As Alexi walked down the hall to her cabin, she passed Clara Avery, one of the entertainers in the ship’s main show, Les Misérables.
Clara was supremely talented; she was a soprano with a genuinely impressive voice.
“Hey!” Clara said. “You were back-to-back cruises, too, huh? Did you take some time to get off the ship? Did you see your family?”
“Yes, they came and met me for lunch near the port,” Alexi told her.
“Good.” Clara hesitated. “It’s been a long time, Alexi. I can’t imagine having your wedding all planned—and him not coming home. But you can’t let your family lose you, too.”
“I know. I know that, really. I see them as often as I can. Honestly. I love my folks. I didn’t see my brother because he’s on tour and Sienna’s in Europe. On vacation. Well deserved, I imagine.” She grinned. “My poor parents. They’re so...mathematical and scientific! And they wound up with two entertainers and only one doctor, Sienna!”
“I’m sure they’re proud of all of you,” Clara said. She grinned. “I think my dad cried when he found out I wanted to go into theater. But he’s happy now!”
“And he’s a super guy. They came to the piano bar almost every night they were on the cruise—even when you couldn’t. Your mom is lovely, too.”
“Your folks haven’t taken the cruise yet,” Clara noted.
Alexi shrugged. No, her mother would never be on this ship. She didn’t see the dead the same way Alexi did, but she knew they were there. She worried not just because Alexi was a piano-playing hostess on a cruise ship; she worried because Alexi was on the Destiny.
“The things that happened on that ship!” her mother had warned her. “Terrible! And not just the poor soldiers who died. There were other incidents, too!” The Destiny, like most old ships with interesting histories, had the reputation of being haunted.
There’d been incidents aboard, yes. Such as the night in 1939 when Blake and Minnie had died, murdered in cold blood.
But Alexi wished she could explain that none of the ghosts on the ship were malevolent in any way. She’d come across a couple of soldiers who’d died in the infirmary: Privates Jimmy Estes and Frank Marlowe, handsome young men who’d been taken far too soon; Barbara Leon, a nurse who’d died of a fever she’d caught while tending to others; and Captain McPherson, who’d dropped dead of a heart attack at his retirement party, which had been held on the ship in 1967.
He still loved to tell her what the current captain was doing wrong.
All the Destiny’s ghosts were pleasant. The soldiers still believed they were convalescing, the captain was still watching over the bridge, and the nurse was still standing duty at the infirmary. They were polite and cheerful, thrilled that Alexi—and more often than not, her friends—could see them.
Her family really didn’t need to worry about her. She accepted the fact that Zach was gone. Time didn’t heal all wounds, but it allowed memories to offer consolation, to bring smiles instead of tears. She had simply become rather dependent on living on the ship. And she did love the Destiny, including all her history and her ghosts. Alexi didn’t lie awake at night anymore, the way she had at first.
She’d lain awake and wondered why, when the dead from so many different eras and generations found her, she’d never seen Zachary Wainwright, never had a chance to hold him and be held one last time. Never had a chance to say goodbye...
Alexi smiled. “My mom won’t be getting on this ship and without my mom—no dad. Mom’s convinced the ship is haunted, which of course it is, and she wants nothing to do with that. She’s... I don’t know...very Catholic, slightly Wiccan, possibly? She believes that spirits can find her. Don’t get me wrong, I adore my mother. But my dad always smiles and tells me that when they were married and moved into our home in the Irish Channel, she called in a priest to bless the house and cleanse it of ghosts.”
“She sounds like fun. And, hey, I agree with you that this ship is haunted! I try to say nice things to whatever gives me the chills as I walk by,” Clara said, shrugging. “In any event, they leave me alone.”
“I’ll see you in a little while,” Alexi told her. “I’m going to grab some downtime with a pillow.”
“And I’m going to pop into the lounge,” Clara said. “Come with me and say hi. We have some new people in the entertainment crew.”
Alexi didn’t particularly want to say hi to anyone at the moment; she wanted to lie down. She’d had lunch with her parents on shore, and much as she loved them, an hour or two in their company could be exhausting.
“Just for a sec!” Clara encouraged.
Alexi followed her into the crew lounge.
They didn’t separate crew down here. It was a hallmark for most people who accepted employment with the Celtic American line. Entertainers and officers mingled with room stewards, even though the lounge space was small. But there was a television, a computer, lots of comfortable chairs, plenty of snacks, a refrigerator, coffeepot and a microwave.
And right now the lounge was crowded, mostly with entertainers, those who didn’t play or perform as the passengers boarded. “Hey, new guys! This is Alexi Cromwell, for those who haven’t met her yet. She runs the piano bar and she loves it when we stop by.”
“Hi, Alexi!” Ralph Martini was the first to hail her. She knew Ralph. He’d been on her first contract schedule.
Ralph continued with, “I’m not new. I’m just saying hi first!” Ralph was a friendly, easygoing guy. She thought he was about fifty. He had a great tenor and often did a one-man show. Balding, a little stout—and totally charming. Women on board loved him.
“Alexi. I’m Simon Green,” a man said, rising and offering her his hand. He was tall and lean, with a pleasant boy-next-door face. “In the cast, my first go at it. Just a chorus guy.”
“No such thing as just a chorus guy,” Alexi said. “I’m sure you’re very talented. Good to meet you, and please, come by anytime.”
Simon Green shrugged, giving her a smile. “I’m a happy guy. I’ve been on a few cruises with Celtic American as a passenger. So I’m thrilled to be on the Destiny and seeing how it all works from the other side!”
She went on to meet Larry Hepburn, early twenties, blond, beach-boy type, out of LA, and Leanne Wilburn, from Des Moines. As they were all greeting one another, Bradley Wilcox, head of entertainment, who’d recently transferred over from the Dublin, stuck his head in.
Alexi had met Bradley Wilcox before. He, too, had been on her first run with the ship.
She stayed away from him as much as she could. He organized excellent shows, hired great bands for the various dining spots and bars—and was a complete jerk. He didn’t seem capable of compliments.
“Guitar Hero Boys, you’re due on the promenade in fifteen minutes. You should be getting in place.”
The foursome who made up the group rose and marched out. Alexi heard one mutter as he passed her. “Are you set up? Yes. Ready to go? Yes. Are you an asshole, Brad? Yes!”
She tried not to smile. And when the band had gone by, she left, too, wishing them all well—those who were new and those who’d returned to the Destiny or had switched from other ships.
In her cabin, Alexi sank down on the bed and closed her eyes, wishing she could sleep. She found herself thinking about Blake and Minnie.
Their deaths had been tragic. Minnie, a star of stage and screen, had fallen in love with Blake when he’d played Romeo to her Juliet in a touring company in the thirties. The fact that she was taking the Destiny for a transatlantic voyage had been huge news at the time; reporters and fans alike had booked onto the voyage.
The fans had included a deranged former lover, convinced that if he removed Blake from the picture, he would have his Minnie back.
Minnie had been singing an impromptu number in the piano bar. Also known as the Algie
rs Saloon, it was located exactly where it was now. Her previous lover, Allan Snow, had leaped to his feet after one of her numbers and declared his devotion. Minnie had claimed her eternal devotion, as well—to Blake.
So Allan Snow had pulled out a gun and shot Blake, who’d jumped in front of Minnie to be her protector. Then he’d shot Minnie and himself.
The ghost of Allan Snow didn’t seem to be aboard. Minnie told Alexi that she’d never seen him and she’d figured that God had been good, allowing her and Blake a different way to be together. She’d smiled and said their love was eternal.
Alexi figured it was natural that they’d haunt the piano bar.
She turned and hugged her pillow. Since Zach had been in the service and deployed overseas, they’d talked about the possibility of his death. She’d promised that if it happened, she’d always remember him—and she’d go on with her life, be happy.
She wasn’t suicidal, never had been. She was willing to find a new purpose, a new role, a new way of being. Just as she’d promised. Happy was more difficult.
What worried her now was the fact that he was slipping away. She thought about him often, with love. Sometimes she was happy now. She laughed at the antics of passengers and enjoyed meeting them. She’d even roamed various ports with friends she made aboard. She knew she shouldn’t feel guilty, and yet she did.
She reached into the gloomy air of her cabin, as if she could touch him.
“I just wish I could’ve said goodbye,” she murmured aloud.
Then she was startled out of her reflections when it seemed that something slammed against her door.
She jumped up and hurried to open it.
A man stood there, tall, dark-haired and...bizarre.
He was wearing a gray sweatshirt and blue jeans and strange prosthetic makeup. The man who’d raced through the piano bar!
He looked at her with beseeching eyes.
“I must speak with you. I must!” he said.
She frowned. Was he new in the entertainment department?
There was a commotion at the aft end of the hallway, and Alexi peered in that direction.
More men were coming along the hallway, men she’d never seen down in the entertainment area before, but they were accompanied by Nolan Perkins, one of the stewards.
“Sir,” she began, turning back to the man who had knocked at her door.
He was gone. She thought she saw him disappear around a corner that led to midship. She looked in the other direction.
“Hey, Alexi,” Nolan said.
“What’s going on?” she asked.
“I’m just showing these gentlemen the ship,” Nolan said. He lowered his voice. “They’re bigwigs with Celtic American,” he told her, then cleared his throat. “Alexi Cromwell, meet Jackson Crow and Jude McCoy.”
“How do you do?” the first man said, smiling as he reached for her hand. He was tall, good-looking and obviously had Native American ancestry. His dark hair and light eyes made for a striking contrast.
“Ms. Cromwell,” said the other. He was equally tall, broad-shouldered, sandy-haired. His eyes were unusual—blue and green with flecks of brown. His features were clean-cut, his jaw hard and square. Very attractive, in a rugged, austere manner.
He looked at her oddly.
As if he knew her? Or thought he did?
Or worse—thought she was guilty of something!
Both men wore tailored shirts and pants, not the usual tourist apparel. But then, they weren’t tourists. They were bigwigs with Celtic American.
“Nice to meet you,” Alexi said.
“Have you seen a man?” Nolan asked her.
That made her laugh. “A man? Nolan, I’ve seen hundreds of men. It’s a cruise ship.”
She understood exactly what he meant. And yet, for some reason, she was loath to tell him that yes, a man—a strange-looking man—had just gone by. She wondered why company VIPs were so interested in him.
“He’s tall, bizarre makeup of some kind, sweat shirt and jeans,” Jude McCoy said.
She lifted her shoulders. “I believe I did see him earlier,” she admitted, “running through the piano bar when the passengers were boarding.”
She had seen that same man again, just minutes ago. And she wasn’t telling these men. Why? Instinct? Pity?
But there’d been something even more peculiar about him than the prosthetic makeup or whatever it was he had on his face. A sense of anguish, perhaps.
She hesitated. She shouldn’t lie to these people. But the young man had seemed so desperate. In her heart, she felt that he’d come to her for help.
Still...
“Actually,” she said, “I think he was in this hallway. He ran in that direction. But where he is right now, I couldn’t say.”
That was mostly the truth. She didn’t know where he was. He’d run.
“Well, thank you, Ms. Cromwell. If you should see him again, can you report him to us, please? We’re in staterooms 312 and 314,” Jackson Crow said. “It’s imperative that we find him,” he added quietly. “But I’m not at liberty to discuss the details.”
“Of course,” she murmured.
As they walked down the hall, she was more suspicious than ever.
Why were company bigwigs staying down in the bowels of the ship with the crew? The larger rooms—staterooms with balconies, the suites—were on the upper decks.
She was about to return to her cabin when Clara came running down the hallway, leaning against the wall, gasping for breath. “Alexi! Did you have the news on?”
“The news? No, why?”
“Thank God we’re leaving! That guy, that horrible killer!” She gasped for more breath. “The Archangel—he murdered a woman in New Orleans!”
Copyright © 2016 by Heather Graham Pozzessere
ISBN-13: 9781460395646
Deadly Fate
Copyright © 2016 by Heather Graham Pozzessere
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Heather Graham, Deadly Fate
(Series: Krewe of Hunters # 19)
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