CHAPTER 10
Dinner that evening was an even more morose affair than last. Only two other couples, the Pollards and Tisdales, bothered to show up for the late dinner seating … and they were glum and uncommunicative. Laura did manage to pry out of them that several other couples in the group had also been notified that their accounts with Corny Merriwether's investment firm had been frozen.
"Something funny is going on with those investments," Laura noted as she and Steele walked back from the dining room. "I can't believe it's unrelated to Corny's death."
"Mismanagement of funds?" Steele offered. "That would make the suicide theory more plausible. If Merriwether knew there was trouble — that he might be held responsible for some malfeasance — maybe he chose to end it all rather than face his clients."
"But if he killed himself, why didn't he just jump off? Why go to the elaborate ruse of sabotaging the rail?"
Steele looked thoughtful. "Or perhaps Corny discovered the funny business going on with his clients' accounts and the real perpetrator had him taken care of to keep him from contacting the authorities."
When their stroll took them near the front of the ship, Laura paused to look over the deck rail at the sea and sky. The skies had cleared, the wind dropped to a whisper, and a bright moon made the ocean swells sparkle like diamonds. "A contract killing arranged by a colleague? That would put Darla in the clear." She shook her head. "No. I still think she's involved somehow. Her behavior is just too suspicious."
"Speaking of suspicious …" Steele tapped her arm and gestured subtly in the direction of the bow. Tony Alliveri was standing near the rail, his back to the detectives. He had a large canvas bag slung over one shoulder. Laura and Steele stepped back into the shadows of an alcove to observe the musician's action. As they watched, he looked around him as if checking to make sure he was alone, then reached into the bag, withdrew an object and heaved it over the side.
Laura and Steele exchanged puzzled glances. "Bigger than a breadbox, smaller than a body," Steele whispered. "His trumpet, maybe?"
At that moment Tony whirled, obviously startled. Laura gasped, thinking they'd been discovered. Instead, the musician looked past their hiding spot, and Laura heard a click of heels approaching rapidly. Seconds later, the shoes' wearer, Darla Merriwether, appeared. She strode purposely toward Tony; Laura and Steele shrank further back into the shadows at her approach. As they had last night, Alliveri and Darla began to engage in a tense, whispered dialogue — interrupted at times by more audible exclamations.
"I want no more part of this!" Tony said loudly enough for the detectives to hear. They watched Darla put a hand on the young man's shoulder and say something to him. Her words caused Tony to turn away from her roughly. He started to move away, but she grabbed his arm and tugged him back.
"It's too late for second thoughts," Darla growled, getting right up in his face. There followed an exchange that was mostly too low for Laura and Steele, though they caught occasional words: "plan," "hidden," "Freeport" and … "steel." That last caused Laura and Steele to look at one another. Finally the two seemed to come to some sort of resolution, though neither looked very happy. After a final terse exchange, they parted ways, heading off in opposite directions.
"You've got the horn player; I'll take the widow," Laura murmured to Steele. He nodded and they each slipped out of the shadows to pursue their separate quarries. Laura slipped along the deck, hugging the shadows, as she followed Darla at a safe distance. The widow abruptly turned left, and Laura hurried after her into a long room filled with small tables and deck chairs. One wall of the room comprised windows to allow a protected view of Promenade deck and sea beyond. The ship's lifeboats, covered with orange, weatherproof tarp, hung from the deck at intervals along this section of the ship. Darla was visible in silhouette at the far end of the room. She turned as Laura entered.
"Are you following me, Miss Holt?" she demanded harshly.
Laura started to answer, when two things occurred simultaneously: A faint, slightly familiar odor reached Laura's nostrils … and a sharp, desperate cry split the air from further down the ship. It was Mr. Steele's voice.
Laura bolted from the observation room and dashed down the deck in the direction Mr. Steele had followed Alliveri. She saw neither man, but as she raced back toward the bow, she heard another shout — coming from below the deck rail. Laura leaned over the railing and scanned the darkness below. At first she saw nothing but shadows among the hulks of the lifeboats lashed to the side of the ship. Then … movement. Clinging to one of the lines that webbed around a lifeboat, about six feet below the level of the deck, Laura saw a dark form.
"Mr. Steele?" she called.
"Laura?" His voice was strained, breathless. Laura felt a knife of panic slice through her. Her partner was hanging from a line by both hands, like a trapeze artist. But there was no safety net beneath him. Instead, he dangled in open air, 60 feet above the churning waves.
"Oh, my God!" Laura frantically searched for some means to reach him. She leaned as far over the rail as she could, stretching her arm in his direction. But she was several feet short. She looked at the lifeboat, gauging whether she could climb aboard it, then shimmy down the webbing. As if guessing her thoughts, Mr. Steele called, "Don't try to reach me, Laura. It's too dangerous." His tone was commanding, but even more breathless and now edged with panic. Laura saw him start to swing on the rope, trying to build momentum. Finally he managed to hoist one leg over the line. He was now in a roughly horizontal position. But his situation was more than precarious, and Laura sensed his strength was waning.
"Go … get … help," he wheezed.
"I'm not leaving you!" Laura retorted. She tore her eyes from him to scan the empty deck. "HELP! SOMEBODY HELP!" she screamed. Her gaze found Steele again, and she gasped when she saw him sag on the line, nearly losing his grip. "Hang on, Mr. Steele!" There was no answer. Gripped with terror, Laura started to climb over the rail.
"No. No. Stay there." His voice was a rasp.
"I can't let you fall! I've got to do something! HELP! PLEASE, SOMEBODY!"
"Laura … I can't hold on much longer."
"No, hang on! Hang on! I'm coming to get you. I'll find a way …"
"I need … to tell you … something, Laura." His voice faltered.
"Don't try to talk. Save your breath. Save your strength!"
Steele's breath was coming in sharp, groaning gasps. "You need … to hear … what it's meant to me … these past two years. Before I … I … I want you to know …"
"Please, please just hang on, Mr. Steele."
"Laura." His voice was soft and strangely calm. "Laura … I lo-"
"You there! What are you doing?" A man's voice shouted from close by.
"Oh, my God!" Laura yelled. "Please help us! He's going to fall!" She gestured frantically over the side as three crewmen appeared, running out of the darkness. With machine-like precision, the men sprang into action. One opened a metal trunk positioned against the bulkhead behind them and pulled out a rope ladder, then a long line with a harness and carbiners. Another grabbed a life ring from a hook on the rail, while the third leaned over the railing to shout to Steele.
"Hang on, buddy!"
Steele didn't answer, but Laura could still hear his tortured breathing. The officer took one end of the rope ladder and slung it over the side, while another of the trio hooked himself into the harness. The remaining crewman was now on a radio, barking instructions. Within half a minute, the first crewman was scrambling over the side and starting down the rope ladder. There was a commotion below them; looking down, Laura saw that a similar team of crew had assembled on the deck below Mr. Steele. They had assembled a net-like device and were clamping it to the rail. It extended out from the ship several feet, but Laura wasn't sure it stretched far enough to catch her partner if he fell.
The descending crewman was talking to Steele, offering reassuring phrases. It scared Laura that he didn't answer. He seemed to have lapsed into some kind of shock, but his hands remained locked around the line in a vise-like grip. The crewman reached Steele's level, but the line supporting the detective was several feet's distance from the side of the ship. The crewman braced his feet against the side of the ship, bent his legs and pushed off forcefully. Supported by his harness and line, he sailed out toward Steele … not far enough. He swung back against the ship, braced his feet again and thrust even more powerfully. This time he reached out and grabbed the line Steele was holding. He was close enough to the detective to grab him around the waist.
"I've got you," the man muttered, and Laura felt a wave of relief wash over her – just as the line shook, the crewman let out a cry … and Mr. Steele dropped away into the darkness. Laura screamed.
There was hollering down below, and Laura finally made out sweet words: "We've got 'im!" Pressing herself against the rail, she looked down and watched the crew below hauling the net, with Mr. Steele prone in its center, back onto the ship. Laura raced to the nearest stairwell and ran down to the deck below. She emerged to see Mr. Steele, unmoving, being strapped onto a gurney.
"Where are you taking him?" Laura asked, pushing herself through a gathering crowd of passengers to the side of the gurney. Steele was deathly pale, his features slack, his eyes closed. Laura reached for him, desperate to touch his face. One of the crew tried to pull her away.
"Please, miss. We need to get him to the infirmary."
"Is he … is he?" Laura couldn't finish the unbearable thought.
Steele's eyes opened slowly, and his gaze found Laura. "Rumpled?" he said weakly. "I'm afraid so, Laura." He managed a tepid smile that caused her to laugh with relief.
"Save your strength, Mr. Steele," she said, reaching out to brush a damp strand of hair off his forehead. "I want you good and healthy when I kill you for scaring me like this."
A shirtless Steele sat on the edge of the examining table, wincing as the ship's physician lifted first one arm and then another over his head. "Ow," Steele protested as the doctor continued to manipulate his limbs. Laura stood nearby, watching the examination anxiously.
"Nothing broken, no internal injuries. You're going to be pretty sore for the next few days," the doctor pronounced. He nodded to Laura, who handed Steele his shirt. As he attempted, gingerly, to pull it over his shoulders, Laura wordlessly took it from him and gently eased his arms into the sleeves, then buttoned it up the front.
"Can we go back to our cabin now?" Laura asked.
"Not quite yet." Laura and Steele looked to see Captain Broadmoor standing in the doorway. The captain nodded to the doctor, who left the room and closed the door behind him. "What the hell happened out there?" Broadmoor demanded when they were alone.
"I wish I knew," Steele admitted. "One minute I was standing on deck, the next minute something hit me and I fell over the railing."
"I can fill in at least one of the blanks," Broadmoor said. "It appears a hatch cover on the lifeboat nearest you was weakened in the storm and broke off just as you walked by. It must have knocked you off balance and over the rail."
"What an extraordinary coincidence that the hatch failed at that moment," Steele said. "In any case, it was a miracle I managed to grab that line as I fell." He gave the captain a wry smile. "I shouldn't be here."
"I'm beginning to think none of us should be here," the captain muttered. "This cruise has been-"
"Cursed?" Laura interjected.
The captain scowled. "Turbulent." He turned back to Steele. "Try to stay out of trouble for the next two days, will you? The sooner we get this girl back in dock in Miami, the happier I'll be."
"Oh, I go out of my way to avoid trouble, captain," Steele answered brightly. "Unfortunately, it seems to go equally out of its way to find me."
Moments later, Steele and Laura left the sick bay with ibuprofen, Ben-Gay and strict instructions for Steele to take it easy. Laura stuck close by his side as they rode the elevator back up to Deck 9. "Why didn't you tell the captain that it was Alliveri who assaulted you?" she asked.
"Because it wasn't," he answered. "He was ahead of me when I got knocked from behind. I'm beginning to think Darla Merriwether has a lot more testosterone than is typical for the fairer sex."
"It wasn't Darla, either. I followed her into an observation room just before I heard you shout."
"So the Ghost of the Fiesta strikes again," Steele said.
"Whatever. I'm in full agreement with the captain on this point," said Laura. "The sooner we're off this ship, the better."
Laura was frankly relieved to reach their cabin and even glad to see the big bed, still divided down the middle with the rope — though the Blanket of Jericho had been pulled to one end, presumably by a puzzled Michael, the steward. Steele limped painfully to the bed and sat down.
"Need help?" Laura asked as he fingered the buttons on his shirt.
"Please, Laura. I'm perfectly fine," he protested, then started to tug on his sleeves, let out a soft groan and thought better of his bravado. "Actually … I guess I could use a hand."
Laura sat beside him, finished unbuttoning his shirt and carefully tugged it over his shoulders. She picked up the tube of linament, slathered some in her palm and began to massage it delicately into his shoulders.
"Ahhh," Steele breathed, closing his eyes as she continued her ministrations. "You have the hands of an angel, Laura."
"At least I'm good for something," she muttered, causing him to open his eyes and look at her in surprise. "I was completely useless out there," she explained. "I saw you hanging out there and I just panicked."
"I was a little unnerved myself," he said, trying to get her to smile. She didn't.
"If it had been some stranger, I would have had the presence of mind to … to …"
"To what? You couldn't have pulled anybody else back on board, either," Steele argued.
"I could have done something," she said quietly. "I would have gone for help, if it had been anyone else. But I couldn't leave you. And you could have died because of it."
Steele twisted painfully and removed Laura's hands from his shoulders, cradling them in his own. He looked at her seriously. "I didn't die, Laura. If I had, it wouldn't have been your fault. If you hadn't found me and called for help, I wouldn't be here. And to be honest, if you hadn't been there, I would have given up and let go of that rope." He smiled and stroked her cheek gently with his thumb. "You reminded me of what I have to live for." When she smiled back at him, he leaned forward and gave her a quick, soft kiss. "Thank you," he said.
"Thank you," she answered. She got up and walked into the bathroom to wash the goo off her hands. When she returned, she found Mr. Steele laying on his back on his side of the bed.
"Laura," he ventured, "I'm not sure I've got the strength to get my trousers off. Give a fellow a hand?"
Laura stared at him a moment, then slowly and deliberately started to clap. "That's the only hand you're getting from me, buddy," she said, amused.
Steele sighed. "You know I had to give it a shot, Laura."
She knelt on her side of the bed, crawled over toward him and ducked under the dividing rope to plant a quick kiss on his lips. When he placed a hand behind her neck to draw her back down to him, she didn't protest. Their kiss this time was lingering, sensuous. "This beats laughter as the best medicine," Steele murmured against her lips as they parted. "Another hour or two of this and I'll be good as new."
She laughed out loud, straightened up and shook her head at him. "You are incorrigible, Mr. Steele," she said, pulling the blanket wall between them.
"And you, Miss Holt, are a lifesaver."