Santa Cruise (13 page)

“Grandma was cremated?” Eric asked, stunned.

“It was her wish to be cremated. In her last hours she told me she knew I would realize my dream to own a cruise ship, and when that happened she wanted me to take her on the first sailing and scatter her ashes at sea.”

“Nobody tells me anything,” Eric complained.

“If you had attended her funeral you would have known,” the Commodore admonished. “My three ex-wives attended. They had great respect for your grandma. Your ex-aunt Beatrice, your ex-aunt Johanna, and your ex-aunt Reeney all sat together, crying their eyes out. When I spoke to Reeney not too long ago, I told her the time had finally come and I was planning to scatter Grandma's ashes on this maiden cruise. She wanted to join us, but even I have a limit to my patience. Now this cruise has been marred by bad publicity—”

“How do you know?” Eric asked, his heart skipping a beat. “What are people saying about this cruise?”

The Commodore gave him the rundown. “It's such disrespect to your grandmother's memory. She did so much good in her life that I thought it would honor her memory to have her final send-off not only from my first cruise but surrounded by good, good, good people. Now, it's all become a mockery—” The Commodore's voice cracked, and he reached in his pocket for his handkerchief. “It's so unfair,” he said, wiping his eyes. “Not a single person is paying to be on this cruise. Not a single one! And everybody's making fun of me!”

Eric sat down next to his uncle, awkwardly put his arm around him, and was shocked when the Commodore buried his head in his shoulder. “There, there, Uncle Randolph.”

“Grandma doesn't deserve this. At dinner tomorrow, I was going to make an announcement that my dear mother's ashes would be lowered to the sea early Wednesday morning on what would have been her ninety-fifth birthday. When Dudley suggested we have this Santa Cruise that is costing me a fortune, the fact that your grandmother's birthday would fall during the cruise made me realize it was meant to be. I was going to tell our passengers tomorrow night that there would be a brief but moving ceremony in the chapel at dawn, and I would be so touched if anyone joined me. I know, of course, Eric, that you will be at her final
send-off. I think you've matured in these last eight years. But now, I just don't know what to do—”

Eric looked over at the glass case. “Hello, Grandma,” he said softly.

Tears flowed from the Commodore's eyes. “That beautiful woman is in that exquisite silver box. Under lock and key.”

“You were always so protective of her.”

The Commodore nodded. “In life and in death. I've heard terrible stories about ashes of the beloved being spilled by careless or clueless parlor maids. That's why I've guarded those ashes with my life.”

“Where did you keep Grandma all these years?”

“Her urn was in a cabinet exactly like this one in my bedroom at home. It is fireproof, waterproof, and theft proof. I haven't discussed it much. . . . It was too painful. But from me, Grandma gets only loving care.”

Dudley cleared his throat. “Sir, I have been through many crises before and it's how the situation is handled that is important. For goodness' sake, I was on a cruise ship that accidentally sailed without any desserts or dessert makings on board. The pastry chef had quit and turned out to be quite spiteful. He canceled the orders for all the flour, chocolate, etc., etc. His last-minute substitute didn't have the ingredients to whip up so
much as a Twinkie. There was a revolt among the passengers, but we turned it into an advantage. We had round-the-clock exercise classes and gave a free cruise to the person who lost the most weight. Someone won by a tenth of a pound.”

Dudley stood and began to pace the room. “I suggest we send out a press release tonight stressing the purity of this cruise, the sweet story of your mother, and the charitable achievements of everyone on board. And if the media can't understand that, well then they should be ashamed of themselves! You should go ahead with your plans to have the beautiful ceremony for Mother Weed. Tomorrow, another press release will go out hailing the new day and how lucky these freeloaders—I mean guests—are to have spent their first night on the high seas on this beautiful ship.”

The Commodore wiped his eyes and blew his nose. “I'm so blessed to have the two of you. Believe it or not, I miss being married. Your companionship means the world to me.”

Dudley stood. “I will go back to my cabin and work on the first press release.”

“Sir, you should go in and get some sleep,” Eric said to his uncle.

“Eventually. But now I'm going to stretch out on the couch and visit with Grandma. I don't have
much time left with her before she belongs to the sea. . . .”

Inwardly, Eric panicked. He had to go back downstairs to check on Bull's-Eye and Highbridge. How could he get away?

“Eric, I insist you go in and take a hot shower and get to bed. I can't have you getting sick. If we're going to pull ourselves up by the bootstraps and make this cruise a success, we all have to be in top form. Now, say good-night to Grandma. . . .”

T
he scotch did not calm Bull's-Eye down. It increased his sense of frustration. He felt trapped. If Bingo gave him up, it wouldn't take long for the Feds to arrive in a helicopter, or pull up on a boat, and that would be the end.

He got up from the bed, poured himself another scotch, pulled open the drawer next to the liquor cabinet, and found a jar of peanuts, a package of Hershey's Kisses, and a roll of breath mints. It took about a minute and a half to polish them off. If Highbridge was going to use up all the hot water, he was going to eat everything he could get his hands on.

Most of the other drawers were empty. Whoever was staying in this room had packed lightly for the cruise. Then, in the last drawer he opened, Bull's-Eye found a tube of gray paste. He
read the label. It was costume makeup. A spark of suspicion, the kind of instinct that had always served him well, made Tony curious to check out everything else in the room.

He walked over to the closet, opened the door, and the light went on automatically. Three jackets and a tuxedo were hanging there. Forty-four Extra Large, he noted. I could wear these, he thought. He checked the pockets, and in the third one his fingers closed around a gun. It was a Glock, a weapon he preferred. Who is this guy, he wondered as he transferred the gun to the pocket of his robe. Then he reached up and felt along the ledge under the life jackets. His fingers touched soft leather. Some kind of bag, he guessed, as he pulled it down carefully. It was an expensive-looking briefcase that zipped on three sides and had no handle.

He brought it back to the bed, picked up the scotch, took another gulp, and opened the briefcase. Grunting in surprise, he stared down at what appeared to be a dozen packets of one-hundred-dollar bills. Bull's-Eye dumped the contents onto the bed. Three United States passports tumbled from a pocket. He opened one of them, and when he saw the picture, his body stiffened. Quickly, he looked at the second and third pictures. The three faces looked entirely different, but close
study showed they were the same man. And it was a man he knew.

Eddie Gordon, the rat whose testimony had sent Tony's father to prison. Bull's-Eye had been looking for him for fifteen years. Gordon went under different aliases. From the date of issue on the passports, the latest was Harry Crater.

He's not on this cruise because he's a do-gooder, Bull's-Eye thought. I wonder what he's up to. Eric said he's in the infirmary. Another thought struck him—could Eddie Gordon be faking his need to be there?

Doesn't matter, he told himself. Whether he's faking or not, by the time I get through with him, he'll be beyond medical care.

T
ed Cannon had always been a light sleeper. He became one even more so during the months when Joan was sick, and he was tuned to the slightest change in her breathing. He had been glad to get one of the few single cabins on the ship. It was half the size of the others, but perfectly comfortable and had a private balcony. The one disadvantage was that it had a connecting door to the next room—good for a family traveling with children, but not so great for two different parties who didn't want to hear each other's television playing.

Ted knew that his neighbor, the sickly looking guy, Crater, had been taken to the infirmary when he fell at dinner. As Ted was getting ready for bed, he heard the murmur of Crater's television. I'm glad, he thought. He can't have been too badly hurt. On the other hand, my best hope of a decent night's sleep is to doze off before I do too
much thinking. And if the television is on for too long, I'm out of luck.

The ship was still rocking, and it felt good to get into bed and pull up the blanket. Last night at this time, I was telling myself I made a mistake signing up for this cruise, he thought. But actually it's been kind of fun. Alone in the dark, he smiled as the events of the day ran through his mind. At dinner, he hadn't minded being asked to visit from table to table between courses. He enjoyed talking to his fellow passengers. The people on this cruise really are nice and genuine, he reflected, like the Ryans, who are on board because they'd raised money for research into a rare disease that had taken their son's life. The way they had directed their grief toward something positive and helpful to so many others made Ted wonder if there was something to his son's gentle hint, in so many words, that he was letting himself wallow in self-pity. Not the way Bill put it of course, but it was the gist of what he was saying. In fact, Ted thought uncomfortably, that's exactly the way Joan would have put it. She'd have no use for me continuing to feel sorry for myself.

In the next room, the television had been turned off, but he could hear drawers opening and closing, then the sound of voices. Maybe someone's in there helping Crater get settled for
the night, Ted reasoned as he turned on one side and pulled the blanket even closer up around his face to cover his ears.

As he started to fall asleep, he thought how glad he was that he had stopped to ask Maggie Quirk about Ivy Pickering. Maggie was funny in a self-deprecating way. She didn't wear a ring, so she probably wasn't married. She had told him she was planning to jog at six
A.M.
If the storm calmed down, he'd get up and put on his jogging suit, too.

Ted was an early riser, but to be sure he didn't oversleep, he turned on the light and set the alarm for five thirty.

L
ike most of the passengers, Maggie and Ivy went directly to bed when they reached their room. Standing up wasn't easy in the storm, and anyhow it had been a long day. Maggie fell asleep promptly, but at about quarter of four woke to find Ivy sitting on the edge of her bed. Maggie turned on the light.

“Are you all right, Ivy?” she asked. “You haven't seen another ghost, have you?”

“Very funny, Maggie,” Ivy said, laughing in spite of herself. “I'd rather be up because I saw a ghost than feel the way I do. I'm so queasy. And I'm shivering.”

“Let's go down to the infirmary right away,” Maggie suggested as she started to get out of bed.

“Oh, I couldn't make it all the way down there. I feel too dizzy. I'll just lie down and see if it will pass.”

Maggie reached for her robe. “Then I'll go and
see if I can get you an ear patch and whatever else they're giving out.”

“I don't want you to walk around the ship alone at this hour,” Ivy said, then moaned. “But if you insist,” she finished feebly. “I never thought I was the type to get seasick. . . .”

“I'll get a wet washcloth for your forehead and then run downstairs.”

B
y the time Highbridge got out of the shower, Bull's-Eye had replaced the contents of the briefcase, zipped it up tight, and hidden the case under the bed. He knew what he was going to do, and one of the early lessons he'd learned in his life of crime was, “Loose lips sink ships.”

The sight of the candy wrappers and empty jar of nuts infuriated Highbridge. “You couldn't have saved me a crumb?”

“I was hungry,” Bull's-Eye replied, his tone ugly. “I still am.”

The two men had been reduced to sullen silence. When Bull's-Eye went into the bathroom, he saw that Highbridge had hung up his Santa suit and stuffed towels in the arms and legs to prevent wrinkles. When Tony asked Highbridge why he was being such a fussbudget, the Bean Counter said he planned to go to the early risers'
buffet and grab some food. “But none for you,” he'd added.

By the time Bull's-Eye got out of the shower, Highbridge was already asleep on his side of the queen-sized bed. Bull's-Eye lay down and turned out the light. How could Highbridge sleep at a time like this? he wondered. Bull's-Eye's mind was racing—he had to get his cards. And this was his only chance to find Eddie Gordon. Once he was off this ship and on his way to Fishbowl Island, he'd probably never run into him again. He owed it to his father to whack Gordon. If he didn't at least try, he't have to live in shame for the rest of his life.

He knew it was risky. But he had to make the attempt.

Bull's-Eye planned to wait until four
A.M.,
when the odds were that the ship's passageways would be deserted. He had heard somewhere that more people die around four
A.M.
than at any other time in the twenty-four-hour cycle. As Bull's-Eye closed his eyes, knowing he wouldn't sleep, he hoped that he'd successfully add someone new to that statistic.

At three thirty, unable to wait any longer, Bull's-Eye got out of bed. He tighened the belt of the terry cloth robe, tossed a thick towel around his
neck, and put on a pair of Gordon's dark sunglasses that he found on the bedside table. He was grateful they weren't prescription.