Dead in the Water (21 page)

“We’re reading
Hansel and Gretel
,” Matt told her as he walked beside her.

“Really?”

“Yeah.” He nodded earnestly. “But my dad fell asleep before we got to the good part.”

“Good being synonymous with gross,” John added dryly, rolling his eyes.

“When the witch is gonna eat them.”

Donna raised and lowered her brows. “The dark side of childhood.”

“Yes.” He leered at her. “And some of us never grow up.”

Behind them, the steward made a noise. They turned; he dropped his gaze to his hands and murmured, “Please turn left up here.”

“Hard a port,” Donna said, executing a military-style turn. Giggling, Matt imitated her.

They came to the foyer of the ship. Potted palms fanned silhouettes onto the walls, where silhouettes of black creatures, half horse, half sea serpent, coiled and reared at teardrop chandeliers. Inlays of blood-dark wood trimmed with brass paneled the registration desk and purser’s office in a panorama of maritime vessels that began with a crude raft, paraded through galleys and medieval ships, to the sailing ships of different ages, and finished up with what had to be the
Pandora
herself. The scenes were bordered with crushed-glass mosaics of mermaids frolicking with dolphins and whales.

“Wow,” Donna said. “How … busy.”

A man seated in a white chair looked up from his newspaper and smiled at them. Across the room, a woman turned and pointed, spoke to her companion, a Japanese man. A third person joined them, dressed in the
Pandora
’s staff uniform. Looks and murmurs ricocheted through the room like the Wave at a baseball game.

“They must be going for art deco.” John gestured toward the chandeliers. “Those are wrong, but everything else could’ve been on an old thirties ocean liner. The furniture in our rooms, too. All the lacquer.” He looked embarrassed. “My …” A furtive glance at his son. “My wife was an interior decorator.”

Oh, no, was she dead? Donna filed the question away. Wife dead, son half-dead?

How could she be so glib?

“So, this is like an old ocean liner?” she said, to cancel out her bad thought. “Like the
Titanic
?”

John smiled. “The
Titanic
was earlier. Though you could’ve found those chandeliers on the
Titanic.
”

“Maybe they got a deal on them,” she said.

“The captain picked those out himself,” the steward observed frostily.

Donna grinned behind her hand. “They let him help decorate? I guess he was pretty sure he’d have the job for a while.”

The steward’s smile got nowhere near his eyes. “Oh, yes, ma’am. Pretty sure.” He held out a hand in a bullfighter gesture and everyone swung right, toward a quartet of elevators.

“Oh, Cha-cha has to see this,” Donna said.

Lacquered on the face of each door, ol’ King Neptune sat on a throne of shells. He was magnificent, steady-eyed, barrel chest thrust out, trident in hand. A coronet radiated beams of light and his beard and hair streamed in the sea air.

“He’s got a crown like the Statue of Liberty,” Matt said. Donna and John chuckled.

The elevator doors opened without a sound and the group stepped in. The walls were covered with the same pattern as the carpet. The ceiling was mirrored; Donna could see straight down the front of her dress. Casually, she covered her chest with her arms.

The steward stood at parade rest with his hands folded over his belt, watching the numbers. Twelve decks. Donna wondered if there were actually thirteen. That happened in hotels. Got damned confusing when you were trying to answer a call.

“Have you heard anything about the ship we were on?” she asked the steward. “We’re very concerned about it.”

“No, ma’am.” The steward unfolded his hands and licked his lips. Stood straight-shouldered, like a soldier.

The doors opened. On the other side of the corridor, another lacquer portrait covered a door, this one of Neptune in profile, riding a sea serpent. He looked fierce, godlike, and Donna hoped he was on Cha-cha’s side, and that the two of them were off somewhere safe, having a great conversation.

They waited while the steward tugged at his white jacket, cleared his throat, and rapped on the door.

“Donna? John?”

Phil van Buren’s voice. The door opened and he smiled at them and jerked his head for them to come in. In a fluid
motion, the steward disengaged and glided down the corridor.

John stood aside for Donna. Elise van Buren-Hadley lounged on a plaid sofa in a tight black dress that had to be silk. Her blond hair was up and she had on serious gold jewelry. Phil wore a dark blue suit.

After the grandeur of the main hall, the room was unremarkable. The only interesting item was a large model of a fully rigged sailing ship encased in a bottle. It sat on an ornate stand on a coffee table. A brass plaque placed across the legs of the stand read “H.M.S.
Royal Grace
, 1792–1799.”

“Cool.” Matt peered at it. “This one’s real. Not like the
Morris.
”

“Yes,” John murmured. He had to be thinking what she was: that that hideous decoration in the
Morris
’s dining room might now lie at the bottom of the ocean.

Donna glanced around. In the corner at a wet bar a steward stood deferentially, surrounded by liquor bottles of every description.

“Where’s the captain?” she asked, making for the bar. The bartender inclined his head.

“He’s been detained, madam. He’ll be here shortly. May I take your order?” He had some kind of accent, German maybe.

“Scotch, straight. A double,” Donna requested. Elise’s eyebrows shot up. Whatever was in her glass was clear; champagne, probably. She watched as the bartender served it up. Donna thanked him, stepping aside while John asked for a piña colada and a 7-Up for his boy. The bartender began shoveling ice into a blender at his elbow.

“Where’re Ramón and Ruth?”

Phil waved his drink. “Ramón’s been sent off somewhere. I think they actually threw him in the brig. Ruth didn’t feel up to coming.”

Elise lit a fresh cigarette and blew out the match, searching for an ashtray. She muttered something, but the whir of the blender drowned her out.

John handed Matt’s drink to him. “Is she okay?”

Phil shrugged. “The steward told me she wanted to sleep.”

“Maybe I should take a look.” John checked his watch. “I could meet everyone in the dining room afterward.”

“If she doesn’t sue, she’s an idiot,” Elise said.

Donna tapped the beads of water on the varnished wood bar with her finger. “Maybe they’ve got Ramón on bread and water.”

The lights went out. The blender stopped.

“Hey,” Matty said.

“It’s not you,” John said quickly to Donna. “They’re really out.”

“Oh, great, great.” Elise huffed in the darkness. The red light of her cigarette flared as she took a drag.

“Darlin’, it’s all right.” Poor wiener-man, he just put up with it, didn’t he? Donna wished he’d just haul off and belt her. “I’m sure it’s just a fuse.”

“On a
ship
?”

“Excuse me.” The bartender brushed past Donna, fumbling his way to the door. “I’ll see if …”

His voice trailed off; a door squealed open, and his footsteps sounded in the hall, which was also dark.

Uh-oh, what about the elevators?

And the engines?

“Oh, for God’s sake.” Elise’s voice rose.

“Daddy?” Matt touched Donna’s fingers, jumped away. She reached out and slipped his hand into hers.

“Boo,” she joked. “Now we can hold hands and no one will ever know.” He grunted. A noise like rustling silk: he was probably fingering the hair on the back of his neck. She’d noticed that he did that whenever he got tense.

There was a pause. Everyone stood around quietly. Elise’s cigarette winked like a beacon.

Suddenly Matt murmured, “Oh, no …”

“Well, hello.”

There rustle of clothing as everyone turned in the direction of a deep English voice.

A man framed in soft, flickering light stood on the threshold of a door to the left of the wet bar. There was a candle in his hand, which he lifted as he pushed the door out of his way and came into the room. He was of medium height and build,
snappy in a white officer’s uniform, with short, curly red hair. Something white was pressed to his lips. A handkerchief. The flame flickered, flickered, flickered over his face, carving a deep shadow on the left side of his face. Donna strained. No, no shadow. A black eye patch covered his eye socket.

He walked into the room. His lips were full and bowed into a faint smile. Donna found herself smiling back, though the man couldn’t see her.

“I’m Captain Reade,” he said.

He raised the candle toward the bar, dimly lighting the area where Donna stood. Over her shoulder, Elise’s smoke trailed like a tendril of yellow fog.

“I see the steward was using the blender. Well, that would do it. My apologies. There’s a short in this room, and I’ve warned him not to plug … Ah.”

The lights flashed on, revealing him more fully. He was scrubbed and clean and neat. Green eye. A sprinkling of freckles on his cheeks, softening the sinister appearance of the eye patch. Otherwise, he was a regular guy, nothing special.

His gaze lingered on Donna. “I’m Donna Almond,” she said.

“Somehow, I knew that,” he replied. He cocked his head. “Are you feeling ill, Miss Almond?”

She blinked. What, didn’t she look okay? “I’m fine, considering.”

“Please, Captain. Let’s introduce ourselves after you tell us about the
Morris
,” John said urgently, coming up beside Donna with Matt in tow.

“Yes, the
Morris
. Please sit down.”

No one moved. Elise puffed on her cigarette. Reade cleared his throat and said, “I’m sorry, but I don’t allow smoking in here.”

She blazed, opened her mouth, closed it, and finally said, “I’ll be glad to put it out if you’ll give me an ashtray.”

Phil flushed. Reade reached over the bar and handed her a cut-glass dish. Wordlessly she tamped out the cigarette.

“Thank you. Now.” He remained standing. Everyone
craned their necks. He leaned against the bar and faced them.

“Captain,” John pressed.

Reade held out his arms. He smiled brightly. “It was a false alarm.”

John and Donna looked at each other, at Phil. Elise shut her eyes and bit her lower lip.

“They found a small hole in the hull, patched it, and pumped out the water. The
Morris
docked in Honolulu a couple of hours ago.”

Elise goggled at him. “By God, I’ll—”

“Shit,” Donna groaned. “I mean, that’s great, but here
we
are.”

John held up a hand. “But we must be close to Hawaii, too. Is that your destination?”

“Well, it’s very odd you should ask that,” Reade said in a bemused tone. “Because we’re on our way to Australia, and we’ve already passed the Hawaiian chain. You drifted over a thousand nautical miles in twenty-four hours. That’s one of the reasons we were so busy on the bridge, trying to make sure the
Morris
hadn’t made an error about her position.”

“Wait a minute. Stop.” Elise jumped to her feet. “Are you trying to tell me … are you …” She reached down and batted Phil’s shoulder. “Do something!”

Donna scratched her cheek. “But is that possible? Does that make any sense?”

“All we can surmise is that you were caught in some kind of massive current,” Reade said as he perched on the edge of a bar stool and hung his hands between his knees. He folded his handkerchief and put it in the inside breast pocket of his uniform.

“Like a riptide?” John asked.

The captain nodded. “Something like that, yes. Now …”

“Well, you’re taking us back to Hawaii, aren’t you?” Elise snapped.

“It would make more sense to continue on to Australia. We can take a plane from there. Right, Captain?” Phil rose. “Let me get you some more champagne, sweetheart.”

“
Australia!
” she screamed.

“There’s a problem,” the captain cut in. “Unfortunately, another lifeboat was launched from the
Morris
, and we’ve been searching for it all day.”

“Who … who was in it?” Donna crossed her fingers.

The captain pulled a sheet of paper from another pocket. “I have a manifest.” He handed it to Donna. It was on the same creamy stationery as the invitations.

Donna grimaced. “Cha-cha’s on it,” she announced. “Kevin isn’t.” She handed the list to John, who scanned it and offered it to Phil, who studied it and gave it back to the captain.

“Ol’ Kev’s probably hitting the surf by now.” John took Matt’s glass and popped an ice cube into his mouth. Chewed down hard. “God, I hope the others are all right.”

The captain put the list away. “We’ll keep looking.”

“Coast Guard?” Donna queried.

“Everyone’s doing everything they can. I must say, I was quite surprised by the size of your boat. It was uncommonly small for a freighter. And ill equipped.”

“What a surprise,” Elise said acidly.

The captain clapped his hands together. “But at least all of you are safe, and we’d like to celebrate that. Shall we go to dinner now?” He picked up his cap.

Donna moved her shoulders. A
thousand
miles? Poor Cha-cha. He must be out of his mind. More out of it.

“Listen,” she said. “The
Morris
was involved in some kind of illegal dumping. Something dangerous. Ramón—”

“Officer Diaz has told me all about it.” Laugh lines formed around his single eye. “He was afraid you’d get to me first and I’d keelhaul him.”

“Keelhaul?” Matt looked at the captain, clearly smitten.

The captain gazed down on him fondly. “An old-fashioned method of punishment.”

“Execution, more like,” John put in.

The captain nodded. “Yes, it was usually fatal.”

“Cool.” Matt slurped his straw. “What did they do?”

Just then, the steward wheeled around the corner. “It’s all ri—” Saw his superior officer, and skidded to attention with a
salute. His face was white as chalk. “Sorry, sir. It … it was the blender.”

The hand that held the salute trembled violently. Jesus, the kid was scared half to death.