mike and Lucy Conyers are second seating,” Lars told me as we started toward the elevators. “I told her Beverly and I will come sit with Mike tonight so she can have a little break—dinner and maybe a show later. I don't think Beverly will mind, do you?”

“No,” I assured him. “I'm sure she won't.”

Lars sighed and shook his head. “Ya, sure,” he added solemnly after a pause. “It's a hell of a thing when they get so bad you can't leave 'em alone. It's like having a baby all over again, only worse. The person you knew isn't there anymore. You can't reason with 'em. Can't get 'em to understand. And you can't leave 'em alone for even a minute because they'll get lost or set fire to the house or take too many pills.

“And I know why he keeps looking off the back of the ship. Aggie did that, too. Sat in the car looking out the back window instead of the front. Like she didn't care at all where we were going. She just wanted to remember where she'd been.”

Lars knew what Lucy Conyers was going through, all right.

“What deck are they on?” I asked.

Lars plucked a piece of paper out of his shirt pocket. “Aloha seven-six-three,” he told me. “Are you going to help out, too?”

“I'll try,” I said. “There may be something I can do.”

Lars is usually bolstered by attending meetings, but this time that wasn't true. Hearing about Lucy and Mike Conyers' tribulations and revisiting his own bad old times seemed to have sapped the stamina right out of him. He looked as though he could use a boost.

“Want to stop off in the buffet for a cup of coffee?” I asked.

Lars shook his head. “I think I'll head back to the room. Don't much feel like shooting the breeze,” he said.

That surprised me. Lars has a weakness for coffee. Under most circumstances, an offer of free coffee would have been downright irresistible for him, but since he turned me down, I didn't stop off at the buffet, either. Instead, I went straight to the Aloha Deck and parked myself in the elevator lobby nearest 763. It was only a matter of minutes before Lucy Conyers showed up.

“Hi, Lucy,” I said, introducing myself and falling in step beside her as she started down the corridor toward her stateroom. “I'm J. P. Beaumont. People call me Beau. I didn't get a chance to meet you during the meeting. Lars Jenssen is my grandfather.”

“What a nice man!” she exclaimed. “He offered to bring his wife and come watch Mike this evening so I can go up to the dining room for dinner.”

“It sounds as though you can use the break.”

She stopped in front of the door to the cabin marked 763—an inside cabin with no way to see out. Mike and Lucy's kids may have paid for their parents to go on the cruise, but they hadn't sprung for an outside cabin with a lanai or even so much as a window. No wonder Lucy Conyers felt as though she was locked in a jail cell. She was.

Lucy stood in front of the cabin door making no move to insert the key card in the slot. It struck me that she was savoring this last bit of freedom before facing up to whatever awaited her inside.

“Just gettin' away long enough to come to the meetin' was a big help,” Lucy said. “You have no idea!”

“I'm sure I don't,” I agreed. “It must be rough.”

She nodded. “But I'm feelin' better somehow. Not quite as hopeless as I was before, and not wonderin' where my next drink is comin' from. It's so nice of all you people to worry about me. I'm very lucky.”

That made me feel like a first-class turkey. I wasn't there chatting with Lucy Conyers because I was a kind, concerned human being. Behind the nice-guy mask, I was actually pumping her for information.

“You mentioned during the meeting that your husband was afraid someone might throw him overboard, too. Is that correct?”

“Yes.”

“You also said he'd been watching TV since we first set sail.”

“That's right.”

“So when did he first start worrying about being thrown overboard?”

“That didn't come up until last night,” Lucy answered. “I was in the bathroom. He came and pounded on the door and told me I had to come out quick and see what was on TV. When I came out, there was nothin' to see but more of what he'd been watchin' all day long—waves and water and nothin' else. But Mike was all excited, pacin' back and forth and wavin' his arms. He kept sayin' that somebody had thrown Peggy off the ship and that they'd be comin' for him next.”

“Who's Peggy?”

Lucy shrugged. “Beats me. The only Peggy I know anythin' about is Mike's mother, but she's been dead for thirty years, and she didn't drown, neither.”

“What time was this?”

“When I was in the bathroom? It must have been around six or so, although it could've been earlier. All I know is by the time I got around to looking at the TV set, it was still light enough to see. I tried tellin' Mike that he was mistaken—that Peggy was dead and he was just makin' things up as he went along. I suppose it could be that there was a log in the water that looked like it was a person. I don't know. I can't tell what the man saw or didn't see, but I can tell you for sure that I didn't see nothin'. ‘Sides, sometimes Mike's like that. He imagines things that aren't real. He sees and talks to people I can't see or hear, people who aren't there at all. When Mike's seein' things like that, there are times I think I'm gonna go stark ravin' crazy myself.”

“Maybe he wasn't seeing things this time,” I suggested quietly.

Lucy Conyers' jaw dropped. She peered up into my face. “What do you mean?”

“Most people on board the ship don't know about this yet, but a female passenger is missing. The last time anyone saw her was late yesterday afternoon. She didn't come to dinner last night, and she wasn't in her cabin overnight. Since Mike was watching the view from that stern camera, I think he actually may have seen her go overboard.”

Lucy's eyes widened. “Is that possible?”

“It is.”

“What should I do?”

“Go find the ship's first officer and tell him what's happened—that your husband may have seen someone go off the ship into the water late yesterday afternoon. Then the authorities can review the tapes from the ship's security cameras and see if they picked up any sign of what happened.”

Lucy dropped her eyes and glanced at her watch. “I can't,” she said. “I told the attendant I'd be back in an hour, and it's almost that now. Could you maybe do that for me? Talk to the ship's first officer, I mean.”

“I'll be glad to, but since the subject came up in the course of a meeting, I can't do that unless you give me permission.”

“Actually, me and Mike would be really grateful if you did,” Lucy said. “You see, it would be such a relief for me to know that Mike really did see somethin'—that he wasn't just imaginin' things for a change. Meanwhile, if you'll excuse me, I'd best be goin' inside. I'd invite you in, but I can't never be sure of what I'll find. Mike don't always cover up properly, if you know what I mean. It's embarrassin' as all get-out for me, although it don't seem to bother him none. Not in the least. And that's the strange part. Back when we was young, Mike was always sort of modest-like. In fact, years ago, you wouldn't have caught the man wearin' a pair of shorts, or swimmin' trunks, neither.” She laughed. “He hated his legs then, and they're a whole lot funnier-lookin' now.”

Shaking her head, she put the key card in the slot, and the door clicked open. As it swung in on its hinges, I caught sight of a totally naked man sitting sprawled on the love seat. As soon as the door opened, a uniformed room attendant—a male—appeared from some other part of the room and bolted toward the door.