Jude laughed and said, “Be right there.”
She stepped into the water. A moment later the bathroom door opened.
She waited, anticipating his arrival with the soap in her hands, the water crashing down all around her, steam rising.
“Alexi!” Jude called.
“Yes?”
“I’m on my way out. Get hold of Clara and the two of you meet in the hall. Johnny will be there, and he’ll stay with you. I have to head out. Something’s happened. I’ll explain as soon as I see you. Don’t leave the dining room, you understand? Don’t leave until Jackson and I are back!”
Her throat constricted and she couldn’t talk, couldn’t respond.
Finally, she managed to croak, “Okay!”
She heard her cabin door close. She stood with the soap in her hand for another minute, then finished her shower and got dressed. She chose a blue velvet gown that was simple and classic.
Alexi was about to put on her makeup when she saw a piece of paper stuck under the threshold of her cabin door.
She bent down to retrieve it and a wave of cold fear washed over her as she realized she’d have to open the door.
She did, looking nervously up and down the hallway.
There was no one there. Including Johnny. He must be on his way to meet her and Clara, to take them to the dining room for the final dinner of the cruise.
She picked up the scrap of paper. It had been ripped from one of the ship’s daily fliers.
The words had been printed in thick black ink. The end, Alexi. It’s the end for you.
15
“And you don’t think she’s just at another bar?” Jackson asked Roger Antrim.
Roger was pacing the ground floor of his suite. He shook his head. “I asked her not to go off without me. Or, at least not without telling me.” He stopped pacing and turned to stare at Jackson, Jude and David Beach—who had all come running when he’d sent a summons through one of the security guards.
“You two were together most of the day, correct?” Jude asked.
“We were. I’d wanted to surprise Lorna with the presents I was buying from Flora Winters, but...well, it seemed prudent to explain the situation, since Lorna thought I was trying to see Flora in—you know—in that way. How she could think that, I don’t know! But we had a great day on the ship and then we came back here. I went into the shower. I was puttering around for a while before I realized she wasn’t here. My Lorna wasn’t here!”
“But maybe she did go out,” David said.
Roger stopped pacing and frowned at him. “Why don’t you communicate with your security men and find out? I asked the guy I sent to find you. He said he didn’t know anything. Said he’d just come on for the night!”
David had a pile of notes he drew from his pocket. “He relieved Clarence Murton,” he uttered. “Clarence is probably sleeping. I’ll wake him up and see if he has any idea what’s going on.”
“You’d better!” Roger said angrily. “By God, a woman was murdered in New Orleans, and another woman was murdered in Cozumel! Not to mention the women killed before that and the young man... Yes, you’d better find out what’s going on!”
“I’ll put out an alert right away,” Beach vowed, turning on his heel.
“I’ll check the Promenade,” Jackson said.
“I’ll try the bars on the St. Charles Deck,” Jude told him. “Roger, hang tight.” He didn’t tell him not to worry, but added, “Wait here.”
On his way down the St. Charles hallway, he suddenly reversed his steps and headed for the smaller suite Flora Winters had taken.
Flora and Lorna had become friendly. Lorna must have been very relieved, learning that her husband wasn’t seeing the widow; he was merely friendly with her as he looked into buying something special for his wife. The scenario Jude was creating in his mind was certainly possible. Jude wondered if she’d left to visit Flora and had called out to Roger to tell him that, and Roger, beneath a thundering spray of water, might not have heard her.
But Jude’s vision of a happy ending began to fade.
A greater tension gripped him as he neared Flora’s suite; he didn’t see any of the security officers standing guard in the hallway.
And when he reached Flora’s cabin door...
It was open.
* * *
The captain was at his table, which was half-empty.
Playing a medley of Broadway tunes, Alexi couldn’t help noticing that the esteemed Captain Thorne seemed a little disturbed. An invitation to the captain’s table was, of course, an honor bestowed only on certain passengers.
Ralph and Lorna weren’t at the table.
Neither was Flora Winters.
Alexi thought that situation probably disturbed her more than it did Captain Thorne, even though he seemed indignant.
Alexi wasn’t indignant.
She was scared.
She hadn’t told Clara or Johnny or anyone else about the note under her door; she intended to wait until she saw Jude. Clara was nervous enough, and Alexi didn’t want to put any more of a burden on her. While Alexi could sit at the piano, Clara was required to sing and occasionally dance—and look happy all the while.
Jensen stood near the dais, directing the performers. He’d exchanged a few words with Bradley Wilcox first—Bradley, who watched from the back of the dining room, arms crossed over his chest. Simon was there. He seemed exceptionally energetic, ready to give his all to his last performance on the voyage.
Larry, Ralph, the others...
The show must go on, she thought drily.
Jensen stopped by the piano. “‘One Day More!’” he whispered. “They won’t get to see Les Miz. So, we’ll give them a great chorus number from it.”
Alexi nodded, wishing he wasn’t standing so close.
She remembered what Jude had told her.
The Archangel hated women. He wanted the man in the relationship to be superior. He didn’t want women working out of the home. He’d probably been turned down...
The end, Alexi. It’s the end for you, her note had read.
She couldn’t stop herself from snapping at Jensen. “Please! Could you move back? I can’t play.”
He stiffened. She heard him mutter beneath his breath, a single word. “Bitch!”
She ignored him and resumed playing. The cast of Les Miz went into an excellent rendition of the song, along with some dance movements, definitely a challenge on the small dais, especially when half the space was taken up by the piano.
Minnie and Blake hadn’t been in evidence tonight, but toward the end of the number she finally saw Byron Grant. He was by the door looking in, and she waved at him. Anyone who saw her would no doubt assume that she was waving at someone in the room.
Byron saw her and nodded.
A minute later she felt him arrive and sit next to her on the piano bench. He seemed weary and frustrated.
He’s dead, she reminded herself.
“Can you talk while you play?” he asked.
She kept her head down; thankfully, the song was loud.
“Byron,” she said in a low voice, “I know you and Elizabeth were going to be married. I know how much you loved her. But did she ever mention whether someone had asked her out?”
“One day more!” the cast sang.
“Men always asked her out. She always said no.”
“But did she tell you about anyone in particular? Say, in the last several months?”
He shrugged. Suddenly, his eyes widened. “Yeah! Actually, I think it might’ve been about six months ago. She came home tired and aggravated. Said some guy at a lunch place told her she was inventing a fiancé—and that even if a fiancé or boyfriend existed, she was with the wrong guy. If she gave hi
m a chance, she’d never have to work again. She told him she loved her work—and thank you, but she really did have a great fiancé who wasn’t a chauvinist and was proud of how well she did. Oh, God, what an idiot I am! The medallions. They weren’t just associated with the woman, with their jobs—they were a reprimand! They were there to mock all those poor women for loving what they did.” He looked at her in horror. “For thinking work was more important than a guy. That’s it, isn’t it?”
“Maybe,” Alexi said. “Think, Byron, please! Did she say anything more specific? Did she tell you if he was young or old, or if he wore a certain cologne or anything at all?”
They were coming to the end of “One Day More.”
“He wasn’t old,” Byron said thoughtfully. “Elizabeth would’ve mentioned that, because once, one of her bosses—an older guy, about fifty—wanted her to go out with him. Elizabeth told me he was a jerk, he’d had a wife, and he’d left her to chase after younger women.” He shook his head. “She would’ve said if this guy—the...the Archangel—was older.”
Did that help? Did that clear Roger Antrim?
And leave just three suspects?
“I guess they’ve more or less had him pegged from the beginning,” Byron murmured. “Archangel! Pathetic loser’s more like it. Killing because he couldn’t get a date. I’ll bet he really thought that he’d punish all the women who hadn’t fallen for him. And Elizabeth would’ve been so nice to him. She would’ve tried not to hurt his feelings.”
Alexi played the last notes of the song.
Applause filled the room and she glanced over at the cast. Clara sweeping a bow to the crowd. She saw Ralph...Larry...
Simon. Simon?
At her side, Byron faded away.
Alexi didn’t know if he’d just lost strength...
Or if he was furious and as intensely on the hunt as a dead man could be.
* * *
Jude shouted Flora’s name and entered the suite.
It didn’t take more than a few seconds to see that there was a body on the bed.
He rushed over, his heart racing. The woman might be asleep; she might be unaware that her cabin door had been left open.
But...she wasn’t just sleeping.
And she wasn’t Flora Winters. It was Lorna Antrim who lay on the bed, cold and lifeless, and yet...
“She has a pulse.”
Jude almost jumped; the ghost of Nurse Barbara Leon was at his side.
“You need to get help for her immediately. She’s been given something—a massive overdose of some kind of drug. Maybe a prescription drug belonging to Flora Winters. One that’s lethal in large doses.”
There were vials on the bedside table. And a needle.
“Yes,” she said, bending down to check. “Someone’s used Flora’s medication. She’s diabetic, I see.”
“Insulin?” Jude asked.
“Yes, an overdose. She needs the doctor fast. Tell him what happened.”
Jude nodded and dug out his walkie-talkie to reach Jackson.
Why had the cabin door been open? Was the killer taunting them—showing them that even when he made it easy for them, they couldn’t catch him?
Jackson had the doctor there in a few minutes. He had an antidote called glucagon with him to raise her dangerously low blood sugar. Jude didn’t know how severe Lorna’s condition could become; she seemed to be comatose. But the doctor had come prepared.
By the time he arrived, Barbara was gone.
The ship’s doctor quickly gave her a shot. Lorna didn’t open her eyes.
The doctor glanced at him. “Her pulse is picking up. I wish to God we had a hospital close. I’ll have to get her to the infirmary and watch her through the night.”
“Is she going to make it?”
“If you’re a praying man, pray. But she’s got a chance. We might have saved her life. You might have saved her life,” he added.
Jude lowered his head. No. Barbara Leon, dead for decades, was still aboard the ship.
Still saving lives.
Lorna was in the capable hands of the ship’s physician now. Before he could respond, Jackson appeared in the cabin doorway. “We’ve found Lorna Antrim,” he said. “So where the hell is Flora Winters?”
* * *
Captain Thorne stood up to speak, holding a mic passed to him by Jensen Hardy.
“Ladies and gentlemen!” he began.
But just as he spoke, the ship was plunged into darkness.
Pitch-black darkness.
It lasted less than five seconds; the auxiliary lights, pale and eerie in comparison to the brilliance that had flooded the dining room moments before, came on.
“Well, ladies and gentlemen,” Captain Thorne said. “Sorry about that. Instructions will be coming from the bridge. As you’re all aware, our main power has shut down. Don’t panic. You’ll be able to see the way to your cabins with the guide lights along the floor. I don’t know what’s caused this, but rest assured, I’ll be on the bridge dealing with the situation in a few minutes. For now, I’m going to ask you all to return to your cabins. Room-to-room phones are working, but please, at this time, use them only in an emergency.”
He winced; he’d still been speaking when the PA system came back on. His first mate was addressing the loss of power and, like Thorne, he assured the passengers that the auxiliary lighting would see them to safety. All guests were asked to go to their cabins and stay there. If the ship was in any danger whatsoever, they’d be alerted and could change course as instructed.
“Folks, the Destiny is sailing on smoothly—okay, maybe not smoothly,” he said, trying to make a joke. “But she’s sailing on safely. Head to your cabins. Relax, and just pay attention to our announcements. Hopefully, we’ll be telling you about fun events that’ll take place as we reach calmer waters and the port of Miami.”
“You heard the instructions, people. Please, don’t panic. Please, just be safe!” Captain Thorne said.
People began to rise, ready to return to their cabins.
Alexi stayed at the piano, listening to the passengers as they left the dining room.
They were chattering, many of them worried. “Lightning? Were we struck by lightning?” she heard.
“I didn’t see any lightning,” someone else said.
“The ship is pitching like crazy.”
“The ship’s been pitching like crazy for days.”
“It’s worse.”
“No, it’s not. They say we’re ahead of the storm, and no one on this ship has lied to us. We’ll be safe in port tomorrow!”
“Did you go to the lifeboat drill?”
“He went, all right—drunk as a skunk!”
“We can’t get in the lifeboats! We’ll drown!”
“The ship isn’t sinking,” another person said calmly. “It’s perfectly sound.” Some people seemed to be panicking, despite their instructions.
Clara came and sat next to Alexi. “What do you think?” she asked, wide-eyed and obviously trying to keep the fear from her voice.
“I think we lost power for some reason,” Alexi replied. “The ship’s movement isn’t any rockier. Celtic American’s put a fortune into this ship, but it is old. We’ve lost power. We’ll get it back. And in the meanwhile, we do have auxiliary.”
Clara grinned at her. “You’ve been hanging around the FBI too long. Trying to be logical. I want to go down to my cabin. Lock myself in and stay there until we get to Miami. I’m not holding this against Celtic American, but...I need some land time!”
“I agree,” Alexi murmured.
“Who were you talking to earlier? At the piano?” Clara asked.
Alexi looked directly at her and Clara shuddered visibly. “Never mind! Dead man, right? Did he...did he k
now anything?”
Alexi surveyed the room. No one was paying attention to them. She didn’t see Jensen; Bradley was talking to the rest of Clara’s crew.
She lowered her voice. “Clara, which of the guys on this cruise have asked you out? Or come on to you? I’m going to mention some names.”
Clara raised her brows. “I don’t mean this to sound like bragging, but we’re on a ship. Just about every guy who’s straight and available has made some kind of innuendo.”
“Simon?”
She shrugged. “Yeah. Either that or he wanted to let me know that even though he loves his gay friends, he’s heterosexual himself.”
“Roger Antrim, by any chance?”
“Antrim?” She shook her head. “He’s always with Lorna when I see him and he behaves just as a married man should.”
“Jensen.”
“Hell, yeah. He’s a jerk.”
“Hank Osprey?”
Clara laughed. “Not in ages. I’m happy for him. He seems to have found true love. Hey, we don’t know very much about Ginny. She might be telling the truth about being a student, but maybe she’s a Bourbon Street hooker, on the side. But if they’re making each other happy, who cares?”
“I agree.” Alexi saw that the group on the dais was beginning to disperse.
Bradley came to the piano. “You get a night off, Alexi. And no rehearsal, Clara.”
“Thanks.” Clara looked downward and then sideways at Alexi. “Greatly appreciated. It was a really long day.”
Their boss ignored her reference to the fact that he’d called on them for many more hours than they were contractually obligated to provide.
“You’re probably going to be on tomorrow. They’ll get this lighting thing solved and we’ll be done with the storm. We’ll try to give the passengers good memories of their trip, right?”
“Only the best!” Alexi said cheerfully.
“You’re free to go now,” he told them.
Simon and a few others had turned to leave and were already on their way out.
“Wait!” Wilcox snapped. “We let the guests go first. Show some courtesy!”