Santa Cruise (7 page)

The Commodore beamed at Winston's departing figure. He drained his glass of champagne and stood up. “I must run,” he declared. “Try not to be too long, Eric. I count on you to charm our guests.” He winked. “Especially the ladies.”

Eric did not miss the note of admonition in his uncle's voice. He knew he was being told that he ought to have been ready to join the passengers now. He also didn't miss the way Winston had eyed him with nosy curiosity. “I won't be but ten minutes, sir,” he said. He stood up and made a gesture of starting toward his room. Then as soon as the Commodore left the suite, he dumped the two
hors d'oeuvres his uncle had not eaten onto his plate.

Bull's-Eye had been complaining about being hungry. Maybe this will hold him over, Eric thought, with increasing desperation. It was safe enough to leave those two in my room during the boat drill. But now I've absolutely got to get them out of here until Winston has turned down the bed and changed the towels. What a dope I was to say I had stubbed my toe in the shower. Winston can tell I'm nervous. He'll be sure to poke around in my room. And I can't leave Bull's-Eye and the Bean Counter in my bathroom. If Winston found that door locked he'd send for the engineer pronto.

These were the thoughts torturing Eric as he raced into his room to meet the cold stare of his two stowaways. Both of them, still wearing the Santa Claus outfits but without the beards and stocking caps, were sitting side by side on the bed.

Eric handed the plate to Bull's-Eye. “As far as food goes, this is the best I can do for now. I've got to get you out of here right away.” The tone of his voice was somewhere between a direct order and a plea for understanding.

Both men just stared at him.

“I have a place for you that's sure to be safe.”
Eric's words were tripping over each other. “The Chapel of Repose is on this deck. Nobody will go there. Then, after dinner I can sneak you back in before my uncle comes upstairs.”

“You call this dinner for us?” Bull's-Eye demanded as he reached for a piece of sushi.

“No. No, I'll get you more. I promise. Please, we've
got
to go. Winston has a TV in his pantry. If I know Winston, he's in there polishing off the rest of the champagne and watching
Jeopardy!
That's what he does in my uncle's house. He's a nut for
Jeopardy!
Took the test to get on the show and almost made it.
Come on!
”

“Your price for getting us out of the country just went down,” Highbridge snarled. “You're not getting another dollar from either one of us.”

“And if anything happens and we don't get to Fishbowl Island safely, the orders to my people are to have you whacked.” Bull's-Eye's tone was calm. He might have been saying, “Pass the salt.”

Eric opened his mouth to object, but the protest died on his lips. Why did I ever listen to Bingo Mullens? he asked himself as his mouth went dry and his hands went clammy. He told me he knew an easy way to make big money. What had Bingo said? “Your uncle has a boat. He trusts you. I figured out a no-brainer.”

Bingo had been arrested for illegal gambling in
Miami last year and had met Bull's-Eye in the lockup before both men posted bail. A month ago he'd contacted Bull's-Eye and told him he had a safe and sure way of getting him out of the country before his trial started. Bull's-Eye went along with it, to the tune of one million dollars. Bingo's cousin was a gofer for Highbridge in Connecticut. That's how Eric had made that connection. Now they're both sitting in my room, and unless I can keep them hidden we'll all be arrested, and that will be the
least
that will happen to me, Eric thought, his heart racing.

He had to keep the two men hidden for the next thirty-three hours.

Knowing that his very life depended on that gave Eric courage. “Put on those caps and beards,” he ordered briskly. “Let's go!”

Eric checked to see if the coast was clear. The corridor was empty. He waved to the two of them to follow him. His final instructions were whispered with a nervous tremor that made his voice come out as a squeak. “Remember, if people see you, they
expect
to see Santas roaming around the ship. Don't try to run away from them.”

Highbridge cursed under his breath.

He's changed, Eric thought. There was something in his voice that was both chilling and threatening. Eric's instinct was immediately justified
when Highbridge said, “My people will get you if Tony's don't do the job. Count on it.”

It took less than a minute but felt like hours before they were in the corridor that terminated at the Chapel of Repose. Eric pulled open the heavy wooden door, flicked on the light, and glanced inside. The chapel was the Commodore's pride and joy. It had an arched ceiling with stained-glass windows on either side. A carpeted center aisle separated six rows of white oak pews and led to a raised area suggesting a sanctuary. The altar, a long table covered by a floor-length velvet cloth was the focal point. An organ was off to the side.

“Get in,” Eric said quickly, then shut the door behind them. “Go sit on the floor behind the table. If you hear the door open, scoot under it. I'll be back as fast as I can after dinner.”

“Make sure you bring food when you get back,” Bull's-Eye ordered as he ripped off his beard.

“I will. I will.” Trying not to break into a run, Eric turned off the light, left the chapel, and hurried down the corridor.

Alvirah and Willy were waiting for the elevator. “Oh, glad to see you, Eric,” Willy said. “Alvirah found a deck of cards in the night table by the bed. We were wondering if they were yours?”

“No, they're not,” Eric snapped. Trying to soften his tone, he moved his lips in an attempted
smile and said, “Even as a kid, I was always an outdoor guy. I could never sit still long enough to play cards.”

“Well, then I guess I'll see if I can get a card game going on the ship,” Willy said.

Five minutes later when he was in the shower, a thought hit Eric like a thunderclap. Bull's-Eye had slept in the bed. By any chance did the deck of cards belong to him?

And if so, would he want them back?

T
he predinner cocktails were being served in the spacious Grand Lounge adjacent to the dining salon. At the entrance, a photographer had set up his camera and a backdrop showing the railing of a ship against a star-spattered sky. There, at eight
P.M.,
the Commodore would begin to pose for pictures as the cruisers filed into dinner.

The walls of the lounge were decorated with a variety of framed articles and photographs, all of which were a testament to the philanthropic efforts of the honored guests. One woman, Eldona Dietz, had been chosen because the newsy Christmas letter she sent out detailing every single activity of her children's lives for the past twelve months had won an award from a family magazine. An enlarged and framed version of the letter was displayed prominently on the wall. To make sure no one missed it, a smaller version was a centerpiece at all the cocktail tables.

The Commodore was speaking in a low voice to a flustered-looking Dudley, and it was obvious he was not happy with whatever Dudley was saying.

“The reason we only have eight Santa Clauses here is because two of the suits are missing, sir.” Dudley had planned to try to find the perfect moment to break that news, but unfortunately the Commodore had already counted the bearded and costumed figures Ho-Ho-Hoing through the room and instructed Dudley to tell the other two to hurry up and get in there.

“How could two suits be missing?” the Commodore demanded. “The door to the supply room was locked, wasn't it?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Was the lock picked?”

“No, sir.”

“Then unless I'm delusional, someone with a key entered the supply room and stole the costumes.”

“That would seem to be the case, sir.” Dudley watched as the Commodore made a visible effort to control the outrage that was making his eyes send out sparks.

“My feelings are hurt, Dudley. Someone is trying to ruin our Santa Cruise. My blood is beginning to boil. This should have been reported to Eric if you couldn't find me.”

“Sir, by the time I knew the suits were missing you were dressing for dinner, and I haven't seen Eric since the lifeboat drill ended.”

“He was in my suite. I don't know what's keeping him now. He should be here. Not a word of this to anyone! I don't want the guests to get wind of the fact that we have a thief in our midst. They've already witnessed one of our waiters trying to escape arrest. Where did you hire these people from? A penal colony?”

“Yes, sir, I won't discuss this and no, sir, I didn't hire our employees from a penal colony. . . .”

Across the room, the four Reillys were sitting at a cocktail table. Regan was observing the byplay between the Commodore and Dudley. “I think Commodore Weed is giving the cruise director a hard time,” she commented.

“He's the guy who fell off the rock-climbing wall, isn't he?” Luke asked.

“Yes, and I gather he was in charge of hiring that waiter who jumped ship.”

“How did you find that out already?” Jack asked.

“When we were sitting around waiting for the boat drill instructions to start, you and Dad were debating who would be the nominees in the next presidential election. I overheard a couple of the
junior officers talking about the guy who took the dive off the ship—”

“And I thought you were hanging on my every word,” Jack said.

Regan ignored the interruption. “Those junior officers said the hiring was a joke. Dudley never did the hiring on the other cruise lines where he worked. It's not the job of the cruise director. They said he had to do it because the Commodore's nephew, Eric, the guy whose room Alvirah ended up in, was supposed to handle it and didn't. Dudley got stuck with finishing the job at the last minute on top of having to handle the guest list.”

Jack pulled the newsy Christmas letter from the centerpiece. “The guest who wrote this must be really interesting. ‘In the last twelve months it's been so exciting to watch Fredericka and Gwendolyn blossom into lovely young ladies. Violin lessons, gymnastics, singing, dancing, bird watching, etiquette classes, baking organic fat-free pies, etc., etc. . . . But all their activities have not prevented them from being conscious of their fellow man. We have a number of elderly neighbors whose doorbells they ring every morning to make sure they survived the night. . . .'

“Thank God they don't live in our neighborhood,”
Luke drawled. “These kids aren't on the ship, are they?”

“Don't look now,” Regan muttered as two young girls ran past their table, a matronly woman in pursuit, calling out, “Fredericka! Gwendolyn! Give Mommy and Daddy back their champagne glasses!”

Jack tucked the newsletter back into the centerpiece. “Regan, promise me we'll never send out one of these.”

“Duly noted,” Regan agreed.

Nora had been studying the poster-sized picture of Left Hook Louie that was hanging on the wall nearest their table. “He was the nicest guy.”

“Who?” Luke asked.

“Left Hook Louie,” she explained, as she pointed to the poster. “He was a prizefighter who became a best-selling mystery writer. I did a signing with him when I was new and he was well established. He had a long line and I only had a few stragglers. He stood up and said to the crowd that he had read my book and loved it and anyone who didn't buy it should step aside and go a round with him right then.” Nora laughed. “I sold a hundred books!”

Regan and Jack stared up at the poster. They both had the same thought. Left Hook Louie bore a startling resemblance to Tony Pinto, whose
picture they had just observed on the computer screen.

“Do you know if he had any kids?” Jack asked Nora.

“Not to my knowledge,” Nora answered. She glanced at the door. “Oh good, here are Alvirah and Willy.”

The Meehans, Willy in a tuxedo like all the other men and Alvirah in a white silk jacket and long black skirt, were coming across the room and heading toward them.

“Sorry!” Alvirah said. “But for once I'm not the one who's late. Willy started playing solitaire and was convinced he could beat himself. By the time he knew it was a lose-lose situation, he only had a few minutes to get ready. Isn't that right, Willy?”

“You're right as usual, honey,” Willy said amiably. “Alvirah found a deck of cards in the night table drawer, and I started fooling around with them. They're not new, so we figured they belonged to the Commodore's nephew. But we just bumped into him at the elevator, and he told us he hates cards. I've got them in my pocket in case anyone wants to play later.”

The Commodore started tapping against the microphone and blew into it. “Attention! Attention! It's time to give out the Santa Cruise medals
to all of you who have given of yourselves so generously this past year.”

“First I'd like to call up everyone from the Readers and Writers group. It humbles me to be in their presence. . . .”

Dozens of hands shot into the air, waving empty glasses to signal the waiters for a refill. It was clear that the Commodore was just warming up. One by one, he placed medals hanging from ribbons around the necks of each member of the Readers and Writers group. All the people who had donated to charities, including Alvirah, were next. Finally, when the medal was placed around Eldona Deitz's neck, her husband and children were beside her. The eight- and ten-year-old girls, unable to contain their excitement, were jumping up and down.

“Aren't you proud of your mommy?” the Commodore asked.

“We did all the work,” Fredericka yelped. “Mommy likes to sleep late. Daddy has to bring her coffee every morning or she can't open her eyes.”