Morrison had immediately returned to his goal in life, to own passenger ships. The first one he bought at an auction, then had it refurbished and scheduled its first cruise. Working with a high-powered public relations agency, he courted A-list celebrities from different professions to be part of the inaugural voyage. In exchange for the complimentary cruise, he secured promises from them that they would share their impressions of the trip with their legions of fans on Facebook and Twitter. It had worked. His new cruise line began generating buzz.
Before a year had passed, the vessel was booked two years in advance. The acquisition of second, third and fourth ships soon followed, until the Gregory Morrison River Cruises became the first choice among passengers who loved that kind of travel.
By then Morrison was sixty-three years old. He had acquired a reputation for demanding perfection and would relentlessly steamroll over anyone or anything that stood in his path. Everything he had accomplished until that point was a buildup to his ultimate dream: to create and operate an ocean liner unlike any other, and that would never be surpassed in luxury and elegance.
He particularly wanted to outperform the Queen Mary, the Queen Elizabeth and the Rotterdam. He did not want to have partners or shareholders. The ship he would build would be his masterpiece alone. And when he studied all the appointments of those other ships, he realized that there was one vessel that was the most luxurious ever built, the Titanic. He instructed his architect to plan an exact replica of the magnificent staircase and first-class dining room. Included would be old-time amenities, including a gentlemen’s smoking room and squash and racquetball courts, as well as an Olympic-sized swimming pool.
Both the suites and the cabins would also be much larger than the ones on rival lines. And the details of the dining rooms would exceed even those on the Titanic. The first-class passengers would have sterling silver tableware, and the others silver plate. Only fine china would be used.
As with the Queen Elizabeth and the Queen Mary, on the walls would be pictures of the British monarchs and members of royalty in European countries. No detail was too small or expensive for Gregory Morrison. And his naming the ship the Queen Charlotte was a choice he had made to honor Princess Charlotte, the great-granddaughter of Queen Elizabeth II.
What Gregory had not realized was exactly how much an undertaking like this would burn through even his financial resources. It was absolutely essential that the maiden voyage be a glorious success.
He could have bitten his tongue a thousand times after allowing the PR firm to mention the name Titanic in its press releases. The press ignored the fact that the reference was to the splendor of the Titanic, not her ill-fated maiden voyage.
During the first three days of the voyage Gregory Morrison constantly was vigilant for even the smallest detail that might be short of perfection.
A bulky six-footer with piercing brown eyes and a full head of silver hair, Morrison was a formidable figure. Everyone was afraid of him, from the chef and his assistants to the clerks behind the various desks, to the attendants in the restaurants and suites. That was why when Captain Fairfax asked to see him, Morrison’s first question was “Is anything wrong?”
“I think we should have the discussion in the privacy of your suite, sir.”
“I hope you’re not going to tell me another passenger has gone overboard,” Morrison thundered. “Come up immediately.”
He already had the door open when Captain Fairfax, John Saunders and Dr. Blake arrived together. When he saw Dr. Blake, he asked, “Don’t tell me somebody else is dead!” he exclaimed.
“I’m afraid it’s worse than that, Mr. Morrison,” the Captain said. “It’s not just somebody. It’s Lady Emily Haywood who was found dead in the bedroom of her suite this morning.”
“Lady Emily Haywood!” Morrison exploded. “What happened to her?”
It was Dr. Blake who answered. “Lady Haywood did not die of natural causes. She was suffocated by a pillow that was held over her face. There is absolutely no doubt in my mind that it was a homicide.”
Morrison’s face was normally ruddy, as though he had been in a cold wind. Now as the other three men watched, it paled to a pasty gray.
Clenching and unclenching his fists, he asked, “She was wearing the Cleopatra necklace last night. Did you find it in her room?”
“The safe was open and her jewelry was dumped out of it. The Cleopatra necklace was missing,” Saunders said quietly.
For a long minute Morrison said nothing. His first thoughts were of how to keep the news of her murder quiet. And of the terrible publicity that would inevitably follow if word leaked out.
“Who else knows about this?” he asked.
“Besides the four of us, Raymond Broad, the butler to Lady Em’s suite. He was the one who found the body. I told him that I believed she had died of natural causes,” Dr. Blake said.
“The fact that she was murdered absolutely must not leave this room. Captain Fairfax, you will compose a message to be broadcast saying that she passed away peacefully in her sleep. And not one word about the missing necklace.”
“If I can make a suggestion, Mr. Morrison, when the authorities come on board in Southampton, their first question will be what we did to preserve the crime scene and to control who entered or left her suite so that any potential evidence would be preserved. That said, we will have to go back to the suite to remove the body to the morgue,” Saunders said.
“Can we wait until the middle of the night to remove the body?” Morrison asked.
“Sir, that would not be wise and might arouse suspicion,” Dr. Blake said. “Since we must announce the death, it would not seem unusual that the body, covered of course, would be moved to the ship’s morgue.”
“Take her down when most passengers are at lunch,” Morrison ordered. “What do we know about the butler, Raymond Broad?” he asked.
Saunders responded. “As I said before, he is the one who discovered her body. The previous evening she had requested breakfast in her room and he was delivering it. By the time he found her, she had been dead for at least five to six hours. Whoever committed the crime did so at approximately three o’clock in the morning. About Mr. Broad, he has worked at your companies for fifteen years, including his time at Morrison River Cruises. He has never been linked to any infractions.”
“Whoever did this, did they break into her room?”
“There’s no sign of any damage to her door lock.”
“Who else would have had a key to her room?”
“We know her longtime assistant Brenda Martin had a duplicate key,” Saunders said. “But if I may remind you, the international thief, the so-called Man with One Thousand Faces, is rumored to be aboard the ship. In fact, if the Internet is to be believed, he has even announced his presence here. Someone of his ingenuity would know a way to bypass her door lock and gain entrance to her safe.”
“Why was I not told that a jewel thief was on board?” Morrison roared.
This time it was Fairfax who responded. “I did send a note to you, sir, informing you that a member of Interpol traveling as a guest is here to provide additional security.”
“Well, obviously the idiot is doing a great job!”
“Sir,” Saunders inquired, “should we notify the legal department and ask for their guidance?”
“I don’t want their guidance,” Morrison exploded. “I want to get to Southampton on time with no more incidents and get that damn body off my ship.”
“Another thing, sir. Presumably, the jewelry on the floor is very valuable. If we leave it there, we run the risk of it,” he paused, “disappearing. If we go in and retrieve it—”
“I know,” Morrison interrupted. “We run the risk of unnecessarily disturbing a crime scene.”
“I did take the liberty, sir, of posting a guard outside the door to her suite,” Saunders said.
Morrison ignored him. “You’re sure there’s no chance this butler did it? If he did it, I don’t want
to know about it. You know, or should know, that if an employee is guilty of the crime, I as owner of the ship am absolutely liable in any lawsuits that may be filed.” Morrison began to pace up and down the room squeezing his hands into fists. “We know about this Brenda Martin, her assistant,” he said. “Besides her, who else was traveling in Lady Haywood’s party?”
“Roger Pearson, the man who fell overboard, was her financial advisor and the executor of her estate; he and his wife Yvonne and Brenda Martin were the guests of Lady Haywood.”
“I saw the people at her dinner table,” Morrison said. “Who was that beautiful young woman? I met her at the cocktail party, but I can’t remember her name.”
“It’s Celia Kilbride. She is one of our guest lecturers, as is Professor Longworth,” Saunders said.
“Her topic is the history of famous gems,” Captain Fairfax added.
“Mr. Morrison,” Saunders said, “I believe it would be wise for me to speak to the passengers who were in the suites near Lady Haywood’s to see if they heard any sounds of a disturbance or saw anyone in the hallway outside her suite.”
“Not on your life. That will be a dead giveaway that something is wrong. We’re not trying to solve a crime. I don’t care who did it, as long as it’s not an employee.” Morrison paused, deep in thought. “Go over with me again what the butler said.”
Saunders replied, “His name is Raymond Broad. He tells a pretty straight story. As you know, when a meal is ordered for a certain time, our butlers, after tapping on the door, are permitted to enter the suite and leave the meal cart. This is a particularly necessary service for our older guests, many of whom are hard of hearing. Since the door to Lady Em’s bedroom was open, he says he glanced in, saw that she was still in bed, and then called out to her that her breakfast had been served. When she didn’t respond, he went back to his station, phoned her room, but got no answer. He thought that something must be wrong, returned to her suite and stepped inside the bedroom. Then he could see that the door to her safe was open and jewelry scattered on the floor. He went over to the bed and realized she did not appear to be breathing. He touched her hand and said her skin felt cold. That was when he used the suite phone to call Dr. Blake.”
“Tell him if he wants to keep his job he better keep his mouth shut about what he saw in that suite. Make it damn clear to him that she died in her sleep. That’s all.”
55
Professor Longworth was sitting alone at the breakfast table when he was joined by Brenda Martin. A woman I find particularly dull, he thought, as he stood up courteously and greeted her with a smile.
“And how is Lady Em this morning?” he asked. “I was concerned for her last evening. She looked very pale.”
“When I didn’t hear from her by nine o’clock, it meant that she was having breakfast in her suite,” Brenda replied. The waiter was at her side. She ordered her usual generous breakfast of orange juice, cantaloupe, poached eggs hollandaise, sausage and coffee.
It was then that Yvonne Pearson arrived at the table. “I couldn’t bear to be alone any longer,” she explained, her voice breaking. “I wanted to be with friends.” She had worn almost no makeup to accentuate her supposedly grief-stricken appearance. Not having carried any black clothes in her wardrobe, she’d done the next best thing. She was wearing a gray running suit. Her only jewelry was her diamond wedding band. She had slept soundly and knew that she did not portray the exhausted look that would have been most suitable. But as the waiter held her chair for her, she sighed. “I cried all night. All I could think of was my darling Roger falling. If only he had listened to me. I begged him often not to sit on the railing.” She brushed away an imaginary tear as she sat down and picked up the menu.
Brenda nodded sympathetically, but Professor Longworth, a keen student of human nature, saw through the façade. She’s a good actress, he thought. I don’t think those two were happy with each other. It was clear there was tension between them. Roger was always fawning over Lady Em, and Yvonne didn’t hide the fact that she was bored with both of them.
At that moment the Captain’s somber announcement that Lady Em had passed away in her sleep was heard throughout the ship.
Brenda gasped, “Oh no,” stood up and ran from the dining room. “Why didn’t they tell me? Why didn’t they tell me?”
Henry Longworth and Yvonne Pearson exchanged shocked glances and then stared numbly at their plates.
At their table Alvirah, Willy, Anna DeMille and Devon Michaelson reacted to the announcement with disbelief. It was Anna who spoke first. “Two people dead in two days,” she gasped, “and my mother had a saying, ‘Death comes in threes.’ ”
Alvirah was the one who responded. “I’ve heard that too, but I’m sure it’s just an old wives’ tale.”
At least I pray it is, she thought to herself.
56
It had been virtually impossible for Celia to fall asleep. The responsibility of holding the Cleopatra necklace for even a few overnight hours was overwhelming. The fact that Lady Em’s assistant, Brenda Martin, and her financial advisor, Roger Pearson, had probably been stealing from her was sickening. How miserable it must be to be eighty-six years old and realize that people you felt to be both close friends and well-paid employees could treat you like that. It’s such a shame that Lady Em doesn’t have any close relatives, Celia thought.
And neither do I was her next dismal thought. Since the terrible situation had begun, she had started to miss her father more and more. In a crazy way she was resentful that he had never remarried and that she might have had siblings. Half-siblings, she corrected herself, but that would be good enough for me. She knew that only a few of the friends who had invested in Steven’s hedge fund believed that she had been part of his scheme. Nevertheless, almost all of them had been visibly cool to her. The money they had been saving for the new house or condo or to start a family had vanished. Guilt by association, she thought bitterly, as her eyes finally began to close.
The sleep that finally did come had resulted in five hours of deep, heavy slumber. It was nine-thirty when she was finally awakened by the voice of Captain Fairfax. “It is with great regret that we announce the passing of Lady Emily Haywood some time during the night. . . .”
Lady Em is dead! That’s impossible, Celia thought. She sat up and got out of bed, her thoughts racing. Do they know that the Cleopatra necklace is missing? Would they have immediately opened her safe to look for it? What will they think if I just go right to the Captain now, give him the necklace, and explain the circumstances under which Lady Em gave it to me?
As she was thinking the problem through, she began to calm down. By giving the necklace to the Captain, she would show that she is not a thief. What thief would go to the trouble of stealing something and then hours later give it back?
Stop being so paranoid, she told herself. Everything will be fine.
Her thoughts were interrupted by the sound of the phone ringing. It was her lawyer, Randolph Knowles. “Celia, I’m sorry to tell you this. I just spoke to the FBI. They definitely want to interview you as soon as you get back to New York.”
She had barely hung up when the phone rang again. It was Alvirah. “Celia, I didn’t want you to be blindsided. I’ve been watching the morning news. The story in People is being reported already.” She paused. “And you must have heard the Captain’s announcement that Lady Em had passed away.”
“Yes, I did.”
“Of course the Captain didn’t admit it, but it’s all over the news that she was murdered and the priceless Cleopatra necklace is missing.”
When the call ended, Celia drifted to the couch and sat down in stunned silence. Lady Em murdered? she thought. And the necklace missing? She tried to remain calm even as the stunning implications of what that meant for her exploded in her consciousness.
I have the necklace, she thought frantically. I was in Lady Em’s room hours before she died, before she was murdered. Will anyone believe Lady Em gave i
t to me? With that story in People coming out today with Steven swearing I was in on the hedge fund fraud with him, who would believe that I wouldn’t steal if given the opportunity? Any crooked antiquities dealer would pay a fortune for the necklace, then sell it to one of those private collectors who want a treasure like that for their own satisfaction. Or those incredible emeralds could be sold one by one to jewelers. And who would have the connections to arrange a private sale? As a gemologist who travels the world, I would.
She went to her safe, removed the necklace and gazed at the flawless emeralds. It was hard for her to fathom that she was actively considering whether she should go out on the balcony and toss it into the ocean below.
57
When Brenda reached Lady Em’s suite, she found a guard at the door. “I’m sorry, ma’am, by order of the Captain no one will be permitted to enter this room until we dock in Southampton.”
Frustrated, Brenda said, “I have been Lady Em’s personal assistant for twenty years. Surely I can—”
The guard cut her off. “I’m sorry, ma’am, Captain’s orders.”
Brenda turned abruptly and walked down the corridor, her rigid back expressing her outrage to the guard. That’s the way I would act if I gave a damn about her, she thought. Now no more shuffling behind her, anticipating her every whim or need.
Ralphie! Now she could be with him all the time. Now she wouldn’t have to hide him because she knew Lady Em would not approve of him. The apartment she and Ralphie live in belonged to Lady Em. It wouldn’t have killed her to leave it to me. Who knows how long whoever manages her estate will let me stay there? In the meantime, it’s rent-free. I’ll just stay until somebody tells me to get out.
Her thoughts went back to Lady Em. She is leaving me three hundred thousand dollars, Brenda thought. And we have two million from switching and selling the jewelry. Free! I’m free of all the kowtowing I’ve been doing all these years.