Santa Cruise (15 page)

Willy grabbed her hand. “I always want to ‘Ho-Ho-Ho' with you,” he said.

“I know you do, Willy,” Alvirah said fondly.

The nurse poked her head in the door. “How are we doing, Mrs. Meehan?”

“I'm doing fine,” Alvirah answered pointedly. “What's
your
story?”

Regan knew that if there was one thing that got under Alvirah's skin, it was the collective “we” in a medical situation.

The nurse ignored her question. Glancing around the room, she noticed Maggie. “You're up early after having been here in the middle of the night. How's your friend?” she asked.

“She was still sleeping when I left.” As the others looked at her inquiringly, Maggie explained. “The patch helped Ivy a lot.”

“It was so stormy last night. My guess is you handed out a lot of those patches,” Luke surmised.

“We were very busy until about midnight. Ms. Quirk was our only visitor after that, until Mrs. Meehan arrived.”

Alvirah saw the look of disbelief on Maggie's face. “What is it, Maggie?” she asked.

“Nothing. It's just that I figured the man I saw coming out of this area through the waiting room last night was a patient.”

The nurse started to speak, then hesitated. Dr. Gephardt was behind her and had clearly heard the exchange.

“Was there someone else in this area last night around the time Mr. Crater was having his nightmare?” Gephardt asked the nurse, his voice serious and deeply concerned.

“Certainly not that I'm aware of,” the nurse answered crisply.

Dr. Gephardt turned to Maggie. “According to our records, you were here at four
A.M.
”

“Yes, I was,” Maggie said.

“And you say you saw a man coming out from this area into the waiting room?”

“Yes, I did. I was turned away from him, about to sit down, and he walked right past me.”

“What did he look like?” Alvirah asked.

Maggie hesitated. “I knew something was bothering me, and I know this is going to sound crazy—”

“Say it anyway,” Alvirah insisted.

Maggie shook her head and grimaced. “He looked like Left Hook Louie.”

W
hen Eric reached the deck where Crater's cabin was located, he looked down the corridor and saw Jonathan, the steward for that section, coming out of the end suite. Probably some of the awake-at-dawns sent for coffee, he thought, ducking back before he was spotted. He had absolutely no reason to be here, and if Jonathan caught a glimpse of him, he'd have to come up with some sort of explanation. Rather than stand at the elevator bank, he walked down the companionway for three decks, then turned and walked slowly back up again.

This time there was no sign of the steward. But, to his horror, he saw a tall Santa Claus he realized was Highbridge, carrying a tray tap on the door of Crater's room. An instant later, it was opened and just as quickly closed as Highbridge disappeared inside. Pass key in hand, Eric rushed down the long corridor and opened the door. Highbridge
was setting the tray on the desk. Ripping off his beard, he looked at Eric.

“What a pleasant surprise! I thought you had crossed us off your list.”

“I've got to get you out of here right away. Crater is demanding to come back to his cabin immediately. The doctor doesn't start work till seven, but Crater might just sign himself out.”

Bull's-Eye was already wolfing down a bagel. With his mouth full, he snapped at Eric, “All right, Uncle's Boy, where do you propose to put us now?” Without waiting for an answer, he continued, “We'll be close enough to Fishbowl Island in twenty-three hours for our people to get us. We'd better make it.” He gave Eric a cold stare.

By now Eric was terrified of Bull's-Eye. Being around him was like being in a cage with an angry lion. Eric tried to go back to the moments when he had made the deals to smuggle the two felons onto the ship. It had seemed so easy at the time. A million dollars each to conceal them for less than forty-eight hours. That broke down to more than forty-one thousand dollars an hour. How could he have refused a windfall like that? But now, if they were caught, both men would tell the cops he was their accomplice. Denying it would be useless. Eric knew that he could never pass a lie detector test.

He stared back at Bull's-Eye. “All this trouble started because you were jumping up and down in the chapel,” he said defensively. “You were supposed to be wearing your Santa outfit so that if anyone had seen you, they would have thought you were praying or meditating or something. Now let's get out of here. Once I sneak you upstairs, I have to come back and clean up this place. Get dressed, Bull's-Eye.”

“Don't blame this on
me,”
Bull's-Eye retorted. “Where are we going?”

“Back to the chapel.”

“What are you, nuts?”

“It's temporary, until I can get you back in my room. There's no other place to hide you.”

“You better hope your uncle doesn't end up praying for you in that chapel,” Bull's-Eye said as he took a last swig of coffee. He had dropped his Santa outfit on the floor when he shed it and changed into the robe. Now a stream of muttered invectives rushed from his lips as he pulled on the wet, wrinkled pants and jacket. The beard was a soggy mass of sour-smelling fuzz. As he hooked it over his ears, he began to sneeze.

“I'll go first,” Eric instructed. “Once we make it to the companionway we won't be likely to run into anyone. It's still too early.” He opened the door a slit and listened. There was no sound in
the corridor. Jonathan was nowhere in sight. “Come on,” he whispered sharply to Bull's-Eye and Highbridge.

It was only six twenty-five. The ship was very quiet. On the Boat Deck, Winston wouldn't show up for at least another twenty minutes. He's been told to bring in the Commodore's breakfast at seven fifteen every morning. But Uncle Randolph will be awake soon, Eric realized. He does yoga from six forty-five to seven fifteen, and he told me he's going to start giving himself extra time so he can perfect the lotus position.

One deck up and safe so far. Two. Three. The sound of silence calmed Eric's quivering nerves. They turned right and down the corridor to the chapel. Eric opened the door and looked in. No early worshipers, thank God. He led the two crooks up the aisle. “Get under the altar and
don't move
this time,” he ordered. “I'll be back for you in a couple of hours. Once my uncle's butler makes the bed and cleans up, he won't go near my room until tonight. I'll have food there for you.”

As Bull's-Eye squatted down, Eric noticed for the first time that he had a zippered leather briefcase under his arm. “Where did you get that?” he demanded.

“I found it outside while we were getting
soaked last night,” Bull's-Eye said sarcastically. “Something else. I left my cards in the night table drawer in your first room, where we're supposed to be right now. Get them. They're very important.”

Cards! Eric thought of Willy Meehan offering him the deck of cards. “I didn't know—” he began.

“What do you mean you didn't know?”

“Nothing. Nothing. I'll get them. I've got to go
now.”

It was 6:31. Eric rushed out of the chapel and a minute later was inside the supply room, near his uncle's suite. He grabbed towels and wash cloths and two folded robes to replace the ones Highbridge and Bull's-Eye had used, dumping them in a plastic bag. Those two could have been a little neater, he thought, remembering the candy wrappers he'd seen on the desk. Why didn't they put a sign on the door? C
ROOKS IN RESIDENCE
. D
O DROP IN
.

Never one to clean up after himself, he worked with enviable speed when he got back to Crater's room. He replaced the wet towels with fresh ones, rinsed and dried the drinking glasses, polished the mirror over the cabinet and the glass door of the shower, and hung the fresh robes in the closet. During dinner last night, Jonathan had already
turned down Crater's bed and drawn the curtains. Eric fluffed the bed pillows and smoothed the spread. At least whatever sleeping those two jerks had done had been on top of the spread so the sheets and blanket were neat. Had Bull's-Eye taken that valise from this room? Eric wondered nervously. If so, there'd be hell to pay.

It was ten of seven. He had to get down to the infirmary and be able to report to his uncle that he'd seen Crater there. First he ran up to the pool area and dropped the soiled towels and robes on a beach chair. He reached the infirmary just as Crater was being wheeled into the waiting room area. Dr. Gephardt was beside him, saying, “Mr. Crater, your records indicate you have a serious health problem. When you get to your room, I suggest you go to bed and stay there. You've had a shock to your nervous system.”

Crater's face was flushed. Eric could see two purple bruises on either side of his neck. Did the medical attendants cause that when they moved him? he wondered.

“Mr. Crater,” he began. “My uncle, the Commodore—”

Crater looked at him suspiciously. “Go away,” he snarled.

“We're all so sorry this happened. I will escort you to your room,” Eric said firmly.

“Eric, may I see you for a moment?” Gephardt asked.

“Not now. I want to get Mr. Crater to his room where he can be comfortable.”

“Then please come back.”

Uh-oh, Eric thought as he began to push the wheelchair. “Right away,” he promised.

Outside Crater's room, Eric asked him for his key. No use letting Crater know I can get in on my own, he decided. He was relieved to see that looking through Crater's eyes the cabin appeared exactly as it would have, if he had returned last night. Crater stood up. “All right, you've seen me here. Now leave me alone.”

This guy is scared, Eric thought. Maybe I'm crazy but he looks as though he's even afraid of me. “I'm on my way, sir. Let me know if you need anything.”

“I do. Find my cell phone. I already told them in the infirmary to look for it. It must have fallen out of my pocket when those brats floored me.”

“I'll find it, don't you worry. Feel better, sir.” At least I have something to report to Uncle Randolph, he thought, cheering himself up as he pushed the wheelchair back to the infirmary.

Dr. Gephardt was in his office. “Come in, Eric,” he said quietly.

Eric stayed in the doorway. “Make it quick. I have to get showered and dressed. My uncle will be wondering what happened to me.”

“Eric, you must have noticed those bruises on Mr. Crater's neck?”

“I did.”

“Someone tried to kill him last night.”

“What are you talking about?” Eric asked, his voice incredulous.

“I'm talking about the attempted murder of one of my patients. We've got to let the Commodore know and sound some kind of alarm.”

Eric's brain began to focus. “Did Crater
say
someone tried to kill him?”

“He denies it.”

“Then what are we talking about?”

Gephardt related the story and the fact that a four
A.M.
visitor to the infirmary, a Maggie Quirk, had seen an unknown person leaving through the waiting room.

“You're crazy,” Eric said. “Why would Crater deny it if someone tried to suffocate him?”

“That's a good question. But it happened. If Ms. Quirk hadn't happened to have come along and rung that buzzer, Nurse Rich would have found a suffocated corpse when she finally woke up.”

Eric seized on the fact that Crater had denied
the attempt. “Do you realize how ridiculous it would be to claim there was an attempted murder if the victim denies it happened?”

“No less, perhaps, than letting a would-be killer wander around this ship! There should be a general search for him immediately. As a matter of fact, Ms. Quirk reported that the intruder bears a resemblance to Left Hook Louie, the writer whose photos are all over the ship. That is the same description Ms. Pickering gave of the man she saw in the chapel last night, isn't it?”

Eric froze. He had to be talking about Bull's-Eye. Had that idiot left the room last night? He started to sputter, “Th . . . , Th . . . , Then you suggest we start a search for a
ghost?
Do you realize an action like that would finish this cruise line? Have a little loyalty, Doctor, and forget these histrionics.”

Alvirah had gotten up to go to the bathroom and caught every word of the exchange. Oh boy, oh boy, she thought, this is really something. It's a good thing I bumped my head and got in on all this.

A
fter her startling announcement in Alvirah's room, Maggie had been almost apologetic. “I know I sound crazy,” she had said, referring to her impression of the nocturnal visitor coming through the waiting room.

“The sad thing is, given what's gone on around this place, you don't sound crazy at all,” Alvirah had declared.

As Maggie and Ted were leaving to resume their interrupted jog, Dr. Gephardt had nervously asked the Reillys to leave. He wanted to stitch up the cut on Alvirah's forehead and take an X-ray. “It won't take long,” he promised. “And then, if Mrs. Meehan feels well enough, she can go and relax on one of our deck chairs. But no running any races,” he tried to joke.

The Reillys, Regan and Jack, Nora and Luke, made their way up to the Lido. It was now beautiful outside, but after they selected food from the
buffet, they carried their trays to a corner table inside the restaurant. It was a good place both to observe and to talk. Regan had put a call into Dudley, filled him in on Alvirah's accident, and asked him to join them.

“It's urgent,” she told him.

Dudley, who had been toiling half the night on his second press release extolling the happy atmosphere on the Santa Cruise, almost fainted when he heard about the nasty Santa. It has to be someone wearing one of the stolen suits, he thought. Even that miserable Bobby Grimes wouldn't have left Mrs. Meehan sprawled on the deck. “I'll be right there,” he croaked. Papers were scattered on his bed, his desk, and on the floor, the result of his efforts at creative writing—portraying the mishaps of the first day as harmless and unimportant, and stressing the collective joy of good people sailing together.