Crime of Their Life (9 page)

“You make it sound like she’s hopeless.”

“Isn’t she?”

“I don’t think so. Why don’t you let me take her in hand for the next few days? See what I can do.”

“She’s pretty stubborn,” Eldridge warned.

“So am I.”

The waiter was back with the drinks, slid them onto the table in front of the three men and woman.

Herrick, who had done time in a Hollywood syndication factory, launched into a recital of how much Hollywood had changed since Robin’s day as a reigning film star. He complained about the status of the “serious writer,” detailed a list of complaints and indignities he had endured until his latest book had hit the best-seller list.

Liddell and Carson Eldridge listened with a polite show of interest while the actress and the writer compared experiences. Covertly Liddell was studying Herrick as he declaimed. The type was a familiar one, a loud, aggressive manner hiding a natural timidity. It was easy to see why he had attached himself to the former movie star—she was still attractive, her name was still associated with the sex-pot characters she played, and she was old enough, experienced enough and tired enough not to be too demanding. Thus the writer could give the appearance of being masculine right down to his socks without having ever to prove it in bed.

Liddell glanced at his watch, grunted. “I didn’t realize it was so late. It’s been a big day.”

The actress looked mildly disappointed. “You’re not going to leave us this early?”

Liddell drained his glass, set it back on the table. “I think I’ll take a couple of turns around the deck, then hit the sack. See you all in the morning.” He pushed back his chair, headed across the floor toward the forward exit.

“Interesting man,” Robin Lewis murmured. “I wonder what he really does?”

“Something terribly physical, I’m sure,” Herrick put in. “Do you believe that story of his about just happening to be in Barbados when we dropped anchor and coming along on the cruise on an impulse?”

“Why not?” Eldridge frowned at him.

The writer made overlapping circles on the top of the table with the wet bottom of his glass. “I’m just wondering if he could have any connection with the man we lost overboard during the storm. The Landers chap.” He looked up from his design on the table top, eyed his two companions. “Suppose he wasn’t washed overboard during the storm.” He pursed his lips thoughtfully. “I never could quite figure what anybody would be doing out in a storm like that, anyway.”

“You think he might have been murdered?”

Herrick shrugged. “It’s happened.”

Robin Lewis laughed nervously. “Don’t pay any attention to Lewis, Carson. He’s a writer, and like all writers he sometimes lets his imagination run away with him.” Despite the smile there was an uneasy look in her eyes.

CHAPTER 9

Captain Delmar Rose stood in the companionway outside the Grand Salon, watched the chefs setting up the long table of cold cuts and other delicacies that were set out nightly as a midnight snack for those passengers who hadn’t gotten enough at the dinner table.

There was ham and turkey, hors d’oeuvres of every type — fish, pâtés, shrimp, crabmeat, lobster all nestled on finely crushed ice; there were out of season delicacies, caviar, cold cuts of every conceivable type. Already, in the background, a line was forming of those who were only an hour or two away from the dining table.

On every cruise there is a select group known as the Gobblers. These are the gourmands who infest every ship, who do most of their sightseeing via the menus, testing and tasting every item, monopolizing the services of the dining room stewards. They reduce the chief steward and his aides to a state of hopeless despair when the neighboring tables are left untended by the steward who spends most of his time transporting every item on the menu to the Gobblers’ table. These, too, are first in line every midnight to carry off heaping plates full of the delicacies prepared for the midnight snack.

Captain Rose nodded his satisfaction to the men behind the counters as they piled the hors d’oeuvres in appealing tiers ready for dispensing. He was about to turn to join the chief steward when Mrs. Hilda Phelps slipped up behind him, caught him by the arm.

“Wherever have you been keeping yourself, Captain? We never get to see you except at mealtimes, and then you’re so busy with your VIPs we don’t even rate a hello,” she simpered. In the bright light of the companionway, the heavy blotches of her make-up were even more pronounced, the uneven smear of her make-up more obvious. Her hennaed hair looked orange in the light, her teeth clicked as she talked.

The captain sighed softly, worked at a smile which didn’t quite come off. “Somebody’s got to steer the ship if we’re going to keep on our schedule, Mrs. Phelps,” he explained.

“I’m sure you have plenty of help who could do that. We miss your company,” she pouted. “There are so few really attractive men around.”

Captain Rose dug his balled fists even deeper into his jacket pockets. “I’m sure you haven’t looked very carefully. I’ve noticed quite a few. There’s that writer fellow, that Mr. Eldridge—both unattached, I understand.”

The pout gave the old woman’s face a gargoylish appearance. “I suppose there are a few. Like that new passenger—that Mr. Liddell. What about him, Captain?” Captain Rose raised his eyebrows. “I don’t understand?”

The old woman smiled fatuously. “There’s such an air of mystery about him. Nobody seems to know anything about him. And he certainly doesn’t do much talking.” She peered at the captain with bright eyes. “He gives the impression that he’s a white-collar worker of some kind. But have you noticed those shoulders, the size of his hands?”

“I’m afraid I haven’t, Mrs. Phelps,” the captain told her coldly. “All I have noticed about the gentleman is that he’s rather presumptuous. Because he has some contacts with our home office I have agreed that he may finish out the cruise. But aside from that, my interest in your Mr. Liddell is nonexistent.”

Mrs. Phelps tittered at him. “I do believe you’re jealous, Captain. I never heard you talk like that in all the years I’ve sailed with you.”

The squat man’s harsh look dissolved. “Sorry. I am a little overwrought. It has been a difficult voyage so far.”

Mrs. Phelps managed to look sympathetic. “You mean about that poor Mr. Landers?” She shook her head. “A terrible thing. I guess it has made the voyage more difficult.” She unhooked her hand from the captain’s arm. “I won’t keep you any longer with my silly questions.” She turned away, headed for the grand staircase leading to the promenade deck.

Captain Rose stared after her thoughtfully. He rubbed the heel of his hand along the side of his jaw. He spotted the cruise director in one of the small groups that stood clotted in the hallway awaiting the signal to grab plates and queue up. He nodded for Allen to join him, walked out of earshot of the chief steward and the others who had been inspecting the buffet.

“Evening, Captain,” Allen greeted him. “Anything I can do for you?”

Captain Rose bobbed his head. “This Phelps woman, she’s at your table?” The cruise director nodded. “And this new passenger, Liddell? He’s there, too?” Allen nodded again.

“Anything wrong?”

The captain considered, shrugged. “Is there some talk going around about this Liddell?”

Allen frowned, shook his head. “None that I heard. I guess the unattached women are speculating about him. They do about every unattached male. Especially one with his looks. Why?”

The squat man in uniform considered. “Mrs. Phelps was asking me a lot of questions. Who he was? What was he doing here? Things like that.” He frowned. “Anybody else asking questions? Anyone seem to know him?”

The cruise director plucked at his lower lip with his thumb and forefinger. “I did get the impression—but that’s all it was, an impression—that one of the couples at my table knew him, or he knew them.” He shrugged. “I asked them if they knew each other, but both denied it. But from the look on Keen’s face when Liddell came to the table, I would have bet they’d met before. And not under very pleasant circumstances.”

“What about this Keen? What do you know about him?”

Allen shook his head. “Nothing. He and that redheaded wife of his stick by themselves. Talk very little, don’t mix with the other passengers. Kind of odd that way.”

The captain nodded uncertainly. “You’d better keep an eye on both Keen and Liddell. If there’s something funny going on aboard my ship I want to know about it.” He bobbed his head curtly to the cruise director, turned and strode off.

The chief steward walked over to the cruise director. “Okay, Jack. We’re all set up. Time to feed the natives. They’re kind of restless tonight. Guess a day shore-side gives them an appetite.”

Jack Allen pasted his ready cruise director smile in place, clapped his hands. “Okay, ladies and gentlemen. The buffet is open. Come and get it.” He stood aside, watched the quickly queuing, noisily chattering Gobblers expertly maneuver to the front of the line. His experienced eyes flicked around the companionway, failed to locate Liddell. He, too, was beginning to get extremely curious about the new passenger.

His blonde assistant worked her way through the small groups of gossiping passengers to where Allen stood. She had changed her blouse and tight-fitting skirt for a décolleté gold lame gown that complemented the color of her hair, provided breath-taking contrast for the cocoa color of her skin. She blinked at the firefly effect of the lights on the sparkling bracelets, the diamond earrings, sighed. “Every morning I spend hours trying to take off the poundage they put on here every night,” she told the cruise director in an undertone.

“Look at it this way, Ingrid, if they didn’t put it on for you to take off, maybe there wouldn’t be any job,” Allen told her. He eyed the dress, let his eyes roam from the top of her head to her feet with appropriate and interesting stops. “You’re breaking out the glad rags real early this trip. You usually keep that one for the big night.”

The blonde grinned at him. “Maybe this is the big night.” She turned, let her eyes wander around the crowd.

“Looking for anybody in particular?” Allen wanted to know.

“Just making sure that my basket cases are all being taken care of.” She nodded her satisfaction when she saw Fran Eldridge hanging onto the arm of Crew Cut with fierce determination. “Where’s Mrs. Phelps?”

“Out on deck parking her broom, no doubt,” the cruise director growled. “I wish you’d find somebody to take her off my hands. She’s getting to be a nuisance. Turns up no matter where I go with a lot of ridiculous questions. And she’s been annoying the captain, too.”

The blonde raised her eyebrows. “How?”

“Asking questions. Seems she’s real curious about this new passenger, Liddell. Captain sounded a little irritated. Know anything about him?”

Ingrid brought her wandering eyes back to Allen’s face. “He only came on board. How would I know anything about him?”

“It doesn’t take some people as long as others. I saw you and him getting real confidential this afternoon at the bar.”

The blonde shrugged. “It’s part of my job, making the new passengers feel at home.”

“You seem to like your work.”

Ingrid frowned at him. “Look, Jack, you and I understand each other. You do your job and have your own fun on the side. That goes for me too. We agreed on that when I took the job. It still goes.”

The cruise director grinned at her. “What are you getting so sensitive about? I’m not trying to write him out. Matter of fact, I’d like you to get to know him better.”

“Why?”

Allen shrugged. “Captain wants to know more about him, for one thing. And I always like to keep the captain happy.”

“Why don’t you ask Liddell who he is or what he is?”

“I’m not his type.” He let his eyes wander over her lush figure. “I think you might be.”

The blonde looked at him. “Okay. I’ve had worse assignments. If I have anything for you, I’ll call your stateroom.”

“Why don’t you drop by and—”

The blonde grinned at him. “That’s one thing I have in common with Liddell, Jack. You’re not my type, either.”

Allen scowled at her. “I’ll expect to hear from you.” He spun on his heel, headed for the grand staircase, shouldered his way through the hungry horde that was descending on the midnight spread.

Ingrid frowned at the cruise director’s back until it was swallowed up in the crowd, turned to find Robin Lewis watching her with an amused smile. “Looks like our genial cruise director is unhappy. I thought it was part of his contract to keep smiling.”

The blonde shrugged. “I don’t know about his contract, but he sure doesn’t understand mine. It calls for bed and board along with the salary. He has it figured it should be his bed.”

The actress eyed the lush lines of the blonde’s figure. “You can’t blame him for trying. The time to start worrying is when they stop.”

Ingrid smiled. “I guess so.” She looked past Robin to the long line holding plates to be filled from the tiered tables. “If you’re going to get anything to eat, you’d better get in line.”

The actress shuddered delicately. “I couldn’t eat another bite if my life depended on it. I don’t know how they manage to do it.”

The blonde compared the ample lines of the other passengers to the carefully massaged, svelte figure of the actress. “They kid themselves that the more woman there is, the more their husband has to love. You know the old story—acres and acres and all mine! Then they pull a faint when they find out that he’s been keeping a secretary half their size.”

Robin brought a jeweled cigarette case from her handbag, offered it to the blonde, drew a shake of her head. She reached into the bag, found a cigarette holder, screwed a cigarette into it. “I don’t see our new shipmate among the hungry horde. I guess that build of his is no accident.”

“You mean Mr. Liddell?” The blonde’s green eyes flicked along the line. “He doesn’t strike me as the Gobbler type. He’s more likely to be at one of the bars.”

The actress leaned over, accepted a light from one of the junior officers, thanked him with a smile. She took a deep drag, let the smoke escape from between half-parted lips. “Something about him intrigues me. I have the most peculiar feeling that I know him from somewhere. You wouldn’t happen to know whether he’s ever been in Hollywood?”