Stowaway (4 page)

The stores have
all pulled their protective metal grating down for the night, their keepers in
bed. The only things open that I can see from here is the one lonely bar I sat
at earlier and the gallery.
 
The new
bartender that is on shift snuck away with a fellow crew member more than a
half hour ago, and his post is still dark. Through the trees, I can see the
blue painting and wall of spatters lit up from here. They are both still ugly,
even from a distance.

The gallery staff
is nowhere to be seen, which is odd. I’m sure the curator is off duty by now,
but I would think there would be some sort security person there, at least.
Maybe they are just on break or something. Since there is no one around, it’s
not like it is a big risk anyway.

Suddenly, I see a
movement in the gallery’s shadows. At first, I think just the staff on duty
coming back. But, the person is dressed all wrong. The middle-aged man is
dressed head to toe in black
¾
even his gloves. How long
has he been there?

He drops a black
case right next to
Blue
. Then, he removes the piece from its display,
but what he does with it is obscured by the trees. I am relieved to see he
quickly puts it back. Who is he? I feel like a snoop, but since he can’t see me
through the foliage, I keep watching.

Maybe he’s a
bidder, taking the opportunity to assess the art privately beforehand. But
surely it is against the rules to touch a painting before you’ve bought it,
right? I hope he didn’t vandalize that poor dead artist’s last piece. That
would be so wrong. Even I can appreciate art that much.
Even
horrible art.

Just as the
mystery man is about to walk away, I see someone else greet him. The first man
doesn’t seem happy about him being there. The second man is smaller, and his
movements are jerky, as if he is also not happy. I can’t tell what he looks
like, as his hat is pulled down too low. I wish I could hear what they are
heatedly arguing about.

The second man
lunges forward to grab at the case awkwardly, as if he is hampered by
something. Clearly more athletic, the first man easily steps away. I can see
his teeth flash in a smile as he mocks the clumsy attempt.

Then, I see a
spark of metal catch the light as the second man slashes something through the
air. The smile fades as the first crumples abruptly to the gallery’s tiled
floor, where he doesn’t move.

Chapter 4

I can’t breathe. I
just witnessed a murder. I think he was just stabbed. It was so fast and
smooth, with no fuss or drama. No, it was clinical, without any emotion.
And, incredibly quiet.
Just one second ago, a man was alive,
the next he simply wasn’t there any longer.

I guess
athleticism only goes so far if your opponent carries a weapon and you don’t.
Especially if he uses it with skill.
And, he is mad at you.

The trees are
obscuring what the man is doing, but he is still there. I can’t rush down for
help yet, or I’ll be seen. Just then, I see him stand, sweep up the black case
and disappear out of my line of sight.

I stand frozen,
incapable of movement, even though it is probably safe now. I don’t feel very
safe. My heart is pounding and my breath is fast. I can feel cold sweat trickle
down my back and my hands shake when the jolt of adrenaline hits. When it does,
I am able to release the white-knuckled grip I have on the book I had been
reading, and my mind races, trying to decide what to do.

I can’t go to the
authorities, since I’m trying to stay under their radar for my own reasons. I’m
not even sure who the authorities are on a ship, let alone one sailing
international waters. But, I have to do something.

Just then, I see
the bartender coming back at the near end of the promenade. He unlocks his
abandoned bottles. That’s it!

I hurry down, and
am sure I look like a train wreck by the glance he gives me. But then he slaps
on his professional smile and his face masks over.

“Hello,
ma’am?
How can I help you?”

His breath smells
like he has been smoking more than cigarettes, although he seems pretty
focused. Guess I know where he went. And, that he can function pretty well with
his habit.

“Um, I just saw
the hugest rat in the art gallery at the other end of the promenade,” I manage.
“Can you check it out? It looked like it was gnawing on one of the pieces. You
know,
the blue one?”

His eyes grow big.
Good, I guess that cut through his mental fog and he registers that the
auction’s most famous piece could be in danger at this very moment. But he
hesitates, glances first at me, then at his drinks. He gives me a suspicious
look. I can tell he doesn’t want to leave me alone with them. Finally, he
speaks.

“Why don’t you
show me where you saw the rat, ma’am?”

I agree to lead
him to the doorway of the gallery. He is infuriatingly slow and wobbles a bit
at times. Once there, I point inside and tell him I refuse to go any further,
on the grounds I may get bitten or rabies from the wild vermin. That would be
unfortunate for a ship guest. He sighs, nods, and then enters the gallery in
his unsteady way.

“Wait right
there,” he shouts back at me.

As soon as his
footsteps fade, I am sprinting
away,
terrified he will
want to question me when he finds the body. I dart back to the library, and
then sneak a look out the window to see the crime scene.

Nothing.
I don’t see the dead guy, the killer or even any blood. Not a thing to prove
any crime happened. Everything looks exactly as it did when Rose and I wandered
through there earlier, save for the bartender, who is looking really annoyed.
How can that be?

Soon, he strolls
out of the gallery, shaking his head angrily when he doesn’t find a rat or me,
waiting as instructed. He probably thinks I am some crazy drunk. But I am not
crazy or drunk, and I know the one aspirin I have in me doesn’t cause visions.
Certainly not ones as vivid as murder, do they? I know what I saw. I just can’t
explain how it vanished.

I can’t stay here.
I need to move, to think, so I start roaming. I sneak past the bartender again
to get a closer look at the gallery. Of course, nothing is out of place or
looks different.

I need fresh air
to clear my head, stop it from spinning, so I start walking. I bump into Carl,
who is walking alone down the corridor to the elevators. He is dragging Major’s
crate with him.

“Hello, C--, Sir!”

“Oh sorry, Miss.
Hello,” he says, because his cane taps me. He rolls the wheeled crate against
the wall, so I can pass by.
 
“Major here
needed to go out for a potty break. I’m waiting for my nurse to help me with
the elevator so I can put these old bones back to bed. This day has been very tiring.”

“Tell me about it.
Need some help?” I offer
,
to be polite.

“Thank you, but no
need to bother. Teresa will be down soon, I’m sure.”

He looks pale and
worn out. I can‘t just leave the old guy here all alone and sick. I’m not
heartless, after all. So, I try to focus.

“It’s no trouble,
really.
Up or down?”

“If you’re sure,
down please. Thank you.”

“No problem.”

I press the button
and help him push the crate into the chrome elevator.
 

“Would you mind
pushing level 3, please?”

I select his floor
and wave goodbye as he disappears behind the closing doors.

That
done, I decide to climb the stairs to the empty jazz lounge that overlooks the
pools, rather than take an elevator myself.
I need the walk. I’m antsy
and the soothing atmosphere will do me good. Also, the empty lounge seems like
a good place to clear my head, far from the gallery.

On arrival, I
discover the lounge has its own small deck with open air tables that catch the
breeze, so I take a seat at one and sit, gulping in the salty air. Try to slow
my racing mind and still-accelerated pulse. I think I’m doing a decent job of
appearing normal when someone speaks to me.

“You
alright?”

I jump. I didn’t
notice the man until just now. He’s the musician from earlier. He is still in
his suit, but his bow tie is undone and his long, dark hair and beard looks
even more disheveled. He is not drinking or obviously waiting for anyone. He is
just sitting in the corner shadows with his black instrument case at his feet.
I freeze, trying to think of something to say.

“You’re
Australian.”

He smiles, too tired
for it to reach his eyes.

“How
observant of you.”

“I’m sorry. Look,
I just saw a murder…”

He looks alarmed.
I didn’t plan to just blurt it out, it just happened. I feel a sudden need to
calm him.

“No, wait! I already
told a bartender and he didn’t see anything. But I know what I saw! Well, I
really told him there was a rat, but…”

He looks confused,
and maybe a bit amused.

“So, there was a
rat involved in a murder? Or a rat murdered? They do the second pretty regularly
around here…”

“Both! No,
neither! No….”

I finally convince
him to just come with me. I quickly explain what I saw on our way down,
then
I plan to disappear before we reach the gallery. I
can’t be caught with him when whatever authority on this ship arrives.

The bartender is
gone again when we pass by. There is no one else within sight but us walking down
the silent promenade. I try to excuse myself at the gallery entrance, but the
musician won’t be deterred. He grabs my arm and makes me come in with him.

“Ok, show me exactly
where to two men were.”

I do, although I
have nothing to really show him. Whoever the killer was, he didn’t murder
without a plan.

The musician looks
at me with concern.

“Look, why don’t
you go to your room and get some sleep? I think you’ve had a bit too much sun
and excitement today and could use a good night’s rest. I’ll walk you there.”

No. I can’t accept
his offer, but he’s probably afraid I will fall overboard or something before I
get there and then he’ll have been the last person to have seen me. Maybe that
is why he is so persistent about my resisting his help. Despite my protests, he
insists.

“You can’t,” I finally
say. “I forgot my key.”

“Easy
enough to replace.
Let’s go request you a new one. Guest Services is
open 24 hours.”

Darn. What do I
tell him now? I’m sleeping on deck chairs because I’m a stowaway fugitive and
please don’t throw me off your ship for another two days until my lawyer can
clear my name?

Just then, I see
movement out of the corner of my eye. A man with his back to us is pacing
slowly across the deck below us. I can see his glowing, orange cigarette cut a
streak through the darkness as he strolls, like a cat on the prowl. He pauses
to stare out at the inky ocean. Although it is too dark for a good view, even
from here I can tell that he is the man who was chasing me this morning. Same tidy
hair, same black suit. Great, he must have used whatever clout he had to talk
his way aboard.
Probably flashed my picture around a bit.
It is a miracle no one has turned me in already. I need to hide before someone,
especially him, sees me.

The musician walks
toward Guest Services, which will take us in the direction of the man below.
When the lawman resumes pacing, he will see me as I walk overhead. I need to
think of something, fast.

“Wait!” I whisper,
grabbing the shirt sleeve that is drifting away. He stops and turns back to me.

I point to the now
very noticeable purple bruises on my arms. For good measure, I also show the
musician the scabbed gash where my jeans are ripped. All are from my trip down
the gutter this morning. I know I look battered, and can tell that same
conclusion is registering on his face. So, I take a deep breath and dive on
into the lie.

“My friend, Stacy,
we had a fight. We’re sharing a room this weekend, and I can’t go back.”

I manage to
squeeze out a few tears for authenticity, and I can tell he’s angry at Stacy.
The one I just fed him. Not the real one. Stacy is actually a co-worker back
home who is the gentlest person I know. I feel bad for her sake and his. But,
my own sake is the one I’m most concerned with right now, so I mentally stomp
the guilt down.

His jaw clenches
as he works to come up with a solution.

“Let’s go.”

“Where are we
going?”

I really want to
know, because I need a heads up if he’s hauling me off to the ship’s sheriff or
something. Maybe I should have thought up a less criminal story. But, it’s all
I’ve got right now. At least we’re heading away from the glowing cigarette,
which is streaking back-and-forth in the darkness again.

“To
the crew quarters.
My roommate, Charlie, quit this week. Thank God,
because he played the tuba, and insisted on practicing there. Anyway, you can
sleep there tonight. But, you’ve got to be out first thing in the morning. I’ll
get in trouble if anyone catches a passenger there. I don‘t suppose I can
convince you to report this fight of yours?”

I shake my head
no,
say it was just a spat that I will clear up in the
morning. I don’t really have a good option except to go with him. I swear I
hear the man in the suit’s footsteps getting closer. Or, maybe it’s just my
heart pounding at how convincing I am starting to sound.

I don’t get the
impression that the musician is the type to try to take advantage of or harm a
crazy woman who hasn’t showered or brushed her teeth since yesterday. Wait, make
that day before yesterday. Anyway, to do anything to me would mean he’d have to
come close to me, and my scent alone has to be repellant. However, I hear Jack
the Ripper looked like an okay guy too, until he killed you. But, if my
instinct is wrong, I’ve got pepper spray.