All by Myself, Alone

  “I know it is. And Lady Em was dead only hours after she told Celia that Brenda had been switching her jewelry.” She continued, “You know, Willy, I’ve been wondering if Roger Pearson fell overboard or if he got a little help from Yvonne.”

  “You don’t think she pushed him over, do you?” Willy asked incredulously.

  “I’m not saying it, but I’m thinking it, just wondering about it. I mean you can certainly see that those two were not close. She was at Celia’s lecture today with a couple of friends. She sure didn’t look to me like a grieving widow. And when you think about it, with Lady Em dead and Roger dead, the question about what he was doing with her finances will probably just go away. And that is very good news for Yvonne.”

  They stared at each other. Willy spoke first. “Do you think Yvonne might have also killed Lady Em?”

  “I wouldn’t be surprised.”

  “But what about this rumor about a jewel thief, ‘the Man with One Thousand Faces’?”

  “I don’t know. I just don’t know,” Alvirah said, lost in thought.

  76

  One by one, people gathered for a formal dinner. At one table were Professor Longworth, Yvonne, Celia and Brenda. At the table next to theirs Alvirah and Willy, Devon Michaelson, Ted Cavanaugh and Anna DeMille were seated. Conversation at both tables was limited and awkward.

  “Acupuncture is wonderful,” Alvirah was telling Cavanaugh. “I don’t know what I’d do without it. Sometimes when I fall asleep, I dream I’m having those little needles stuck in me. And I always wake up feeling better.”

  “I can understand that,” Ted told her. “My mother goes for acupuncture to her arthritic hip, and she says it does her a world of good.”

  “Oh, your mother has arthritis?” Alvirah exclaimed. “Is she Irish?”

  “Her maiden name was Maureen Byrnes. And my father is half-Irish.”

  “The reason I ask,” Alvirah said, “is that arthritis is believed to be an Irish disease. My theory is that our Irish ancestors were out in the cold and the rain gathering peat for their fires. The dampness seeped into their DNA.”

  Ted laughed. He acknowledged to himself that he found Alvirah both interesting and refreshing.

  Anna DeMille did not like to be left out of a conversation for long. “I saw you had a drink with Celia Kilbride,” she told Ted, “and you attended her presentation. I think she’s a very good speaker, don’t you?”

  “Yes, I do,” Ted said quietly.

  Willy listened to the conversation as his hand went restlessly to his pocket where the Cleopatra necklace was being kept. He was glad not to get into the discussion about acupuncture. Alvirah was always urging him to get it for his back pain. And it was uncomfortable to hear that an obviously smart guy like Ted Cavanaugh had a relative who used it.

  Devon Michaelson had been listening with little interest, but then he saw Gregory Morrison walking about, visiting from table to table. Probably telling everybody they have nothing to worry about, he thought.

  His attention shifted to the table nearest them. There were only four people there now. He could see that the conversation was stilted. None of them looked happy to be there. Then he noticed that Morrison was on his way to Longworth’s table. He bristled at the sight of him, then acknowledged to himself that he did not easily accept criticism.

  Devon strained to hear what was being said, but he could barely pick up a word. An additional diversion was the fact that Anna DeMille had placed her hand over his and was asking him in a tender voice, “Are you feeling better today, Devon dear?”

  Gregory Morrison was fully aware that the chairs had been spaced farther apart to make it less obvious that two people were missing from the table he was approaching. Lady Haywood and Roger Pearson, the jerk who had fallen overboard. Neither was a great loss to the human race as far as he was concerned. It seemed appropriate, however, to offer his sympathy to Pearson’s widow, who hardly looked devastated by her loss. He knew crocodile tears when he saw them. He took comfort from the fact that his ship could not be held responsible for the loss of someone who had been stupid enough to sit on the railing. After a few words to Yvonne, he put his hand on Brenda’s shoulder. “I understand that you were Lady Haywood’s trusted companion of twenty years,” he said. And I wonder if you killed her, he added silently to himself.

  Brenda’s eyes became moist. “They were the best twenty years of my life,” she said simply. “I’ll miss her forever.”

  She must have been left some money by Lady Haywood, Morrison thought. I wonder how much.

  “Mr. Morrison,” Brenda said, “in addition to the missing Cleopatra necklace, Lady Em brought a lot of expensive jewelry on this cruise. My understanding is that it was on the floor near her bed when they found her. Are you taking steps to assure that nothing happens to it?”

  “I am sure that the Captain and our security chief are following all appropriate procedures.”

  Morrison turned away from the table. He saw that Devon Michaelson, Interpol’s Dick Tracy, was at the next table, and steered around it. He spread his charm at other tables, then went back to his seat next to the Captain.

  “They all appear to have gotten over the unfortunate incidents,” he told Fairfax, then turned his attention to the smoked salmon on the plate in front of him.

  77

  Though Professor Longworth found Brenda boring, he would not have been happy to know that his opinion was reciprocated. She considered him an absolute dud. If those eyebrows go up one more time, I will throw my dessert at him, she thought. Without waiting for that to happen, she ate the warm apple pie and vanilla topping as quickly as possible. She finished half the cup of coffee and then got up. All she wanted to do was to talk to Ralphie. She looked at her watch. It’s eight-thirty now. That means it’s four-thirty or five-thirty in New York. A good time to call.

  Brenda had a funny feeling when she entered her suite. She looked carefully around, but it was obvious that it was empty. I’ll call Raymond and tell him I want another slice of pie, she thought, and another cup of coffee. She placed the call and told him, “Make it about ten minutes.” She disconnected and phoned Ralphie.

  Brenda had no way of knowing that Ralphie was fully packed and ready to leave. Neither did she know that he had just finished transferring all the hard-earned stolen money from their joint account into an account in his name.

  The phone rang three times before he picked it up. His bark, “Hello,” for whatever reason did not sound endearing.

  “Ralphie, it’s your buttercup,” she cooed.

  “Oh, I was hoping it was you,” he said, his tone now warm and loving.

  “I miss you so much,” Brenda sighed, “but I’ll be home in three days. And I’m planning a surprise for when I see you. I bought it at the jewelry store on the main level.”

  “I can hardly wait,” Ralphie said sincerely. “That means I should have a surprise for you.”

  “Oh, that is so sweet,” Brenda gushed. “I’m counting the hours until I see you. Good-bye, my dear Ralphie. Kisses.”

  “Good-bye, my buttercup,” Ralphie said, and disconnected the phone.

  Well, that does it for the buttercup, he thought, as he snapped shut his third suitcase.

  He glanced at his watch. He was meeting his new girlfriend—not really new, but at least now they wouldn’t have to sneak around anymore. They were taking a 10 P.M. Amtrak sleeper train to Chicago. But before he left, he took a long look around the apartment. Very comfortable, he thought. In a way I hate to leave.

  He laughed out loud.

  Poor dear Brenda, if she turns me in, she’ll end up in the cell right next to mine.

  Lulu’s apartment was on the main floor of the same building. It wasn’t hers; she had been subletting month to month. They had agreed to meet at Grand Central Station rather than leave the building together. He wasn’t sure how long he would hang on to Lulu. But for the moment, she would be a breath of fresh air after five years with klutzy “buttercu
p.”

  78

  As Raymond Broad was passing the room, he could hear Brenda’s voice on the phone. He leaned his ear to the door as she said, “Good-bye, my dear Ralphie. Kisses.” She then made several smooching sounds with her lips.

  She has a boyfriend, he thought. I would never have guessed.

  Before he knocked on the door, he lifted the coverlet to make sure the kitchen had sent the right flavor pie. Brenda had scolded him once before for bringing pecan pie, claiming she had an allergy to nuts. “Rubbish,” he said to himself as he saw that the kitchen had made the same error again. He hurried back to switch pies.

  In her room Brenda had a weird sense of something wrong. And then she felt some type of cloth being pulled over her head and something being tightened around her throat. An instant later she felt herself being tossed down into what she believed was the closet.

  Don’t panic, she warned herself. Don’t let him know you can still breathe. With all her will she held her breath until she heard the door of the closet close, then began to inhale and exhale as quietly as she could. With each successive breath, her breathing became more normal. Although something very tight had been pulled around her neck, she had managed to slip a finger inside it, leaving her throat open just enough to breathe.

  The Man with One Thousand Faces was sure that no one had seen him come down the corridor and into the room. Working swiftly, he emptied Brenda’s purse on the floor, then rushed to the safe. No necklace there either, he observed. Then he rifled through the suitcases and dresser. “I’d have sworn she was the one who had it,” he grumbled, as he opened the cabin door an inch and saw that the coast was clear. Walking swiftly but at the same time trying to appear casual, he quickly covered the distance back to his own room.

  Less than two minutes later Raymond returned to Brenda’s room and tapped on the door. Hearing nothing, he opened the door and went in. He was surprised to see that there was no one there. He placed the coffee and dessert on the cocktail table. But then he heard the sound of someone grunting and kicking in the closet. Not sure that he was hearing correctly, he walked slowly to the door and opened it. He was greeted by the sight of Brenda sprawled on the floor, one hand over her pillowcase-covered head and the other on her throat.

  Raymond scrambled to the dresser for a pair of scissors. He rushed back, knelt down and said, “I have you. Let go of the rope.” Slipping his finger into where Brenda’s had been, he carefully slid one blade of the scissors between her neck and the rope. A moment after he applied pressure the cord snapped. He used the scissors to cut away the pillowcase and ripped it away from her face.

  She breathed in life-giving air. He waited a few minutes until she began to caress her throat with her hands. He helped her to a sitting position and then dragged her to her feet.

  “What took you so long?” she gasped. “I could have been choked to death!”

  “Miss Brenda,” he said, “let’s get you into your chair. A cup of coffee will help you get settled.”

  Leaning over him, Brenda collapsed in a chair and reached for the coffee.

  Raymond picked up the phone and called the chief of security to report an “incident” that had occurred in Brenda’s room. Saunders promised to come right over and bring Dr. Blake with him.

  Turning back to Brenda, Raymond said, “Is there anything I can do—”

  She cut him off. “Go get me a towel with some ice cubes in it. I want to wrap it around my neck.”

  “Ma’am, I think it would be a good idea if I stayed with you until—”

  “I SAID GET ME A COLD TOWEL!”

  “Right away, ma’am,” Raymond said, delighted to have a reason to leave the suite.

  Before Raymond left, Brenda called out to him, “Tell the Captain someone tried to strangle me, and I insist on getting better protection until we reach Southampton.”

  Too bad that her dear Ralphie isn’t around, Raymond thought as he tiptoed out. He went directly to a storage closet and closed the door behind him. As soon as the connection was established, he whispered, “Another attempted murder. This time Lady Haywood’s personal assistant Brenda Martin was the intended victim. He tried to strangle her, but she managed to slip a finger under the cord and keep breathing. She didn’t talk about anything missing from her room, so the motive is not clear.”

  Raymond slipped the cell phone back into his pocket and exited the storage closet.

  One minute later his phone registered that he had received a text. It was from John Saunders, the chief of security. He was being summoned back to Brenda’s suite, where the Captain and the ship owner were waiting for him. With a towel and ice bucket in hand, Raymond hurried back to her cabin.

  Brenda was still in the armchair where he had left her. Raymond’s first glance revealed that she had finished the vanilla ice cream, the apple pie and the coffee in the few minutes she had been alone. But there was no missing that she had an ugly red bruise all around her neck. She could have been asphyxiated, he thought, but the first thing he heard her say to Dr. Blake was that she wouldn’t be alive if Raymond hadn’t rescued her. She added that she planned to sue the cruise line because even though they knew there was a murderer on board, they had not taken the trouble to secure the halls from a serial killer.

  Captain Fairfax began a lengthy apology, but he was cut off by Gregory Morrison. The ship owner assured Brenda that he would take good care of her if she would agree to not say a word to the other passengers about what happened to her.

  “Whether or not I say a word won’t matter to what you are going to pay me,” Brenda gasped as she ran her fingers over her sore neck. “I could be dead,” she moaned, “and it would be because all of you failed in your duty to protect us. The next thing you know is we’ll all be on the deck singing, ‘Nearer, my God, to thee, nearer to thee.’ ”

  79

  Five hundred nautical miles away the Paradise ship’s doctor was anxiously studying his new patient. He didn’t even know his name. No ID had been found in what little clothing he still had on when they pulled him from the water.

  The man was suffering from hypothermia and pneumonitis. The few words he had uttered were almost incomprehensible: “pushed me, get her” were repeated several times. But with a temperature of one hundred four, the doctor attributed them to delirious rants.

  He looked up as the door opened and the ship’s captain came into the room. The Captain did not waste time on pleasantries. “How is he?” he asked brusquely as he studied the unexpected passenger who had been brought aboard ten hours earlier.

  “I don’t know, sir,” the doctor answered, his tone as always deferential to the Captain. “He is stabilized, but his breathing is very labored. He’s not out of the woods yet, but I believe he’s going to make it.”

  “Considering how cold it is in these waters, I’m surprised he was able to survive. Then again, we don’t know how long he was in the water,” the Captain observed.

  “No, we don’t, sir. But he had two things in his favor. In the medical community we often joke that the person who’s best-suited for cold is fit and fat. His ample fat likely insulated his body’s core, making him less susceptible to hypothermia. But he has the muscular shoulders and legs of a swimmer. When he was treading water, those muscles would have generated heat, offering additional protection from the cold.”

  The Captain was silent for a moment, and then snapped, “Well, do your best and keep me posted. Did he give his name yet?”

  “No, sir, he has not.” The doctor did not add that the patient was mumbling about being “pushed.” He knew the Captain preferred hard facts over speculation. He was sure that those utterings would turn out to be hypothermia-induced delusions when and if the patient recovered.

  “Do you expect him to pull through?” the captain asked.

  “I do, sir, and I won’t leave him until I’m sure he is out of danger.”

  “How long do you expect that to be?”

  “We’ll know more over th
e next seven hours, sir.”

  “Notify me immediately if he regains consciousness.” The Captain left the room. Immediately the ship’s doctor pulled a reclining chair over to the side of the bed, leaned back in it and pulled a blanket around his neck.

  Sweet dreams, Mr. Mystery Guest, he thought, as he closed his eyes and drifted into a sound sleep.

  Day Five

  80

  Alvirah and Willy, Devon Michaelson, Anna DeMille and Ted Cavanaugh gathered for a quiet breakfast, which turned out to be anything but.

  A few minutes after they sat down, Brenda arrived at her table. Yvonne and Professor Longworth were already there. Brenda in her newfound glory, with a red mark from the choking around her neck, had originally planned to have breakfast in her suite. After confirming that she was not seriously injured, Dr. Blake urged her to spend the night in the infirmary. She refused, preferring the privacy of her cabin.

  She decided it would be much more interesting to share her near death experience with her fellow passengers in the Queen’s Lounge. She made a point of stroking her neck as she sat down, and then made an audible groan as she swallowed a glass of fresh orange juice. At their exclamations of “What happened to you?” she was happy to tell her table mates the story without sparing a single detail.

  “Are you sure you didn’t see the person who assaulted you?” Yvonne asked nervously.

  “He must have been hiding in the closet. When I was turned the other way, he attacked me from behind,” Brenda said, holding her hand to her chest at the memory.

  “Did you notice anything that might help them figure out who attacked you?” Yvonne asked.

  Brenda shook her head. “Not really. Whoever it was, was very strong,” she said.

  She doesn’t have a clue, Longworth thought. Very interesting.

  Brenda continued. “Whatever he put around my neck, he was going to use it to strangle me. I began to black out. I remember being pushed into the closet. I was fortunate that I had managed to get a finger inside the noose before he started pulling. I struggled at first, but then I decided it would be better to pretend I was blacking out. I was right on the edge of losing consciousness when I felt his grip start to loosen.”