Santa Cruise (9 page)

“No. I pulled open the door and saw the switch right away. It has a glow. I flicked it on and . . . ohhhhhhhhh. But I did
not
turn it off when I left!” she added positively.

“We plan to encourage our guests to turn out lights whenever possible. It's so wasteful to leave on your cabin lights when you go to dinner. The Commodore is very concerned about global warming,” Dudley explained, then realized that no one was paying attention to him.

Jack reached over and flicked the switch. The overhead and side lights went on, illuminating the chapel. Ivy pointed to the side of the altar. “That's where he was jumping and stretching. Left Hook Louie! I know it sounds crazy, but he was here. Or at least his ghost was here.”

“Ivy, did he
say
anything to you?” Alvirah asked. “I'm sure he wouldn't have wanted to scare you like this. After all, you're honoring him on this trip.”

“No. He just stared at me. The boxes with a special classic edition of his first book,
Planter's Punch,
never made it on board. Maybe that upset him.”

“Planter's Punch?”
Regan asked.

“Yes. Left Hook Louie's boxer-turned-detective was named Pug Planter. That first book was a huge bestseller. But as I said, the classic edition we were supposed to sell on board never made it to the ship on time.”

Nora rolled her eyes. “I know all about books not arriving where I have an appearance scheduled.”

“The books didn't arrive, but Left Hook Louie certainly made an appearance!” Ivy insisted. “I know it has to have been a ghost. But I always thought you could see through a ghost. And he was making a lot of noise when he was jumping up and down.”

“You say he was next to the altar?” Jack asked as he walked up the aisle.

“Yes. He was right there.” Ivy pointed, following Jack.

Regan noticed that the heavy damask cloth covering the altar was askew. She picked up one corner and looked underneath it. There was nothing there.

Alvirah glanced under it, too, and, always the cleaning woman, smoothed and straightened the altar cloth.

“I know what you're all thinking,” Ivy said. “That I imagined this whole thing. But I'm telling
you I saw a man in boxer shorts. If it wasn't Left Hook Louie, it was his twin.”

“Ivy, did anyone in your Readers and Writers group know you were coming up here?” Regan asked.

“No. I didn't know I was coming myself.”

“It doesn't look as though Louie left anything behind,” Jack observed.

Ivy cast a quick suspicious glance at Jack to see if he was being sarcastic.

“Someone might have been planning a practical joke,” Jack theorized. “Perhaps you caught him practicing up here. Do you know everyone in your group?”

“Some I know better than others. A couple of the husbands I've only met a few times. But
none
of them look like Left Hook Louie.”

“You have posters of Louie all over the ship. Maybe someone on board is planning to surprise your group at one of your seminars,” Alvirah suggested. “Naturally you were so frightened when you saw him that you only had the quickest of glances, then turned and ran.”

“I know what I saw,” Ivy insisted. “I saw someone who was a dead ringer for Left Hook Louie.”

Luke had been standing by the last pew. Something on the floor just inside the pew caught his eye. He leaned over and picked up a small metallic
ball with slits and a smaller solid ball on the inside.

“What have you got there?” Nora inquired.

“Got where?” Alvirah asked, her ears always capable of hearing a whispered conversation three rooms away.

Luke walked forward and held out his hand. “It's probably nothing. Unless Left Hook Louie had this sewn to his boxer shorts.”

Alvirah took the tiny ball and shook it. It made a tinkling noise. “They use these all over for Christmas decorations.” She smiled. “We'll keep it as evidence.”

Dudley's heart nearly stopped. He knew that that little bell had come off one of the Santa Claus caps. Could it have been from one of the stolen caps?

With a last look around, Regan turned to Ivy. “You look as though you need to relax. Would you like to have a nightcap with us?”

“I'd love to!” Ivy replied enthusiastically. “Maybe the Readers and Writers group isn't on my side, but you all are, and I couldn't be happier.”

“We'll figure out what's happening on this ship,” Alvirah promised heartily.

Dudley wanted to cry. The only reason for this cruise was to generate good publicity for the
Royal
Mermaid.
To let the world know what a wonderful ship it was and how perfect cruising on the
Mermaid
would be, to encourage people to open their wallets and hop on board. Now with these busybodies the whole thing could turn into a public relations nightmare. The first commercial sailing of the
Royal Mermaid
would resemble a ghost ship.

Dudley couldn't let that happen.

He just couldn't.

C
ommodore Weed was holding court at his table recounting the story of how he had decided to change his life by refurbishing the
Royal Mermaid
and spending the rest of his days sailing around the globe. “My love for the sea began when I received a plastic boat at age five. I had my little life vest on and my father pulled me around the lake near our house. . . .”

Eric and Dr. Gephardt had heard this story at least a hundred times. They were required to sit at the Commodore's table each evening and be charming to the rotating guests. Tonight the Jaspers, an elderly couple who'd bid on the cruise at a fundraiser for Save the Amphibians, and the Snyders, a middle-aged couple from the Readers and Writers group, had the privilege of dining with the ship's officers.

Eric was desperate to get away, frantically wondering what course of action his two felons had
taken after being discovered in the chapel. Why did Bull's-Eye take off his Santa outfit, and what was he doing jumping up and down? Had he gone crazy? Had the Reillys and Meehans gone up to the chapel with that screaming dingbat? He'd seen them leave the dining room together. Bull's-Eye and Highbridge couldn't have been stupid enough to stay in the chapel. Or could they?

Eric was furious that Dudley had managed to escape from the table when Ivy Pickering went nuts.

Dr. Gephardt had circulated at the cocktail party before going up to check on Harry Crater. Crater must have given a lot of money to charity, Gephardt thought, for the Commodore to have risked having someone on board who was so sick. He glanced over at the table where he knew Crater was sitting and saw the old man getting out of his chair. The children on either side of Crater jumped up eagerly.

Crater was about to go out of his mind. The kids had driven him crazy all during dinner and their parents' conversation was mind-numbing. At least the outburst from that woman had provided a much-needed jolt to his system.

“Mr. Crater, I must get a picture of you with the girls,” Eldona insisted. “We'll make a scrapbook of
the cruise and send it to you. We'll have to get your address. Please sit back down.”

Crater begrudgingly agreed and began his descent. Eldona's eyes widened in horror as she realized Gwendolyn had pulled Crater's chair away from the table, just as she had been taught in the Assisting Senior Citizens etiquette class. Eldona watched as the expression on Crater's face turned to bewilderment and then panic when he realized there was no chair to catch him. A loud thump sounded as Crater disappeared below the table.

Gasps from surrounding diners interrupted the Commodore's tale of the happy years he had spent at sailing camp on Cape Cod.

Cursing under his breath, sprawled flat on his back, and momentarily shocked, Crater knew that he'd thrown out his back again. Fredericka leaned over, having dunked her napkin in her water glass, and began wiping his face. “There, there,” she cooed. “It was Mommy's fault. Ewww, what's this gray stuff on your face?”

Crater grabbed the napkin from her hand. “My medicine causes that,” he growled. “Get your hands off me.”

By now Dr. Gephardt was squatting beside him, thrilled that he had a reason to flee the Commodore's table. Gephardt held up a finger. “Mr. Crater can you see my finger?”

Crater slapped the doctor's hand away and attempted to get up. But the pain in his back made it impossible to move.

Gephardt frowned. “We're getting a stretcher. We can't take any chances with a man in your condition. What exactly is wrong with you?”

“At the moment, everything!”

“Can you move your legs?”

“I have a bad back. I twisted it. It's happened before. I'll be fine. Just help me up.”

Gephardt shook his head solemnly. “No, no. That was a hard fall, and we can't be sure that you haven't injured yourself seriously. As a trained medical practitioner, I insist that you spend the night in the infirmary. If necessary, we will summon your helicopter.”

“No!”
Crater exploded as he pushed himself on one elbow, wincing as he felt the old familiar spasms in his back send shooting pain throughout his body. “I don't want to leave this Santa Cruise. I earned this trip by giving loads of money to charity.”

Fredericka and Gwendolyn jumped up and down, clapping their hands. “Yayyyyyyyyyy. We'll visit you in the ship's hospital.”

Two infirmary attendants arrived with a stretcher. Crater felt himself being carefully lifted onto it and then felt straps being tied around his
arms to secure him to it. As they started to carry him out of the dining room, he heard the doctor say to one of the medics, “I have the number of his helicopter. Perhaps I should call and warn them that they might have to come pick up Mr. Crater at any time.”

T
he Sports Deck of the
Royal Mermaid
was at the ship's stern. In addition to the infamous rock-climbing wall, there was a basketball court and a miniature golf course. Bull's-Eye and Highbridge had carried their trays, on which they'd haphazardly gathered cheese, crackers, and grapes, from the Lido buffet, looking for a place to hide and eat. When they discovered the sports area, Highbridge pointed to a miniature red barn hovering over the seventh hole of the golf course. An open-mouthed cow was leaning out the window over the barn door, the gap between its teeth obviously the target for golfers. Once someone hit a ball through the cow's choppers, the ball would hopefully have enough momentum to roll through the barn, down a crevice, and land in putting distance of the hole.

“Let's hide behind the barn,” Highbridge suggested. “This is the back of the ship, so no one will
see us from the other direction. And the golf course is closed now.”

“My cards!” Bull's-Eye cried suddenly.

“What?”

“Being around these games made me think of my cards! I left them in that other room.”

“So what?”

“I've got to get them back. They're important!”

The two men could hear the sound of voices coming up the companionway. “Come on!” Highbridge said impatiently.

With swift steps they walked around the fenced-in basketball court and made their way along the intricately designed golf course, until they were safely behind the façade of the barn. They sat with their backs against the barn and glumly wolfed down the cheese.

The night was becoming overcast.

“We're moving along pretty fast,” Highbridge observed, staring out at the churning white wake cutting through the vast expanse of black water. “But I don't like that sky.”

“Why not? You want stars and a full moon so that we can't be missed?”

“I had a yacht until the Feds got nasty. I know this kind of weather. We're in for a big storm.”

D
espite the many interruptions, the Commodore was determined to finish the saga of his seafaring life. And by golly he did. The two couples who were sitting at the table had managed to keep smiles fixed on their faces during his gasket-by-gasket description of the
Royal Mermaid,
now the fastest ship of its kind on the seas.

As the Commodore patted his mouth with his napkin and placed it on the table, Eric leapt up. “Have a wonderful evening, everyone,” he said. “I'll see to Mr. Crater and then mingle with our other guests.”

“Give me a hug,” the Commodore said, his arms outstretched.

Eric leaned down and allowed his uncle to practically smother him in an embrace topped off with a kiss on the cheek.

“He's the son I never had,” the Commodore explained
to his stultified guests, who now resembled wax figures.

As he left the dining room, Eric saw the Meehans and Reillys, accompanied by that idiot Dudley and the screamer, coming down the companionway. He felt a momentary sense of relief. Obviously they had
not
run into Bull's-Eye and the Bean Counter. Now the appropriate thing for him to do was to ask if everything was all right.

With an air of superiority, Dudley said dismissively, “Don't worry, Eric. I have everything under control. It's possible we have a practical joker in our midst who unfortunately frightened Miss Pickering. I'm sure he will reveal himself in the next day or so.”

“We're on our way for a nightcap,” Ivy said coquettishly. “Would you like to join us?”

“Thank you, but I have to check on one of our guests who's in the infirmary.”

“Already?” Alvirah asked.

“Unfortunately, yes. Perhaps you've noticed him. Mr. Crater, the man with the cane. He was at the table with the Dietz children. . . .”

“Poor guy,” Luke murmured.

Eric smiled and rolled his eyes, turning on the charm, which he knew he was so capable of demonstrating. “You put him at the table with
those pesky kids, right, Dudley?” he asked playfully, tapping him on the arm.