Murder on the Orient (SS)

The Agatha Christie Book Club 2

By

C.A. Larmer

Copyright © 2016 Larmer Media

www.christinalarmer.com

Discover more by C.A. Larmer:

calarmerspits.blogspot.com.au

The Agatha Christie Book Club

Killer Twist

A Plot to Die For

Last Writes

Dying Words

Words Can Kill

A Note Before Dying

An Island Lost

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License Notes

This e-book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only and may not be resold or given away to other people. All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this e-book, or portions thereof, in any form without written permission except for the use of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

Published by Larmer Media, Jarretts Road, Goonengerry,

NSW 2482, Australia

E-book ISBN: 978-0-9942608-3-3

Cover design by Larmer Media

Edited by The Editing Pen

& Elaine Rivers (with heartfelt thanks)

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Table of Contents

A Note From The Author

Prologue

Part 1—The Facts

Part 2—The Evidence

Part 3—The Book Club Sits Back and Thinks

Bibliography

Connect Online

About The Author

Read More By The Author

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A Note From the Author

When I started conjuring up the second adventure for the Agatha Christie Book Club I wanted to take them on an exotic journey à la the infamous Orient Express, one of my favourite Poirot settings, and began looking around for ideas.

Boy, did I get lucky!

In the early 1900s, there really was a classic steamship called the SS Orient that sailed between London and Sydney, via the Suez Canal and The Cape. According to my research, it was a gleaming ship, full of glamorous characters and several rather dubious deaths, and proved a perfect fit for my book club friends. While I have changed some details, including the original itinerary, for the sake of this contemporary plot, much of the information about the ship is authentic and can be found in the bibliography.

Sadly, however, the SS Orient has not been recommissioned nor is there a real-life replica floating about as I have imagined here, but an author can dream can’t she?

And a book club can jump aboard for the ride…

Bon voyage!

Prologue

As the woman bobbed about in the dark, cruel sea, the wake from the ship no longer slapping her this way and that, her voice now limited to occasional spluttering sobs because she had given up screaming long ago, her thoughts did not turn to great white sharks or hypothermia or bleeding out. Instead, she thought how extraordinary it was that this should be her destiny.

Her of all people.

She had always known that infamy would find her. She just hadn’t expected it to happen quite like this. Was she really to disappear in this vast expanse of ocean? Was this how she was to be remembered, a silly little girl who simply dropped off the side of a boat?

She squeezed her eyes tight against a splash of spray and was rewarded with a mouthful of bitterly salty water, spluttering and clawing as another wave hauled her up and over, slamming her back down like a limp ragdoll.

Who knew there were waves this far out? Who knew there were so many extraordinary seabirds, an enormous wandering albatross now dipping down to inspect the floating bounty before circling overhead? She could see the fine black lines on its white underbelly, its bloody yellow bill and cold, flat eyes. Like tiny black buttons watching, waiting. Biding its time.

There was no mercy out here, no pleading for forgiveness. Nature was her judge and jury, her inevitable executioner.

The woman’s final thought as she surrendered to her destiny was of the captain and her lover, and how nothing had worked out at all as she had planned.

Part 1—The Facts

Chapter 1

It was three o’clock on a summer’s afternoon in Sydney. Alongside the port at Darling Harbour stood the replica steamship nostalgically titled the SS Orient after the grand dame that once sailed between London and the colonies. It consisted of four passenger decks, two shiny black funnels and four towering masts (now just for show).

“It’s just as I imagined it!” gushed Claire Hargreaves, clapping her white-gloved hands with delight.

“It’s just like the original,” added Missy Corner, glancing down at the crumpled printouts in her own hands, which were bare and sporting chipped purple nail polish.

“It’s a few decks short of the Queen Mary,” was all Perry Gordon had to offer.

Five members of the Agatha Christie Book Club were all standing, gaping up at the ship before them, while a steady stream of passengers, crew members, onlookers and the press scurried about, some checking in at the makeshift customs’ desk, others kissing loved ones good-bye, envy flattening out the latter’s smiles, while others stopped for photos or memorabilia before rejoining the voyage for its final leg to Auckland. An ambulance wailed ominously nearby, but no one seemed to notice. There was too much frisson in the air.

Alicia Finlay was also bubbling with excitement. Despite being the founding member of the book club, it wasn’t really her travel companions who lifted her spirits today but the thought of four romantic days—and even more romantic nights—on the high seas with Dr Anders Bright, also a member of the book club, also her dashing boyfriend, currently missing in action.

Alicia arched her neck. Now where oh where could he be?

Scanning the crowd, all she could see were hundreds of mostly nautically dressed passengers, most of them women, most over the age of sixty. Alicia’s sister, Lynette, just twenty-seven and freshly single, had clocked that too and was frowning through her chunky blond fringe.

“It’s just as well there’s no casino or nightclub on board,” she quipped. “Wouldn’t want to set off all the pacemakers.”

“Oh don’t be so grumpy, possum!” Missy said, eyes sparkling behind zebra-print spectacles. “This is going to be fun! Come on, let’s check in.”

The young librarian then pushed past them towards one of the customs’ desks, her ticket held aloft like it was the key to a magical kingdom.

And magic was just what the good doctor had promised.

It was Anders who had first suggested the cruise while sipping a glass of Pimm’s and lemonade at one of the book club’s fortnightly get-togethers. They had just finished dissecting Death in the Clouds, and all agreed it paled in comparison to Christie’s more iconic travel mysteries Death on the Nile and Murder on the Orient Express.

“I’d kill to go on a luxurious train journey like that,” sighed Claire, whose attire that day would not have been out of place on such a trip—her mid-length dress with its fluttery butterfly sleeves and her small angled hat harking back to the 1930s.

“Why don’t you then?” suggested Perry.

“What, kill? Or go on the Orient Express?” They swapped smirks. “I wish, Mr Gordon. I’d have to sell a shipload of vintage frocks at my little shop to afford the ticket. No, I’m afraid Central Station to Town Hall is as glamorous as it gets for me this year.”

“Yes, feels too out of reach for me too,” said Alicia, whose traditional magazine work was shrinking under the weight of the digital media world.

That’s when Anders reached into his jacket pocket and produced the glossy brochure. “I wasn’t sure whether to mention this, but now that you’re all going on about it, it sounds as though it might be just what you need.” He flung the brochure onto the coffee table as their eyes swept upon it. “It’s not quite the Orient Express, I’m afraid, and it floats rather than flies across the tracks, but it’s slightly more affordable and it’s docking in Sydney soon.”

“What are you on about, Doc?” asked Lynette while Claire snatched up the brochure and began flicking through.

It was advertising a luxury cruise on a “true-blue replica steamship” and promised to take passengers “on a journey back in time to the halcyon days of the early 1900s when the SS Orient sailed the high seas between London and Sydney via The Cape”.

Anders turned to Alicia, an apologetic smile on his lips. “I’ve been meaning to tell you, I got a call last night. Have been asked to step in as a replacement doctor on that ship, just for twelve days until the original doctor… returns. All very last minute. I have to fly out tomorrow to Fremantle where I’ll join the ship en route to Sydney.” He glanced around the group. “It docks in Sydney in eight days. Maybe you could all join the ship then, just for the four-day cruise across the Tasman to New Zealand, then get a flight back with me.”

“What would we do with Max?” Lynette asked, reaching down to stroke the silky smooth head of their beloved black Labrador whose eyes squeezed tight at her touch.

“I’m sure you’ll find someone to mind your mutt,” he said and was rewarded for that comment with a cushion to his head.

Perry, who had been reading over Claire’s shoulder, whistled at the price of the fares. “I thought you said it was ‘affordable’. Maybe it is on a doctor’s salary. That’s practically my annual income at the museum.”

Perry was a palaeontologist and a badly paid one at that.

“No, no, ignore those rates,” said Anders, storing the cushion safely behind his back. “I’m told there’s some really good deals going on the Sydney-to-Auckland leg. Apparently a few passengers are jumping ship here, and some berths have opened up. They’re flogging them cheap—a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. The ship’s come all the way from London, would you believe, on some marathon fifty-day voyage? It’s following the SS Orient’s original itinerary with a small detour to New Zealand. Auckland’s the last stop, and once they get there, they turn around and head all the way back to London.”

“London?” Alicia gulped.

“Well, obviously I’m not saying you should go all the way to London, and I’m not expecting to either. They’re hoping to replace me once they get to New Zealand, at least I think they are.” His eyes clouded over briefly before he blinked it away. “But if you guys did just one leg, just for those four days, well, it could be fun.”

It could be romantic, Alicia thought, her brain ticking over while Lynette narrowed her eyes suspiciously. Fun wasn’t usually something she associated with the good doctor even if her big sister did seem to be besotted by the guy.

“I don’t know. I’m not really the cruise ship type.”

Murmurs of consensus broke out around the group as terms like “floating shopping mall” and “germ factory” were bandied about. And normally Anders would agree. Cruising was not his style either, not one little bit, but a frantic phone call from an old colleague begging him to “help out” not only came with attractive remuneration, it promised to be an enormous challenge, one he secretly craved. He was feeling increasingly unsettled of late, and he suspected it had less to do with his surgery work and more to do with his broken marriage to childhood sweetheart Vanessa. His eyes flitted back to Alicia. He hadn’t told her the real story, and he wasn’t sure he would.

How much did she really need to know?

Missy didn’t need to study the brochure to be reeled in. The very name had her hooked. “The SS Orient, kiddoes! It’s a sign from Dame Christie herself!”

Perry rolled his eyes and crossed his legs, but Anders smiled.

“I knew you’d be up for it, Missy.” He turned to Alicia. “How about you? I think it’d be quite magical.”

Alicia tried to emulate Missy’s enthusiasm, but she was suddenly feeling put out. Why hadn’t Anders asked her alone? Why drag the rest of the book club in? It’s not that she didn’t enjoy their company—she loved this eclectic gang of crime buffs—but it wasn’t them she wanted to sip piña coladas with while watching the sunset from the Lido Lounge.

“Let’s do it!” said Claire in a rare display of spontaneity that eventually proved infectious. The vintage clothing-tragic had been studying the brochure carefully and fallen in love with the opulent English Renaissance interior design with its elaborate wood carving and shiny brass furnishings. She was already conjuring up her cruise wardrobe before the plan had been agreed with a gasp of excitement and a clink of highball glasses.

Chapter 2

The Indonesian cabin steward plonked Alicia’s luggage down on the stand, bowed his head meekly, and promptly left the cabin, not sensing the flutter of relief that followed his departure. Alicia hadn’t been sure whether she was expected to tip the staff each and every time they did so much as look in her direction, but the steward’s swift exit, sans a handful of cash, put her at ease.

She smiled. There was nothing she loathed more than tipping (well, maybe world hunger, but you get the drift). Alicia was pitiful at maths, and the whole process just left her feeling deeply uncomfortable. Still, she knew she had to tip eventually and made a mental reminder to leave him a lovely large bonus at the end.

The steward, Valeno, had already introduced himself and promised to be at her beck and call for the duration of the journey. Now that idea she liked. It felt indulgent and luxurious, just like this cabin, she realised, sweeping her eyes around the room. She yelped with delight. While tiny, the cabin was pure luxury and an exemplar of vintage Renaissance finery. It was as though she had been transported back to 1901.

Claire would be swooning.

Twin single beds featuring gold copper frames and fuchsia velvet bedspreads sat side by side with overhanging Victorian lampshades above and a marble-topped bedside cabinet in the middle. In front of that sat a miniature mahogany armchair atop a plush Persian carpet, and at the window matching fuchsia drapes had been drawn back with gold tassels. The room was partly panelled in warm walnut and partly covered in the most exquisite chintz wallpaper featuring willows beside a shimmering lake. Even the tiny en suite bathroom took you back in time with its black-and-white subway tiles and gold gilt mirror.

She glanced at her watch and made another sound, more a murmur of panic this time. Alicia had exactly ten minutes to unpack her gear and get her butt up to someplace called The Grand Salon for the requisite safety drill, and she really didn’t want to miss that. As was her habit, she had already envisaged every potential emergency scenario, from a giant tsunami crashing over the bow to a team of terrorists rising like slugs from the ocean below, and she was determined to be prepared.

The safety information panel on the back of her cabin door had already been memorised and the small stadium window inspected should she need to break free from a fire or an intoxicated lout (because weren’t drunks the primary menace on cruise ships today?).

Shuddering at the thought, she tried to refocus and glanced across at the other single bed. Where had Lynette got to? Despite her sister’s protestations, they were supposed to be sharing a cabin, and while her bags had been safely delivered, the younger Finlay was curiously absent.

She was probably still perched at the mosaic pool bar up on the main deck where they’d all gathered soon after they cast off to toast the journey, Alicia decided. They’d been handed miniature bottles of French champagne with a striped straw wedged inside and had spent a lovely first hour marvelling at the wonders of Sydney Harbour, the magnificent Harbour Bridge towering above them as the ship sailed under and away, out through Sydney Heads.

Not that Alicia had focused on any of that.

“Oh, you’re not going to be this boring on the whole cruise are you?” Lynette had groaned as they cleared the Heads.

“What?” she replied, batting her eyelashes.

Lynette held her Moet piccolo aloft. “Out there is one of the world’s most stunning views, a view people pay squillions to see, and all you can do is see what’s missing, aka Dr Anders.”

“Well?” She pouted. “Where is he?”

“Probably working, where he should be. Most likely administering seasickness pills or heart medication judging from this lot.”

“You know, for a woman who only ever dates older men, you’re extremely ageist.”

Lynette just shrugged and turned back to drink in the view between sips of her favourite tipple.

Alicia shook the thought away and returned to her suitcase. She had better get a move on if she was going to make the safety drill.

Soon after, with her gear taking more than its fair share of the wardrobe space and bathroom cabinet, Alicia pulled her battered copy of Murder on the Orient Express from her handbag, hugged it tight for just a moment, then placed it on her pillow, indicating to Lynette which bed she’d chosen, and to herself what she had to look forward to later that night. Her book club had already dissected the book some months ago, but it seemed a fitting companion on a ship called the Orient.

Then she glanced in the bathroom mirror, ran a hand through her shaggy blond bob, slapped on a little lipstick, grabbed the door key and dashed out.

“Hey there, you’re going the wrong way!”

Alicia swept around to find a tall man with a mop of brown hair standing in the claustrophobically thin passageway, one hand pointing in the other direction. He was fully decked out in a white officer’s uniform and looked dashingly handsome.

For a moment she didn’t recognise him.

“Anders?” she cried, then rushed back to throw herself in his arms. “I was wondering when I’d see you.”

He stiffened considerably and gently pushed her back, a blush spreading across his cheeks as an older couple squeezed past them, both so bronzed they looked like bruised oranges.

“Sorry,” Alicia said, glancing at the couple, but they didn’t appear to notice.

The woman was muttering something angrily in a foreign language while the man hung his head low and kept walking. Whatever his past sins, he was hearing about it now.

Glancing back at the doctor, Alicia said, “I gather from the fancy threads that you’re on duty?”

He nodded. “It’s a full-time gig I’m afraid. Have to be on my best behaviour. No visible displays of affection, that kind of thing. You understand, right?”

She felt a stab of disappointment. “Of course.”

“I had hoped to meet you on the dock, but well, I had a few… er, sick passengers I had to tend to.”

“Don’t worry, we were in good hands.”

“Excellent.” He tipped his head towards the cabin. “Everything in order?”

“Yes, it’s stunning.”

“Good, then follow me, the muster station’s this way.”

Alicia hesitated. “I just need to fetch Lynette; she’s still at the pool bar. If my memory serves me correctly, this back stairway is the shortcut.”

“She’s a big girl, Alicia. I’m sure she can find her own way.”

“Have you met my sister Lynette? She’ll be studying the bar menu and wondering how they bake the crab quiche and miss the whole thing. I won’t be long.” She went to give him a good-bye kiss then thought better of it, simply smiled and continued down the passage while he stared, frowning behind her.

Having booked on the cruise so late, the club members were not expecting to get cabins close together, so Alicia was pleasantly surprised to find Perry’s cabin was just two doors down from hers, and Claire and Missy next door to that. She didn’t know where Anders was located, though, and wondered why she hadn’t thought to ask. Lynette was more curious about why Anders hadn’t asked Alicia to bunk in with him, and Alicia had scoffed at this.

“He’s probably in a hammock with three other crew members in the bowels of the ship. Remember, he’s working, Lynette.”

Now seeing him in his suit brought home just how busy he would be, and Alicia realised with a jolt that this might be a replica cruise ship, but the Love Boat it was not.

Still, she couldn’t help humming the tune to the popular ’80s TV show as she put her head down and began racing up the companionway. She was onto the chorus when she slammed into a man racing down the other way.

“Oh damn, sorry,” he said, grabbing Alicia’s hand as they both almost toppled down the stairs.

As he did so, a tiny vial of orange liquid fell from his pocket, and he leapt upon it like it was liquid gold, then thrust it back into his leather jacket before helping Alicia steady herself against the balustrade.

“You okay?” he asked, and she nodded.

“Sorry, it was my fault. I was miles away.”

“Well, we will be soon. Got to get through another bloody awful drill first. Aren’t they a total torture?”

Alicia laughed, and he smiled back. He was wearing blue jeans and a Neil Young T-shirt beneath his jacket, and his sandy-coloured hair was tussled and overgrown. That getup coupled with the very fine laughter lines around his eyes suggested he was neither spring chicken nor old goat. Lynette would be thrilled, she thought.

No pacemaker on this one.

He’d been studying her too, and his widening smile creased those lines further. “Guess I’ll see you in the torture chamber,” he joked then continued down the steps, taking them two at a time.

She noticed that he didn’t stop at her floor but continued on, down towards a lower deck, and she wondered where he was headed. As far as she knew there were no cabins that far down.

Not giving it any more thought, Alicia continued upwards to the main deck but soon discovered that the place was deserted. She began cursing Lynette aloud. Perhaps they’d all been shepherded to the muster station already. She looked around. How on earth was she going to find her way from here?

As if by magic a white uniform appeared with a lovely big hand that was waving her towards a slim stairway at the other end of the deck. “This way please, ma’am,” came the voice attached, and Alicia gave the crew member a grateful smile as she followed his directions and made her way to the Grand Salon, the main entertainment hub which featured a music bar and lounge on the upper deck, imaginatively titled The Upper Deck.

There she found the rest of the book club gathered, Lynette now clutching a fresh glass of champagne. Anders was also there and gave her a knowing smile as she walked up.

“I was looking for you,” Alicia told her sister.

“Well I’m where I need to be, where were you?”

She ignored this as a large, grey-bearded man in a decorative white uniform with four-striped epaulettes entered the room, a shorter, similarly dressed man beside him.

“That’s Captain Antonio Van Tussi with the beard, and his right-hand man, Chief Officer Pane,” Anders told them just as a hush swept over the crowd. Alicia glanced about. There were about 280 passengers gathered and almost as many crewmembers by the look of it, and that was assuming the crew were all in uniform.

“Welcome aboard to our new passengers, and thanks everyone for gathering so swiftly so that we can reacquaint ourselves with the safety procedures,” Chief Officer Pane was calling out over a few stragglers who were settling in to seats at the back. “The crossing to New Zealand can be pretty variable, so it’s timely that we do another drill.”

All was quiet except for a small pocket in one corner by the bar. A group of passengers was laughing loudly, completely ignoring the officers’ presence, and Pane was looking both uncomfortable and annoyed. Alicia recognised the angry bronzed couple she’d spotted in the passageway earlier, their spat now forgotten as they laughed along, as well as several short, plump women who looked like identikits of each other. They had to be related, she decided.

“Please, people!” the chief officer was calling out. “Silence! Pleeeease!”

Their laughter continued unabated, and several onlookers frowned, including Claire, yet the captain just looked amused as he stepped forward and retrieved the microphone from Pane.

Shaking his head with a patient smile, he said, “My, my, Millicent Solarno. What a surprise to find you playing up again.”

His voice was Darth Vader-deep, strong and commanding, and it did the trick. The largest, loudest of the women turned around, her lips caught mid-sentence, staring up to the captain who had tipped his head to one side as if chastising a child. “We haven’t all been on 120 cruises,” he continued. “Mind if we teach the newcomers a thing or two?”

The woman’s lips morphed into a smile, and she placed a hand to her brow to perform a mock salute. “Aye, aye, Cap’n!” she called back.

He nodded appreciatively, and so the lecture began.

Chapter 3

By the time the drill was over, the corner group had settled back into raucous laughter, and Anders cocked an eyebrow towards them.

“They’ve been a handful since I got aboard eight days ago. Rowdy mob.”

“Rude too,” snipped Claire. “Who do they think they are?”

“Veteran cruisers, of course!” came an unfamiliar voice behind them. “They think they own the ship.”

The friends turned to find a man in his late fifties standing there, already dressed for dinner in a shiny dark-blue tuxedo, his dyed black hair combed back, his heavy jowls clean-shaven. In fact, he smelt like he’d bathed in his aftershave, the spicy scent almost overwhelming.

“The captain wasn’t exaggerating,” he added. “Between them the Solarno sisters must have notched up over a hundred cruises.”

Perry gasped, a hand flying to his heart. “Good lord! All on the SS Orient?”

“Not possible unless they’re 137 years old, and I’ll keep mum on that one. Oh no, the ship might look ancient, but this is actually only its fourth voyage.”

“So how do you know they’re veterans?” asked Alicia.

He smiled and held out a hand. “Apologies, I’m Dermott Killarney, also a veteran cruiser although they give me a run for my money, those ladies. This is my tenth cruise, third ship. I’ve met them on several other trips. The Groots over there—”

He indicated the bronzed couple.

“—they’ve been on a few cruises too, although how they manage it on a Dutch pension I do not know. Still, none of us come close to the Salami Sisters.”

“Salami Sisters?” echoed Lynette.

He held a hand to his lips. “Apologies, it’s my pet name for them. I don’t think they’d mind. They have a wicked sense of humour. You’ll meet them soon enough, everybody does. They’re Millie, Tillie, and Billie Solarno, made their fortune in fine meats would you believe? Daddy dearest had the biggest deli in Britain. Hence the regular cruises.” His eyes danced across the group. “Now you lot, you’re all virgins, I can see that.”

Claire bristled, but Missy squealed with laughter. “Is it that obvious? We’re soooo excited; we’ve never been on a ship before.”

“Oh I have,” said Perry, and Lynette snorted.

“Booze cruises around Sydney harbour don’t count, Perry.”

After introductions were made, Dermott stood back, his eyes squinting shrewdly. “You seem an unlikely lot. I wonder how you all got together.” He waggled a finger in the air. “No, no, don’t tell me! I want to guess—much more fun that way. You’re clearly not related.” His eyes darted to Claire, who was part Chinese and had a dark, feline look about her, to beach-blond Lynette, rubbing his jaw as he did so. “Work? You all work together! No? Hmmm. Neighbours, perhaps?”

“Book club!” Missy spat out, unable to help herself, and he looked delighted.

“Of course you are! Oh you’re going to love—”

“Dermott Killarney, monopolising the young ones again I see!”

This time they swept around to find a tall blonde descending upon them. If Claire was part Chinese, this woman was part Amazonian, her legs astonishingly long in tight white pants with gold stitching, her tanned shoulders as broad as a rugby union player, peeking out between slits in the flowing tiger-print kaftan top she had on. She was beautiful, though, breathtakingly so, her long hair streaked with golden highlights, her cheeks chiselled and sun-kissed like Aussie supermodel Elle Macpherson. And she had the spongy, thick lips, sparkling blue eyes, and broad ocker accent to match.

No sooner had she landed a smacker on Dermott’s blushing face, she exclaimed, “G’day guys, welcome to the Orient!”

Pushing forty, the woman was as unblemished as a twenty-year-old, with the smug smile of someone who not only knows she’s beautiful she expects you’ll think so too. Alicia couldn’t help glancing at Anders, but he was already reaching across to steal a kiss of his own.

“Evening, Corrie, you look lovely tonight,” he said, and her smile flashed wider.

“Thanks, mate.” She didn’t settle for a kiss, quickly sweeping him into a hug, and Alicia wasn’t sure whether to be more put out by Corrie’s familiarity with Anders or the fact that he was now happily hugging her back. In public. In his uniform.

So much for no visible displays of affection.

Just then another woman appeared behind her. She was almost as tall as Corrie, but skeleton thin with mousey brown hair that had been stretched so straight it looked ready to snap. She had a long black dress on, a glass of champagne in one hand, and a bored look on her face.

Corrie promptly snatched the glass from her and said, “You don’t mind, do you, darl?”

“Well…”

“Just zip back and grab another. You’ve got all the time in the world. Tell Ramond to put it on the entertainment tab.”

Corrie then dismissed the woman with a flick of her luscious locks. “That’s my ‘bestie’ Anita,” she told the group as her friend turned away. “She’s just joined our little dinghy, as I believe you guys have! So, who have we got here then?”

Her eyes bore into them, and for a moment Alicia knew what it must feel like to be a gazelle under the hungry gaze of a lion. There was something wild and unguarded about this woman, something almost dangerous. Of course the animal-print top and fullback’s physique didn’t help.

“This is the book club I was telling you about,” Anders said.

Something flickered in those eyes, and her gaze intensified. “Oh yes, I’ve been looking forward to meeting you guys!”

“Oh?” said Claire. “You’re a book lover then?”

“What? God no! Who’s got time for reading? No, no, but I am into mysteries—in fact I have one that’d be right up your alley.”

“Oh?” said Alicia this time.

Corrie smiled wickedly. “Oh yeah, baby, The Case of the Kaftan Kleptomaniac.” She had put on a theatrical accent and, reading disinterest in Alicia’s expression, added, “It might seem trivial to you, but they’re designer label—Camilla, darlink—and they cost a small ransom! Can’t imagine how anyone managed to pinch the bloody things. Still, it might be just your thing. Doc here tells me you’ve been busy solving a few mysteries.”

“Well, just one, really,” said Alicia, thinking back to the previous year when a book club member had vanished into thin air, leaving a few too many people looking far too relieved.

“More than one!” interjected Missy. “Alicia’s just being modest. We didn’t just have a missing club member, we had a dead husband, we had a wayward daughter who was definitely hiding something, we had a sleazebag of a tennis coach and, oh, don’t forget that loony housekeeper! You see, it all began soon after Alicia started the book club, which was when? I’m trying to remember…”

Corrie’s gaze turned gauzy as Missy rattled away, and she soon began looking over her shoulder as though searching for an escape.

Missy carried on regardless. “We’d only had a few meetings, hadn’t we possums, when one of our members just vanished! Poof! Gone. So we all decided we just had to channel our inner Miss Marple and find out where the poor woman had gotten to! I say poor because—”

“Mmm sounds like a laugh,” Corrie interrupted, “and I’d love to hear all about it, but I’ve really gotta circulate. The captain will have a fit if I don’t spread myself wide.”

“So you work on the ship as well?” asked Alicia. “Are you the Entertainment Director?”

Corrie barked with laughter. “Well, that’s one way of putting it!”

Anders shot Alicia a patient smile. “This is Corrie Van Tussi, Alicia.” When she stared at him blankly, his smile stiffened and he added, “Captain Van Tussi’s wife.”

“Oh, right, sorry!” She blushed, and Lynette frowned.

“How was Alicia supposed to know that, Anders?”

But Corrie was waving them off. “Jeez don’t worry about it! Most captain’s wives don’t tag along on every cruise, but I can’t help myself, this ship is so luxurious and the company so scrumptious!”

She gave Anders another look that suggested he was next on the menu, and Alicia’s blush quickly paled.

“But enough of all that! Must keep schmoozing.” Corrie placed her thumb and pinkie to the side of her head, as if imitating a telephone and told the group, “I’ll get my people to call your people. Bon voyage!”

She fluttered off in a plume of Chanel perfume, leaving at least one woman feeling frumpy in her wake.

“Don’t worry,” said Dermott, sensing Alicia’s discomfort. “She has that effect on all of us.”

“She must be, like, totally devoted to the captain,” Missy said, “coming on every cruise.”

“I’m not sure it’s the captain she’s devoted to,” he said. When they all turned back to him, he smacked his lips tightly together as though trying to restrain himself. Then he chuckled and said, “Oops, did I just say that aloud?”

Claire ignored this and asked, “What did she mean by Kaftan Kleptomaniac?”

“Oh I wouldn’t get too excited by that. She can be quite melodramatic that First Lady of ours, and why anyone would want to nick her ghastly gear I cannot say. The way she dresses you’d think it was a tacky budget cruise!” A wave of laughter rippled from the corner again, and he glanced across. “I’d best pay my respects to the Salami Sisters before they start accusing me of allegiances. I’ll see you back here after dinner for cocktails and dancing, yes?”

“There’s dancing?” Lynette said.

“Of course there’s dancing, my dear! It’s my raison d’être!”

Then he did a little bow and waltzed his way towards the so-called Salami Sisters, who were still laughing up a storm on one side.

Chapter 4

Dermott Killarney was not overstating it. No sooner had they finished the delicious four-course meal in the Grand Dining Room—an elegant restaurant boasting a hand-painted ceiling and high-backed parlour chairs—they ascended the majestic staircase and settled back into the Grand Salon. There the chairs and tables had been moved away to reveal a shiny oak parquet dance floor in the middle of the room, and in the middle of that, Dermott, shiny with sweat. He was adeptly whisking one woman after another around and around in a variety of waltzes and foxtrots. Two dances seemed to be his limit, however, before he escorted his panting partner back to her seat, held his hand out to another and returned to the floor.

“He’s in hot demand,” said Lynette.

“On the job, actually,” said one of the Solarno sisters who was just wedging herself into the velvet booth beside them. She had a clipped, upper-crust British accent and a jolly smile on her face. “Don’t worry, dear. He’ll get to you eventually. Just has to keep the rich old regulars happy first.”

When they all looked at her confused, she chuckled, waving a chubby hand bedecked in thick gold rings. “I’m Millie Solarno, nice to meet you. And that, my dears—”

She fluttered the hand towards Dermott, who was now whisking a woman in a bright red silk dress and bouffant hairstyle around.

“—is our resident Gentleman Dance Host.”

“Gentleman Dance Host?” repeated Missy, and the woman mock-gasped.

“My, my, you people really are virgin cruisers. I wasn’t sure there were any left on the planet.” She paused to catch her breath. “Dermott is paid to keep us sad old widows entertained, or at least he’s paid in kind, you know, food and berth and all that. He’s hired by the Orient cruise line of which I happen to be a director, and I can tell you, it’s money well spent. The man is like honey to a bee. Ah, ladies, come meet these adorable cleanskins!”

They looked up to find an almost replica copy of Millie waddling towards them, followed by another who was slightly thinner, slightly older and significantly less jolly. The first was Tillie, the baby sister, the other Billie—“Not really her name. It’s Bertha, but we insisted she get in on the action,” explained Millie.

They all exchanged names and settled back to watch as Dermott spun close to the table, the bouffant woman’s red dress flying open to reveal surprisingly muscled thighs.

“Oooh, it’s the Orient waltz!” said Tillie, pricking up her ears as the band launched straight into a new tune. “Or is it the galop? I can never tell those tunes apart.”

“Goodness me, they’re completely different, Mathilda!” said Millie, who then turned to the book club to explain. “This ship inspired several amazing composers in its day. In fact, the SS Orient Galop was composed especially for the captain of its maiden voyage, a man named Captain Studdart.”

“Captain Stubing?” said Perry, a flicker of amusement in his eyes.

“Studdart,” the woman repeated firmly, glowering at him. “I can assure you, you will find no similarities to that dreadful boat here! Oh look, here comes Cecilia again.”

Millie gave the woman a wave as she whizzed past and then, through a clenched smile, said, “She’ll be giving poor Dermy the heavy word right about now.”

“That sounds like an episode of The Love Boat to me,” Perry shot back at her.

“You wash your mouth out with soap, young man!” Billie snapped now. “Not at all! Dermott is a consummate professional. Those women might throw themselves at him, but he knows the rules—no favouritism and no fraternising beyond the dance floor, and I’ve never known him to break either rule. Ever. He’d get the sack if he did.”

“And he’d have women clawing each other’s eyes out!” added Tillie, smirking behind her gold-rimmed glasses.

“Yes, well, this is all very interesting, but I need a drink.” Perry glanced around. “Where is that hunky waiter I saw earlier?” Spotting him now tending the bar, he stood up and said, “Well, if the mountain won’t come to Perry… Drinks, anyone?”

The book club friends proceeded to shout out orders, which he dutifully memorised as he headed off to the bar while Lynette stared gloomily after him.

“He’s right. The only cuties are the staff. I haven’t seen a single hunk under the age of… Hold the phone! What have we got here?”

She was now staring at the entrance to the music bar where a man was standing, looking in expectantly. He was no older than forty-five with a full head of wavy brown hair, a meticulously trimmed goatee and a snug designer tux that screamed Hugo Boss.

She must have been drooling because Billie was now giving her the evil eye. “Don’t even think about it, young lady,” she snapped again. “Also strictly taboo.”

“Really? Why?”

As if to answer the question, the man vanished momentarily before reappearing behind a gleaming wheelchair. In it sat an elderly lady who made everyone else look sprightly. She had to be well into her eighties, her bony limbs poking out beneath layers of flowing chiffon, her crumpled-tissue skin splattered with the makeup of a trembling hand. The jewellery around her withered neck was almost blinding, despite the distance, and she was saying something to the man, but he appeared not to notice. His eyes were darting around the room from one woman to the next before they settled first on Claire, who rewarded him with a frown, and then on to Lynette who smiled coyly.

“They’re married,” said Millie. Then she waited a beat before adding, “Not that that ever stopped him.”

“Who are they?” asked Lynette, intrigued.

“It’s Dame Dinnegan and her… what? Third husband, Til’? Fourth?”

Her sister shrugged. “Who can keep up?”

“Cheyne, they call him—that’s Shane spelt with a Ch, would you believe?”

Alicia laughed. “I didn’t know you could spell Shane with a Ch.”

“You can do anything you damn well like when you’re married to a Dame!”

“He can’t really be in love with her,” Claire said, and that brought more scorn from the sisters.

“Of course he’s not in love with her,” Billie said. “He pretends to be in love with her, and she pretends to believe him while he pushes her around and she opens doors for him. It’s quite a symbiotic relationship I believe. He’s an artist, a photographer, and not a particularly good one, but that hasn’t stopped him from getting exhibited at some of the best galleries in London. And on this ship, now that I think of it.” She turned to her sisters. “I just heard that his hideous little photos are going to be on full display in our lovely foyer. Can you believe the captain would ever allow such a thing?”

“That’s right,” said Missy. “I saw something about that in the schedule. Looked kind of interesting.”

“Don’t get too excited, my dear. He doesn’t get the gigs on merit; he can thank the Dame for that one. She’s an old buddy of the captain’s. In fact, all of Cheyne’s exhibitions are thanks to her.”

“Lucky him,” said Lynette.

“Luck has nothing to do with it!” Billie retorted. “Cheyne Smith—yes, she kept her name, I like that about her—well, he planned the whole thing. He stalked that woman, and he nabbed her. If you ask me, he’s like the thriving strangler vine, clinging onto the crumbling old castle, sucking it dry.”

Alicia felt a cold shiver run down her spine.

The group watched as the “strangler vine” began to push the “crumbling castle” into the room. She was looking fretful and raised a shaky hand to stop him. He leaned down and said something to her, and she shook her head, her eyes darting around the room nervously. He spoke again, this time through clenched teeth, then rolled his eyes—making no effort to hide his annoyance—and whisked her around so quickly she almost toppled out of the chair, before pushing her back towards the exit. Just as he reached it, he turned and surveyed the room again, but this time his eyes settled on a tall, skinny woman in a black dress who was standing by herself at the bar. Like almost every woman in the room, she, too, had been watching him keenly, and this time he met her gaze and gave her a nod. A very slight one, but it was not lost on Alicia, who watched captivated as he turned back and pushed his wife through the open doors and away.

Lynette shrugged. “Oh well, easy come, easy go.”

“He’ll be back,” said Millie. “He’ll pop her into bed with some Valium and return to dance the night away with whatever bit of skirt he can find. The poor duck. I have no idea if she realises what he gets up to when she’s out for the count.” She sat forward, groaning a little as she did so, her ample bosom getting wedged against the table. “The girls and I have decided to keep an eye on her.” She lowered her voice now. “We suspect he’s planning to throw her overboard at the first opportunity.”

Chapter 5

Missy couldn’t have looked more excited if you’d just told her she’d won the lottery. She loved a good murder plot even if it was just wrapped in gossip and innuendo.

“Really?” she said, eyes gleaming, mouth agape.

“Oh yes,” said Millie. “We wouldn’t put it past him. They’ve been on the cruise since London, and he’s flirted with almost every woman on the ship.”

“Does he sleep with any of them?” asked Lynette.

Billie pursed her lips. “Well, I wouldn’t be surprised.”

“Plus he keeps taking Dame Dinnegan for long, lonely rolls along the deck,” added Tillie. “I caught him practically leaning her wheelchair over the side one day, didn’t I, girls? We’d only been on the cruise for a week. When he noticed me he quickly pulled her back, but I knew what he was up to. Sneaky bugger.” She giggled, snorting as she did so.

Missy was in raptures. This was a much more enticing mystery than searching for Corrie Van Tussi’s missing garments. “We’ll help you, won’t we, Book Club? We’re good at looking out for people. Do you really suspect he’s up to something?”

Billie leaned forward now. “We know it! We hear she’s worth buckets, has a pile of bricks in Oxfordshire that would leave this ship looking dowdy.”

“That doesn’t necessarily mean he wants to kill her,” said Claire, but they only tsk-tsked at that as Perry returned, a tray of various coloured cocktails in hand.

“What have I missed?” he asked.

As the group resumed gossiping about the “old lady and the gigolo”, Alicia sighed, suddenly feeling claustrophobic. She, too, loved a good mystery, but she was more in the mood for romance tonight, and yet again Anders was missing in action. She had seen him at dinner but only from a distance. He was seated at the captain’s table, his “duty” he told her, and had then simply vanished. Dancing was obviously not part of said duties, even though she could now see the captain waltzing with Corrie’s skinny friend in the black dress at one end of the dance floor.

What’s good for the goose, she thought bitterly.

Grabbing her glass of champagne, she stood up. The Solarno sisters had given her an idea. “I’m going to take a stroll on the deck.”

Lynette crinkled her brow. “You okay?”

“Fine, Lynny. Just need some fresh air.”

“Want some company?”

Yes, she thought, but you’re the wrong person entirely. “No, just stretching my legs. I won’t be long.”

She gave her sister a reassuring smile as she turned to leave while Missy whispered none too subtly to the others, “She probably wants to check on the gigolo. She’s got a nose for mystery, that one!”

Just beside the old pianoforte, a thick set of glass doors opened out to the upper deck, which wrapped right around the Grand Salon and across to a set of stairs which, according to the sign, took you up to the promenade deck, also imaginatively titled The Promenade Deck. Next to the sign was a smaller one that read, “Private: State Room passengers only”.

Alicia sighed. Hers was a lowly economy cabin, so she stepped towards the railing instead, looking up at the enormous full moon. It was a perfect circle, fluorescent white, like something off the cover of a cheesy romance novel, and she would have laughed at the irony if she were not feeling quite so glum.

A burst of loud music came from the door behind her, and she noticed two women stepping out, both wrapped in shawls. They gave her a friendly nod, and she nodded back then kept walking, away from the bar and up the steps to the private deck. She wasn’t a first-class passenger, but she also wasn’t in the mood for more small talk and suspected she’d find more privacy up there.

Not that there’d been a huge amount of small talk!

First the captain’s wife had propositioned them to hunt down a thief, then Dermott had vaguely suggested Corrie was unfaithful, and now the Solarno sisters were pointing an accusatory finger at a husband whose sole sin, it seemed to Alicia, was his marriage to an older, richer woman. If it had been the other way around, as it was regularly—him rich and decrepit, her young and vibrant—no one would have batted an eyelid.

Besides, Alicia had witnessed her own sister’s devotion to older, richer men and knew there was a price to be paid by the younger partner too.

She must have been preoccupied with these thoughts as she reached the top of the landing because Alicia almost didn’t notice the couple standing at the far end of the deck, heads close together, deep in conversation. The man noticed her, though, and pulled apart, brushing a hand through his shaggy blond hair as he did so. If it wasn’t for this reaction, Alicia may well have kept on walking. As it was he caught her eye, and she took a better look, realising it was the man from earlier that day, the one she had crashed into in the companionway.

He looked embarrassed or caught out or something.

It didn’t take long to work out why. The woman he was so intimately chatting with had not turned around, was still mid-chatter, but there was no mistaking that tiger-print top and those broad, brickie shoulders.

It was Corrie Van Tussi, the captain’s wife.

*********

When Alicia returned to the music bar, the book club friends had dispersed and a new posse of pals surrounded the Solarnos. She gave them a smile as she glanced about.

She soon spotted Perry, who was back at the bar slamming shots of something translucent with a group of men, and Lynette who was finally on the dance floor with Dermott. She gave Alicia a shrug as if to say, “When you’re desperate, you’re desperate.” In return, Alicia tried to give her sister a look that said, “When you’re ready, I’ve got some hot gossip!” but Lynette was not biting. She only had two dances with the Dance Host, and she wasn’t about to give them up.

When the song ended, Dermott escorted Lynette back to her seat with a flourish then extended his hand to Alicia, but she thanked him and waved him off. There were other women more eager for his services than she was.

“You should’ve had a whirl; he’s very good,” Lynette said of Dermott as he spun off in the opposite direction. “Got to give it to the guy. He really knows his way around the dance floor.”

“Gigolo didn’t try his luck?”

“No.” She frowned and tucked her legs beneath her. “I didn’t notice him come back in, but I’m sure the Salami Sisters would wrestle me to the ground if I dared to dance with him! Now what’s going on with you, young lady? Is everything okay?” Her eyes narrowed. “It’s Anders, isn’t it? I notice he hasn’t come in for a dance, even though the captain managed to find the time, albeit briefly. Thought we might have seen your dishy doc tonight.”

Alicia feigned nonchalance. “Oh well, his loss.”

“You sound strangely calm. You’re sure you’re not still hung up on the fact that he was flirting with the captain’s wife?”

“No,” she said, then began blinking rapidly. “What do you mean he was flirting? He wasn’t flirting! Was he?”

Lynette dropped her head to one side. “Little bit, sorry.”

Alicia decided to ignore that for the moment and said, “Anyway, I don’t care about that. I’ve got some gossip!” There was a lull in the conversation at the next table, and she noticed one of the Solarno sisters glance in their direction, so she lowered her voice.

“Come to bed, and I’ll reveal everything.”

“Oh, there’s a proposition I didn’t think I’d get tonight!” Lynette shot back. “I suppose I might as well turn in. Missy and Claire have already called it quits, Perry’s no use to anyone—at least not of the female variety—and it looks like I’m back at the end of Dermott’s dance card. Come on then, let’s clear this joint.”

They caught Perry’s eye and waved him good-night, then made their way out of the bar and back down the grand internal staircase, which met up with the entrance to the main restaurant and the central elevator.

“So, what is it?” Lynette implored as Alicia pressed the “Down” button on the elevator’s external control panel.

“I saw the captain’s wife cozying up to another man. Up on the promenade deck.”

“So?”

“So isn’t that a little flirty?”

“No, it’s you being a little naughty, trying to smear the woman’s reputation because she’s so fond of Anders.”

“Huh! As if!” Alicia glared at her sister and stabbed the lift button again, just as a flash of green caught her eye in a nearby passageway.

The elevator was located bang in the middle of the ship with the restaurant on the bow side and most of the staterooms towards the stern. These were the posh suites, Alicia knew that, the double rooms with separate sleeping and sitting areas, large en suite bathrooms and private balconies, and there, heading towards them were two once-posh ladies who now looked as drunk as, well, sailors.

They were hobbling along together, holding each other up, the taller one in a captain’s hat and flowing green robe singing badly out of tune, while the other, dressed in a long red gown, giggled and guffawed beside her. They stopped at one of the doors on the starboard side and almost tumbled in, laughing as they did so, and Lynette sighed.

“Oh well, at least someone’s having some fun tonight.”

The words would come back to haunt her, and sooner than she could have anticipated.

Chapter 6

It was just as well the passenger in cabin S31 had prebooked a personal trainer first thing that morning, or she may not have been found for many hours yet. As it was, trainer Steve Owens was the first to raise the alarm, unable to wake her despite his incessant knocking.

And it was a good thing, too, that Steve was the suspicious type for the ship’s chief officer showed absolutely no interest in unlocking the door to the stateroom to see if the occupant was alive and well.

“Leave her be. She needs her beauty sleep.”

Steve had decided to ignore this trademark sexist comment and said simply, “That lady has risen early every morning since we left Plymouth to work out on the top deck. I do not see why this morning should be any different. I’m pretty concerned, sir. Perhaps she’s fallen over in the shower? We need to check.”

Eventually, with his eggs now consumed and his pot of English Breakfast tea half drunk, Chief Officer Pane reluctantly agreed and strolled at a frustratingly leisurely pace to the luxury suite across from the restaurant. There he spotted the “Do Not Disturb” sign hanging from the door handle and pointed at it theatrically, but Steve was unperturbed.

“Please, sir.”

Pane gave him a look that suggested he was as pitiful as his client and began tapping at it politely just as a young cabin steward came whistling down the passageway.

“Ah, Horenzo, have you serviced Madame’s room this morning?”

The man shook his head no. “She no up yet, sir.”

Officer Pane tapped a little more forcefully this time and continued tapping until all three of them were hammering away like they were going to beat it down with their bare fists. By this stage several passengers had poked their heads out of nearby cabins, and Pane held a hand up to placate them.

“All is fine, please return to your rooms.”

Finally, belatedly, he produced the master key and unlocked the door. It was heavy, like all the cabin doors and required a bit of shove, but when they propped it open, they found the room cloaked in darkness. The thick drapes were still drawn across the doors to the private balcony.

“Helloooo!” Pane sang out. “It’s just the chief officer come to see if everything is alriiiight!” Silence replied. “Wait here,” he told the others and stepped into the room and towards the bed where the woman’s red polished toenails could be seen poking out from a pair of silver heels.

She was still wearing her shoes and long red dress from the evening before, which only struck him as strange later; for now he was simply relieved she was not naked. He had encountered one too many naked old biddies in his time, most of them unashamedly so, and he found it disgusting at best. He was certainly not in the mood for that this morning.

Pane stepped around the corner towards the bed where the woman was lying, her hands folded across her chest, her eyes shut, the silvery-blue eye shadow still in place, her cheeks still smudged with blush. Below the blush, however, her skin was a yellowy grey, and there was an eerie kind of stillness to her features. It was not the still of sleep, but of something deeper and more sinister.

Pane hesitated, steeled himself and then reached down to touch her shoulder to try to shake her awake, but of course she was not asleep, and he knew it by then, knew it even as he gave her shoulder one more shake. Just to make sure.

She was ice cold. He could feel that through the flimsy fabric of her evening gown, and he groaned as he forced himself to place two fingers at the pulse on her neck where he waited for the beat he knew would not come.

Oh dear, had it all gone too far this time?

He couldn’t think about that now. Pane stepped back and cleared his throat before saying, “Call the doctor, Steve. And alert the captain, please. We have another… incident.”

Then he tried not to retch as he fled from the cabin.

********

“Try not to look quite so wretched,” Lynette said, eye rolling her sister as she placed a dainty china teacup to her lips.

“What?” Alicia retorted. “I’m just sitting here quietly eating my poached eggs.”

“Sulking more like.” Lynette’s features softened. “I’m sorry, ’Lis, but you knew he would be working, we all knew that. I guess you could always fake the norovirus and book in to see him.”

Alicia ignored this and held her own cup out to the young waitress who was hovering with fresh coffee. She was going to need a few brews this morning after a fretful night’s sleep. Experienced sailors had told her she would sleep like a baby to the rocking motion of the ship, but there was no such luck last night. All she could do was toss and turn and try to block out the sounds of cabin doors slamming and toilets being worked as the revellers returned to bed at various intervals throughout the night. It didn’t help that the Solarno sisters’ words kept circling through her brain alongside the image of an old lady in a wheelchair flying into the sea.

Lynette was right, of course. Dr Anders’s absence was beginning to grate. In the sixteen or so hours they’d been on board, he’d barely spent more than thirty minutes with Alicia, let alone invited her back to his cabin. Sure, he was here to do a job, but he couldn’t be on duty 24/7, could he? She finished her coffee, then pushed herself up from the table.

“Going to make a medical appointment, are we?”

“I’m just popping my head in to say hello, that’s all. Won’t take more than a minute. I’m allowed to say hello, right?”

“If you want to look like a desperado, sure.” Lynette then tried to soften the blow with a warm smile.

Alicia glowered at her anyway and swept out of the restaurant just as Missy and Claire swept in. They were both dressed in ’50s-style dresses with tight waistbands and full skirts, and she bid them good morning, then pointed to where Lynette was seated.

Continuing to the elevator, she noticed a bit of a commotion going on in the passageway behind her but didn’t have a chance to check it out before the lift arrived with a loud ping! She jumped in and headed downwards, past her own deck towards the lower deck where the medical centre was located, just beyond the spa.

She had decided if the good doctor wouldn’t come to her, she would go to him.

No sooner had she reached the lower deck, however, when Anders came running towards her.

“Oh, Alicia, hold the lift!”

She did so and stood at the door, stopping it from closing. “Anders, I’m glad I caught you, I was just wondering—”

“Sorry, can’t talk, gotta fly!” He stepped into the elevator and began stabbing at one of the buttons.

“Okay, but can we—?”

“Seriously, it looks like one of passengers has passed away. I’ve got to get up there.”

The first thing Alicia thought of was the old lady in the wheelchair. “It’s not Dame Dinnegan is it?”

“Who?” He stabbed at the button again just as the doors began to close.

“Never mind,” she called out. “Anything I can do to help?”

“Yes! Relaaa—”

His voice was gobbled up by the closing doors, and Alicia stared at them for a moment, then squinted up at the numbers above the old-fashioned-style elevator, watching as it pinged its way from the two lower decks up to the main deck, where it stopped.

“Bingo!” she said before heading for the stairs.

There was quite a crowd loitering outside cabin S31, and Alicia stood at the top of the side stairwell, her mind racing as she computed who exactly had passed away. It wasn’t Dame Dinnegan; she knew that now. Anders was nowhere to be seen, inside no doubt, attending to the patient, but a short fat man was racing in and out, issuing orders, looking more annoyed than concerned. If her memory served correctly, it was the ship’s chief officer.

“You lost?”

Alicia spun around to find someone standing behind her, just a step below. She had not heard him creep up, and it took her a moment to recognise him as the sandy-haired man she’d run into not once but twice the day before.

And here he was again.

“No,” she replied. “I’m just waiting for someone.”

“Really and who might that be?”

She blinked. “Sorry but I don’t think that’s any of your business.”

“Neither is this, I’d suggest. Haven’t you got a pool to swim in or a rich guy to flirt with or something?”

Alicia’s jaw dropped. The cheek of the man! Besides, he was one to talk. The last time she’d seen him he was flirting with the captain’s wife.

Before she could respond, he held up one hand and said, “Sorry, don’t answer that.” Then he glanced across her shoulder at the door to S31, frowning slightly before retreating down the stairwell.

Alicia watched him go, her mouth wide open, her eyebrows high. What was his problem? She wondered. And who did he think he was?

Her brows then swished together as she realised why she hadn’t initially recognised the man—he was now wearing a black-and-white uniform.

She never would have picked it, but the guy was a lowly barman.

Chapter 7

“I nearly got a job working on a cruise ship once,” Missy mused when Alicia relayed the story back in the dining room where the book club friends were still idling over their breakfast.

Alicia was not just surprised to find the sandy-haired guy was a staff member. She was even more intrigued by the fact that he had an Australian accent. Most of the senior crew were British, where the ship originated, while the cabin stewards, cleaners and waiting staff were all from Indonesia or the Philippines. They were the only ones willing to work long hours for a pittance with no trade union to put a stop to it.

So what was his game?

“Atrocious pay,” Missy continued, “but you get to travel around the world, hang out with other young ones and party when you’re not working.”

“Yeah, except he’s not exactly young. Pushing forty I’d say.”

“Ah, the Peter Pan type,” said Claire, nudging her perfect button nose into a crinkle. “I dislike Peter Pans. They simply don’t know when to grow up.”

“Is he hot?” asked Lynette, who was still on the hunt for a dance partner, and Alicia laughed.

“Did I not mention he’s a barman, Lynette?”

“Right, of course, scrap that.”

As a budding chef, Lynette liked her men more financially independent than that, preferably owners of the restaurant in which she worked, not the hired help. She was fussy like that. “Well, you could have his butt fired for that comment.”

“Nah, he did apologise. Besides, he’s probably just exhausted after being up all night with the captain’s wife.”

She glinted at the group and, ignoring her sister’s frown, said, “I saw him canoodling with Corrie up on the private promenade deck. Under the moonlight.” A fleeting feeling of melancholy swept over her, and she nudged it away. “He looked really embarrassed when he spotted me.”

“Didn’t Dermott say something about Corrie being a bit of a player?” said Claire.

Alicia nodded. “Anyway, more importantly, what do we think’s happened to poor Mrs Beehive.”

“Who?”

“The woman who’s getting all the attention in cabin S31; it’s that bouffant woman from the dance floor last night. You know? The one in the red dress with the killer thighs.”

“How do you know?” Lynette asked.

“Because if my memory serves me correctly, you and I saw her go into that cabin on our way to bed last night. Blind drunk, remember?”

“Oh, her! Really? Wasn’t there someone else with her? A tall woman in a green dress with a captain’s hat?”

Alicia’s eyebrows nudged up and down. Yes there was.

“That sounds like Corrie,” suggested Missy, and Alicia and Lynette stared at each other.

Neither had managed to get a good look at the tall blonde, but Alicia doubted Corrie could have got from the barman’s arms on the promenade deck and down to the deceased woman’s that quickly. She was about to say so when she caught sight of Perry strolling in through the restaurant doors.

“Oh, look who the cat dragged in!”

When Perry reached them he was grinning just like a cat, one that had got the cream, the canary and the mouse.

“They may not have a nightclub on this ship, Lynny, but who needs it when the music bar is pumping until the wee hours? You all left way too early. That boring band disappears after midnight and takes most of the old folk with them. Then a cool DJ starts up. It went off! Eventually I had to hold up the white flag and kick myself to bed. Goodness, I’m in for a bit of strife on this cruise I can tell that already.”

Lynette groaned. “You’re just lucky the only available men on board bat for your side.”

“Aren’t I just?” He sniggered as he held his coffee cup out for the hovering waiter. As he administered milk he said, “So, you heard about the old dear in one of the state rooms?”

Alicia sat forward. “What do you know?”

“Died of a suspected heart attack overnight apparently.”

“That’s it?”

“Well I could chuck in a stroke and a seizure to liven the story up if you’d like.”

Alicia sat back. “No suspicious circumstances then?”

“Only in your imagination I suspect. No, I bumped into our dishy doc on my way in. He said the poor dear suffered a myocardial something-or-other.” He paused. “No offence, Al’, but the man can be a bit of a bore.”

She glared at him. “Seriously? I am going out with him, Perry.”

“Is that what you call it, because I’ve barely seen you two together since we pulled anchor.”

Lynette shot him a warning glare, then quickly changed the subject. “So what did Anders say? Was it natural causes?”

“I assume so. I said, ‘Cut the crap, Doc, what does that even mean?’ and he said, ‘Heart attack. Period.’ Then he said, ‘Please tell Alicia so she can relax and play a game of shuffleboard.’” He thought about this. “Not a bad idea, actually, who’s up?”

Claire raised a hand. “Oh me, me! That sounds dreamy!”

“I’d rather slit my wrists and feed myself to the sharks,” Lynette said. “Besides, I’ve already booked in to the Chef’s Tour that’s on in half an hour. They’re opening up the galley.”

“Oh excuse me while I yawn,” said Perry. He turned to Alicia. “Are you going to do as the doctor ordered and join me for a game?”

“Fine.”

“Good, but first I need the greasiest bacon and eggs I can get my mittens on!”

As he trotted off towards the buffet, Alicia stood up and stretched.

“Now where are you off to?” her sister asked.

“I’m heading back to the medical centre,” she replied, and to their collective smirks added, “Well even a busy doctor’s gotta eat doesn’t he? I’m going to see if he wants to join us for lunch.”

Anders had no time for lunch and told Alicia as much when she found him standing by the nurse’s station, shuffling through papers. Beside him stood a curvaceous redhead with a gravity-defying cleavage and an efficient look on her face.

He introduced her as Nurse Mandy, then said, “I’ll just be a second, Dee,” and pulled Alicia back out into the passage.

Dee? she thought, pulling her hands from his. Anders has a pet name for his busty nurse? Wasn’t that a little forward? An image of the two medicos’ naked bodies entwined across the reception desk flashed through her mind, and she shook it away.

“I know you’re busy, Anders. I just wondered when you’re getting some time off, that’s all. Maybe we could grab some lunch or a coffee later? I don’t see any patients in your waiting room.”

“No, but there is one on the slab.”

“Yes, I know, and I’m sorry about that. Poor lady, she seemed like a lot of fun. And it was just a heart attack, right?”

“I have taken some samples, but yes, that’s the current diagnosis.” He looked at her sideways. “Why?”

“Nothing. I’m just wondering what her friend had to say.”

“Friend?”

“Isn’t she sharing the cabin with someone?”

“As far as I know, she has the whole suite to herself. Why would you think that?”

“Because Lynette and I saw her go into her room last night with another woman—tall, long blond hair I think.” She stopped. Missy was right. “Looked a lot like the captain’s wife.”

“Corrie? You saw Corrie go into the cabin with the deceased?”

“Maybe, I don’t know. I wasn’t really paying attention. We were at the lift, and we didn’t see much although we heard them singing and carrying on. They were both clearly drunk, tottering about.”

“Really.” He rubbed his chin, deep in thought.

“Yep. And the other woman was wearing a captain’s hat, so…”

It sealed the deal for Alicia, but Anders was now shaking his head.

“I really don’t think Corrie would be tottering through the ship, drunk and singing at the top of her lungs let alone wearing a captain’s hat. I think we can credit her with a little more class than that. The woman you saw was probably just a friend, putting poor Mrs Jollson to bed. Maybe she wasn’t feeling well. It doesn’t mean she had anything to do with it.”

“To do with what? I thought it was a heart attack.”

“Yes, of course, but, well, we’re keeping an open mind, that’s all.”

“Do you want me to track her down, the woman in the green dress? Ask her a few questions?”

“No I do not! This is exactly why I explained it in laborious detail to Perry. I was hoping he’d pass it along to you and you’d let me get on with it.” He shook his head for good measure. “Cecilia Jollson most likely died of a myocardial infarction—that’s a heart attack to you—in the early hours of this morning as far as I can tell. I can’t know more until we get her medical history sent out from London and an autopsy done, and that can’t happen until we get to shore, but she was sixty-nine and she may have a history of heart problems. That’s all there is to it.”

Alicia considered this and went to say something but thought better of it. She tried to lighten the mood with a smile. “Okay, just trying to help.”

His eyes softened a little along with his tone. “You know not every mystery is yours to solve, Alicia. Some deaths are best left to the experts.”

Well, that’s me put back in my box, she thought, her smile straining. “So does that mean you will have some time for lunch?” He shook his head firmly. “But there’s nothing you can do for her now, surely?” She knew she sounded churlish, and the look in his eyes confirmed it.

“Alicia, it’s a death at sea, that’s a pretty big deal.”

“Of course it is, I didn’t mean—”

“I’ve never done one before, you know. There’s dozens of forms to complete, a body to be quarantined, the nearest local authorities contacted. I want to get this right.”

“Sure, I get it, sorry.” She gave his arm a little rub. “So how does it work, do they dock somewhere and get her off?”

“It’s out of the question now, I’m afraid. We’re in the middle of the Tasman Sea. They do have a small morgue on board for such an event; it’s in the same location as the ship’s original ice room, apparently. We’ve put her in there for now.” He stopped. “Don’t look so shocked, Alicia. All cruise ships have morgues. Deaths are more common than you realise, what with all the elderly passengers on board.”

“Just tell me it’s not the same room where they source the ice for my gin and tonic?”

He looked as though he wasn’t sure if she was joking for a moment, then his face creased into that breathtaking smile, and he said, “Perhaps you’d best stick to the champers for a bit.”

She laughed. “Good advice.”

“And here’s some more where that came from: go, relax, have some fun, one of us has got to.”

She promised him she would and was just heading back to the elevator when he called out to her.

“Cabin S38!” She looked back. “Why don’t we meet there for a predinner drink, 6:00 p.m. sharp?”

“That’s your cabin?” It sounded like a stateroom; she hadn’t realised he was living it up.

Anders cocked his head to the side. “No, I thought we’d raid someone else’s minibar. Of course it’s my cabin. See you then.”

She laughed again as she entered the elevator. Lynette and Perry were wrong about Anders. He’d just made two jokes, and they weren’t half bad.

Chapter 8

“You have got to be joking!” said Millie, or was it Tillie, now wielding a shuffleboard cue on the upper deck. “I saw Cecilia dancing last night. She was as fit as an ox. No way she had a heart attack!”

“You can be fit and still have a dodgy ticker,” Missy replied. “My Uncle Paul was a boxing champ, fit as a fighter.” She stopped and giggled, her cherry-red ringlets bobbing about below her spotted headband. “Well, he was a fighter, but you get my drift, duckies! Dropped dead at the age of fifty. His heart was like a ticking time bomb, they said, just waiting to go off.”

“The only thing off about all of this is that diagnosis,” the other sister replied.

It was hard to tell them apart now that they were wearing matching tracksuits and caps sporting the words: Solarno Fine Meats: 50th anniversary.

“Hey, Dr Anders is a professional,” Alicia shot back. “He knows what he’s doing.”

The sisters shared a look, and Alicia felt her hackles rise.

“Something strange is definitely going down on this ship,” said the first sister (Tillie as it turns out). “We had several women in sick bay just a few days ago, one was even stretchered off, and now poor Cec’.”

“What are you thinking?” asked Claire. “Food poisoning? Norovirus?”

“Whatever it is, they’re not telling us, right Mil’?” Her sister nodded. “Now watch me land this one!”

Tillie grabbed a cue and pushed the heavy disc along the deck and did exactly as she said, the disc landing in the small triangle at the top.

Her sister cheered triumphantly, and Claire pouted.

Millie offered her a sympathetic smile. “Don’t let us put you off now, young lady. We’ve been playing this game for decades. Even won the QE2 tournament back in 2012.”

“Oh yes!” said Tillie, pushing her spectacles back into place. “Do you remember how cranky Dame Dinnegan was that day?” She snorted. “She was with husband number… what? Two back then?” She glanced at her sister, who just shrugged. “He was even crankier. My goodness, it was like we’d robbed his poor wife of Olympic gold! Of course she wasn’t in the wheelchair back then and put on a pretty good show.”

“But not good enough to beat us!” Millie said. “Now, enough chat, who’s up for another frame?”

“Me!” said Perry and Claire together, but Missy was tapping her chunky pink watch.

“Whoever wants to make the history lecture in the conference room had better bow out now.”

Claire looked disappointed as she placed her cue back and thanked everyone for the game. She then followed Missy and Alicia along the deck and back inside towards a small room just off the Grand Salon where the lecture was getting underway.

“Built in Glasgow in 1879, the SS Orient was first designed to transport passengers from England to Australia,” explained a young woman standing at a lectern at the front of the room. “It was also used to transport royal mail and various goods, including cattle would you believe?”

She paused so the gathering could chuckle.

“When registered it was the second largest ship in the world, and one of the fastest, setting a London-to-Adelaide record of just under thirty-eight days. Her maiden voyage was between London and Melbourne via the Suez Canal in November 1879. She was also built to military specifications and was later used as a troop ship during the Boer War before being scrapped for metal in Italy in 1910.”

This time a murmur broke out around the room, and the lecturer nodded her head vigorously. “It does feel like this ship has come straight out of the 1800s, doesn’t it? But in fact it’s a replica of the original, and while it’s true in so many details, behind the English Renaissance façade is a very modern vessel, I can assure you of that. We have state-of-the-art gas turbine engines to ensure you have the safest, swiftest passage possible. And unlike the original, we no longer have lowly third-class berths, mostly because none of us have butlers and maids to accommodate these days, more’s the pity.”

Again she paused for the predicted chuckle.

“Most of the third-class space, which is well below sea level, is now used to accommodate the other modern touches we just know you guys can’t live without, like our fabulous gymnasium and spa as well as the fully equipped medical centre.”

As the lecturer continued waxing lyrical about the various attributes of the ship, Alicia couldn’t help stifling a yawn. She glanced across at Claire and Missy, who were both enthralled, and wished she felt the same. She just couldn’t focus today, and she had no idea why. She leaned back in her seat and stared out the porthole, watching as a bald man tossed what looked like a ring of rope past the window.

Alicia was just considering sneaking out when the lecturer added, “The original ship had several horrendous deaths, including a stoker who died from heat exhaustion after trying to race a rival ship at the Suez. Oh and an elderly lady died of a heart attack apparently, while under arrest for pilfering jewels. Isn’t that a fabulous story?”

The crowd murmured again, and she laughed. “Yes, according to reports, the heart attack was brought on by, and I quote, ‘The excitement of the accusation’!”

Missy looked like she was about to have a heart attack of her own upon hearing this and whispered to the others, “I wonder if the lady in cabin S31 was pilfering jewels?”

Claire rolled her eyes as Alicia scoffed. “That all happened a long time ago, Missy.”

“Still, it makes you think doesn’t it?”

“It makes me want to get back to my book,” she replied. “I’m going to check out the library. I’ll catch up with you guys later.”

She snuck out quietly and then back to her cabin to fetch her Agatha Christie novel before making her way to the lower deck where the library was located. As she made her way there, she told herself it wasn’t because the library was a few doors down from the medical centre. Still, she couldn’t help stealing a glance in that direction when she stepped out of the elevator.

The surgery looked busy now, with several pasty-looking patients slumped in chairs, one with a bucket in his hands, and she gave it a wide berth, following the signs in the opposite direction towards the King Edward VII Library.

The door to the library was located halfway down that carriageway, and Alicia noticed a small sign for the Freddie Tait Gymnasium further down, and beyond that a side stairwell marked ‘Exit’. Curious, she continued on to take a quick look. Relatively small for a ship’s gym, it was nonetheless well equipped with various torturous looking machines including two exercise bikes, a Stairmaster and three walking machines, all of which were occupied. A small plaque by the door informed her that the gymnasium had been named after a dapper looking Scottish gentleman, a champion golfer who also happened to be a former passenger killed during the Boer War.

She spotted a young man in a white tracksuit taking several men through their paces, and he looked up and smiled, waving a hand to encourage her in, but she quickly shook her head and returned to the library.

This was more her style.

The room was just as you’d expect the library of the original SS Orient to look, with shiny wood panelling and shelves of mostly leather-bound books. There were various tables and chairs set up as well as several plush armchairs and a vintage Chesterfield leather lounge suite with a magnificent wooden globe beside it. This room was also well occupied, and she spotted several tables of people, two playing chess, others playing backgammon, one completing an old-fashioned jigsaw puzzle.

Upon closer inspection, she recognised the man from her deck, the one with the tan that would give an orangutan a run for its money, and she nodded her head when he looked up from his book, then made her way to one of the arm chairs. Sinking into it, she pulled out her copy of Murder on the Orient Express and opened to the first part.

Within minutes Alicia was stepping onto a luxury train carriage with thirteen suspicious-looking passengers and one Hercule Poirot.

Chapter 9

It didn’t take a Belgian detective to deduce that cabin S38 was empty.

Still, Alicia kept knocking, her hope and happiness waning with every blow. It was 6:09 p.m., and Dr Anders was not answering his door. Having donned the sexiest cocktail dress she could find (Lynette’s of course) and the strappiest pair of heels (also Lynette’s), she’d coiffed her hair and coloured in her face and tried every trick in the book to look as enticing as possible.

And now it seemed it was all in vain.

Alicia banged again, louder this time in case Anders was distracted by romantic music or champagne corks popping or something! Yet the door stared back at her, stubbornly immobile. She continued to knock with less and less enthusiasm for a final minute before swallowing her disappointment and making her way down to the surgery again.

There Nurse Mandy firmly shook her head and said, “The last time I saw Dr Anders he was heading off with Mrs Van Tussi.”

She might as well have said, “Give up now, girl. He’s in love with someone else” for the effect those words had on Alicia heart. She felt gutted, empty. Angry.

“Oh, right,” Alicia managed before wedging a smile on her lips and asking, “Any idea where they went?”

“Bar maybe?” Nurse Mandy glanced down to Alicia’s attire and back up to her face, a flicker of sympathy in her eyes. “I have a pager for him if you’re desperate.”

“No, I’m not desperate! Thank you very much.”

She fled from the surgery before the nurse could see the blush of humiliation sweeping across her face. Alicia knew she was being irrational. Anders would hardly fob her off on purpose, surely? Maybe there was another emergency; maybe he’d simply forgotten their date?

Well I’ll help him remember, she decided, haughtily, and made a beeline for the bar.

Once Alicia got to the Grand Salon, however, both Anders and Corrie were nowhere to be found. The room was half-full, mostly with guests already dressed formally and squeezing in predinner cocktails. She glanced around but couldn’t see anyone she recognised, so she decided to ask the bar staff. Perhaps they had spotted him earlier.

Alicia made her way across to the circular bar where one barman was loading up a cocktail shaker while another was just handing a sherry to a tiny lady with a silky white bob. He thanked her, then glanced across at Alicia, his eyebrows rising at the same time as hers. It was the rude barman. Again.

“Evening, Madame,” he said. “What can I get you this evening?”

“Oh? No smart comment tonight?”

He ignored this and just waited for her order, so she said, “Champagne cocktail, thanks.”

The barman wasn’t as surprised by the order as Alicia was. Never one for drinking alone, she suddenly had an insatiable desire to get drunk. Very drunk. And she didn’t care whether she had company or not.

As soon as the drink arrived, she downed it in one and then ordered another.

“So what’s your room number?” he said.

“In your dreams, buddy,” she shot back, and he stared at her poker-faced.

“For the drinks, Madame. What room should I charge them to?”

“Oh, right.” She blushed. Oh God, just swallow me now. “Um, cabin L22, thanks.”

After a moment’s thought she said, “Actually, scrap that. Let’s put them on S38, shall we? Under the name Anders Bright. He promised me a predinner drink, and he can bloody well pay. Speaking of which, have you seen the good doctor lately?”

“You mean the new doc we’ve got on board, the really straight one?”

She blinked back at him. “He’s not straight.”

“Oh, so he’s gay then?”

She gasped. “No, that’s not what I meant… I just meant that he’s fun, he can let loose… well, not loose so much as…”

He looked mildly amused. “I haven’t seen him. Why? Do you need a doctor?”

She blinked more rapidly this time. “Not at all! Don’t need him one little bit!” Then she clicked her empty glass with one nail indicating her order, and he bowed his head and went to fetch a fresh bottle of champagne.

Alicia was onto her third glass—a lot for the eldest Finlay girl on an empty stomach—when she felt a light tap on her shoulder. She turned to find Lynette standing there.

“We’ve been waiting for you, sweetie, in the restaurant. Are you coming in?”

“Just having a drink with myself, Lynny, somebody’s got to.”

“Where were you? Anders came over looking for you, said he’d missed your rendezvous and was wondering where you’d got to.”

“Where I’d got to? Where the hell was he?”

“Dunno but he’s at the captain’s table now, eating dinner. Which is what you should be doing.”

Alicia gulped her drink then called out to the barman, “Hey, cranky pants! I’m sure my stunning sister here would also like a champers. Lynette?”

Lynette squinted at her, then glanced at the barman, who was looking more than amused and shook her head. “No thanks.” She turned back to Alicia. “We’ve got plenty of wine at the table, Alicia. Why don’t you come join us?”

Alicia ignored this, so Lynette perched on the stool beside her.

“You okay?”

Alicia made a pft! sound and waved a hand about. “Never better! This cruise is going to be fun!” She turned to the barman. “Don’t worry about this woman; she’s not interested in you. So don’t even waste your sad-arse time!”

He shared a sympathetic look with Lynette before saying, “Duly noted.”

Lynette watched her closely for a few minutes. “Lis’, you’re missing an amazing meal. There’s lobster on the menu tonight. In fact, they’re probably serving it as we speak.”

“You go, honey. Eat! Enjoy!”

“I’d enjoy it a lot more if you were with me. Please?”

Alicia saw that her sister was serious and sighed. “Fine, I’m coming, I’m coming. Just… just give me a minute, ’kay?”

“I’ll stay with you.”

“No, no, go and eat. The lobster will be getting cold!”

“It’s already cold, honey. That’s how they serve it.”

“Right, well, that’s why you’re the fabulous chef and I’m the useless editor who can’t even keep a boyfriend. Go eat. I won’t be long, I promise. I’ll finish this and be there before you can say ‘traitor!’”

Lynette shot a worried look at the barman then turned and left her sitting there, sulking into her glass.

“Peanuts,” the barman said pushing the bowl in front of her.

It was a suggestion more than an offer, and she pushed it back then flopped her head into her hands and watched him for several minutes. The place had now cleared out, everyone in the main dining room, and she studied the barman as he cleaned the bench top and polished the glasses.

Eventually she said, “Aren’t you a little old to be working behind a bar?”

He stopped polishing and stared back at her. “Aren’t you a little young to be holidaying with your spinster sister?”

She gasped. “You are the rudest barman I have ever met!”

He laughed and said, “Sorry,” not looking at all apologetic. “People skills aren’t my forte.”

“You don’t say! I think you need a new vocation.” She squinted at him. “So why are you working behind the bar of a cruise ship then?”

He shrugged. “Just desperate I guess.”

“That’s one word for it. I’d better go before Lynny gets her lasso out.” Glancing at her champagne glass she said, “Can I take this with me to the restaurant?”

He just shrugged, like he didn’t have a clue or didn’t really care, and she laughed again. He really was terrible at his job! At this rate his tip jar would remain empty.

Standing a little unsteadily, she snatched up her glass then leaned in towards him and spluttered, “And I’ll have you know I’m not holidaying with my sister. I’m holidaying with my book club!”

As she stumbled out of the bar, it dawned on Alicia that that probably wasn’t any cooler, and his smarmy smile only seemed to confirm it.

Chapter 10

Perhaps it was the muffled voices and the distant slamming of doors that first woke Alicia from a thirsty sleep, or perhaps it was the sudden lurching of the ship, a movement that almost toppled her from her bed; but there was one thing she knew for certain. She had a hangover the size of the hull.

Groaning, Alicia thrust the pillow over her head and attempted to get back to sleep when an unexpected blaring sound made her jump six feet. Or at least that’s what it felt like.

“What the bloody hell is that?” she yelped.

“Wha’?” That was Lynette, her floppy head barely lifting from her pillow.

The blaring continued. It sounded like a siren.

Alicia sprang to her feet, her thudding head forgotten in the furore. “There must be an emergency. Oh my God. We must be sinking! Lynny? Lynette! We’ve got to get up. Where are the life jackets… Where the hell did they put the life jackets? It’s the Titanic all over again.”

Lynette groaned. “It’s just a drill. Ignore it.”

Alicia grappled for the lamp switch above her bed, pulled it on, and stared at her watch. It was 2:55 a.m. She dashed across to the cabin door, opened it, and peered out, noticing that many others were doing the same as the siren continued to whir, louder now that the door was open.

“What’s going on?” she called out to a man in striped pyjamas, the one she’d seen yesterday in the library. He shrugged back.

“Must be another drill!” a passenger further down called out, but the man was shaking his head furiously.

“No, no, no they never do this! Not at this time, never!” He turned to say something to someone inside his own cabin, then looked back out at Alicia. “We must go up!”

She nodded bleakly and closed her door, noticing that Lynette was still slumped under her blanket. Pulling it off, she gave her sister a shove.

“Come on, woman! Unless you want to be rescued in your silk pyjamas, you’d better get some warm gear on.”

Lynette sat up, squinting into the light. “For goodness’ sake, no one’s being rescued. They’re just punishing us for having too many champagnes last night.” She stumbled off the bed towards her open suitcase, which still had half her clothes strewn inside. “No, wait, that was just you. I was the one putting you to bed before you made a complete and utter fool of yourself. Then I hit the sack early with Agatha.”

She indicated the bookmarked copy of Murder on the Orient Express that was now on her side of the bedside table, and Alicia felt a stab of envy before the wailing of the siren snapped her out of it.

“Come on, woman, get on with it!”

Within minutes they were both dressed in jeans and T-shirts with a jacket on hand should they need to hit the deck. That was Alicia’s idea, of course; she was no longer panicking, but she could still feel a sense of dread as images of thunderous waves kept crashing through her head.

“This had better be the real deal or I will be very cranky!” was Lynette’s take on it all as they followed the startled crowd that was now making its way down the carriageway towards the stairway at the farthest end.

“Should we get the others?” Alicia called out, stopping at Perry’s door and knocking loudly. There was no answer.

“I think they’re up ahead!” Lynette was pointing to the other end of the passage where they could just make out Missy’s bright red hair through the crowd. She looked around then and caught their eye, beaming behind her glasses as she gave them two thumbs up.

As they made their way to the Grand Salon, their appointed ‘Muster Station’, several crew members appeared, most hastily dressed and attempting to look like they were in control, despite the messy hair and the pillow creases down their cheeks.

“This way, please.”

“Nice and calmly.”

“It’s just routine, nothing to worry about.”

Alicia scoffed silently. The tremor in their voices gave the game away. If this was a drill, they’d never done one like it before.

By the time they all assembled in the bar, the passengers had become a boisterous mob. Most now seemed more annoyed than concerned, furious at having their sleep interrupted. That was until Chief Officer Pane appeared. He was flushed and frantically waving his arms about.

It was clear he had a very real emergency on his hands.

“Everyone please, settle down and take a seat if you can find one!” he called out. “We need you all to stay in one place, please, we need to do a head count.”

“Head count?” Lynette echoed, holding on to Alicia as they broke through the crowd to reach Missy and Claire. “Why on earth do they need to do a head count at this hour?”

“It’s the first thing you do in a drill,” replied Claire, who’d clearly taken notes at the first drill. Despite the hour, she was smartly dressed in pleated woollen trousers and a crisp cotton blouse and looked curiously relaxed.

If it really is an emergency, I’m sticking with her, thought Alicia. The woman was unflappable. Alicia noticed she even had a small backpack with her, probably containing lipstick, a hanky, and an inflatable life jacket. She glanced around, looking for Perry. She couldn’t see him anywhere, but she did spot Anders, just briefly, standing with several staff members including the Aussie barman, before he disappeared again.

“Something must have happened,” said Missy. “Maybe there’s stowaways or a problem with the engine?”

The bronzed Dutch couple who had followed them across shared a glance that did not get lost on Alicia.

“What do you think it is?”

“It’s just… well, we do not want to scare you,” the woman began.

“Too late for that. What do you know?”

“We have seen this once before, yes, Gunter?” Her husband looked stone-faced. “The siren, the ship turning back.”

“Turning back?” interrupted Alicia. “What do you mean the ship’s turned back?”

“Did you not feel it?”

She nodded. Yes, she had. She looked out the nearest window, but it was hard to see much in the foggy moonlight, hard to know whether they had changed direction or not. She knew one thing, the ship was slowing down and there was a lot of kerfuffle out there on the deck. Alicia watched as a crewmember dashed past clutching something that looked suspiciously like an orange life buoy.

She felt a cold shiver run down her spine.

As if by some mysterious symbiosis, the passengers appeared to all come to the same conclusion at the same time, and there was a manic surge towards the windows, people leaning over others to get a better view.

That sent Officer Pane into another flap, and he jumped back up on the podium and grappled for the microphone. “Please people!” he boomed. “You must remain still! The head count is not complete! You will disrupt everything!”

Alicia had noticed the staff members who were steadily making their way through the room, mouthing numbers as they passed each passenger, occasionally offering a reassuring smile. She wasn’t falling for it and glanced back at the couple.

“You’re the Groots, right?” They nodded. “So what does it mean when the ship turns back? Why are they doing a head count?”

She already knew the answer, of course, they all did, but it was still a shock when Eva Groot placed a hand at her heart and said, “Some poor soul has gone overboard, what else?”

Chapter 11

“Where’s Perry?”

All Alicia could think about was Perry Gordon, and she stood on her tiptoes trying to see above the crowd, trying to catch a glimpse of the palaeontologist in his ridiculous bright suits and his brilliantly chiselled beard.

The others had caught on and were now doing the same, their heads swinging from left to right.

“He must be here somewhere,” Claire said, unhelpfully.

“Could still be in his cabin?” suggested Missy. “Might have slept through? I had a flatmate once who could sleep through a car alarm. I tell you, that was a very useful trait when you lived in the centre of the city.”

But no one was listening. Both Alicia and Lynette were pushing back through the crowd, stepping over people who had slumped to the floor, and scanning every man in sight, hoping to catch a glimpse of their friend. Eventually they circled back, none the wiser, Missy now mute.

“Find him?” Claire asked hopefully, and Alicia shook her head.

“When did we last see him?” Her brain was feeling fuzzy.

“I saw him in the bar last night,” offered Missy. “About elevenish, just before I turned in.”

“I know he was heading for the dance floor when the DJ started, which is around midnight, I think,” added Lynette who recalled lamenting the fact that she would have to escort her sister to bed.

“Yes!” added Claire. “He was definitely still dancing at 12:30 when I took off.”

“I might go back and check the cabin.” It was Alicia now, but Gunter Groot was shaking his head.

“You need to stay,” he said. “They will have checked all the cabins. You will just confuse the count.”

“It could be Dame Dinnegan who’s fallen over, of course,” offered Lynette, trying to be helpful and cringing at herself as she said it.

Alicia cringed too as the prospect flooded her with overwhelming relief which quickly spilled over to guilt. Neither woman wished the elderly lady dead, but they were damned if they were going to lose another book club friend. They began studying the crowd again, this time looking for a woman in a wheelchair, a swarthy man by her side, and for a second Alicia thought she saw them before the masses swallowed them up.

Now it was disappointment that preceded her guilt.

The next heart-wrenching hour felt more like ten as the book club friends tried not to articulate the horror that was in their heads while the other passengers settled into stunned silence. They had all been asked to remain where they were “just for a little longer”, and most had found chairs or were squatting on the carpet.

All annoyance had now been replaced by strangled whispers as they debated what had happened and peered through the misty windows trying to catch a glimpse of the action. Various crewmembers were now picking their way through the crowd, offering blankets, packaged biscuits and bottled water but refusing to answer questions or give any details. Perhaps they didn’t have any. Perhaps they didn’t want to unsettle the horses.

The younger crew looked almost as terrified as the crowd, but the older, more experienced staff seemed resigned to the situation. Like the Groots, they had probably seen it all before.

“You know, I read that more than a dozen people fall off cruise ships around the world every year,” Missy said now, not comprehending how rattling her words could be.

“Well, he’s in good company then,” spat Lynette as she grabbed some biscuits from the passing steward.

Alicia, who was also sitting on the carpeted floor propped up against one wall, gladly accepted a bottle of water and took some much-needed swigs before asking no one in particular, “Where the hell is he?”

The Groots had settled in beside them, and after many long, anxious minutes, Gunter gave the book club friends an encouraging wink. “They have large spotlights, yes? They will find whoever has fallen, you will see.”

It was a comforting thought, but no one really believed that. How anyone could possibly be located in all that water in such utter darkness was beyond them, and each of them now wondered how it must feel to be out there in that endless sea, terrified and struggling to stay afloat.

Alicia looked up with a start, realising that a few other familiar faces were not amongst the crowd, including the Solarno sisters—and there was no way you’d miss those three if they were in the room.

She was about to mention this when Lynette grabbed her arm and said, “Look, there’s Anders again! Alicia, try to grab his attention. He’ll know!”

Alicia had momentarily forgotten about her boyfriend and felt a flush of guilt, but Anders had already spotted her and was making his way over, batting off questions as he went. When he reached them, his lips were set in a grim line.

“Did they find him?” Missy squealed. “Did they find Perry?”

“Perry’s fine, Missy,” he replied, and the three women almost collapsed with relief. He quickly added, “Well, he’s in a bit of shock, of course, but I’ve checked him over and he’ll be okay.”

“Shock? Why?” asked Alicia.

“And who went overboard?” demanded Lynette, but he simply placed a finger to his lips then pointed to the front as another hush swept through the room.

Captain Van Tussi was stepping towards the microphone, and this time he had the crowd’s complete attention. His relaxed smile was nowhere to be seen, and he looked like he had aged ten years overnight. Despite clear protests from several officers beside him, he shook his head and turned to look out at the startled throng.

“Ladies and gentlemen, thank you for your patience and my apologies for the inconvenience.” His deep voice was slow and sluggish with emotion, and he paused to take a deep breath. “We have a major emergency on our hands.” He hesitated again, his voice clearly shaking now. “A… a… passenger has gone overboard, and we have been endeavouring to locate her.”

The words set off a fresh ripple through the room, but it did not take long for silence to descend as they awaited his next sentence.

Her, Alicia thought. It had to be the little old lady in the wheelchair.

Voice cracking, the captain cleared his throat and continued. “We have alerted the nearest coast guard, and they will be arriving soon to assume control of the search. For now you are permitted to return to your cabins, and again I apologise for the inconvenience. If you would prefer, we are keeping the bar open and also getting some light refreshments organised in the dining room for those of you who cannot… sleep.” He took another deep breath. “The SS Orient will continue to assist in the search until such time as we are given the all-clear to resume our journey. Your trip will not be inconvenienced I can assure you of that.”

Another gasp went out as people came to terms with the news. While some looked scandalised by the idea they would be resuming the voyage, it was clear many thought it perfectly justifiable, including the Dutch couple beside them.

“For the best,” Alicia heard the man say.

“No point the rest of us ruining our trip,” said his wife. “We paid for our rooms, we must get our money’s worth.”

She wanted to smack them both about the ears with her water bottle but, instead, just turned to Anders with enquiring eyes.

“He’s being stoic,” Anders said.

“Was he very good friends with Dame Dinnegan?” Alicia asked and he looked at her, surprised.

“Dame Dinnegan? Why do you always go on about Dame Dinnegan?”

“Well, isn’t she missing?”

“No, Alicia. It isn’t the Dame who’s gone missing.” He shook his head with disbelief as he added, “It’s the captain’s wife, Corrie. She’s the one who’s fallen over.”

Chapter 12

It’s one thing to lose a stranger overboard, quite another to lose someone you’d met and for most people quite liked, and news of Corrie Van Tussi’s plight silenced almost everybody, including the Groots, who now looked suitably chastened.

Missy’s eyes were gushing tears, which trickled below the frames of her cat’s eye glasses and down her pale cheeks, while both Claire and Lynette held hands to their lips, as though halting an escaping sob.

For her part, Alicia’s head was swirling with emotions—shock, horror, disbelief, guilt. She felt such remorse for the way she had gossiped about the woman, the way she had happily accused her of infidelity. It all seemed so trivial now.

Worse than the emotions were the images, like a YouTube clip playing over and over in her head—Corrie falling over, Corrie smashing into that icy water, Corrie screaming out and knowing that nobody can hear her, knowing that death was inevitable as her husband’s ship sailed off obliviously into the night.

Oh God, the poor woman. How horrendous!

“How can he possibly carry on?” Claire said, her own thoughts on Captain Van Tussi as he slowly made his way back out, his crew forming a guarded escort around him.

“He’s the captain,” Anders replied. “His first duty is to the ship and the passengers, not to his wife.”

“His wife was a passenger,” Claire snapped back, but he was now watching Alicia.

“Are you okay?” She nodded, trying to shake the images off. “Look, about last night. I’m sorry I missed you, I—”

“Forget about it,” she interrupted him. “That’s not important now, not after what’s happened. How… how did it happen? Do you know?”

“Sort of. Not really. Listen, I’ll explain everything later. I need to go and check on the captain. He’s putting on a good show, but the last thing we need is our chief having a breakdown. I’ll catch up with you later. Oh and Alicia?”

“Yes?”

“We need to talk.”

The look he gave her then was troubling, almost foreboding, and she wanted to reach out to him, but he was already marching across the room and out the door in the direction of the man with the cap on his head and the weight of the world on his shoulders.

“I can’t even get my head around it,” said Missy.

Lucky you, thought Alicia, slumping back to the floor.

“She must have slipped,” suggested Claire, but Dermott was now scoffing. He’d appeared when Anders arrived and caught the last of the conversation, his hand also wedged to his lips.

“Those guardrails are quite high,” he said. “You don’t slip over those unless you’re drunk and trying your luck.”

“Or you get a helping hand,” said another voice.

They looked around to find Billie standing there, her expression bleak.

It was the first they had seen of the Solarno sisters since the ordeal began, and this sister, at least, looked like she had been through the wringer.

Dermott dragged her to a chair that had just been vacated, many of the passengers now making their way back to their rooms, and clicked his fingers at a passing waiter.

“Water! As fast as you can.”

“Make it a scotch!” Billie called out. “Single malt, on the rocks!”

The waiter nodded and scurried off.

“What happened? What do you know?” Dermott asked, kneeling down in front of her as a small crowd of passengers gathered round.

Billie sighed heavily and dropped her head against the back of the seat, closing her eyes for many seconds before opening them and finally speaking. “It was my sisters and Perry.”

Alicia’s stomach lurched. “What was your sisters and Perry? What are you talking about?”

“They heard her,” Billie said, sitting forward now. “They heard Corrie fall.”

That silenced everyone again. Eventually someone said, “How? What do you mean?”

And so Billie explained. “We were all having so much fun in the bar, but it was close to 2:00 a.m., and somebody mentioned that we should let the poor staff get some sleep or something. So we were leaving. I was ahead of the others, and they were taking so long on the deck, singing and carrying on.” She smiled apologetically. “We had all had a little too much to drink.”

As if on cue the waiter reappeared, a tumbler of whisky on a tray, and she snatched it up with a nod and downed it without any sense of irony.

“Anyway,” she continued, wiping her mouth with one hand as she dropped the empty glass to her lap. “I was almost at my cabin when Tillie came running down the hallway, screaming like a madwoman about someone going overboard and we had to stop the boat. I almost had to slap her to calm her down.” She smiled thinly. “I thought she was being ridiculous at first, but I followed her back up to the deck, and Perry and Millie were both there, clutching onto the side of the railing, looking down into the water.” She gulped, and for a moment Alicia worried she was going to throw up, but she quickly took control her herself. “I asked them what had happened. They were frantic. Millie was screaming, I’ve never heard her so… frantic!”

“And Perry?”

“Him too. Distraught! They said they had heard a scream, a very bad scream and then a splash!” She gasped as if hearing it herself for the first time. “I… I didn’t really believe them at first.” Another apologetic glance. “They had drunk so much, you see and… well, I thought maybe they were joking or had got it wrong. It could have been a deck chair going over in the wind or… But they were adamant!”

“Did they see Corrie?” Lynette asked, and Billie shook her head.

“I don’t see how they could have. It was dark, so dark.”

“Then how did they know it was Corrie?”

She looked up at her, confused for a moment then said. “They didn’t. Not at first. We… we ran back to the bar and alerted the staff, and well, they alerted the captain, and then I guess he must have checked on his wife. I don’t know. I just don’t know!”

She dropped her head into her hands and Dermott gave her back a comforting pat.

“There, there,” he said. “They will find her, you will see.”

She shook her head again as if she did not believe him, so he added, “Remember that cruise where we first met? The Bahamas? That drunk guy fell over, and they found him? Within an hour they had him back on deck, dripping and grinning like a fool?”

“That was the middle of the day,” she muttered. “This is different.”

Eventually another passenger who had been listening in asked, “Where are your sisters now, Billie?”

Billie looked up and fluttered a glance towards the book club friends.

“The doctor has given them all something to settle their nerves. They are very distressed. They have spent the past two hours with the crew, telling them everything they know. I am hoping, finally, they are back in their cabin, getting some rest.”

“And Perry?” Claire asked.

She lifted one shoulder. She did not know.

Dermott sighed. “It’s tragic. Absolutely tragic. Poor, poor Corrie.”

They all nodded along, but Alicia’s mind was doing some back peddling. She remembered that first night on board, the way Dermott had spoken of Corrie, the way she herself had seen Corrie whispering sweet nothings in the handsome barman’s ear. Maybe when the captain went to check on his wife she wasn’t in her room because she was in someone else’s. Perhaps this was all just a terrible misunderstanding.

She felt a stab of guilt again and then quickly pushed it aside.

It didn’t make any sense anyway. Even if Corrie had been in someone else’s cabin last night, surely the commotion—the jolting of the ship, the siren—would have flushed her out. No, there was no getting around it. Corrie was in the drink.

Chapter 13

By the time breakfast was served in the galley, most of the passengers had returned to their cabins to catch up on their sleep. Those who remained headed straight to the coffee bar where bleary-eyed waiters struggled to keep up with the orders.

Dermott had left, escorting a downcast Billie back to her room, but the book club friends were feeling wired, and all agreed sleep was impossible now. Their first instinct was to seek out Perry, but they quickly concluded that if he was in his cabin, he probably needed some rest, so they decided to join the stragglers in the restaurant and sat, dispirited, in front of coffee cups and soggy pastries.

Alicia didn’t know if Missy’s earlier comment was correct, but she had certainly heard of passengers going overboard cruise ships before. Most recently an Australian couple had been lost at sea after a suspected lovers’ tiff—she had thrown herself over, apparently, and he had foolishly jumped in to save her, his unflinching devotion sealing their fate forever. Or so the story went. Unlike the incident Dermott had mentioned, this tragedy had happened in the dead of night, and their disappearance had not been noticed until the next morning after the ship had docked.

She realised that Corrie was one of the lucky ones. Someone had heard her scream the moment she went over. There was still a chance she would be found before hypothermia kicked in. Alicia glanced at her watch and frowned. It was now 4:45 a.m., several hours since Corrie had fallen in, and hope must surely be fading.

“I suppose you already imagined this in all its gruesome glory?” Lynette was saying, pulling Alicia from her thoughts. She looked up with a start.

“What? No, no I really didn’t. I mean, Dame Dinnegan sure—although I never really took that seriously, or not at first—but Corrie? Never!” She sighed. “Perhaps I should have.”

“What does that mean?”

“Nothing.” She was too weary to think about it now.

“Terrible way to go,” said Missy.

“They may find her yet!” snapped Claire, whose mood had turned as dark as the sky outside. They all longed for the sun to do everyone a favour and poke its head up, not just to lighten their moods but also to assist in the search.

“So did she jump, do you think?” asked Missy, biting down on an apricot Danish. “Or was she pushed?”

Unlike Claire, the ordeal seemed to have lifted the librarian’s spirits. It was not that she was heartless. It had more to do with the fact that an intriguing mystery had just landed in Missy’s lap and she loved nothing better than a little intrigue. She was a member of the Agatha Christie Book Club, after all.

“The scream is a bit of a giveaway,” said Alicia. “Billie said the others heard a scream before the splash. If you were committing suicide—and I can’t imagine that beautiful, confident woman trying to top herself—but even if you did, would you scream?”

Missy was nodding enthusiastically now. “I read once that almost every person who tries to commit suicide regrets it a second after.”

Claire scoffed. “Goodness, the stuff you read! How on earth would they know that, Missy? They’re all dead.”

“Well obviously some of them survived, and they must have done a survey or something.”

Claire glared at her like she was a complete fool and said, “In any case, the fall would make me scream whether I intended to jump or not. It was chilly out last night, that cold, dark water rushing towards you…” She shivered. “Dreadful business. I can’t see how we can possibly continue on and pretend to be having fun after all of this.”

That was clearly one reason for her foul mood. This beautiful ship had now been sullied. Claire would gaze at its lush, walnut interiors and ornate furnishings a little less romantically from this point on.

The group stared moodily into their cups for many minutes before Alicia had a bright idea.

“There must be cameras on the balconies. They’ll know more once they check the CCTV footage, right?”

She was recalling the grainy black-and-white images she had seen on the TV news of the aforementioned Aussie couple. It had been released by the cruise line and flashed all over the Australian media showing first one then the other fall from their balcony to their deaths. Alicia recalled feeling helpless at the time as she watched from the comfort of her living room, but the feeling she had now was so much more intense. It was as though she had failed somehow. As though she was still failing. She felt like she should be out there too, calling Corrie’s name, swinging life buoys into the sea.

Something!

Missy was shaking her head again. “I don’t think so, Alicia. Don’t you remember the history lecture? This is a replica of an old steamship. The lecturer said it was true down to almost every detail, which is why we don’t have TVs in our cabins, no Wi-Fi on board. I suspect there are no cameras either.”

“Yes but she also said they had all the mod cons,” said Claire. “It’s not really a steamship. There’s a gym and spa for goodness’ sake! They must have state-of-the-art security too. They wouldn’t be allowed not to.”

It turns out they did have surveillance cameras on board, just not on the private balcony of the luxurious stateroom from which Corrie was thought to have fallen. Cameras were limited to the public decks only, a minimum safety requirement for this cruise line, and so there would be no grainy footage to reveal just what had happened on that dark and lonely deck several hours earlier.

The book friends only learned this later after they finally caught up with Perry, who was not in his cabin as they suspected but perched on a wooden deck chair at the stern of the ship, shivering profusely despite the woollen blanket around his shoulders. He was refusing to go inside.

Anders was with him and growing increasingly concerned, so he had despatched a steward to track down the book club friends who promptly deserted their breakfast and rushed to help out.

“Please talk some sense into him,” Anders said as they gathered around, swapping anxious looks while Perry stared silently out to sea. “There’s nothing more he can do for Corrie. He needs to get inside, in the warmth. Hell, he needs some sleep, but he won’t go in and take the pills I’ve prescribed.”

Lynette leaned down to him and said, “Well that’d be a first! Perry Gordon refusing drugs.”

That brought a sliver of a smile to the man’s lips, and he glanced up at her then back out at the sea, the smile vanishing again.

Lynette and Anders shared another worried look, then Claire said, “There’s nothing you can do from here, honey. You need to come inside.”

He didn’t look up this time, but Alicia had an idea.

“Actually, there is something you can do.” She perched on the deck chair beside him, ignoring the cold, wet canvas beneath her jeans. Perry didn’t look around, so she gave his elbow a light bump with hers and added, “We’re the Agatha Christie Book Club, remember?”

Someone made a strangled sound, Anders she thought, but she ignored it and kept on going, her arm now around Perry, who had stopped staring outwards and appeared to be listening.

“Corrie said she had a mystery for us, remember? When we first met her, just after the drill.”

“She lost some clothes, Alicia, nothing very serious,” Claire said gently, but there was scorn in her voice too, and Alicia glared at her.

“I know that, Claire, but the fact remains, Corrie believed in us. She asked for our help. Maybe we can do more than find a few lost frocks. Maybe we can help find out what happened to her.”

Anders cleared his throat noisily, and Alicia glanced up at him. It was as though he wanted to say something, but she wasn’t in the mood for more defeatism. It was Perry she was trying to help, and it was clearly working. He had turned to look at her, a glimmer of hope in his eyes.

“How?” he croaked, his voice almost blown away by the howling wind that slapped around them.

“We can do what we did the last time we lost somebody. You remember? We didn’t dismiss it. We didn’t pretend it was somebody else’s responsibility. We stepped up, and we tried to find her.”

“That’s right!” said Missy, getting in on the action. “We could use the remaining few days of the cruise to investigate!” She turned to Claire, who still looked sceptical. “You said it yourself, honeybun, how can we possibly continue on, pretending to be having fun? Well, we don’t have to. We continue by solving this! Working out just what happened to the poor lady!”

“But…” It was Claire again, looking like everyone had flipped. “She might still be found. She could still be okay!”

“And if she is, fantastic,” said Missy. “But if she’s not, well, we’ll do everything we can to find out what happened.”

“But,” Claire persisted, “it was probably just one of those horrible, dreadful accidents. I mean, we don’t know. We can’t possibly know!”

“Sure, but it can’t hurt to try, and it might even help,” Alicia said, giving Claire a pointed look, nudging her eyebrows towards Perry.

Anders went to say something just as a high-pitched whistle came from the other side of the deck. He swung around to find a crewmember waving to him anxiously.

He frowned. “I’ve got to run. But listen, before I go.” He stopped and looked directly at Alicia. “I know what you’re doing, and it’s very gallant I must say, but you’re forgetting one important thing.” She raised her eyebrows in response. “There are professionals on board to investigate all of this, there’ll be enquiries, there’ll eventually be an inquest. It’s sweet that you want to help, but it would actually be interference. Besides, without solid evidence, without CCTV footage, this is a really complex investigation. Unless Corrie left a suicide note, and I don’t believe she did, who knows what happened? We may never know. This time, guys, you’re out of your depth.” He grimaced at his own pun. “We need to just leave it to the experts, okay?”

Alicia went to object, but he held up a stalling palm. “Right now your priority is to Perry. He needs to be inside and warm. And I really, really have to go.”

He turned and strode swiftly down the deck towards the waiting officer.

The book club friends watched him disappear inside, and then Claire sighed heavily. “I have to agree with Anders. I mean, I want to help, really I do, but what can we possibly do? We’re just a group of amateurs.”

“No we’re not!” It was Perry at last, and he was pushing the blanket off. “Anders is wrong about that. We’re more than just amateurs.” He turned to Alicia. “You’re spot on, Alicia. We’re mystery devotees, experts at complex puzzles—we’ve been reading crime books since we outgrew Dr Seuss!”

“Yes, but that’s fiction,” said Claire.

“A mystery’s a mystery, Claire,” said Missy. “Besides, we have form, remember? We have a track record.”

“Exactly!” said Perry again. “Nobody knows their way around a mystery better than we do, and what could be more mysterious than a woman vanishing overboard?”

He stood up, his eyes blazing bright. “If anybody can work out what happened to poor Corrie Van Tussi, it’s the Agatha Christie Book Club!”

Part 2—The Evidence

Chapter 1

It was 6:00 a.m., and the sun had finally bothered to join the crowd on the deck, a bedraggled gathering of crew, voyeurs and worrywarts who were drawn as if by some misguided heroism to the stern of the ship. All eyes were on the sea below, each scanning the whitecaps as if somehow, miraculously, they would be the one to spot the poor woman, to save the day, to rescue the damsel in distress.

Several helicopters now cut across the horizon, and this surprised Alicia. She wondered how they had managed it. They were so far from land, “somewhere in the middle of The Ditch” was the general consensus, referring to the popular nickname for the body of water between Australia and New Zealand. There were multiple vessels too, some coast patrols, some passing fishing boats that had volunteered or been commandeered to help the search.

The book club friends had done as Anders instructed and forced Perry back indoors, but it was only temporary. They all agreed to freshen up and get a bite to eat before continuing their vigil on deck.

The truth was, though, that it was not the hot shower or toasted blueberry muffin that revived Perry’s spirits. It was the renewed sense of purpose—the idea of investigating Corrie’s disappearance—that provided the much-needed adrenalin shot. Now clutching a mug of cocoa, he, too, was staring back out at sea, his eyes sparkling this time.

“How far out are we?” Claire called out as a gust of wind roared past.

“I heard someone say it’s about 2,000 kilometres between the two countries. That’s 1,200 miles,” said Perry, “and as far as I know we’re not even halfway yet.”

“Are you able to tell us what happened?” Alicia asked gently, not wanting to upset him again, but he was keen to unload.

“I just can’t believe it,” he began. “Feels like a really bad dream that I just can’t wake up from. We were all having so much fun last night, none of us would ever have guessed what was about to…” He broke off as his eyes watered up.

“By ‘all’, who do you mean?” asked Alicia, trying to keep him on track.

He thought about it. “I know it was late, but there was a bit of a crowd after midnight.”

“I thought most of the passengers cleared off when the DJ started up.”

“Yes, and they did the first night, but last night it was packed. You see the staff are allowed to come join us after twelve, they don’t have their own dance floor, the ship’s too small for that, so it’s like a second shift starts up. They’re off duty and out for a bit of fun. But there were still plenty of paying customers too. The Solarnos—they were all over the dance floor that night—myself, at least six or seven younger couples, some older single women, that gigolo guy, and of course Dermott. Poor man, he barely gets a break. Oh and there was that strange friend of Corrie’s, you know, the anorexic one? Anita I think it is.”

Alicia recalled her and nodded.

Perry continued. “Those two seem like the unlikeliest of pals, not that I’ve seen them together much. Anita was in the bar on her own for most of the night I think, dipped in and out. Didn’t dance, that I recall, but she can sure knock back the booze. She left just before we did.” He sighed. “So, let me think. We decided to call it a night, we were getting the death stare from a couple of the barmen—”

“The Aussie one?”

His eyes squinted. “No, I don’t think any were Aussies. Anyway, we were making our way to our cabins via the upper deck; someone wanted to get some fresh air. I was with the sisters, but one of them got a bit cross with us… Can’t remember which one now.”

“Billie,” Alicia prompted, and he nodded.

“We were carrying on a bit, pretending to reenact episodes of The Love Boat. I was Captain Stubing.” Missy giggled, and he smiled, but it was only fleeting. “We were just above Corrie’s cabin. I didn’t know it at the time, they told me later. That’s when we heard a woman scream.” He shuddered. “It was more like a shriek. Worse was the splash. Like a rock just dropping into the water.”

“What did you do?”

“We kind of froze for a second, trying to comprehend what we’d heard, and then Millie or Tillie, one of them started screaming and rushed to the edge of the railing. That’s when it hit me. That’s when I realised we had just heard someone go over. I tell you there is nothing more chilling to the bone than that, the very thought…” He broke off, his eyes welling up, but he brushed off their concerns along with his tears and continued, “So we stood there shouting down to the water, hoping whoever it was could hear us, and then one of the sisters said, ‘Shhh!’ See if we can hear her!’ So we shut up for a few minutes, then I don’t know, Tillie ran off to get help, Millie and I kept scanning the water, but it was so dark.”

Alicia frowned. There had been a full moon the night before and she said, “There should have been some light from the moon, surely?”

“If there was it was hidden behind a cloud. Big pity, really, because it might have helped. I remember grabbing a life buoy and throwing it over, but I didn’t know what else to do.”

“That was smart,” said Missy.

“I wasn’t really thinking to be honest. We were all on automatic pilot. I was so relieved when the crew came running and they finally stopped the ship and turned back. It felt like an eternity before that happened.”

“So when did they work out that it was Corrie who went over?” asked Lynette.

“Sooner than you’d think. We were up on the deck with the captain and some of the crew, trying to explain what we’d seen, where we were standing, and I guess that’s when it clicked. The captain suddenly just turned and ran. I’ve never seen a man in his sixties run so fast. Anders told me later that’s when he realised we were right over his wife’s private balcony. You can’t see down into it, the upper deck is like the roof of the balcony, but I guess he put two and two together. Of course he may have thought it was old Dame Dinnegan at first because her cabin is right next to Corrie’s apparently, but once he checked on his wife, well…”

Alicia raised a hand to her throat. “Imagine what was going through that poor man’s mind as he raced down to their room. Imagine opening that door, looking at that empty bed, rushing to the balcony—”

“Yes, okay then,” interrupted Claire. “This is horrific enough without your grisly imagination making things worse.”

“I don’t think things can be much worse,” said Lynette before turning to her sister. “What’s Anders’s problem by the way? Telling us to leave it alone! He acts like we’re a pack of dimwits who’ve never looked into a disappearance before. What did he think we were doing when Barbara Parlour vanished? Playacting?”

She shrugged. “He’s a cautious guy, Lynny, you know that. Don’t worry. He’ll come round, he always does.”

“He’d better because, if we really are going to do this, he’s the one with the inside track. We need his help.”

Perhaps they didn’t.

Dermott was walking towards the group now, freshly dressed in chinos and a thin woollen sweater, and after commiserating with Perry, he quickly filled them in on what he knew. It was clear he, too, had his sources.

“I hear they’re checking the CCTV footage from the public decks now,” he said, leaning against the railing. “They’re hoping one of them might have caught something, perhaps some glimpse of what went on, but they’re not holding their breaths.” He sighed. “I had a word to my buddy, Pane. Says the captain hasn’t shed a tear. Not one single drop.”

“He’s probably still holding out hope,” said Lynette.

“I’d say he’s in shock,” countered Perry.

“In any case, he’s being a true professional,” said Missy. “He must be made of stern stuff that guy. I mean, imagine trying to hold it all together when the love of your life has just flown over the side of your own ship. He must be so distraught.”

Dermott coughed discreetly, and when they all looked at him, he said, “I really shouldn’t be saying anything…”

“Oh go on then,” said Perry, leaning towards him.

“The thing is, Pane tells me they’d had a fight, the captain and his wife during dinner last night, quite public in front of several guests, so it’d be public knowledge by now anyway. He stormed off, she headed back to her cabin.” He gave them a knowing look.

“So, what are you saying?” said Claire. “You think she was so upset she threw herself into the ocean?”

“I guess we’ll never know,” he replied, and that’s when Alicia remembered.

She jumped up from her deck chair. “I need to see Anders again. I need to know why he stood me up last night!”

“Oh for goodness’ sake,” Lynette said. “Your love life is not a priority at this point.”

But it wasn’t Alicia’s love life she was thinking about. She’d just remembered whom Anders had stood her up for, and she was determined to find out why.

Chapter 2

Nurse Dee was determined to block Alicia from Anders’s surgery.

“Not unless you’re sick or have an appointment, I’m sorry.” She placed her hands on her ample hips and stood in front of the closed door as if prepared to tackle Alicia to the floor if need be. “The doctor is completely swamped as you can imagine. We’ve got several passengers in great distress, and he has to be available in case they find…”

She let the sentence trail off, and Alicia sighed.

“I understand that. Really I do.” She let her shoulders droop. “It’s just that, I’m not feeling too crash hot myself.”

She wasn’t exactly lying. With the morning’s adrenaline now wearing off, her hangover was back with a vengeance and her head was thudding like the ship’s engine.

The nurse looked at her more closely. While it was clear she didn’t want to believe this sudden onset of illness, there was something decidedly peakish about the woman standing before her. As if to accentuate the point, Alicia slumped into the nearest chair.

Dee’s lips pursed together and she said, “Fine. Stay there. I’ll see if he’s available.”

She tapped on the door and vanished inside for just a moment before returning with Anders at her heel.

“Alicia, are you okay?”

She moaned. “Not really. I’m not feeling too good. Must be the shock or something.”

“Oh yes, I can see that, you look terrible.”

“I do?”

“Yes, come in please.”

Alicia tried not to be offended as she followed him into his surgery and closed the door behind her. The second the door was shut Anders grabbed her hands and led her to a seat in front of his desk.

“I’m so glad you’re here.”

“You are?”

“Yes, I need to talk to you, in private, wasn’t sure how I was going to manage it. It’s about Corrie. I have to confess something.”

Alicia felt her heart sink. She wasn’t sure she wanted to hear it.

Had Corrie been with Anders last night after dinner? Was that why the Captain and Corrie had been fighting?

Getting to her feet she said, “Look, Anders, it’s not the reason I—”

“I was with Corrie last night!”

And there it was.

She sat back down.

“Around the time you and I were supposed to meet, well, Corrie asked to see me.”

She blinked then frowned. “Oh, you mean before dinner? I already know that, you went to the bar together.”

“No, we weren’t at the bar. We went back to Corrie’s cabin.”

Alicia’s lips formed a perfect O, but she couldn’t manage to say anything. Her mind was doing all the talking, and most of it was high pitched and hysterical.

He finally picked up on her distress and said, “It’s not what you think. Corrie said she had something important to discuss. I would have told you sooner, I meant to tell you after dinner last night, but, well, I’ve been so preoccupied with Mrs Jollson’s death.”

“Cecilia Jollson? I thought you said it wasn’t suspicious.”

“No… Well… it’s just… Look, that’s not important now. We need to talk about Corrie.”

“What about her?”

He took a deep breath, then sat forward in his chair and explained.

Corrie had been jovial before dinner, he remembered that now, in seemingly high spirits as she dragged him into her cabin, and for an awkward moment he thought as Alicia had that the woman was going to proposition him.

But it was a very different kind of proposition she had in mind.

Pulling him onto the silk chaise longue in her suite, she had said quite calmly, “I’m not one for beating about the bush, so I’ll come straight to the point. I want to ask you a favour; I’ve got a job for you.”

It was not what he had been expecting, but she misread his surprise. “I can pay. I have plenty of money.” She smiled then. “More than I need.”

“It’s not that, it’s just, well, I already have a job.”

“I realise that, dummy! But as I say, I will pay you handsomely and it’s a mystery, see? I know you love a good mystery.”

He remembered the missing kaftans and said, “Yes, murder mysteries,” meaning fictional ones, but again she misunderstood and her eyes lit up.

“Exactly! That’s why I need you. You and the others.”

“Others?”

“Your book club friends, of course! I don’t know who else to trust. Everyone else… well, they’re all compromised.”

“Compromised?” repeated Alicia now, and he lifted one shoulder.

“I have no idea what she meant by that, and to be honest I didn’t think to ask. I was more intrigued by what she meant by ‘murder mystery’. I asked her and she said, quite matter-of-factly like she was just chewin’ the fat, ‘Why, my murder of course.’”

Alicia sat back with a thud.

He sat back too, as if giving her time to digest it.

“I didn’t take her seriously,” he said eventually. “I thought she was being melodramatic—is that the word Dermott used about her? He’s not wrong. She is a little like that, loud and theatrical. Was like that.” He closed his eyes briefly. “I kind of dismissed it, laughed her off, told her she was being silly.”

“And how did she respond to that?”

“She said she had proof someone was out to get her.”

“And did she?”

He nodded. “She showed me a letter. It was frankly ridiculous. It looked amateurish, comical even. Like someone was winding her up. It had been written in really childish scrawl, like it had been made to look amateur, and it said something like, ‘Stop doing what you’re doing or you’ll get what’s coming to you. This is your final warning!’”

Alicia considered the words for a moment then asked, “Did she say what they meant by that?” He shook his head. “Wow, that’s pretty nasty. Corrie must have been devastated.”

“That’s the thing. She wasn’t upset so much as amused like it was all a practical joke, which is why I didn’t take it seriously either. She said she wanted me, well, us, the book club, to look into it for her. Work out who sent it and report back. She asked if I could get us all together for a meeting to start investigating.”

“How were we supposed to investigate that?”

“She said, ‘You’re the mystery experts. Check out the handwriting, compare it to a few of the passengers.’ I kind of humoured her and said, ‘Anyone in particular?’ and she just laughed then. She said, and I think I remember this correctly, ‘There’s 280 passengers on this ship, most of them fat, female and over fifty. My guess is, it could be any of them. I’m younger, richer and have my pick of men. Isn’t that motive enough?’ She stopped then and added something like, ‘If only they all realised there’s only one man for me now.’”

Alicia was gobsmacked, but he continued on.

“Of course I didn’t take it at all seriously. The letter seemed like a practical joke to me, and I told her that. I told her to just throw it away, said I’d get her something to settle her nerves, and I did. I ran and fetched her some antianxiety medication before dinner. I figured that was all there was to it, but…”

“But now you’re worried she really was murdered?”

He stared at her puzzled. “What? No! Not at all. Sorry, you misunderstand me.”

Now she looked puzzled and he explained.

“I’m worried that the medication I gave her made her groggy. Maybe it’s my fault Corrie slipped overboard!”

The intercom buzzed shrilly, and both Anders and Alicia nearly jumped out of their skins. It was Nurse Mandy, and she had a slight edge in her voice now.

“Doctor, I have a patient here waiting to see you.”

He swallowed hard and leaned across the desk to press a button. “I’ll be right out, thanks, Dee.” He glanced back at Alicia. “I’m sorry, I’d better get on.”

She didn’t budge. “Listen, two things: first of all, there is no way your medication had anything to do with what happened to Corrie.”

“How do you know that?”

“Because she screamed, Anders. When she fell overboard, Perry heard Corrie scream. So she couldn’t have been groggy and out of it. She knew what was happening and she didn’t like it one bit. But there is a way you can set your mind at rest. That’s my second point.” His eyes widened. “You can go back into her cabin and check. Look for the meds; see if she even took any. And while you’re there try and find that letter. It could be the key to everything.”

“Okaaaay.” His eyes narrowed. “Listen, I’m telling you this in confidence, right? This doesn’t mean I think you should all start running around like headless chickens investigating.”

“Well, you might not, but Corrie clearly does.” He frowned so she said, “I’m sorry, Anders, but she wanted to ask us—the book club—to investigate that letter. It might be the reason she went overboard. Surely it has to be connected.”

“Yes, but we’re not experts. I keep telling you this, we’re not employed—”

“We are employed! Corrie employed us, or she tried to before she was silenced.”

He sat back in his chair, and his frown hardened into a scowl. “Come on, Alicia. You’re letting your imagination run away with you again. We don’t know what really happened. As I say, she could just have been groggy, and it could be my fault.”

“Exactly! That’s why you need to do yourself a favour, get into her cabin, have a bit of a rummage, and find out!”

Chapter 3

It didn’t take long for Anders to put his mind at rest. All the medication he had prescribed was still in an unopened packet by Corrie’s bed, and he exhaled heavily not even aware he had been holding his breath.

The security man at the door looked across and Anders pointed a gloved hand at the packet with a victory smile.

He hadn’t bothered making up a story, had simply presented himself to the ship’s head of security, a beefy geezer he’d already met called Paul Packer. Paul had sealed the cabin off to preserve the evidence; that was just standard procedure. Official investigators would come aboard once they docked in New Zealand. And while Packer had already searched and photographed the cabin personally, he hadn’t thought to enlist the doctor to specifically look for medication.

“Good idea,” he’d told Anders. “See if she has any antidepressants or antipsychotics or whatever you can find.”

The sooner they proved the woman was off her rocker and had willingly thrown herself into the sea, the better it would be for all of them, Packer decided, including the captain. Packer had already heard about the couple’s spat that night, and he was desperate to clear Van Tussi’s name. He knew how these things went. The whole ship would be whispering and pointing the finger at the poor man and, deeply loyal to his chief, he was damned if was going to let that happen!

With instructions to wear gloves and not touch a thing, Anders was allowed free reign of Corrie’s cabin, and so he took the opportunity to do as Alicia suggested and started searching for evidence.

The stateroom was palatial, as you’d expect for the captain’s digs, but Anders knew that the top dog barely spent any time in it. He was usually too busy at the ship’s command station, the bridge, which was located just above the promenade deck on the forward side of the ship. Famous for never wanting to stray too far from the action, Captain Van Tussi also had a smaller sleeping berth just to the portside of the bridge.

Perhaps that was why Corrie had strayed, Anders thought, because he, too, had heard the rumours and was pretty convinced she wasn’t a faithful wife. It wasn’t just the way she flirted with him, it was something she’d said to him last night, something that evaded him now. He couldn’t quite remember…

He shook the thought away and focused on the search.

Apart from the tablets he’d prescribed, her bedside table also held an antique slag glass lamp, a small Chinese fan, a bottle of Evian and an empty velvet box. He took a quick look in the small rubbish bin under the mahogany writing desk nearby hoping to find the suspicious note, but all he could see were discarded chocolate wrappers and a half-empty packet of Italian cigarettes.

Strange, he thought. He wasn’t aware that either of the Van Tussis smoked. Frowning, he swept his eyes around the room and across to the en suite bathroom. He marched in and carefully opened the cabinet.

Corrie had a lot of makeup, more than the small unit could hold, and it had spilled onto the counter below where there was also a bottle of Chanel No. 5, some Hard as Nails hair spray and what looked like a tanning kit. There was no medication apart from the contraceptive pill and a packet of aspirin. He studied it for a few minutes then was just turning away when he remembered the bin below the sink.

It was impossible to see inside without pulling it out. Checking that the guard was not watching, Anders carefully did so, his eyebrows nudging upwards. There was no letter inside, unfortunately, but there was an empty condom packet.

Now that was a very strange item for a married couple to have, he thought, especially when one of them was already on contraception.

********

“It’s proof!” squealed Missy. “She was having an affair! Maybe with the sleazy gigolo! She obviously didn’t want to catch something nasty.”

“Shhh!” Anders said, immediately regretting bringing his findings to the book club.

It was extremely unprofessional of him, and not just because they were amateurs. It was one thing to investigate a missing book club member in your own time, it was quite another to do so while under the employ of the ship.

He should be talking to Packer, not this lot.

Yet Alicia had insisted he do so, and sensing their relationship was on tenterhooks, he had foolishly agreed. So it was they were all together back in the restaurant, consuming a buffet lunch while they feasted on Anders’s findings.

“You mustn’t say anything to anyone. It’s scandalous that I’ve even mentioned it.”

“Oh keep your pants on, Doc,” said Perry. “You know you can trust us. Surely you’ve learned that by now.”

He didn’t look convinced, and Alicia gave his hand a squeeze.

“Just remember, Corrie came to us first. Yes? She begged you for our help, so we owe it to her. Besides, anything you tell us won’t go any further than this group, right guys?”

They all nodded, and it seemed to mollify him a little.

Alicia had already filled the others in on Corrie’s conversation with Anders the night before, and despite his reservations, it had only worked to strengthen their resolve. Except, perhaps, Claire.

“Guys, I hate to be the bucket of cold water again, but there is still the possibility that it was all just a dreadful accident. I know what Corrie told you, Anders; I know she screamed as she went over, but maybe, just maybe, she simply stumbled. I mean, it must happen sometimes.”

“Oh, Claire, you’re determined to return with sweet holiday memories aren’t you?” said Lynette, shaking her head. She was rewarded with an icy stare.

“That’s what I thought too,” said Anders, “but I checked the height of the balcony when I was in Corrie’s cabin, and the guardrails are pretty high, almost four feet. They came halfway up my torso. There’s no way you accidentally stumble over them. Unless she pulled herself up and was sitting on the railing, in which case she clearly had a death wish.”

“She was a pretty big woman,” said Claire. “Tall, long legs.”

“Not that long.”

“She could’ve been drunk,” said Perry. “Remember how quickly she wrenched that glass of champagne from her best friend’s hand?”

“So where does this leave us?” asked Lynette.

“Tell them about the cigarettes,” Alicia prompted, and he did.

“Who throws away unsmoked cigarettes?” said Perry. “I think that’s the interesting piece of evidence. And Italian, you say? We should find out who smokes Italian fags.”

“I want to know more about the spat she had with her hubby,” said Lynette, and Anders looked mortified again.

“Who told you about that?”

“Oh everyone’s talking about it. It’s old news.”

“But surely you don’t think the captain had something to do with this?”

“Convince me otherwise,” said Lynette, folding her arms and sitting back.

As a guest at the captain’s table, Anders had witnessed the so-called “spat” and insisted it was more a throwaway line than a quarrel.

“When exactly did they fight?” Alicia asked.

“I think it was during dessert. No, just before it was brought out. That’s right. Corrie said she was skipping it and apologised to us all, said she had to return to her cabin. That’s when the captain said something like, ‘Return then! I’m sure the company there is so much sweeter!’ Something like that.”

“That sounds like an accusation of an affair if ever I heard one,” said Lynette, switching her gaze to Alicia. “Maybe you were right about that Aussie barman all along. Maybe he has something to do with it. Maybe he was in love with her and she threatened to break it off?” Alicia looked doubtful suddenly, so she added, “Or maybe, more likely, the captain caught them at it and he threw his wife over in a fit of jealousy!”

“Wouldn’t the barman say something if that were the case?”

“Exactly! That’s why you should go and have a little chat with him and—”

“No!” Anders growled, his vehemence taking them all by surprise. His patience was clearly wearing thin, and exasperation oozed from the tight lines around his mouth. “Sorry, guys, but I don’t think you should be throwing accusations like that around.” He looked at Alicia. “Please, just leave Jackson alone.”

“Jackson?”

He nodded irritably. “I think that’s the barman’s name. Just leave him be. Look, the fact is we have no real proof Corrie was having an affair with anybody. The more I think about it, the more I think the captain could have been referring to Corrie’s best friend, Anita. They’ve been thick as thieves since she got on in Sydney.”

Lynette looked sceptical. “Huh? The captain was jealous of a best friend who was keeping his wife entertained while he worked around the clock? I can’t see it myself.”

“Was Anita there during dinner when he stormed off?” Alicia asked, and he said yes. “So how did she and Corrie take his outburst?”

“I guess they were all a bit embarrassed but no one more so than the captain. He immediately apologised to us all then excused himself, said he had to be back at the bridge and left.”

“So he didn’t go on to the music bar for a dance like the night before?” asked Alicia. She recalled seeing him on the dance floor briefly that first night.

“I didn’t see him,” said Perry while Anders just shrugged.

“I don’t know. I was caught up with work, and I’m sure the captain was too. I certainly didn’t see him again after dinner. Well, not until he summoned the crew to the bridge around 2:40 this morning to break the dreadful news.”

“And how did he appear then?”

“Worried, anxious, as you would be.”

“But not distraught?”

“Well, of course he was distraught. But he’s a professional—”

“Oh I’m so sick of hearing that!” said Claire. “Sorry, but it’s not actually 1901. We’re allowed to show emotion now, aren’t we? When your wife falls overboard, you would expect a few tears at the very least.”

“Not if you helped her over you wouldn’t,” said Lynette, and Anders glared hard.

“You cannot seriously suspect the captain did this?”

Missy was nodding her head. “He was obviously jealous, and she did tell you she feared for her life. Maybe he didn’t really mean to kill her? Maybe they had a bit of a scuffle? I mean, whether she was hanging out too much with her bestie or sleeping around on him—and that condom packet’s all the proof I need; what married couple bothers with condoms?—well, the hubby certainly had motive.”

“But did he have opportunity?” asked Alicia pragmatically. She turned to Perry. “You heard Corrie scream at what, about 2:00 a.m.?”

“More like 2:15.”

“Okay, so do we know where Captain Van Tussi was around that time? Did you or one of the sisters find him?”

“He wasn’t at the bridge, I know that. We rushed up there with some of the crew, and then one of them took off to fetch him. Don’t know from where. It was close by.”

“If he wasn’t on duty, he would have been sleeping in the adjoining cabin,” explained Anders. “He told me he often bunks in there so he doesn’t wake his wife at all hours through the night.”

“Can anyone corroborate that?”

He scowled again. He didn’t like this line of inquiry, not one bit. He was in Packer’s corner on this. He liked the captain, felt loyal to him, protective even, and he’d only worked for the guy for just over a week. Yet there was something about Van Tussi that instilled that in you. Anders had watched him in action—on the bridge with the crew, over four courses with his guests. He was firm but fair, strong but gentle, charming without being disingenuous. Captain Van Tussi seemed like a thoroughly decent bloke, and Anders tried to articulate this to them all now, but most of them weren’t buying it.

“Some of the most charming people have turned out to be monsters,” Missy said, adding two chilling words: “Ted Bundy.”

Anders almost laughed. “I can assure you Captain Van Tussi is no serial killer.”

“What about Mrs Jollson?”

“What?” said Anders.

“Who?” added Perry.

“The woman in the red dress, the one who died the night before.”

“What about her, Missy?” Anders said.

“How do we know she really died of a heart attack?”

Alicia nodded. That’s right, earlier that day Anders had implied that there was more to Mrs Jollson’s death than natural causes, and she would have pursued that now if he didn’t look fit to burst.

“Because I said so!” he barked back, causing several nearby diners to turn and stare. He took a few calming breaths and lowered his voice again. “Sorry, but really, I think you’re all overreaching, big time. What are you saying? That Captain Van Tussi killed both Mrs Jollson and his wife? Why? Because he’s a crazed serial killer?” He scoffed. “We won’t really know what happened to Mrs Jollson until we get an autopsy done, but I really don’t think it has anything to do with this. It’s a completely separate matter.”

His increasingly heated tone had them all perplexed but no one more so than Alicia, and she tried to meet his eyes, but he was getting to his feet now. “It’s extremely unprofessional of me to be even discussing this with you guys. I should never have let you talk me into it, Alicia.” Now he met her gaze with an accusatory glare. “Just promise me you’ll ease back a bit and leave the bloody barman alone.”

She didn’t want to, but she nodded reluctantly, and it seemed to calm him down. He glanced around the group again.

“Sorry, I just haven’t got time for this. I really have to go. It’s all hands on deck now while we try to settle the horses and get back to cruising.”

Then he plunged his hands into his pockets and strode off, leaving several of them mirroring his bad mood.

“What’s up his nose?” said Lynette.

“He can’t really expect us to relax and pretend like it never happened,” added Claire.

Alicia just blinked rapidly, feeling her own anger sharpen. She tried very hard to swallow it back down, but it felt as though she were swallowing razor blades. Why had Anders turned so surly so fast? Was he angry about their investigation? Was it something else? They were all staring at her anxiously, so she faked a smile.

“Anders is just trying to protect us all, you know what he’s like. I guess it must be hard being the middleman, straddling the line between ‘Them’ and ‘Us’.”

Perry gave her a look that suggested he did not believe it for one moment but wisely left it at that. Besides, he had just spotted the Solarno sisters who were making their way into the restaurant and began waving them over. It was the first time he had seen them since their morning ordeal, and he wanted to see how they were coping.

The Solarno sisters clearly had similar concerns for him and marched straight across, genuine anxiety etched into their faces. If they had managed some sleep, it did not show in the dark bags below their eyes and their deep frown lines.

“Perry, Perry, Perry,” cried Millie, reaching down to scoop him into an enormous hug.

He melted into her, and they stayed like that for a few seconds, everyone watching, tears welling up in most sets of eyes. Eventually Millie released him and asked, “Are you better now? Do you think you’re going to be okay?”

He nodded. “I think so. How about you ladies? How are you holding up?”

Millie waved a hand in the air as if to dismiss that, but Billie spoke up now.

“There’s still quite a bit of shock at our end, too, but we will all get used to it. Won’t we girls?”

It almost sounded like a command, like she desperately needed her beloved sisters to recover from this life changing event and move on, and it did not surprise Alicia. Just hearing that scream and then that splash, it was sure to reverberate through their thoughts for many months to come.

“So what do you guys think happened?” asked Missy, a little insensitively perhaps because she was rewarded with one of Billie’s trademark death stares.

Millie, however, just sighed. “I don’t think we will ever know, my dear. Maybe we just have to accept that.”

Missy was accepting nothing of the sort. “But what about the rumours? We’d heard Corrie was having an affair. We wonder whether it had something to do with that, maybe?”

Now Alicia was giving her friend death stares, but before she could say anything, Billie had one hand on her hip and the other waving a finger at the younger woman.

“It is very easy for all of us to start throwing gossip around now the woman has gone, but I do not think that is very helpful or kind to the poor captain, is it, girls?” Her sisters nodded sullenly beside her. “Sure, Corrie could be flirty and silly and well, maybe some men got the wrong idea, but the point now is to rally behind our faithful leader and give him our love and strength. Come on, girls, we need to eat.”

She shot Missy another dagger glare then waddled off in the direction of the buffet, her sisters offering apologetic smiles before they followed.

Lynette also stared at Missy. “Insensitive much?”

“What? I was just asking. I’m allowed to ask.”

“Jesus, Missy.” It was Perry now. “We’ve had a pretty horrendous night, and those three women knew Corrie better than any of us. Slandering her is not real bright.”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t think…”

Perry sighed. “I’d better go see if Billie’s okay.”

Alicia grabbed his forearm, holding him back. “Before you go can we just agree on this, please? We seem to be all over the shop. I know what Anders thinks, and I know what those ladies have just said, but I’m not prepared to butt out. I really believe there’s more to this than meets the eye. But I won’t interfere if you all agree with Anders and think we’re overstepping.”

“Forget Anders! We absolutely need to investigate,” said Perry, “but can we be a little more sensitive about it? Maybe leave the Solarnos to me?” He flashed Missy another glance, but it was more conciliatory than the last, and she nodded.

“I’m in, and I’ll tell you why,” said Lynette. “It’s not because I’m some sort of Nosey Parker or haven’t got anything better to do with my time, which is what Anders keeps implying.” She rolled her eyes. “I don’t know if Corrie was unfaithful or if the captain has anything to do with it, but I think somebody needs to ask. And it looks to me like everyone on this ship is in thrall to the guy. No wonder Corrie wanted to hire us. It’s so obvious that we’re the only ones on the entire vessel who aren’t—what was the word she used?—‘compromised’. That’s right. We’re the only ones who seem to be objective.”

“You’re spot on, honeybunch,” said Missy. “Corrie did try to hire us, so we absolutely have a right to ask as many questions as we like. But I promise to be more tactful next time, Perry.”

They all looked across to Claire. She had already voiced her reservations and, like Anders, was one of the more reticent members of the club, but even she had come around. “I’m happy to plough on,” she said, “but only because I’m hoping to discover that it was all just a dreadful accident and that was that.”

“Keep an open mind, Claire,” said Perry.

Alicia smiled. “Good, that settles it. It’s official, whether Anders likes it or not. Now why don’t we do what we did last time and each approach different people? Perry, you’ve clearly bonded with the Solarnos, and like you said, they knew Corrie well. Maybe they have some idea of who might have sent her that threatening letter or can think of some reason why or how it happened. Maybe this kind of thing has happened on this ship before. If it has, those sisters will know, and you will know how to get that information without upsetting them again.”

“I might also have another word to the barmen who worked the Grand Salon last night,” he said. “Maybe they saw something suspicious or heard something.”

Lynette sniggered. “Would this be the cute Indonesian barmen you were doing shots with?”

“No one said we couldn’t have fun while we investigate,” he replied with a smirk. “At least I’m not pining for a married gigolo.”

“I’m not pining for anyone!”

“Speaking of which, why don’t you track down Cheyne Smith and see what he has to say?” said Alicia.

“Okay, but why bother with him? Even if Corrie was having an affair, what makes you think it was Cheyne? There are other men on the ship, granted not many and none as good-looking but—”

“Just start with him, that’s all I’m saying. He’s clearly got an eye for the ladies. He might have been watching her. He might have seen something. Oh and ask him about Corrie’s friend, the skinny one, Anita I think it is. I noticed him give her a strange nod the first night we were on board. I wonder what that was about.”

“Right, so I just go straight up and ask him, do I?”

Alicia smiled. “I’m sure you’ll be more subtle than that. Maybe Claire can distract Dame Dinnegan while you do it.” When Claire frowned at this, she quickly added, “Ask her about her vintage frocks or something.”

“I could talk to the stewards,” offered Missy. “I’ve been getting on really well with our guy, Valeno. He’s a total sweetie! Did you know he says if you eat green apples, you’re less likely to get seasick?” She slapped a hand to her lips. “Sorry, I’m ranting again, aren’t I? Okeydokey, I’ll see if Valeno knows something or maybe he can ask around, see what the stewards working the posh suites have to say.”

“Brilliant idea,” said Alicia. “Who needs CCTV when you’ve got stewards working around the clock? If anyone knows who’s coming and going between cabins, it’d be them. Okay, let’s split up after lunch and meet again in the music bar for predinner drinks. That’ll also give us time to get a nap in if we need one.”

“Hang on a minute,” said Lynette. “What about you?”

A smile slipped across Alicia’s lips and not just because she was ignoring Anders’s instructions. “I have a date with a certain barman who’s very bad at his job and very friendly with other people’s wives,” she said.

Chapter 4

The young blonde was straddling a vacuum cleaner wearing nothing but hot pink stilettos and a provocative smile.

Lynette smudged her lips together, trying very hard not to laugh as she stared at the enormous photograph that had been framed and hung on the wall just to the right of the grand staircase.

Missy had suggested, correctly, that she would find the gigolo in the foyer of the ship where his photos were now being exhibited, and so she was slowly making her way through the makeshift art gallery, pretending to be engrossed rather than grossed out. The exhibition featured numerous photographs of women, some in black-and-white, all completely starkers. It was imaginatively titled Nudes by Cheyne.

Gratuitous Naked Chicks was more apt, thought Lynette.

Every photograph featured at least one woman, sometimes two or three, sprawled across some household appliance or another—a stove, a washing machine, a Sunbeam Mixmaster—looks of faux ecstasy on their faces. One woman was even clutching an egg whisk between her legs, and this time Lynette had to stifle the giggle that threatened to escape.

Didn’t want the artist to take offense.

Cheyne Smith was standing just to the right of the reception desk, watching everyone keenly, while a man in a pinstriped suit chatted away beside him. Probably the curator, Lynette decided, the one who should get the sack. This kind of exhibition would be scandalous in the early 1900s, not at all something you would expect on the original SS Orient.

Not even P&O would stoop this low.

Dame Dinnegan was conveniently absent, so Lynette caught Cheyne’s eye a few times as she moved between photos, careful not to display her distaste but not quick to smile either. She knew his type. He would want to enjoy the chase.

After what seemed an inordinately long time, he finally said something to the curator and began to stride towards her. That’s when Dame Dinnegan decided to make her entrance. She was rolling herself into the foyer from a side carriageway, and while he could not have seen her, his view obscured by the grand staircase, Cheyne seemed to sense her presence because he spun around with a frown.

Lynette also frowned. Damn it, the woman’s timing was abysmal.

Suddenly Claire appeared like an angel from heaven, gliding down the staircase and straight to the older lady where she bent down and began to speak to her. Within minutes the woman was laughing and allowing Claire to wheel her chair around and back out of the foyer. As she did so, Claire glanced back just long enough to offer her friend a coy smile.

That was all the incentive Cheyne needed. He didn’t hesitate this time, striding straight across to Lynette, who now pretended to be mesmerised by a brunette who had got herself caught up inside an ironing cord.

“It’s a dissertation on the modern feminist and the shackles that still bind,” he said beside her, and she smacked her lips together again, staring straight ahead.

After leaving him waiting just a fraction too long, she said, “Hmmm, interesting” and then strode to the next photo.

For a worrying moment she thought he would not follow, but of course he did, and this time he began gushing about the Madonna-Whore Complex. The picture was of a woman in a nun’s habit pole dancing a straw broom.

“Very…” Lynette began, and he turned, dark eyes wide, “provocative.” That was all she could manage, but it was enough.

He beamed and bowed his head. “Thank you, thank you so much.”

Like she had just told him he was the next Annie Leibovitz.

“Where do you get your inspiration?” she asked, deciding it was time to reel him in.

“From beautiful women like yourself, of course. ”

She tried not to choke. “So you photograph women you meet in real life, like on this ship?”

He smiled coyly, his voice smooth as glass. “Why? Were you interested in posing for me?”

She laughed. “I think not.”

“It’s a pity.” His eyes darted about the foyer. “Everyone else here is a little… old for my tastes.”

“Really?” He nodded. “So what about your wife?”

Cheyne’s smile faltered just slightly. “What about her?”

“Isn’t she a little ‘old’?”

Lynette knew it was an impertinent thing to say, but his reaction still took her by surprise. The man burst out laughing, his voice so loud the curator began to stare across, twitching a little as though wondering whether to get in on the action.

“Oh she’s not so old,” Cheyne said when he’d recovered. “Not at all.”

That was gallant of him, she thought. “She must have been a great beauty once, your wife.”

Now he was the one who looked surprised as though it had never occurred to him. He gave a noncommittal murmur and then directed her to the next photograph. This time there were three naked women, each with a different-sized cooking pot in her hands, the lid resting like a hat on each head.

“Now these, wow, amazing,” she said, throwing more bait on the hook. “So, what about Corrie Van Tussi?”

He stiffened a little beside her. Or did she just imagine it?

“What about her?”

“Did you ever photograph Corrie?”

“Why would I?”

“I just thought…”

“Well you thought wrong,” he replied, his tone taut.

She turned to look at him and saw that his smile had vanished. When he next spoke, his voice had an almost menacing edge.

“Why are you asking about Corrie?”

“Oh, no reason. I… I just wondered, that’s all.”

He stared hard at her, his eyes boring into hers as if trying to read her thoughts, then he stepped back. His eyes began darting around the room again.

“Who sent you here?”

“What? Nobody, I—”

“I have to go.”

She stepped towards him. “Look, I’m really sorry, I didn’t mean—”

He caught her eye again, and there was something there, something she couldn’t read.

“It wasn’t like that,” he said so quietly she almost didn’t hear him.

“Okay—” she went to say, but he had already turned around and was now striding away, past the curious curator and out of the foyer. Lynette watched him go, perplexed, just as Claire returned, wheeling in a chatty Dame Dinnegan. They also looked surprised by the man’s departure, and the Dame said something to Claire before swivelling her wheelchair back around and following her husband out.

Claire and Lynette locked eyes across the lobby, and Lynette darted hers in the direction of the exit.

Once safely on the outer deck, the salty wind rushing down the side, Claire said, “What was that all about?”

Lynette’s head was still spinning a little as she relayed just what had happened.

“That’s bizarre,” said Claire. “He sounds defensive to me. What do you think he meant by ‘It wasn’t like that’?”

“I’m not sure. I definitely touched a raw nerve though. He seemed pretty paranoid. Maybe he’s hearing all the rumours about Corrie and is feeling under the gun. Very odd. So tell me, how did you get the Dame away so quickly? One word and it was like you were her BFF.”

Claire’s eyes twinkled. “Oh, easy. I told her the Solarno sisters had smashed me at shuffleboard and asked her for some shuffleboard tips. She couldn’t share them fast enough! Said it was high time someone gave those ‘upstarts’ a run for their money.”

Lynette laughed. “So she’s not as ‘away with the fairies’ as everyone makes out?”

“Not at all. I mean, she was a bit scatty, went off the subject a few times, but no, I really liked her. She was sweet. Smart too.”

“Did you get anything else out of her, apart from how to thrash the Salami Sisters at shuffleboard?”

“Not really. I did talk to her about Corrie, but she seemed quite confounded by the idea of her going overboard. I don’t think she’s got her head around it yet. Kept saying, ‘Oh sweet Corrie, she’ll be all right.’ I didn’t have the heart to tell her the chances were beyond slim. I did ask her what Corrie was like, whether she had any enemies, but I think she’d lost the plot by then. She said, ‘Oh the captain, such a lovely man!’ and that was that.”

Lynette’s hair slapped against her face, and she brushed it back. “They all seem to adore the captain, don’t they? He’s either fooling everyone, or I’ve got some apologising to do. So did Dame Dinnegan have any idea whodunit so to speak?”

“Well, she did have one theory that sounded kind of lucid. She pointed the finger straight at some barman, said he was ‘a shifty-looking fellow’ although she didn’t seem to have any other reason to suspect him than that.”

Lynette felt a prickle run down her spine. “What barman?”

“She didn’t say exactly. Just that he had a dodgy look about him, oh and a bad accent. She thought he might have been a Kiwi.”

She laughed, but Lynette was not laughing along.

It had to be the surly Aussie barman Alicia kept running into, the one she was attempting to track down now.

Oh dear, thought Lynette, I hope Alicia’s okay.

Chapter 5

Alicia felt a stab of despair. As she was making her way into the bar, it occurred to her that they were sailing again and she hadn’t even noticed. She stopped to peer out one window, her throat constricting with grief for Corrie. Perhaps the remaining search teams would find her, but the chances were next to nil.

She glanced around the bar and then down to her watch. It was only midafternoon, but there was already a bit of a crowd settling their nerves with a few stiff drinks, no doubt. For her part Alicia wanted nothing more than to slink into bed, her hangover still raging, but she knew Lynette was right. Someone on this ship needed to ask the prickly questions, the questions Corrie couldn’t entrust to anyone but a group of strangers in a mystery lovers’ book club. Feeling emboldened, she ran some fingers through her hair, pulled her shoulders back and strode across the empty dance floor to the bar.

Sadly—annoyingly—the smarmy barman was not on duty, and she wrestled with her memory, trying to recall when she had last seen him. There was a vague recollection of him standing near Anders at the start of the head count early that morning, but she hadn’t caught sight of him since. Perhaps he was busy at another bar, the one by the pool perhaps?

Or perhaps it was more sinister than that.

“Can I help you, ma’am?” asked the Indonesian barman.

“Don’t know where the other barman is, do you? The Aussie guy?”

He shook his head, and she thanked him, turning around just as a woman to her right caught her eye. She smiled.

This might be even better.

Corrie’s best friend, Anita, was by herself, leaning against the bar, a large glass of red wine in one hand, a fistful of crumpled tissues in the other. There was a packet of cigarettes on the bar in front of her, and Alicia tried to get a look at the brand but didn’t recognise it.

“Are you okay?” she asked, stepping towards Anita.

The woman gulped back a sob, sniffed, glanced at Alicia and then away just as quickly. She looked miserable, her eyes red with weeping, and Alicia’s conscience began arm wrestling her curiosity, seeing which one would be strongest.

She was just about to walk away when the woman said, “He didn’t do it, you know.”

She turned back, her curiosity doing an imaginary high five. “Sorry?”

“Tonio. It’s not his fault.”

Alicia took a step closer trying to work out to whom she was referring.

“Everyone thinks because the ship’s sailing again, that somehow he doesn’t care, that somehow he didn’t love her.”

Ah, the captain.

“I don’t think Captain Van Tussi did it.”

“No, well, they all do.”

“They?”

She shook the question away. “The truth is, he was too good for Corrie. There, I’ve said it.” She slugged a mouthful of wine and snuck another glance at Alicia. “I’m sorry, I know it sounds really bitchy now that… But it’s true. Tonio was devoted to Coz, worshipped her, and she didn’t care. The way she treated him, it was unforgiveable.” She must have read the surprise in Alicia’s eyes because she quickly added, “Just because she was my best friend, doesn’t mean I didn’t know what she was.”

“What she was?’

She looked away again, and Alicia took a punt and said, “She was a bit of a flirt, wasn’t she?” When the woman didn’t say anything she added, “She was flirting with my boyfriend too.”

Anita’s jaw dropped as she glanced back. “Oh, that’s so typical of Coz! I’m so sorry.”

“Well it’s hardly your fault.”

Her eyes clouded over. “That’s the thing. It’s all my fault. If I’d stood up to her, if I’d said no… she… she…” Anita grappled for her drink and took another large gulp. It seemed to bring her to her senses because she looked back at Alicia with an apologetic smile. “Sorry, don’t know why I’m babbling on. I don’t even know you.”

“Oh it’s fine.” She held out a hand. “I’m Alicia Finlay. I’m on this cruise with my book club friends.”

“That’s right, Corrie mentioned something. Anita Monage.” She shook Alicia’s hand then polished off her wine and said, “I should go. See how poor Tonio is doing.”

“But you were saying something about Corrie, about how it was all your fault?”

“Ah, I’m just being morose, ignore me.” She picked up her cigarettes—a generic brand, Alicia saw now—and gave her a small smile. “Thanks for listening.”

“Any time,” Alicia called after her, wondering what on earth that was all about.

********

Perry was wondering where on earth the cute barman was leading him, and whether it was astray. He half hoped it was, but it turned out to be a small, stuffy common room, deep in the bowels of the ship. It was packed with staff, some in uniform, others in civvies, all killing time between shifts.

“You tell my boss I brought you here, I throw you overboard myself, right?” said the handsome Filipino, and Perry nodded.

“It’ll be our little secret.” He glanced around. “Well, us and twenty-five of your compatriots.”

Several of the staff looked up when they entered, one or two frowned, but most were too busy gossiping about the latest events to really give Perry’s presence much thought, and he was appreciative of that.

“You will find Ramond over near the PlayStation. That’s his usual hang,” said the barman, and Perry’s eyes widened.

“You guys get computer games?”

“Sure, Wi-Fi too if you want to check your Facebook.” He pointed towards the corner. “I have to get back. Don’t stay long—the crew hate outsiders—and remember, don’t say a word to anyone.”

Perry did the international symbol for silence, mimicking a zip across his lips, and then made his way across the room, past several scruffy lounges where staffers were dozing or stabbing at iPods, tiny buds in their ears, and towards a man on a beanbag in front of the PlayStation. It was the barman who had been on duty the night of Corrie’s disappearance, and he had a controller in his hand, which he was madly jabbing at with both thumbs. On the screen before him was the football great Lionel Messi about to take a penalty shot.

“Watch this!” the barman said, sensing Perry’s presence, and he swivelled something and jabbed harder as Messi planted a ball neatly over the goalie’s head and into the right side of the net. The crowd roared, Messi ran around with his arms stretched out, and the barman whooped.

“I am the King!”

Well, Messi is really, Perry wanted to say but left it for now and said, “Have you got a minute, Ramond?”

Ramond looked behind him, an eyebrow raised. “Oh, it’s you. How you find my crib?”

“Not with my GPS tracker that’s for sure. How come you guys get the mod cons and we’re stuck in the nineteenth century?”

Ramond blinked at him confused by the question and said, “You want game?”

He indicated a second controller on the other beanbag and Perry would have played, really he would have, but he was hopeless at computer games. It would completely diminish him in the eyes of the barman so he waved him off, wishing Lynette were there instead. She could have pulled it off.

“I can’t stay long. I just want to ask you a few questions about the other night, the night Corrie went overboard. You were on duty that night, correct?”

Ramond nodded. “Yes, big night. Normally not so busy but that night, wow.” Then he frowned. “Normally we get dance floor, yes, when DJ Dazzler come, but the old ones, they stay!”

He looked cranky about this, and Perry felt a stab of guilt. Was he one of the “old ones” who should have been shuffling off to bed, vacating the dance floor for the younger generation he wondered? Before he could enquire further, Ramond’s frown had vanished and there was a look of amusement on his face.

“Why you want talk? You scared, hey? You want know if it can happen to you, hey?”

“No,” Perry said and then, “It can’t, right?”

Ramond laughed. “Of course! You drink enough tequila it happen to anyone. I see six guys go over. Not on this ship, right? On, um, what you call? Trawler. But still, easy thing to do it.”

Perry tried not to shudder. “So is that what you think happened to Mrs Van Tussi? A drunken fall?”

He scoffed. “No, no, she was pushed.”

Perry squeaked. “How can you be so sure?”

Ramond looked around and then leaned in closer. “Because Mrs Van Tussi, she never drink.”

“Never? I don’t think you’ve got that right. The first night I met her she had a glass of champagne.”

His eyes squinted. “You see her drink champagne?”

He thought about it. Not exactly, no.

He smiled jubilantly. “I telling you, all for show! You ask all barmen. We know. She get glass, she hold glass—same glass—all night. She never take sip, never. We watch, we know. I telling you, she no drink. You know why?”

Perry leaned in closer this time, intrigued. “Why?”

“Because she alcoholic!”

Perry leaned back. That didn’t make any sense.

“True! She big time alcoholic before she meet Captain Tonio. He help her, she no more drink. But she pretend, right. Why you think she pretend?”

Perry thought about it. “Maybe so it looks like she’s having fun?” he suggested, and the man nodded conspiratorially.

“How crazy is this, man?” He laughed, then turned back to his screen. “Okay, now I be Ronaldo. You watch me kick some ass!”

“Hang on, so are you saying Mrs Van Tussi couldn’t have been drunk enough to fall over accidentally?”

He glanced back. “Yes, this is I saying.”

“So what do you think happened?”

He shrugged and turned back to the screen. “I no know.”

“But you said she was pushed.”

“Yeah, maybe pushed. I no know. I just guessing.”

Dammit. Perry held a finger up. “Sorry, just one more thing. Do you know if Mrs Van Tussi was…” He didn’t quite know how to put it. “Was with somebody else that night she fell over? Did you see her at the bar with someone?”

Ramond didn’t look back as his next FIFA 16 game kicked into play, but he did laugh as he said, “I telling you, she no drink. She no at bar!”

Then he punched at the controller, kicking the ball from midway as the crowd booed as one and the ball soared above the net.

Chapter 6

By the time Alicia returned to the Grand Salon a few hours and a short nap later, the place was packed. It was not yet 6:00 p.m., but it felt like the entire ship was squished into this one room again. There were revellers at every table, some clinking glasses, others laughing loudly. This evening everyone seemed obscenely buoyant, and Alicia guessed it had something to do with the fact that they were literally buoyant—unlike poor Corrie whose body, according to the latest reports, had not been located. Alicia knew that others’ misfortune had a way of making people morbidly merry.

Just ask Missy Corner.

Or perhaps she was being unkind. Perhaps it was more the fact that they couldn’t face the thought of another night on board without a few brews under their belt.

Apart from Anders, the book club had gathered as planned and were all following suit, nursing strong beverages, except for Alicia who felt nauseous at the mere thought of alcohol. As she nursed a lemonade, she repeated the strange conversation she’d had with Anita Monage in this bar earlier that day.

“Anita seemed to agree that Corrie was a dreadful flirt, but she didn’t go so far as to admit that she had been sleeping around. So we don’t know that for sure. There’s lots of innuendo but very few cold, hard facts. I just wish I had found that Aussie barman. Jackson I think Anders said his name was.”

“I’m glad you didn’t,” said Lynette. “You need to be careful there, ’Lis. You tell her, Claire. Old Dame Dinnegan says he’s shifty.”

Claire nodded. “And I think the Dame is more switched on than you think.”

Alicia scoffed. “Really, Claire? We’re talking about the woman who lets her husband drug her to sleep each night while he goes off and sleazes around with every second woman on the ship. I hardly think she’s a great judge of character. Besides, it’s just as likely Cheyne was Corrie’s lover as that barman.”

She wasn’t sure why she was suddenly defending the smarmy barman, but Perry was now in Cheyne’s corner. “You know, I’m not sure about that. I mean, I’ve been at the bar for the past two nights and that supposed ‘gigolo’ didn’t sleaze onto anyone, certainly not Corrie. Sure he came back, danced with a few different women, but he left alone both times, at least that’s what I recall. Last night he barely danced, in fact. Kind of just sat in a corner and moped.”

“I don’t know whether he slept with Corrie either,” said Lynette, “but the second I mentioned her name, he turned very angsty. There’s history there for sure.” She relayed her brief conversation with the photographer. “And he is pretty creepy. You should see those photographs of his. He’s turned housework into porn, and it’s not pretty.”

Missy giggled, and they all fell quiet as a young waitress appeared to take more drink orders. She looked run off her feet, and Alicia swivelled her head around, wondering again about the Aussie barman.

Where the hell was he?

“How’d you go with the Solarnos?” Lynette asked Perry, and he half shrugged.

“They didn’t really have much to say. They clearly don’t like to gossip, those sisters. It’d be admirable if it wasn’t so unhelpful.”

Lynette scowled. “They were happy enough to gossip about the gigolo that first night.”

“Well they’re not quite so forthcoming about the Van Tussis, that’s for sure. It might have something to do with the fact that one of the sisters is on the board of the cruise line, and I gather all three were consulted when the ship was being designed. With their cruising experience you’d be mad not to consult them.”

The groups’ gaze shifted to the corner of the bar where the three sisters were holding court again, an attentive crowd around them. But this time their conversation was subdued. There would be no loud laughter from this group tonight.

“Did they know anything about that threatening note that Corrie received?” asked Alicia.

“No, they said it would have been a joke, probably just one of Corrie’s stunts. Apparently she was like that. And they’re adamant the captain had nothing to do with any of it,” Perry added. “They reckon he hasn’t got it in him. ‘Not one violent bone in his body’ I think they said. In fact, I’ve been chatting to quite a few people, and it sounds like everyone—I mean everyone—is batting for the captain. Nobody thinks he did it.”

“Add Anita to that fan club,” Alicia said, holding up one hand. “She was just as adamant the captain didn’t do it.”

“Do we even know what ‘it’ is?” asked Claire. “Are we any closer to knowing whether it was an accident?”

“Not a drunken one according to the barman I spoke to,” said Perry, who quickly repeated what Ramond had to say.

“So Corrie was a recovering alcoholic,” said Alicia. “Now that’s interesting.”

“I don’t see why,” said Lynette.

“Well I guess it proves she couldn’t have fallen over accidentally in a drunken stumble.”

“Or it could suggest she fell off the wagon after fighting with the captain and that’s exactly what happened. I wonder if any empty bottles were found in her cabin. What did the stewards have to say, Missy? They find empty liquor bottles strewn around the place?”

“Sorry, Lynny, I didn’t think to ask about that. But I did find out something really, really interesting. They tell me Corrie was in her room last night when the steward went to turn down her bed and put the funny towel sculpture thingie on it. What are those things anyway? What are they supposed to signify?”

“Missy,” one of them purred, and she snapped out of it.

“Sorry, yes, so that was about 9:45 p.m. when they last saw her.”

“We already knew that,” said Claire. “She told everyone at dinner she was heading back to her cabin then.”

“Yes, but here’s the thing. According to Valeno, when the captain looked in on her around 11:00 p.m., she wasn’t there. We know this because he asked the stewards on duty if they had seen her. And they hadn’t!”

“Could be a ruse,” suggested Perry. “To deflect attention from himself. Maybe he was setting the scene, pretending she was absent, was then going to sneak back in later and throw her over?”

“Why not just do it then?” asked Claire.

“Maybe he didn’t get a chance, especially if the stewards were hovering. Had to wait until the coast was clear. Plus you risk someone hearing if you do it while people are still up and about.”

They all chewed on that as the waitress brought their fresh drinks across.

“Sorry, possums,” said Missy eventually. “I’m with the stewards. I don’t think she was there. I think we need to find out where Corrie was between 9:45 p.m. when the steward turned down her bed and two in the morning when Perry heard her fall overboard.”

Lynette drummed her fingers on the table. “That’s more than four hours. Where was she all that time? And with whom?”

Claire waved both hands around the busy room. “She could have been with anyone. Sadly for us, this isn’t an Agatha Christie novel; we don’t have a neat ensemble cast of twelve to choose from. Count the crew and we have almost four hundred potential suspects. She could have been on one of the decks, taking in the cool night air. She could have been in that smoking room I noticed earlier. I mean, it’s anyone’s guess.”

“Well, I know where she wasn’t,” said Perry. “I was in this bar the whole time, and she certainly never showed and my barman friend will attest to that.”

“Which brings us right back to my barman,” said Alicia. “That Jackson fellow was with Corrie on the promenade deck two nights ago, so why not last night as well?” She glanced back towards the bar. “You know, if I hadn’t spotted him at roll call briefly, I’d suspect he’d gone overboard too. Maybe he’s lying low, or maybe he’s working elsewhere.” She began to click her fingers towards Claire. “What were you saying about a smoking room?”

“You haven’t noticed it? It’s tucked away on the other side of this deck. Quite charming if it wasn’t for all the cigarette smoke.”

“And it’s a bar as well?”

“Yes, I believe so. Why? You haven’t suddenly developed a nicotine habit we don’t know about?”

Alicia grinned wickedly. “No, but I do know someone who might be inhaling a bit of nicotine on his late shift. I think I’ll head there after dinner.”

Chapter 7

Alicia wished she hadn’t gobbled her meal down so quickly. Despite her earlier assumption, the smarmy barman was not working the Smoking Salon when she found her way there after dinner, and her spirits dropped as she glanced through the haze towards the decorative bar at one end. There was just one staff member on duty, and he didn’t have an Aussie accent.

She glanced around the room again. It was most unusual for a modern cruise ship to have such a bar these days, smoking being a modern taboo, but this was a replica steamship, after all, and she guessed the joint would have been pumping back in the SS Orient’s heyday. Of course it was probably the private domain of first-class gentlemen back then, all playing cards while sucking on cigars, and she smiled as she surveyed the room. Tonight it was a more egalitarian mix of men and women, first class and economy, each equally as desperate to get their nicotine fix before rejoining their friends in the main bar. She was about to do the same when a familiar figure caught her eye.

Her spirits shifted.

Sitting in the middle of the room at a small table all alone was Anita Monage, a glass of red wine in one hand, her “fix” in the other. Alicia ordered a lemon lime and bitters, than marched across to join her. Even though she didn’t have any cigarettes with her, the other woman didn’t seem to question it when she asked if she could join her.

They sat quietly for several minutes sipping their drinks, and Alicia took that time to study Corrie’s best friend. She was a strange-looking creature, anorexic-thin, with dirty brown hair that fell about her face like a drab curtain, thinning it further. She wore very little makeup and was dressed completely in black again; not at all the kind of woman you could picture bonding with someone as bright and vivacious as Corrie. Once again she was glugging her wine like it was soda water, and Alicia wondered whether that’s how the two women first met, through a mutual love of the plonk.

Anita quickly put paid to that. “I’ve known Coz since we were eleven,” she said as though that explained everything, and Alicia decided it probably did.

Plenty of people stayed friends purely out of history or habit.

“She could be the most generous of friends,” she continued, suddenly eager to talk. “Would give you the shirt off her back she would.” Her eyes narrowed. “But then she’d ask for your skirt, shoes and handbag in return.”

“Did you cruise with Corrie often?”

“Just once before, on this ship actually, that time she hooked up with the captain.” Her shoulders drooped a little. “Anyway, we haven’t seen that much of each other since she moved to London and, well, she begged me so… what could I do?” Her face clouded over. “I did try to refuse.”

“Why would you want to refuse? Not a fan of cruise ships?”

“It’s not that, it’s just, well, it costs money doesn’t it? We don’t all have rich husbands to foot the bill.” There was a touch of venom in her tone. “But she got me a great room for nix, so how could I say no?”

“You’re in one of the staterooms?”

She nodded, dragging on her cigarette. “Not that I get to use it as much as I’d like.” She didn’t explain that. “I was just lucky the room came up after all the Nervous Nellies jumped ship in Sydney.”

“Nervous Nellies?”

“Because of the thefts, of course.” She took a final drag on her cigarette, then squashed it into the glass ashtray and reached into her handbag.

Alicia didn’t think a few missing frocks was much to be nervous about, but at least it helped explain how she and her book club scored cabins at the last minute. She was about to enquire further when she noticed Anita pull her cigarette packet out of her bag to light up again, and she took a surreptitious look at it. It was the same generic brand as before. Certainly not Italian.

Anita caught her looking and offered the packet to her, but she waved a hand no.

“Still,” said Alicia, “it must have been great for Corrie to have her best friend on board, what with the captain working all the time. That would be hard.”

Anita shot her a look. Her right knee began to twitch. “Nothing was hard for Corrie. Nothing. Anyway, it wasn’t my company she required.”

“What do you mean?”

She looked away again. That was clearly Anita’s way of saying, You’ve overstepped, bucko, get back in your box. So Alicia tried another angle.

“She must have wanted your company, why else would she beg you to join her on the ship?”

“Oh she had her reasons, let me assure you. Coz had a nasty little habit of using and abusing people whenever she wanted.”

“And she used and abused you?”

Once again she shrugged, refusing to be drawn in. This time her knee began jumping up and down like a jackhammer.

“She wanted to use us, you know.”

Anita flicked her eyes to Alicia, a fresh cigarette almost at her lips. “Us?”

“The book club I was telling you about. It’s the Agatha Christie Book Club. We investigated a disappearance once—and a murder.”

“Really?” she held her cigarette in the air, untouched.

“Yes, she heard about that and approached us to help her. Said she had a mystery she wanted us to investigate.”

Anita lit her cigarette and took a long drag, then blew a plume of smoke towards Alicia, a look of disappointment across her face. “Oh she would have been talking about her precious kaftans. Why anyone wanted to pinch them is beyond me. And why she cared is even more bizarre. I know they cost a packet, but she could easily get more. Corrie Van Tussi always got what Corrie Van Tussi wanted.”

The venom was back with a vengeance, and Alicia felt a flutter of sympathy now for Corrie. With friends like this…

She said, “It was a lot more than that, Anita. Corrie said she was in danger. She showed us a letter. It threatened her life.”

That made Anita stop mid-drag. “You’re serious?”

Alicia nodded. “She didn’t tell you about the letter?” Anita shook her head. “Do you have any idea who might have sent it to her?”

Anita tapped the ash from her cigarette into the ashtray. “Could be anyone, I s’pose.”

“She had that many enemies?’

She dragged on her smoke and looked away.

“Anita, I heard a rumour that Corrie was… how do I put this? Not exactly faithful to her husband.”

Anita shot her a glance. “So?”

That sounded like confirmation to Alicia, and she tried not to sound too eager as she said, “So she was having an affair?” Anita rolled her eyes, refusing to answer, so Alicia said, “Well do you think the threatening letter might have had something to do with that?”

“How many times do I have to tell everyone, Tonio didn’t do it!”

“I never said he did,” Alicia replied quickly. “But I did hear they’d had a fight about it on the night she fell overboard.”

“I’m telling you, he doesn’t have it in him!”

Alicia held a hand up this time to placate her. “Okay, okay, so who do you think did it? What do you think happened to Corrie?”

Anita went to answer and then frowned. “Why do you care so much? What’s it to you anyway?”

“I told you, she came to my book club asking for our help. I feel we let her down. I wonder whether it has something to do with a man.”

“Corrie and her bloody ‘men’!” She dragged on the cigarette irritably.

“Men? So there was more than one?”

Again the woman clamped up and said nothing. Alicia wondered whether to push her further. If Corrie was like a lion, this one seemed more like a clownfish, bobbing in and out of the anemone, bold one minute, skittish the next. Alicia tried a different tactic to draw her back out.

“Please, Anita. We’re just trying to help. We need to find out who might possibly have wished her harm, that’s all.”

Anita exhaled loudly and eventually said, “It could have something to do with the thefts I suppose. Maybe Corrie knew more about it than she let on. Maybe she’d worked out who the thief was and he’d threatened her.”

“Really? You’d threaten to kill someone over a few missing frocks?”

“Frocks?” Anita stared at Alicia like she was a bit dim before it clicked. “Oh, God no, it was much more serious than that! Some jewellery had disappeared.”

“Jewellery?”

“Yah! Why do you think all those rich madams jumped ship in Sydney? Wouldn’t want to lose the family heirlooms!” She took a quick swig of her drink then explained, “Somebody had been stealing jewellery, and I’m not talking costume crap, this was the real deal. It’s all very hush-hush, of course, poor Tonio is terrified they’ll lose all their high-class clientele. But yeah, it’s been a bit of a racket for a while and even made quite a few passengers sick. I guess losing a hundred grand worth of pearls will put your heart out of kilter. I think one had to be stretchered off in Sydney by that hot new doctor we’ve got on board.”

“Dr Anders?”

She nodded. “Sure, it’s the only reason he’s here, right? Corrie said they hired him to help out with all of that.”

Really, thought Alicia. This was news to her. “They brought a doctor on board to help with missing jewellery? Why would they do that?”

“I don’t know, maybe he’s not really a doctor. Maybe he’s an undercover agent!” She chuckled at that, then pointed her cigarette at Alicia. “You should be grilling him. If you ask me, he’s the one with all the answers.”

Alicia plastered a smile to her lips and got to her feet. “Good idea, Anita. I think I’ll do just that.”

Chapter 8

Grilling was too good for Dr Anders, Alicia decided as she raced down four flights of stairs to the surgery. He needed to be roasted, slowly, in a boiling hot oven.

“You’ve just missed him, I’m really sorry,” said the nurse, a young man this time, one with a more sympathetic bedside manner. “He’s just on the way to his room, but if you want to take a seat, I’ll see if I can get him back for you.”

“No need, thank you!”

Alicia dashed out and up again, this time heading for cabin S38. Just as she reached the third-floor landing, she spotted Anders holding his door ajar about to step inside. She called out, and he stopped, spun around then stepped back out into the hallway, calling loudly, “Alicia Finlay, what can I do for you?”

She held a hand up, waiting until she got closer, then said, “We need to talk.”

She indicated the cabin, but he just pulled the door tighter behind him.

“Can it wait? I’m in the middle of something.”

She put one hand on her hip. “Yes, an investigation into some stolen jewellery, apparently.”

His eyes widened. “How did you—?”

“Find out my boyfriend is keeping a secret from me? Good thing my new bestie, Anita Monage, has a big mouth.”

Glancing around furtively, he lowered his voice and said, “Look, it’s not how it appears.”

“Oh, so you weren’t brought on board specifically to help investigate some missing jewels?”

“Well, yes, I was, but… well, I’m not an investigator as such.”

“Yah! As Anita would say. I know that! You’re just a family doctor, and we’re all just lowly book lovers. You’re always the first to remind us of that, to insist we butt out of other people’s mysteries because we’re just amateurs. But here you are investigating a mystery that I didn’t even know existed! I thought Corrie had just lost a few tacky kaftans.”

“No, well, yes. Corrie didn’t have any jewels stolen, not that we know of, but the others did.”

“Others? What others?”

“Look, I’m sorry, Alicia. I would have told you. I nearly did tell you several times, but Captain Van Tussi insisted on confidentiality. I wouldn’t have gotten this job if I’d blabbed to anyone.”

“Anyone? I’m not just anyone!” Then she stopped and folded her arms. “Although, you know, that’s exactly how I feel whenever I’m around you these days. No, it’s worse than that. I feel like nobody.”

“Oh, Alicia—”

“Sorry, but you have pretty much ignored me since we got on board, and I was supposed to be cool with that because you had a surgery to run. Turns out you’re off on some little adventure of your own and I am cordially not invited.”

“Alicia, come on, please. I…” He glanced towards his door again, then sighed heavily. “Look, I can’t talk right now, I’m really sorry. I’ve got to go. But let’s meet up… later.”

“Oh, great idea because that worked out so well last time.”

She swivelled around to storm off when something occurred to her, and she turned back, expecting to see him standing there, a pitiful look in his eyes, but he had also turned away and was now disappearing behind his cabin door.

Unbelievable!

Alicia dashed back to grab the door before it closed.

“And another thing!” she cried out, swinging the door wide and stepping inside. “I’m going off to have a long, hard chat with that smarmy barman, and I don’t care what you have to say about—”

She stopped. The “smarmy barman” was sitting on Anders’s bed, back in civilian clothes with a wide, smug smile on his face.

Chapter 9

Instead of looking embarrassed, humiliated or both, Anders just looked annoyed.

“Alicia!” he said, stepping in front of the barman as if trying to shield him. “You shouldn’t be in here. I told you I’d find you later, I told you—”

“It’s okay, Anders,” the barman said. “Let her in.”

Let her in? Alicia glared at him with a heady mixture of animosity, curiosity and confusion. What was the barman doing giving Anders orders? And would someone please explain what he was doing in Anders’s cabin?

Then it clicked.

Now her jaw dropped, and she glanced from the barman to Anders and back again.

“You’re not really a barman are you?”

God, she had been so blind.

He smiled. “No, but I can be a bit smarmy, that part you did get right.” He held out a hand to shake hers. “Detective Liam Jackson, I’m a senior investigator with the New South Wales Robbery and Serious Crime Squad.”

She hesitated briefly before stepping into the room properly and shaking his hand. “So, let me guess, you’re undercover. Investigating a series of jewellery thefts, am I right?”

The two men exchanged looks, and then Detective Jackson said, “You don’t miss a beat do you?”

“No, and Anders would have told you that if he had bothered to let me into his confidence.” She turned back to him. “Why lie to me, Anders? Why all the secrecy?”

“Hey, don’t blame Anders. He had orders to keep his involvement in the matter under wraps.”

“Involvement?” She swept her eyes from Anders back to Jackson. “What I want to know is, why do you need a doctor to uncover a thief? And don’t tell me it’s because you heard he was in the Agatha Christie Book Club and liked a good mystery. That spiel might have worked on Corrie, but you look slightly brighter than that.”

He laughed. “No, nothing to do with crime fiction, I can assure you. It has more to do with Dr Anders’s expertise in poisons and other toxins. But you might want to ask him that yourself.”

Poisons? She turned her glare upon Anders who had gone very quiet. She intensified the glare, and he appeared to shrink a little under it. Finally, she thought, a glimmer of remorse.

“I’m sorry, Alicia, I didn’t really lie as such. I just left some stuff out. Dr Hardinger from the Royal Academy of General Practitioners really did implore me to come on board, but it was because they needed a toxicologist.”

“Why?”

“Well, I’m an expert in drugs and—”

“No, I know that.” You idiot. “Why would they need a drugs expert on the SS Orient? What’s it got to do with stolen jewellery?”

He looked to Jackson again as if seeking permission to speak, and she wanted to snot him for it but silently talked herself down.

“We suspect some of the victims were unwittingly administered with strong tranquillizers. The previous doctor couldn’t get a handle on it, but I think I’ve worked out what it was. I think it was Rohypnol.”

“Rohypnol?”

“Yes, it’s the date rape drug—”

“Again, I know that, thanks, Anders!” Could he be any more patronising? “What do ‘roofies’ have to do with all of this?”

Anders glanced at Jackson who took up the story as Alicia dropped onto the seat beside the bed.

“About the second week of the cruise, midway between London and the Cape, some expensive pieces of jewellery went missing, and the women involved have no recollection of how it happened. At first the captain didn’t take it too seriously. I think he expected the jewellery to turn up underneath the beds or something, but then he noticed a common thread. Each woman had been severely intoxicated before it happened and can remember very little from the night before. I was brought on in South Africa to investigate undercover. It was hard to establish anything at first because some of the victims couldn’t really pinpoint when their stuff got stolen. It was only later when they went to put the jewellery on that they noticed it was missing. But there was one common factor. Each woman recalled a night when they felt really woozy and woke up not able to remember almost anything from the night before. We think that’s when the thief gained access and stole the gear. We suspected drugs, which is why we needed a toxicology expert and got Anders to join us in Fremantle.”

“Maybe they were just drunk,” Alicia said. “There is a lot of alcohol consumed on board this ship in case you hadn’t noticed.” Then she sniggered. “Oh I forgot. You were the one pouring the drinks.”

He smiled at her again, but Anders was shaking his head.

“These were not alcoholic blackouts, Alicia. Much more extreme than that. The problem is it’s hard to prove. Rohypnol passes through the system very quickly. Dr Linwood, the ship’s regular doctor, had not thought to check for it, but even if she had, she wouldn’t have known what to check for. I know to take blood and a urine sample as quickly as possible. It’s serious business, that stuff can kill you.”

Alicia felt a sudden prickle of revulsion and turned to Jackson. “Oh my God, that vial of orange liquid you dropped when I first met you in the stairwell, that wasn’t…?”

He laughed. “’Fraid so.”

She shuddered. “So Cecilia Jollson? That wasn’t a heart attack was it?”

They both shared another glance, then Anders said, “Well yes and no. We suspect she was given a lethal dose—whether by accident or design we don’t know. But it most likely triggered her heart attack. We’ll know more once we dock in Auckland; we’d be closer to knowing if it wasn’t for Corrie going overboard.”

For a terrible moment Alicia had forgotten all about the captain’s wife. “Do you think that’s related to this? Do you think she was drugged as well? Maybe she caught the thief at it and he threw her over?”

Jackson said, “As far as we know, she hasn’t had any jewellery stolen, a few items of clothing, but that’s it. The Captain is smart enough to keep the good stuff in the safe. As for whether she was drugged or caught the perp, well, I guess we’ll never know now.”

Alicia had a sudden awful thought, and her stomach did a flop. “Please tell me that wasn’t just a distraction, that Corrie wasn’t thrown overboard to slow the ship down?”

“We’re still investigating.”

Alicia sighed softly, then turned to Anders. “That note she showed you, maybe the thief suspected she knew his identity and was warning her to shut up.”

“Maybe, but if she really did know who was doing all this, why didn’t she go straight to the captain or the head of security, Packer?”

“Or me,” said Jackson.

“So she knew you were undercover too?” she said to Jackson, feeling suddenly very foolish. “So that first night on the promenade deck when I caught you with Corrie…”

He smiled. “We were discussing the case. She’d just got back from the drill and found that nasty letter waiting for her. She wondered if it had anything to do with the jewellery thefts. I didn’t take it very seriously, to be honest. I didn’t believe it was connected.” A sudden frown accentuated the lines under his eyes and around his lips, and he began rubbing at the side of his jaw. “Mrs Van Tussi was a major flirt. I figured it was an angry wife telling her to back off, to be honest. She hadn’t lost any jewellery, and I didn’t take those kaftan thefts seriously either.” He stopped rubbing and folded his arms. “I’m not proud to say, I gave her the brush off. I guess that’s why she turned to Anders and asked for his help.”

“I brushed her off too,” Anders said, slumping down beside Alicia now.

Jackson’s blue eyes squinted again. “Now you’re here, Ms Finlay—”

“Alicia, please.”

“—Alicia, you might be able to clarify something. Anders mentioned you witnessed Mrs Jollson returning to her cabin the night she died. She had another woman with her?”

Alicia nodded and proceeded to tell him exactly what she saw. “So you think this woman in green could be responsible?”

“We’re not sure; we’re certainly not ruling it out. On one other occasion while we were docked at The Cape, a steward spotted a tall woman with long blond hair, a captain’s hat and a flowing dress near the cabin of another burgled victim. We dismissed it at first. Date rape drugs are usually associated with men. But now we have to wonder whether our perp is in fact a woman, befriending rich ladies at the bar, slipping ‘roofies’ in their drinks and then walking them back to their cabins, popping them in bed and pilfering what she can.”

“So why kill Mrs Jollson if she’s out of it? And why throw Corrie overboard?”

“Good questions,” Jackson said. “Did the thief mean to do it? Did they go too far? Maybe they used too much of the drug by accident. Maybe Mrs Jollson or Mrs Van Tussi woke up and caught them at it and threatened to expose them. What is clear is it’s escalated and that really concerns me.”

“Can’t you just search the cabins? Surely the jewels are still on board.”

“We’ve searched the staff quarters and common areas and found nothing, but the captain won’t permit us to even mention this to the passengers let alone go through their private property. That’s why I was brought on board. I’ve done security on ships before, and had a little experience behind a bar, so I was a pretty logical choice to go undercover. The Captain fears that if the real story gets out, it will be the kiss of death for the ship. Has asked me to try to solve this thing before it gets to that.”

“Yes, but surely now…?”

He nodded, finishing her sentence, “… now, it’s out of the captain’s hands and officially in the hands of a barman.” He added with a coy smile, “Sorry, make that a ‘smarmy barman’.” He glanced at his watch and stood up. “Speaking of which, I really do have to get back. Anders, we can discuss logistics later, but if I don’t get back to my post soon, they’ll start suspecting something.”

“You’re going to stay undercover?” asked Alicia, her eyebrows high, and he smiled back as he opened the cabin door.

“Don’t see why not. It’s amazing what people will tell you after a few champagnes.”

Alicia blushed crimson red as he closed the door behind him, and she tried to remember what exactly she had said to Jackson last night during her alcoholic meltdown in the music bar. Anders misunderstood her discomfort and sat down beside her, taking her hands in his.

“I really am sorry, Alicia. I wanted to tell you.”

She looked at him wearily, her anger now drained. It was getting late; they had all been up since three that morning, and her eyes felt like they were about to pop out of their sockets.

“I need to get to bed,” she said, trying to pull herself up, but he held her hand.

“Why don’t you stay here tonight, let me make it up to you.” He raised his eyebrows playfully, and she stared at him, aghast.

Was the guy serious?

She tugged her hand away. Two nights ago she would have jumped at the offer. Tonight she couldn’t think of anything she wanted less.

“I’m too tired for this,” is all she could manage as she reached the door.

“Okay, we’ll talk properly tomorrow, but don’t forget: not a word to anyone, hey? We have to keep this between us.”

Alicia swivelled around, anger fuelling her energy levels again. She had loathed being left out of the loop and was not about to treat her book club friends with the same disregard.

“For goodness’ sake, Anders. You know very well that you can trust them.”

“Sorry but Liam Jackson doesn’t, and neither does the captain. That’s who I’m working for.”

“Well, too bad, because I’m working for Corrie. And maybe if you had taken her job offer a little more seriously, none of this would have happened.”

“Hey, that’s not fair.”

“Really? Tell that to the woman who’s currently shark bait in the Tasman!”

She knew that comment wasn’t fair either, but she was too exhausted to be rational. So she simply opened the door and left, leaving Anders sitting on his bed, looking like he’d just been sideswiped by a great white.

Part 3—The Book Club Sits Back and Thinks

Chapter 1

The morning dawned insensitively bright, the sky a perfect blue, just a few silvery grey clouds in the far distance to suggest anything other than serenity might be in order.

Alicia pulled her oversized sunglasses into place and scowled anyway.

“Oh, possum, are you still thinking about dear Corrie?” asked Missy sympathetically, and Alicia nodded, lying.

It was actually Anders she had been thinking about. Anders who had made her toss and turn again last night despite her exhaustion and despite the more pressing mystery on board the ship now.

Mysteries she should say, because it seemed to Alicia that the good ship Orient was awash with more than its fair share of puzzles. First there was the mysterious disappearance of Corrie’s clothes. At first glance it had seemed so trivial, but now she had to wonder whether there was more to it than they all realised.

Then there was the mystery of the missing jewellery, a much more serious matter, especially if the victims were being drugged and, in one case, killed in the process.

And then, of course, there was the most horrific mystery of all—Corrie’s tumble into the sea. Was that connected to the missing kaftans or the missing jewellery? How did it fit in with the suspicious death of Cecilia Jollson? And did any of it have anything to do with a secret lover?

Alicia’s scowl vanished. She wondered now if they had all been looking in the wrong place. “You know, maybe Corrie’s disappearance is completely unrelated to whether she was sleeping around or not,” she told her friends as they sat, sprawled across several deck chairs looking out at the bow.

They had agreed to have a light breakfast this morning and were all nursing cups of coffee and fresh almond friands they’d pinched from the bistro by the pool, no one in the mood for formalities today.

“You’ve had a change of tune,” said Lynette, lifting her sunglasses to peer at her sister suspiciously. “What do you think it’s about then? Surely not some silly kaftans?”

Alicia wanted to tell them, more than anything, but she remembered Anders’s warning, his pleas to her to remain quiet for the captain’s sake.

Then she remembered how she had felt when she’d been left out of the loop and the anger she still felt towards the man who was supposed to be her partner.

She sat up, gathered them closer, and told them everything.

By the time Alicia had squared away their questions—or as many of them as she could, considering how little she really knew—they were all furious with Anders, and she felt a wicked, satisfied glow.

“He really should have told us,” said Claire.

“He should have trusted us!” spat Perry. “We’re not some Johnny-come-latelies with no track record. We all worked together so beautifully last time; we were the ones who solved the mystery of that missing housewife. Not just Anders, even if he does have an undercover cop on his side this time.” He made a pft! sound to show them what he thought of that.

Missy just looked glum.

“You okay?” Alicia asked her, and she shrugged.

“Corrie’s still missing. Mrs Jollson’s still dead. Seems to me we should forget Anders and just get on with investigating.”

Alicia gave the younger woman’s hand a squeeze. “You’re right as always, Missy. Spot on. This isn’t about us, or Anders, or whether he lied. So, what do we do now? Any ideas?”

Lynette said, “Sorry, but I’m really confused. What exactly are we investigating? Corrie? Mrs Jollson? Missing jewels? Kaftans?”

“All of the above,” said Missy. “They must all be connected.”

“But how?” said Alicia, biting down on her lip. “You know, maybe we should start small, maybe we should start with the kaftans.”

“Pft!” Perry said again, but she held a hand to stall him.

“No, seriously. Miss Marple always looks at the small, seemingly insignificant things. Sometimes they speak the loudest. Think about it: why would someone want to pinch a future victim’s clothes?”

“Were these kaftans worth anything?” Missy asked Claire.

“Several hundred dollars each I’d imagine,” she replied. “Not my style of course, but de rigueur with wealthy ladies of leisure. Corrie’s, I hear, were designer label.”

“Still,” said Alicia, “there’s women on this ship dripping with jewels worth many thousands of dollars. Just look at Dame Dinnegan. Why pinch a $300 dress? Nope, I think it’s something else.”

“A distraction!” said Perry. “To throw us off the scent.”

“Or maybe,” said Alicia, “to put us on the wrong scent.” She looked to Lynette. “Remember that first night when Mrs Jollson died? We saw her staggering to her cabin with that other woman. The one in the green dress.”

“Yeah, the tall woman in a flowing outfit…” She stopped, smiled. “Of course! They even threw on a tacky captain’s hat to ram home the point.”

Claire held a hand up. “Sorry, I’m not following.”

Alicia explained: “Someone really wanted to give the impression that the person last seen with Mrs Jollson that night was Corrie Van Tussi. That green flowing dress, it could have been one of her missing kaftans. I think they were trying to pin it on Corrie. They must have stolen her kaftans for that purpose.”

“Exactly,” said Lynette, “but who? Apart from the staff—and I can’t see any of them impersonating Corrie—what woman had access to her clothes?”

“Forget the staff,” said Alicia. “Jackson says they’ve all been searched. So unless they’re very good at hiding stuff, I suggest we focus on the passengers for now. Besides, most of the staff is Indonesian or Filipino, and they’re generally quite small. They couldn’t have pulled off a ‘Corrie’ either. Jackson seems to think it’s a passenger, and so do I. But who?”

Her eyes lit up momentarily, but it was short-lived. “It’s a pity Anita only joined the ship in Sydney after the thefts had already started, as she’s the perfect candidate. She seems to have a love-hate relationship with Corrie and a serious crush on the captain if you ask me. She might have done it just to teach her bestie a thing or two. But the timing’s all wrong.”

“What about the Solarno sisters?” said Missy, and they all frowned.

“They’re heirs to some mega meat fortune, so why would they want to steal a few thousand dollars worth of jewels?” said Lynette. “Plus, they’re too old. The woman we saw was younger.”

“Still, with the right makeup, long dress, a blond wig…” Missy tried again.

“They’re also way too short,” said Alicia. “Our woman was taller.”

“And she wasn’t as large,” added Lynette. “Sorry, no amount of designer clothes and killer heels are going to help them pull off ‘tall and Amazonian’.”

Alicia thought of Nurse Dee and wished the woman was a good foot taller, she would have liked to have planted it on that one. She pushed her sunglasses on top of her head and groaned.

“You know, yet again, we have to consider that it could be someone we haven’t even met yet. There are at least two hundred female passengers on board. I’m sure several dozen could pull off ‘Amazonian’.”

Perry sat up with a gasp. “I know who can pull off Amazonian! My God, I can’t believe I didn’t think of it sooner! It could be a man.”

They all looked bewildered for several minutes.

“Really?” said Alicia eventually. “Our woman seemed pretty feminine.”

“Honey, ever seen a drag show? There’s your three main ingredients right there: a flowing dress to hide the hairy legs, and a long wig and hat to hide the fact that you’re half-bald and have a three-day growth. Think about it, people. Corrie was taller than me with a set of shoulders that would put a footballer to shame.”

Missy giggled, but Alicia and Lynette were not laughing. He was right. It could well have been a man in drag. They hadn’t been close enough to get a good look, but it was a possibility. Suddenly the suspect list had blown wide open. Now they began thinking of male passengers, grateful, at least, that there weren’t as many of those.

“Pity the captain’s got a beard,” said Lynette, and Perry lobbed a deck cushion at her head.

“As if the captain would rob his own passengers! Goodness, when you get stuck on a suspect you really get stuck. Nope, I’ve got my money on the sleazy gigolo. He’s certainly pretty enough to pull off a chick.”

“Pity about the goatee,” retorted Lynette, chucking the cushion back at him.

They all groaned.

“Plus he has no reason to steal gems,” said Alicia. “He’s married to wealth, or have we forgotten about Dame Dinnegan again?”

“What about Dermott?” suggested Lynette. “He’s clearly not wealthy or he wouldn’t be dancing for his supper. Plus he’s the perfect person to pull it off. He has an excuse to dance with every woman, get up close and personal to check out their earrings and necklaces.”

“Yeah but he never leaves with any of them,” said Perry. “Even the Salami Sisters attest to that.”

Lynette scoffed. “He’s hardly going to tell them, is he? They’re such goody-two-shoes about all that stuff. But think about it. He must get lots of propositions. Maybe he organises to meet them later or just knocks on their door and tries his luck in the dead of night. Brings a bottle of drugged champagne, waits till they’ve passed out, then pinches the jewels and leaves again, this time disguised in one of Corrie’s frocks, which he’s hidden in his jacket or something.”

“Surely they’d remember his visit?” said Perry.

“Not necessarily,” said Alicia. “Anders says victims of Rohypnol remember almost nothing. Even if they do have fleeting memories of Dermott offering them a drink, they could easily be convinced it was from the bar, not inside their cabin.” She stalled. “I don’t know though. I can’t see him doing it myself…”

Claire coughed. “You’re all forgetting the most obvious candidate for the Corrie look-alike.” She had been largely silent until now and they looked at her, eyebrows raised.

“Who?” said Perry.

“Corrie, of course.” She lifted her vintage Gucci sunglasses and stared down towards the dazzling blue sea. “I know it’s a dreadful thing to say now, but maybe Corrie was the jewel thief. Maybe that’s why she blabbed to everyone, including us—complete strangers, I might add—that her clothes had been pinched. That way, if anyone spotted her in action or near the crime scene, she could bat her eyelids and say, ‘It must have been someone dressed to look like me!’”

They all stared at her as if the idea was ludicrous, and so she quickly added, “I know she’s well-off, but maybe she does it for a lark. She’s the one who first mentioned the idea of a kleptomaniac, remember? Maybe she’s got a problem, maybe it went too far and she accidentally slipped too much of the drug into Mrs Jollson’s drink. She wouldn’t have meant for her to die. I can’t see her murdering in cold blood, but maybe it was a terrible accident. Maybe she couldn’t live with herself, felt such remorse the next day that she threw herself overboard.”

It really was a ludicrous idea, but it did provide a very neat solution to several of the mysteries.

Perry was scowling. “I heard that scream, Claire. She wasn’t falling over willingly. Plus why come to Anders with a tale about her life being threatened? What was that note all about? Speaking of which, if she was racked with remorse and going to kill herself, wouldn’t she leave a suicide note behind?”

Now they all looked at Alicia, and she shrank under their gaze.

“Don’t ask me! Anders inspected the cabin, remember, and he’s clearly not confiding in me these days. But if I decide I’m ever going to talk to him again, I might just ask him.”

“Forget Anders,” Perry whispered. “Here’s someone who might be more forthcoming; he’s usually on top of the goss.”

They followed Perry’s eyes down the deck towards the man in a straw fedora who was stumbling in their direction. It was Dermott Killarney, and he did have some gossip to share, but it wasn’t at all what they were expecting.

Not his usual bubbly self, he looked pale and shaken as he slowed down upon approach. Alicia wasn’t sure where he was headed, but when he spotted the book club, he seemed relieved and almost fell into a chair beside them. He took the hat off his head and began fanning himself with it.

“Are you okay?” Alicia asked, and he nodded.

Then he shook his head and said, “Actually, no… not really.” He swallowed hard as if trying to collect his thoughts.

“What’s happened?” Perry asked, sitting up straight.

He seemed to pale even further as they all stared at him expectantly. Eventually he muttered, “I’ve… I’ve just heard the most… the most dreadful news.”

Alicia’s heart sank. Now what?

“I can’t believe I’m saying this but, well…” He stopped fanning himself. “There’s been another murder!”

Chapter 2

Dame Dinnegan looked eerily like one of her husband’s photos, slumped across an exercise bike, her arms dangling from the handlebars, her head resting on the LCD computer display, a dazed look on her face. Fortunately she was fully clothed, and Chief Officer Pane thanked the Lord for that as he snuck horrified glances at her from the doorway to the small gymnasium where her lifeless body had been located about an hour earlier.

Why a woman in a wheelchair should be found balanced precariously—grotesquely—on an exercise bike was a question for later. For now he just needed to get his head around the fact that another catastrophe had befallen the ship.

The Dame’s eyes were still open, and she looked more stunned than anything else, her watery grey irises staring into nothingness, her mouth gaping wide as though caught by surprise. And the six-inch blade in her back suggested that’s exactly what had happened.

Although how someone managed to stab a wheelchair-bound woman in the back before positioning her on an exercise bike was beyond Detective Jackson who inspected the classic Wüsthof knife more closely now. He was still in his barman’s uniform but knew it would be the last time he bothered wearing it. It was time to come out from undercover. He was not only a hopeless barman, he decided, his policing skills weren’t up to scratch judging by the body count.

Trying hard not to beat himself up, he swapped frowns with Packer, the head of security who was also in attendance, along with Pane, Dr Anders and the captain who had just walked in, as pale as his beard, uncomprehending any of it.

“Who… who would do such a thing?” he stammered. “Why?”

Jackson already had a pretty good idea of the answer to both questions and said, “We’ve got the husband in custody now, sir. It’s not looking good for him.”

As for when and how? Those, too, seemed pretty straightforward.

He glanced at his watch. It was just on 8:20 a.m., and while Dr Anders was now inspecting the body, they didn’t need a medical expert to tell them she had been murdered sometime that morning between 7:00 a.m., when Cheyne Smith had wheeled his wife into the gym (alive and well), and 7:35 a.m. when Dame Dinnegan had been found with the knife wedged neatly in her back (well and truly dead).

All that remained was to have a little chat with Mr Smith.

“Packer, I’d like you with me when I question Cheyne Smith, but first I need to talk to the witness, Gunter Groot is it? Where have we got him?”

“Up at the bridge, in my office,” Packer replied. “He is quite calm, considering what he’s just gone through. I’ve got a nurse with him just in case.”

“And Cheyne Smith?”

“He’s in the brig.”

The ship had a small jail cell, which no one had anticipated using when the voyage first started some forty-eight days ago. Eventually they had hoped to fill it with a thief or two, but a murderer? That left them scratching their heads, including the captain who had his cap off and was doing just that, still trying to comprehend the horrendous scene before him.

“Do we know what happened?” he said. “Was there a fight? Did things get out of control?”

“Still working it all out, sir,” said Packer. “Smith hasn’t said anything for now. I think the man’s in shock.”

“You’d be in shock, too, if you’d just stabbed your wife!” Pane declared, but Packer held a hand up.

“We still need to ascertain the facts, but according to Groot, Smith wheeled his wife past the library next door at around seven this morning and then returned to the library about five minutes after that—without his wife. Groot didn’t think too much of it, but he did say Smith looked ‘a little anxious’. Groot said Smith muttered hello, then pulled out a magazine and started to read. He was checking his watch a lot, apparently, and after about twenty minutes Groot began to grow suspicious. He asked about Dame Dinnegan and was told she was in the gym and to mind his own business—or words to that effect. Well, he thought that was a bit strange.”

“And it is!” said Pane again. “What was an old biddy in a wheelchair doing in a gymnasium, I ask you? Especially when the gym is not even open to the public in the mornings! The early birds do their program up on deck with Steve.”

“Exactly, sir,” said Packer. “Groot says he also knew the gym wasn’t open because he uses the library every morning, it’s his daily ritual, and had never once seen anyone go into the gym that early. Eventually, after another ten minutes or so, Groot decided to go and check on her himself. And that’s when he discovered the body here… just like this.”

“And he touched nothing?” said Anders.

“Not even the corpse.”

“Good,” said Jackson now. “I’ll go and question him further, but while I do that, can you make sure you seal this crime scene? Oh and get some of your lads up to Smith’s room for a bit of a rummage, then seal that off too.”

Packer nodded, then waved to a security man who had been hovering in the passageway just outside the glass gymnasium door.

“What will I tell the passengers?” Van Tussi said, staring beseechingly at Jackson now.

“As little as possible I’d suggest, sir, at least until we know more. We’ll do what we can, but if my estimations are correct, we’re now in New Zealand waters, which makes it their crime scene, not ours. I know the South African police were happy to hand over authority for the thefts to me, but I can’t speak for the Kiwis. They may want to bring their own team on board when we get to Auckland. It’s anyone’s guess.”

Captain Van Tussi was clearly thinking along the same lines and was shaking his head firmly. “No, no. We cannot have them come on board and assume control. They will traipse all over my ship, they will have none of the delicacy we require.”

He stepped towards Jackson. “You have to get the answers and fast. I cannot have all these questions, all these accusations flying around my beautiful boat. The New Zealand police may not have your discretion, they may put the fear of God into my passengers, and I cannot have that. We might as well sink the ship now. It will be the end of the SS Orient as we know it. Please, gentlemen.” He looked from Jackson to Packer then Anders and back. “You must try to solve this thing before we get to land.”

“That doesn’t give us much time, sir,” said Packer, glancing at his watch.

“That gives you exactly thirty-two and a half hours,” the captain replied, not needing to consult his own watch. “I know you can do it. Please, I am counting on you.”

Anders, who’d been inspecting the stab wound, had a sudden rush of déjà vu as a scene from a book flashed through his memory. He recalled a luxury train caught in a snowstorm and the train line’s director pleading for help from the portly little detective with the elaborate moustache and the egg-shaped head.

Before any of them could respond, a kerfuffle was heard outside, then a woman’s shrill voice, and a deeper tone asking her to calm down.

“I will not calm down!” she screeched again, the voice getting louder. “I need to see—”

Anita Monage appeared at the doorway, her face stricken, a hand at her throat.

“Oh God!” she said, staring past the men towards the body on the bike. She gasped, a hand to her lips. “It’s my fault! It’s all my fault!”

Then, as if she were a character in the aforementioned Agatha Christie novel, she slumped onto the floor in a faint.

Chapter 3

By the time Anita came to, she had been carried into the library next door and placed in the recovery position on one of the leather lounges, a soft pillow under her head. The place had been cleared out immediately after Dame Dinnegan’s body had been found, and Jackson had decided to keep it that way. Now that he was no longer undercover, he needed a command post, and this was a damn site more comfortable than Packer’s poky little office on the bridge.

Anita was now stirring, attempting to sit up, and Dr Anders stepped forward to check her pulse again.

“What… what happened?” she asked.

“You passed out,” Anders explained. “You’re in the library.”

She managed to sit up, and he handed her a small bottle of water, which she gulped before frantically looking around. Spotting Jackson, she frowned. What was the barman doing here?

He stepped forward. “I’m Detective Liam Jackson. How are you feeling, Ms Monage?”

Her eyes squinted at him suspiciously. After a few moments she said, “Fine.”

“Good, then can I ask you a few questions, please?”

She said nothing, and Dr Anders looked worried.

He said, “You’ve sustained a slight blow to the back of your head—”

“I’m fine,” she snapped back.

Jackson coughed, indicating for Anders to move aside, which he did, a small bead of worry on his brow. “Ms Monage, you made a comment before you passed out in the gym just now. You said, ‘It’s all my fault’. Could you explain what you meant by that?”

Her lips curled up just slightly. “I didn’t mean I killed her if that’s what’s got you excited.”

He tried not to show his disappointment. “Do you have any information regarding the murder of Dame Dinnegan? If so, I’d like to hear it, please.”

She took another swig of water and looked around anxiously. “Where’s Tonio?”

“He’s back on the bridge I believe,” Jackson said. “And we have Cheyne Smith in custody. Why?”

She looked almost relieved. “Did Cheyne do…” Her eyes fluttered towards the passageway. “… that?”

“We suspect so. I’m about to question him now, but first, Ms Monage, I’d really like to know what you meant by what you said.”

She shuddered and looked away.

“Ms Monage?”

“Nothing! I didn’t mean anything by it. Just forget I said it.”

“But…” This was Anders now. “But you said…”

“I was hysterical. Maybe I’ve got amnesia. I can’t remember what I said or why. I have nothing further to say.”

Then she put the bottle on the table, crossed her arms and looked away.

Jackson tried to contain his annoyance as he glanced at his watch and back at the woman on the lounge. Then he nodded to Anders, and they both stepped out into the passage.

“What do you think?” he asked the doctor.

“I think she’s lying. There’s barely a lump. I doubt she’s got amnesia.”

“Bugger it! I haven’t got time for this nonsense. Why the hell won’t she talk to me?” He had a thought. “I think we need to get the captain back.”

Jackson returned to the library and said to Anita, “I know you’re good friends with Captain Van Tussi. Maybe if he were here you might feel more comfortable?”

“God no!” She looked mortified. “He’s the last person I want to speak to.” She shoved a hand to her throat and looked away again.

Anders signalled for him to return outside again. “I know someone she might open up to.”

“Really? Who?”

“Alicia Finlay. They’ve already connected, I believe, several times.”

Jackson looked dubious, but a quick glance at his watch was all the impetus he needed. “Fine, get her in here and see if she can get the woman to talk.”

“I’ll try,” Anders said, frowning a little. “I’m just not sure she’s talking to me, that’s the problem.”

*********

You could have knocked Alicia over with a feather.

No sooner had Dermott announced the incredible news that Dame Dinnegan had been found murdered in the gymnasium—with the dagger, no less—but now Anders was standing before her up on deck, cap in hand, begging for her help.

She decided to milk it for all it was worth.

“So let me get this straight,” she said, the rest of the book club smirking beside her. “After everything you said, after all the warnings to stay out of it, to mind my own business, suddenly you need my help with your little investigation do you?”

He cowered beneath her sarcasm. “It’s not such a little investigation anymore.”

“So I hear. We have another dead body on our hands. I guess the dodgy barman’s not such a hot detective either.”

“What’s it all got to do with Alicia anyway?” Lynette wanted to know, feeling suddenly protective.

Anders glanced at her and back to Alicia. “We’ve got Anita Monage in the library. She has some information about the murder, but for some strange reason she’s refusing to talk. I know she’s opened up to you in the past. I just wonder whether she might open up to you again.”

“Oh really,” said Alicia, still in the milking process, “and what makes you think I even want to help you now? Hm?”

It was a stupid question, of course, and he looked more confident now. “Because I know you, Alicia, and you couldn’t stay out of it if you tried.”

He had her there, but she was determined to stay on the front foot, so she said, “Well, I’m not doing it without the rest of the book club. It’s all or none.”

His frown returned, but Lynette was now shaking her head. “That’s very considerate of you, ’Lis, and I admire your loyalty.” She flashed Anders a dark look. “But you’ll get more out of Anita without all of us crowding you in.”

“She’s right,” said Perry. “But thanks for trusting us!” He, too, slapped the doctor with a narky glare.

Alicia sighed. “Fine.” Her curiosity had won out as Anders knew it would. She stood up. “Okay then, lead the way.”

By the time Anders and Alicia reached the library, however, Anita had vanished.

“Damn it!” Anders swept out and down to the gym where Packer’s officer was standing guard. “Where did the woman go?” he demanded. “Anita Monage. Did you see where she went?”

The officer shrugged. “Sorry.”

He growled but Alicia placed a hand on Anders’s arm. “Leave it with me. I think I know where to find her.”

“Really? Where?”

“Wherever there’s a bar and a bottle of red.”

Chapter 4

Cheyne Smith’s charisma had vanished. His thick brown hair now just looked dirty and dishevelled, his eyes like a caged animal, flickering frantically from Jackson’s face to Packer’s and back. He had a crumpled tracksuit on and was chewing mercilessly at his top lip.

“I didn’t do it!” he kept saying. “I didn’t do it, I promise you!”

“You were the last one to see her alive, Mr Smith,” Jackson replied, a picture of calm across from him. “You were there at the exact time she was murdered.”

“It’s total crap. I wasn’t there! Well… I mean, I dropped her there at seven, on the dot like she said, but then I went straight to the library. I have an alibi! You ask that guy, that Donald Trump look-alike. I was in the library the whole time!”

“I have asked Gunter Groot, Mr Smith,” said Jackson. “He tells me you came into the library at exactly 7:05 a.m. looking… what was the word he used? Anxious, that’s right. Said you were full of beans, couldn’t focus on a thing. He wondered what you were doing there, and so he asked about your wife. You told him to—”

He paused to consult his notes.

“‘—mind your own f’ing business’. That’s when he began to get concerned. That’s when he decided to investigate. He discovered your wife’s body at 7:35 a.m.”

“Yes, but I wasn’t in the gym, right? I didn’t move! I couldn’t have—”

“Is there a question in here, Detective, because I’m not hearing one?” came the squeaky voice of a tiny woman sitting on Cheyne Smith’s side of the table.

It was Brenda Williams, a South African solicitor who also happened to be a passenger, and a very bored one at that. No sooner had she got wind of the “incident” on the lower deck, she raced to the bridge to offer her services to the accused. Not because she cared one iota for the man beside her, had never even met Cheyne Smith, but because she was looking for a distraction. Any distraction would do.

This was the last time she was going to let her mother drag her on a cruise ship. There were four single women to every single man, and most of those were more ancient than her mother.

Great place to meet Mr Right my foot!

Jackson frowned back. He’d been equally as happy when the lawyer had come forward—it meant he could start the official questioning process—but now he wondered if it was more of a curse. Things would have flown a lot faster without Brenda in the room.

They were seated back in the library, where an interrogation desk had been set up with Packer and Jackson on one side and Cheyne and Brenda on the other. The suspect had been brought in from the brig in handcuffs, but these had swiftly been removed after Ms Williams had snidely pointed out that, unless the suspect was Jesus—and she sincerely doubted that—there was nowhere for the man to run.

“My question,” said Jackson now, flashing Brenda a smirk, “is: did you kill your wife, Mr Smith?”

“Of course not! I’m telling you, I was in the library the whole time!”

“Ah, yes, but you could easily have killed her in that five minutes you were in the gym. It wouldn’t take long to overpower and stab an old lady.”

“Especially when you stab her in the back,” added Packer, his voice filled with disgust.

“But I would never! I wouldn’t harm Dorothy! I couldn’t have. You don’t get it! There’s no way!”

Brenda placed a hand on Cheyne’s arm, giving him the “take a chill pill” sign. He looked at her, gulped, then back at Jackson.

“What I want to know,” said Packer, his tone now droll, “is why your wife, an elderly woman in a wheelchair no less, would want to visit the gym in the first place. What do you think, Detective Jackson? Does that seem like a strange thing to you?”

Jackson smiled. “I was thinking the same thing myself, Mr Packer. The gym is a very odd place, indeed, for a lady in a wheelchair to hang out.”

Even Brenda appeared interested in this answer, and all three of them stared at Cheyne who paled further under their gaze.

“It was her idea!” he spat. “Dorothy… she… she told me to take her there. I was just following her orders.”

Packer snorted, and Jackson shook his head.

“And why would she order you to take her there?”

“I don’t know… she… she said she had an appointment and I was to drop her there at seven and come back for her in about half an hour.”

“An appointment? Really? Are you aware,” said Packer, “that the gym is not manned at that hour? That our gym instructor, Steve Owens, does all the morning classes up on the main deck before ten? There would be no reason for your wife to be in the gym even if she had wanted to work out.” And he snorted at that idea.

“She wasn’t there to work out,” said Cheyne.

“Well that’s a surprise,” he shot back. “So why was she there?”

He flinched. “I… I don’t know.”

“Who was this supposed ‘appointment’ with?”

“I don’t know!”

He was hiding something, Jackson could tell, he just couldn’t get a handle on what.

“I believe my client has answered your question,” said Brenda. “Have you got another?”

Jackson bowed his head and said, “If what you say is true, Mr Smith, then can you at least tell me who might have wanted your wife dead?”

“That’s the thing! I don’t know, but somebody clearly did! I’m telling you, I never would have killed Dorothy! We were partners! If she was around she’d tell you that.”

He started chewing on his lip again then had a sudden thought and said, “The captain! It had to be him!”

Both Jackson and Packer looked amused this time, and even Brenda was trying not to scoff.

“Why would you say that?” said Packer, but Cheyne was back to chewing his lip and didn’t answer.

Jackson exhaled loudly just as a knock came at the door. It was one of Packer’s men, and he had several plastic bags in his hand. From inside the office, Jackson could just make out what looked like a packet of cigarettes.

********

Anita Monage was dragging on her cigarette like it was attached to an oxygen tank. Not yet lunchtime, she was perched at the smoking bar, a glass of red wine also on hand. She glanced up as Alicia sat down but said nothing, just exhaled a thin plume of smoke and took a good, long gulp of wine.

The barman appeared, and Alicia ordered a soda squash, then sat back and waited. Anita was wearing a grey T-shirt and black pleated shorts, which revealed her pale, freckled legs. They were perfectly still. Not a twitch in sight, and Alicia took that as a good sign.

Eventually after another puff of her cigarette, Anita said, “Everything’s screwed up.”

Alicia flashed her room key at the barman, who’d just placed her drink down on a coaster on the bar, then took her own sip before saying, “What is, Anita?”

“This whole cruise, everything, it’s all just a bloody nightmare.”

“You heard about Dame Dinnegan then?”

Alicia knew the answer to that but decided to play dumb, and the other woman nodded, sweeping her eyes to Alicia. “It’s my fault, you know.”

Alicia gave herself a silent high five. “Why on earth would you say that?”

“Because the woman would be alive if it wasn’t for me.”

“What do you mean?”

Anita’s right knee had begun to twitch, and Alicia decided it was time to stop pussyfooting around. “This isn’t about the Dame is it? It’s about Corrie?”

She glanced at her, the twitching subsiding a little.

Alicia said, “You told me she was using you.”

“Well she was!”

“How?”

She exhaled again. “Okay, so here’s the thing. Coz told me she was desperate for my company, right? She always said stuff like that, made you feel like the most important person in the world, but I knew. Even before I got on in Sydney, I knew she was full of shit. I knew it’d turn out the same as it always turned out.”

“And how was that?”

“She didn’t want me, she wanted my room key.” Her leg began twitching even more wildly.

Ah, thought Alicia, it was starting to make more sense. “She was using your room to meet up with Cheyne.” It was said as a statement, but she was rewarded with a nod. “That’s why she wanted you to come aboard. They couldn’t use their own cabins, their spouses might catch them, so they needed another cabin. To conduct their affair.”

Anita chuckled. It was a hollow sound. “Well, they weren’t playing Scrabble in there that’s for sure.”

“Okay, so why is Dame Dinnegan’s death all your fault, exactly?” This bit she was still not following.

Now she got the “duh!” scowl. “Because if I had said something about Cheyne and Corrie sooner, Dame Dinnegan might still be alive. Don’t you see? He obviously killed Corrie and he obviously killed his wife. The guy’s a psychopath!”

Alicia took a deep breath. “You’re going to have to walk me through it, Anita. I’m still not following. I mean, why do you think Cheyne killed Corrie? If they were lovers, why would he do that?”

“That’s the thing! Corrie obviously broke up with him, and he couldn’t handle it.” She sighed impatiently as though talking to a toddler. “The night that Corrie fell overboard, right?” Alicia nodded. “He couldn’t find her. She was obviously snubbing him. The deal was, Coz got the room key from me after dinner when Tonio was due back on the bridge. She would disappear with sleazebag for an hour or so, then sneak back to her own cabin before hubby was any the wiser. But she never asked me for my room key that night, right? So I thought, good, maybe Tonio’s words at dinner had got through to her. Finally! I just loathe the way she treats that man. Such disrespect, she so didn’t deserve him.”

“So maybe they used a different cabin, hers or his perhaps?”

Again the knee shook, along with the head this time. “No, they never used their own cabins. They were really discreet, desperate not to be caught. I’m not sure who they were more scared of, Tonio or the Dame. Anyway, here’s the thing, he came to me that night—”

“Who? Cheyne?”

“Yah! I’m in the main bar, right, minding my own beeswax, and he says, ‘Where is she?’ like I have any idea. Says he tried her cabin and she wasn’t there and where the bloody hell is she. I said, give her a minute. She’s gotta be somewhere, try again in half an hour. I mean, hello? What am I? Her keeper? So he comes back half an hour later and says, nope, she’s not answering her door. I said, ‘Maybe she’s had enough, Cheyne, maybe she’s seen the light and it’s over.’ Well I wish I hadn’t said that! He was spewing. He’s all, ‘No, no! We’re in loooove, we’re running away together when the cruise is over, she promised me, blah, blah, blah.’ He wasn’t a happy man.”

“What time was all this?”

“I dunno, after dinner some time.”

“Can you be more precise?”

She dragged on her cigarette and gave it some thought. “I guess the first time we spoke was about 10:30-ish, thereabouts. The next time was closer to midnight I’d say. The dancing had started, I know that. Your friend will know, the party boy.”

“Perry?”

“Yeah, he was hanging with those fat sisters, the Sausage sisters or whatever they’re called.”

“The Salami Sisters.”

“That’s right, short, fat and ugly like salami.” She snorted. “If your mate doesn’t remember Cheyne coming in, they will. Those women don’t miss a beat.”

“And Cheyne never caught up with Corrie that night?”

“You’re not real quick are you?” She sighed. “Coz was obviously avoiding Cheyne. As I say, maybe she’d grown a conscience after what Tonio said at dinner. It was kind of embarrassing. Or maybe Dame Dinnegan said something to her. I mean, Coz was clearly terrified the woman would find out, and maybe she did! In any case, whatever her reasons, Coz was staying well clear of Cheyne the night she died, and I don’t think he liked it one little bit.”

“So what are you saying? He tracked her down and forced his way into her cabin at 2:00 a.m. and they had a fight? Then what, he threw her overboard?”

She nodded, her eyes as wide as saucers.

“And what about his wife? Why would be kill Dame Dinnegan?”

“What am I? Sherlock Holmes? She must have found out, maybe she was threatening to tell Tonio. I reckon Cheyne topped her too. Don’t you see, if I had just said something none of this would have happened? If for once in my freakin’ life I had stood up to Coz and refused her something, she might still be alive. She wouldn’t have been able to have her fling with Cheyne, the whole thing would not have happened.”

Alicia took a long sip of her drink. “This might not be the Love Boat, Anita, but there’s plenty of places for a determined couple to meet up, and they’d been managing well enough before you got on board. Even if you had said no and stayed home in Sydney, where there’s a will, there’s a way.” She looked at her over the rim of her glass. “So why don’t you say something now? Tell all of this to the captain or the detective in charge.”

Anita shook her head firmly. “What and break Tonio’s heart? No thank you! He doesn’t need to know his wife was an ungrateful slut; at this stage it would just be cruel. Coz is gone, the old lady’s dead, and they’ve got that sleazebag locked up. As far as I’m concerned, it’s over, so why kick the hornet’s nest?”

“Because it might be important,” said Alicia. “Because the detective in charge needs to know all this.”

She shook her head again, this time more wearily. “Tonio loved Coz. I… I just can’t do it to him. I just can’t.”

Maybe not, thought Alicia, but I can.

Chapter 5

Back in the interview room, Detective Liam Jackson was beaming. And not just because of the cigarettes. He gave Packer a nod as he took his seat and then pressed the record button again.

“Interview is recommenced at 12.36 p.m. Tell me please, Mr Smith, how long have you been sleeping with the captain’s wife?”

The change of direction caught everyone off guard, including Brenda, who didn’t get a chance to tell Cheyne to shut his trap before he wailed, “What’s that got to do with anything?”

Jackson smiled. Now they were getting somewhere.

While he had been out in the passageway inspecting the evidence, Anders had reappeared with news from Alicia’s little chat with Anita, and it had confirmed what he already suspected.

“Turns out Corrie and Cheyne were having an affair,” Anders told Jackson. “Anita says it started long before she got on board and is the reason why Corrie begged her to join them in Sydney so they could have easy access to a cabin. They’ve obviously been sneaking around the ship for weeks.”

Jackson would have been disgusted if he wasn’t already a jaded cop. Still, it helped explain the Italian cigarettes Packer’s men had also found amongst Cheyne’s belongings. It was the same brand Packer had photographed in Corrie’s cabin.

“I’m sorry, Detective Jackson, but I’m a bit confused,” said Brenda. “I thought Mr Smith was here to answer questions in relation to the death of his wife, not the disappearance of Mrs Van Tussi.”

Jackson gave her a patient smile. “I’m getting to that, I can assure you, Ms Williams.”

Cheyne had already come to his own conclusion. “I’m telling you, that’s why the captain did it! He’s angry with me, right? He’s lashing out!”

“That doesn’t make any sense, Mr Smith,” said Packer now. “If Captain Van Tussi was so angry, why not kill you? Why kill your innocent wife?”

That left him speechless, and he chewed his lips again, trying to get his head around an answer. Eventually he said, “It’s too weird, man, I don’t know why.”

“How long were you having an affair?” Jackson persisted.

“You do not—” began Brenda, but Cheyne was hissing now.

“It was not an affair! We loved each other; we were going to get married.”

“Pity you were both already married,” said Packer.

“Yeah, but Corrie was leaving that stuffy bastard,” he spat back. “We were jumping ship in Auckland.”

“That’s very interesting,” said Jackson. “So how did Mrs Van Tussi end up in the water just south of Lord Howe Island?”

Cheyne’s eyes welled up; he dropped his head into his arms and buried it there.

“Maybe it was just a fling for her?” Jackson said. “Maybe she wanted out?”

He looked up. “What? No!”

“Maybe Mrs Van Tussi told you to back off and you couldn’t handle it, Cheyne. You’re not used to being rejected, are you, a pretty boy like you? Maybe you had a fight, maybe things got nasty, you didn’t mean to throw her over.”

“No!”

“Maybe your wife suspected what had happened. So you had to kill her too?”

“No! No! No!”

Brenda gave Jackson a pointed look, and he smiled. “I’ve got another theory if you’d like to hear it. It’s a beauty.”

She smiled coyly. “Your theories are certainly running thick and fast this afternoon, Detective Jackson. Go on then, let’s have it.”

All eyes were upon him as he dropped another plastic evidence bag onto the table. This one was a lot brighter than the previous one, and a lot more incriminating.

The sparkling diamond necklace was the first thing to grab Cheyne’s attention, followed by a set of pearl earrings and an enormous gold broach, and he stared at them, aghast, then up at the detective who couldn’t help himself. He was beaming from ear to ear.

“These items look familiar to you do they, Mr Smith?”

“What… Where…?” he began as Brenda placed another warning hand on his forearm.

Jackson leaned towards the tape recorder and said, “Let the record show I have just shown Mr Smith an evidence bag containing several items we believe to be stolen property that was located in his cabin not less than an hour ago. I repeat, Mr Smith, any idea how these stolen items got in your possession?”

“You do not have to answer that,” squeaked Brenda, but he ignored her now.

“I’m being set up!” he wailed, his eyes darting between Jackson and Packer. “Can’t you see, it’s a stitch up!”

“So you never did steal these items then?”

He scowled at the evidence bag as though he were looking at a nest of Tiger snakes.

“Again,” said Brenda, “you do not need to answer that.”

“Then let me rephrase. Do you have any idea how this jewellery got into your cabin?”

“Once again,” said Brenda, this time to Jackson, “please explain what any of this has got to do with the death of Dame Dinnegan?”

Jackson pushed the bag of jewels towards Cheyne, who recoiled as if the jewellery was about to sit up and bite. “I’ve been investigating a series of jewellery thefts aboard this ship for several weeks now, Ms Williams. We believe the victims were drugged, probably with something like Rohypnol before their property was stolen. We also believe Cecilia Jollson was drugged and robbed and that an autopsy will show that it’s Rohypnol that triggered her heart attack and subsequent death.”

Brenda sat back with a thud, her mind racing. She had heard something about another woman dying in her sleep a few nights ago but had no idea it was related to this.

Her eyes lit up. This was getting more interesting by the minute. Perhaps the cruise wasn’t such a bad idea after all.

Jackson continued, “We suspect Mr Smith and Mrs Van Tussi had a bit of a racket going on, befriending and then drugging rich passengers and stealing their jewels. Of course you went too far with poor Mrs Jollson, didn’t you? That must have been a bit of a shock.”

Cheyne began torturing his lip again, his eyes darting around the room, but he remained silent, so Jackson continued.

“I suspect Mrs Van Tussi couldn’t live with the guilt of what she’d done—”

“She wouldn’t kill herself,” he said almost snidely. “She loved me. She wouldn’t leave me like that.”

“Ah yes, but perhaps she didn’t kill herself, Mr Smith. Perhaps she told you enough was enough, she wanted out. It had all gone too far for her, hadn’t it? I mean, it must have been a bit of a laugh at first, sleeping around, pinching a few jewels.”

“She had nothing to do with that!”

Brenda placed a warning hand on Cheyne’s arm again, but the detective was not done.

“So she told you she wanted out. Maybe she wanted to confess everything to the captain, or maybe she just wanted to break it off with you. Either way, it spelled trouble for you. You wouldn’t let her, would you, Mr Smith? You had a fight, you threw her overboard, it’s as simple as that.”

“No, no, no, no…” He was moaning now, tears streaming down his cheeks.

Brenda sighed loudly. She had gathered her wits again and was giving the policeman an admonishing look. “Detective Jackson, my client has been more than cooperative, but you have now overstepped. We only agreed to questioning in relation to the death of Dame Dorothy Dinnegan. He is not here to answer questions regarding the disappearance of Corrie Van Tussi or any stolen property for that matter.”

Jackson held a hand up. “I believe it’s all linked, Ms Williams. Please just hear me out.” He turned his eyes upon Cheyne. “I suspect your wife discovered some or all of this, am I right? Perhaps she confronted you. Or perhaps it was even worse than that. Perhaps she never even knew what you had been up to. I mean, the poor woman was bombed out of her brain half the time wasn’t she?”

Now a tiny smile broke out on Cheyne’s lips, and he shook his head. “You have no idea.”

“So when you decided you no longer needed her,” Jackson continued, unabated, “you no longer needed her wheelchair to hide behind—because as you say, you were jumping ship in New Zealand—she suddenly became dispensable. So you got rid of her.”

“No!” he yelled now. “It wasn’t like that. You’ve got it all wrong!”

“Which bit, exactly? Dame Dinnegan? Mrs Van Tussi? The thefts? Help me out here, Cheyne.”

“God, it just doesn’t make any sense,” Cheyne muttered.

Then he dropped his head into his arms again and began sobbing like a child.

Chapter 6

“It all makes perfect sense to me,” said Anders, relaying the information to the group on the main deck. “Corrie and Cheyne obviously had a thing going, but then Corrie wanted out. The affair and the thefts, it was all supposed to be fun, but when they accidentally killed Mrs Jollson, well, she must have come to her senses.”

“And Cheyne didn’t like it one little bit?” Perry said, and they all sat silently for a few moments thinking about what that had meant for poor Corrie.

They were seated around a small wicker table by the ship’s pool now, nursing strawberry smoothies and cups of Twinings tea. While the original SS Orient did not actually have a swimming pool, this one was designed to mirror those from other early cruise ships and looked just like an oversized ice box with metal bars around the side and a shiny metal ladder for entry. Several women were paddling about while a portly man appeared to have fallen asleep wedged tight inside a blow-up ring.

Anders watched the bathers for a few moments then said, “What Anita told you, Alicia, seems to add fuel to that. It was clear Corrie was avoiding her lover the night she died. By the time he caught up with her around 2:00 a.m., he must have been fuming. Jackson thinks a struggle ensued, Corrie was killed, maybe accidentally, Cheyne’s not saying, but it’s clear at some stage the poor woman was thrown overboard.”

“Yes, except she screamed out, remember?” said Alicia, and he dismissed this with a downturn of his lips.

“Okay, so she wasn’t killed before she went over, but he obviously did it. He had the jewels, he had the motive.”

“And Dame Dinnegan?”

“He suspects Dame Dinnegan discovered some or all of this and had to die. Apparently the jewels weren’t too hard to find in their room. Maybe the Dame stumbled upon them, asked him about them, and she had to be silenced. Or maybe he had just had enough of her, who knows? In any case the guy is in the ship’s slammer, and we should all toast our resident cop for solving the whole thing.”

He held his cup aloft, and they all cheered the absent detective. Alicia tried to echo their cheers, but there was something niggling at the back of her mind, something she couldn’t quite get her head around.

“Okay, spit it out,” said Lynette. “What’s on your mind?”

“I don’t know, it just doesn’t quite add up to me.”

“Oh no, here we go.”

“No, seriously, I’m still confused about a few things.” She glanced at Anders. “Like, the four missing hours.”

He frowned, so she quickly said, “Where was Corrie between 9:45 p.m.—when the cabin steward turned down her bed—and 2:00 a.m. when Cheyne supposedly caught up with her and chucked her over?”

“She could have met up with Cheyne earlier,” said Lynette, but Perry was shaking his head.

“Not between dinner and midnight she didn’t. Alicia’s right. Cheyne was in the Grand Salon for most of that. I saw him myself.”

“Maybe she was with Anita.”

“Nope. Anita was here too. On and off, but never with Corrie.”

“What does it even matter where Corrie was then?” asked Anders. “Those hours are not important. She wasn’t pushed overboard until after two. Maybe she was hanging with some other friend she’d made, wandering the decks wrestling with her conscience. Who knows? Sorry, I just don’t think it’s relevant.”

“Okay, that makes sense, kind of,” Alicia had to concede. “What doesn’t make sense, not one bit of sense, is how Cheyne killed his wife.” Now they were all frowning at her, so she asked, “Why would Cheyne kill his wife so brutally in such a public space? Even if she did confront him with what he’d done, why not give her an overdose of roofies like he supposedly did with Mrs Jollson? Or better yet, just throw her overboard? Make it look like suicide. He must have known he would be the number one suspect in his wife’s murder. There’s no better suspect than the unfaithful husband—everyone knows that. Yet he didn’t even bother to hide the stolen goods. They were there in plain sight in his cabin! I mean, even Dumb and Dumber would know that his room would be searched.”

“It’s like he was framing himself,” said Missy, and Alicia nodded fervently.

“That’s exactly what it’s like! It’s too perfect. Like Poirot says in my book, there are just too many bloody clues. I mean, the evidence is all there in his room.”

Anders was shaking his head, a small smile on his lips. “Dare I say it again, Alicia? This isn’t fiction. Sometimes the crooks are stupid, sometimes they slip up, and sometimes the cops just get it right. Maybe he didn’t mean to kill Dame Dinnegan. It was a spontaneous thing. Maybe she confronted him in the gym, he stabbed her and didn’t get a chance to get rid of the evidence back in his room.”

“But he did have a chance! Instead of rushing back to his room like any normal killer would do, he calmly goes next door to the library—where there is at least one witness—and sits around for half an hour, bringing attention to himself until the body is discovered. How bizarre is that? It’s like he was paralysed or hoping to get caught.”

“Maybe he was,” said Missy. “You know the police often look for suspects at the crime scene. Apparently they like to be in on the action.”

“You have to remember too, Alicia,” said Anders, scowling at Missy impatiently, “if it wasn’t for Groot checking out the gym, she may not have been found until after 10:00 a.m. when it officially opens. Maybe he just went into the library to get himself an alibi, not expecting Groot to go looking for his wife. Cheyne’s not exactly the sharpest tool in the shed.”

“Either that, or he’s a true psychopath,” said Perry. “How creepy is that? You’ve just stabbed your dear old wife, then you calmly walk into the library and wait to be discovered.” He cringed.

“Nope, I’ve got my money on the Dumb and Dumber defence,” said Anders, placing his cup on the table and standing up. “I’ve got to get going. The captain’s holding another staff briefing in ten minutes.” He turned his eyes to Alicia. “We did good work here today, yes? Stop overthinking things. You can now give yourself the next—” He consulted his watch. “—twenty-six hours off.”

“Great, more shuffleboard,” she said drolly.

Lynette was watching her watch him go, and when the sisters’ eyes met, Lynette’s narrowed suspiciously. “You’re not heading to the shuffleboard court, are you?”

Alicia held her palms out. “I’m just saying there’s still a lot of loose threads.”

Perry sat forward on his deck chair and clapped his hands. “Go on then, this certainly beats deck games. Tell us, what else have you got?”

Alicia smiled and tried to gather her thoughts. It wasn’t just Dame Dinnegan’s death that seemed out of kilter. Several mysteries were still floating around unanswered, like who stole Corrie’s kaftans? Where were the kaftans now? And who was the mysterious woman in green?

“Oh, Alicia, Anders is right, you’re overthinking everything,” said Claire when Alicia voiced these questions. “It’s like I said earlier. It must have been Corrie all along. We were so busy chasing our tails we couldn’t see clearly. Human beings have a dreadful tendency to do that.”

“But it can’t have been Corrie, surely! I had just seen her up on deck with Jackson.”

“She could have done it,” countered Lynette. “That first night on board, you were gone from the bar for a good fifteen, twenty minutes, Alicia. Corrie would have been cutting it fine, but she could have made it.”

“Then let’s do the maths.” Alicia turned to Perry. “Let’s try to think clearly back to that first night on board. Lyn and I had just left the Grand Salon and saw Mrs Jollson going into her cabin with the woman in green at around, what? Eleven-ish? So when did you last see Mrs Jollson in the bar?”

“Um, let me think.” He placed a finger at his temple. “I first noticed Mrs Jollson when she was dancing straight after dinner. I remember that. She had fabulous pins. Then, hmmm, let me think, let me think… Yes, I saw her after that, at the bar when I began doing shots with Ramond and a couple of the guys. That’s right, she was talking to someone.”

“Who?” squealed Alicia and Missy at the same time.

“I don’t know! I don’t know!” Perry gave his head a bit of a shake as though trying to knock his memory up a gear. “You know, I’m not sure I even recognised them, or if I did, it didn’t stick. But I do recall that they were drinking, because it was something orange and I remember thinking, ‘Oh that looks tasty! Maybe we should do a few shots of that!’”

“What was it?” asked Lynette, and Alicia held a hand up.

“Not important now, Lynny, although it may be down the track, because it’s likely that’s where the drug was administered.” She squished her lips to the side. “But just to be clear, Perry. That definitely wasn’t Corrie she was sharing an orange drink with at the bar right?”

“Absolutely not. I’d have recognised her.”

“Even if she’d changed into a bright green kaftan?”

“Hey, that woman would stand out in beige, honey, it wasn’t Corrie I can assure you of that. Besides, Ramond tells me Corrie was on the wagon. So she wouldn’t have been doing shots.”

“She could have fallen off,” said Lynette. “Or she might have been faking it.”

“Ramond would’ve noticed, Lynette. He seemed absurdly interested in that woman’s drinking habits for some reason.”

“Right, so here’s where we’re at,” said Alicia. “We’re expected to believe that Corrie was chatting to Jackson up on the promenade deck one minute, then raced away, somehow changed into a green kaftan—bright green I might add, so you’re not likely to forget it—and then raced into the bar, convinced Mrs Jollson to come do shots with her, somehow managing to sneak a drug into one shot glass without anyone noticing, including our nosey barman, then walked her out of the bar via the dance floor, which is the only way out, and to her room, all just before Lynette and I reached the elevator? And all without a single witness noticing it was the captain’s loud and vivacious wife?”

Several of them began looking as sceptical as Alicia but not Lynette.

“It was pretty busy in the bar, ’Lis. Everyone was tipsy and having fun. Maybe she just slipped past. Sorry, but you might just be grasping at straws.”

“No, I take it all back. Alicia’s right,” said Claire, catching them all by surprise. “Why would Corrie change outfits? I mean, Cheyne may be an imbecile, but Corrie seemed cunning as a fox to me. Think about it. If you want to disguise yourself, you’d put something different on, wouldn’t you? Something you didn’t own, that wasn’t your trademark look, and certainly not lairy green.” She wrinkled her button nose. “I’d put something very ordinary on to blend in with the crowd. Like a boring black frock, perhaps.”

Alicia’s eyes lit up again. She just remembered who had a penchant for wearing ‘boring black’.

Chapter 7

Anita Monage was not at the smoking bar when Alicia went to look for her. Nor was she in the main bar, the restaurant or on any of the decks. She did spot a group of familiar faces by the shuffleboard court, however, and strode across to join them.

“Hi guys,” Alicia called out. “Has anyone seen Anita?”

Billie Solarno looked up with a start and then smiled and waved Alicia over. “How are you my dear?”

“Good, thank you. I’m just looking for Anita. Have you met her? She was Corrie’s—”

“Oh we know who Anita is!” said Dermott, his body spread out on a deck chair as if basting in the afternoon sun. “I haven’t seen her. Ladies?”

He looked around the group of which there were seven or eight, and they all looked back blankly.

Tillie Solarno was not there, laid low with a migraine as it happened, but the rest of them were lying on deck chairs, leaning against the railing or perched around a large table watching a group play Shuffleboard.

“We’re sitting this one out in honour of the Dame,” Billie told Alicia as she approached.

Alicia nodded and watched the game for a few minutes before her eyes wandered across the deck and down to the sea below. It was impossible not to think of Corrie whenever you looked out into that vast expanse of water. It was impossible not to feel a shudder.

“I just hope she went quickly,” said Millie, sensing where Alicia’s mind had drifted.

“She would have, of course she would have!” said her sister, not sounding at all convinced.

“She looked pretty athletic,” Alicia pointed out. “Strong arms and shoulders. She may have kept swimming for a while. May still be swimming now, clinging to hope that someone will find her.”

They all seemed to shudder then.

“So Dermott tells us you were enlisted to help the undercover policeman with his enquiries,” Billie said, and she nodded. “We just wish it hadn’t gotten that far. I mean, we knew that hideous Smith man was trouble, but we never suspected he’d wreak such havoc. First he steals from all the innocent passengers, then poor Cecilia is drugged and killed, now poor Dorothy, destroyed by her husband’s shameless greed. Just dreadful.”

“And poor Gunter being the one to find her!” added an American man in green to one side. “What bad timing for him to be there right when it happened.”

Dermott scoffed. “Well that’s hardly surprising, Frank. Gunter’s always in the library at that hour. Hell, he’s holed away in there most of the day, the poor bugger. You would be too if you were married to you-know-who.”

“Now, now, Dermott,” scolded Billie, and he sniffed.

“Sorry, but the way that woman nags him is unconscionable. It’s not enough that he takes her on cruises?”

“Why does she nag him all the time?” asked Alicia.

“Oh she’s just cranky because they have to slum it in the lower decks instead of the staterooms where she thinks she belongs. She has airs and graces that one.” He sniffed again. “At least she doesn’t have to dance for her supper!”

“Still,” the man in green persisted, “I feel bad for Gunter having to come across Mrs Dinnegan’s body. That must have been damn shocking. I hear she was naked as a jaybird when he found her.”

The Solarno sisters frowned, but Alicia shook her head. “No, I don’t think so. Not that I heard anyway.”

“I’m not sure which is worse,” said a redheaded woman who’d wandered over from the shuffleboard court. “Being stabbed in the back or holding on to hope out there in the ocean.”

“Both don’t bear thinking about,” said Billie.

“And to think it was that lovely lad Cheyne!” said the redhead. “I never would’ve guessed. He was always so utterly charming.”

The eye roll that comment received from Dermott and Millie was not lost on Alicia. Meanwhile, Billie was watching Alicia closely.

“How are you all, really?” she asked. “Have we ruined your taste for cruising now?”

She shook her head. “It was hardly your fault, and no, I don’t think so. Well, maybe Claire might take some convincing in future. I think it’s been a real shock to her to see this exquisite ship so tarnished.”

“I believe it was already on the way to being tarnished, what with those two carrying on right under everybody’s noses,” Millie said.

“Millicent,” purred Billie.

“Oh, Bertha, I hardly think it’s news to anyone anymore.”

“Did you guys know about their affair before all of this happened?” Alicia asked.

“It was obvious to me,” said Dermott, but the rest of the group were shaking their heads, and this surprised Alicia.

She said as much. “It’s just that Corrie was so flirtatious. I only met her once, but that’s the vibe I got.”

“Yes, but she was so open about it all I think we all just assumed that was her personality, dear,” explained Millie. “I don’t think we thought for one moment that she’d cheat on the captain. And such a great catch! I can’t imagine why she would do such a thing.”

“How long had she and the captain been married?”

“Three years in August. Together just six months before they were wed. She was pregnant then but they lost the baby. Or so the story goes. Now, well, you have to wonder if there ever was a child. Perhaps she made the whole thing up, just to snare the captain.”

“Wouldn’t put it past her,” said a man in a loud Hawaiian shirt to Millie’s right.

“Did you also hear they were planning to jump ship together in Auckland—Corrie and Cheyne?” Alicia asked, and Millie nodded.

“What an ungrateful fool she was after everything Tonio did for her!”

“Oh?”

Millie blushed. “He… well, he helped her with the drink, didn’t he?” She glanced at her sister. “I don’t think that’s news to anyone.”

Dermott was nodding. “It’s true she was a chronic party girl when they first met, on this ship’s maiden voyage, you know? She was only supposed to join the ship for the Sydney to Fremantle run, but he fell hard, didn’t he, ladies? So he invited her to stay aboard for the return to London, and well, the story goes: when they got to London, he dusted her off, put her through rehab and married her—all within six months. Your classic Pygmalion story. She owed him everything, really.”

“She owed him her life,” said Millie, shaking her head sadly.

“The Captain sounds like an amazing man,” said Alicia. “I haven’t really had a chance to meet him yet.”

“Oh you would have if it wasn’t for this terrible business,” said Billie. “He would have invited you to his table— sought you out and seen how you were going. He’s just… well, it’s all been terribly distracting.”

“And you don’t think he could have had anything to do with any of this?”

They all stared at her now as if she had just asked if the earth was flat—their lips were open, their eyes were wide, their brows high.

“Never!” said the American man.

“He wouldn’t have it in him!” said Millie.

Dermott added, “Even if he had wanted to throttle his undeserving wife—and who could blame him if he did?—he would never have done that to his ship. He knows the danger of bad publicity. Once enough rumours get around on a ship, the whole ship starts to sink with the stink. He would never do that to his beloved boat.”

“Why are you asking this?” asked Billie. “I thought they had all the evidence. I thought that dreadful gigolo has confessed to everything.”

“Well, I’m not sure he’s confessed, but yes it’s true, the evidence does stack up. It just seems so, well, convenient, you know?”

Billie scoffed. “He’s obviously a very, very stupid man.”

Yes, thought Alicia, and how fortuitous that was for everybody on the ship, including Captain Van Tussi and his cheer squad.

By the time Alicia extricated herself from the cheer squad, she realised it was time to get dressed for dinner, so she begrudgingly abandoned her search for Anita and headed back to her cabin. It was only as she made her way down the long, thin passageway that she noticed the woman in black perched on the floor by her cabin door.

Anita seemed so shrunken now, like the horrors of this voyage had left her diminished somehow.

“I’ve been looking for you,” she said, scrambling to her feet as Alicia got closer.

“Really?” Fancy that.

“Can I come in?”

Anita indicated the cabin, and Alicia hesitated, remembering why she was looking for Anita in the first place. Hadn’t she wondered if Corrie’s best friend had been the woman in green? Was it really so clever to lock herself into a tiny cabin with a potential criminal?

Yet she couldn’t be the woman in green, her logical brain told her. She’d only just joined the ship in Sydney! The thefts started earlier than that.

Unless it was unrelated to the thefts, of course…

Anita watched Alicia’s brain wrestle with itself and gave her a pleading look. “Please, Alicia, we really need to talk!”

Yet again curiosity won out, and she said, “Excuse the mess” as she opened the door.

But of course there was no mess. Valeno had seen to that. Even Lynette’s clothes had been neatly stashed away in the cupboard, their beds already turned down for the night, a towel swan resting on each of their pillows.

Anita headed straight for Alicia’s minibar and plucked out a miniature bottle of red that was just on top of the fridge. “You don’t mind, do you?”

She waved her on, thinking, Great, there goes the budget.

“You want?” Anita called back, and Alicia said no as she took a seat on her bed, waving Anita onto Lynette’s.

“So, what did you want—?”

“They’ve got it all wrong!” Anita burst out.

“Sorry?”

“I’ve just been talking to Tonio, and he said the police guy, that cute barman bloke, has nabbed Cheyne for killing Corrie and his wife.”

“Yes. I thought you suspected him too.”

She ignored that. “Tonio says they think Cheyne and Coz had a thing going, stealing other people’s jewels.” Alicia nodded. “Well it’s rubbish! Corrie wouldn’t steal the complementary toiletries from your bathroom over there.”

Alicia frowned. “I didn’t think you liked her much.”

“What’s that got to do with the price of eggs in China? Sure, Coz could be a pretty crappy friend, and she was no poster child girl for marriage, but she wasn’t cheap and she certainly wasn’t a thief.” She cracked the bottle open and slugged a mouthful of wine. “She could have had anything she wanted—Tonio gave her the earth. She only had to ask, and it was hers. Why would she steal other people’s shit?”

“The theory is she was doing it for a laugh. They seem to think she might have been a kleptomaniac, and everyone knows ‘kleptos’ don’t steal because they need stuff. It’s a mental health disease.”

Anita snorted. “Corrie might have had a few sexually transmitted diseases, but there was nothing wrong with her head.”

“How can you be so sure?”

“Because I told you, I’ve known her since we were kids. We were at high school together. My friends and I did what all teenage girls do. We shoplifted every opportunity we got.” She held a long finger up. “Except Coz. She’d just laugh and say, ‘Why bother when you can pay for it, or better yet charm it out of someone?’ Nope, no way she was nicking diamonds, not even for her so-called ‘soul mate’!”

Alicia decided she needed a drink after all and helped herself to the other miniature bottle of wine in the bar fridge. This one was a chilled Australian Chablis.

After pouring it into a glass, she said, “Tell me a little bit more about Corrie and Cheyne. So they were genuinely in love then?”

“Yah! Can’t understand the attraction myself. I mean, he might’ve been married to an English Dame and had the whole swanky look going on, but he was as common as boiled cabbage. Just as slimy too. Still, Coz was hooked. I figured she must have been bored by Tonio. Maybe he was too devoted, maybe it was all too easy for her. But why him? Ewwwe!”

“You really didn’t like the guy?” She was rewarded with a “duh!” look again. “So what was that nod all about then?”

Anita frowned. “What nod?”

“Our first night on the ship, the night Mrs Jollson died, Cheyne came into the music bar after dinner, looked around the room and gave you a nod. It was subtle, but I saw it.”

“Oh, that was just our signal. He was supposed to get rid of his wife, I was supposed to fetch Coz and unlock my room for them. Look, that’s what I’ve been trying to tell you! I’d tell the policeman, but he’s no longer interested. He’s too busy building a case against Coz.”

“Tell me what?”

“She was with me! That first night we got on board, the night Mrs Jollson was being drugged, burgled, whatever, Coz was in my cabin.” When Alicia raised a sceptical eyebrow, she added, “Well, she wasn’t at first. I found her up on deck, she was just on her way back down, and we went back down together.”

“Which deck?”

“Um, the private one.”

“The promenade deck? Was she with anyone?” Anita shook her head. “What time was this?”

“Just before eleven. I know that because that was the time we’d agreed to meet Cheyne in my cabin, but he didn’t show up for another thirty minutes or so, then they kicked me out and did their business. I couldn’t get back into my cabin until almost one. But here’s the thing. Cheyne could easily have done it. Tonio tells me that they think Mrs Jollson was drugged some time after 11:00 p.m. when some witnesses saw her go into her cabin.”

Alicia put her hand up. “That would be me and my sister.”

“Right, so it can’t have been Coz. She was with me at eleven—but Cheyne was not.” She finished the wine with one more swallow. “And here’s the thing. He was really flustered when he finally knocked on the door, looked kind’ve guilty, and I just thought his wife must have been asking questions or something. But the more I think about it, the more I realise he must have just killed Mrs Jollson!”

Alicia felt a prickle run down her spine. “Did Cheyne say anything when he got to your cabin? How did he explain his lateness to Corrie?”

“I don’t know because that’s when she kicked me out, but I could tell something bad had happened.”

“Okay, tell me this, what was Corrie wearing?”

“Huh?”

“Just humour me.”

“Okay, um, her tiger-print shirt I think, oh and those white pants. Hate those white pants. So tacky.”

“She wasn’t in green that night? She didn’t change into a green kaftan?”

“What? No, it was the tiger-print one.” She shook her head. “She hadn’t bothered to change for dinner, I remember that. I thought it was rude, frankly. The rest of us could frock up. I don’t know why she couldn’t manage it. Tonio deserved a bit better than that. She was the captain’s wife for goodness’ sake!”

Alicia sat on her bed and thought about all this for a few moments before her eyes narrowed. “How do I know you’re not making this up?”

“Oh God you sound just like that cute barman. Why would I lie about this? Take it from me, Coz didn’t steal anything.”

“What about you?”

“What about me?”

Alicia sat forward. “How do I know it wasn’t you in the green kaftan walking Mrs Jollson to her death?”

Anita looked at her sideways. “Look, I don’t know anything about any green kaftan, but do you really think if I killed Mrs Jollson, I’d be here trying to get a dead woman off the hook? Come on, I pegged you as smarter than that.”

“Fair enough.” After another minute’s reflection, she said, “Looks like I need to have another chat with that ‘cute barman’.”

Chapter 8

The barman wasn’t looking quite so cute anymore. Alicia found Detective Jackson back in the library, tapping away at a laptop, which seemed incongruous in this old-worldly interior. He understood what Alicia was saying, but he didn’t like it one bit, and a surly look came onto his face.

“I’ve got the whole thing sewn up, Alicia. The captain’s happy. I’m happy. It’s neat!”

“Not that neat.”

“Only if you believe Anita Monage, and who’s to say she’s not lying?”

“Why would she lie?”

“Maybe she was the one stealing jewellery, not Corrie.”

“Except she only joined in Sydney and the thefts have being going on longer than that. Besides, why would she lie and throw it all wide open again? If she really was guilty, she’d shut the hell up, right?”

“Then she’s obviously just defending her best friend.”

“I don’t think so. Anita is the first person to point out Corrie’s character flaws, of which there are many, apparently. She’s barely said a good word about her best mate since this ordeal started, but she’s telling me the woman would not steal anything, and I’m inclined to believe her.”

She pointed one finger in the air. “First, Corrie wasn’t the one walking Mrs Jollson to her room that night. I saw her on deck with you in a tiger-print top and white trousers at around 10:30, maybe 10:45 p.m. at the latest, right?” He nodded. “Then, soon after, Anita finds her and walks with her to her room just before 11:00 p.m., and she’s in exactly that same outfit. She stayed there for the next half hour with Anita—that takes us to around 11:30 p.m. Anita says she then remained there for at least another hour with Cheyne. The timing’s all wrong. She couldn’t have been the woman in green I saw with Cecilia Jollson out in the corridor at 11:00 p.m.”

She waved her second finger in the air. “Two, Corrie doesn’t drink. Yet the woman in green was seen doing shots at the bar with Mrs Jollson before she died—which is around the same time that you were talking to her up on the promenade deck. I reckon that was when the drug was slipped into Mrs Jollson’s drink because, when I saw her near her cabin, she was well on the way to woozy. And don’t tell me Corrie ‘fell off the wagon’ because if she had, the barmen would’ve noticed. They’ve been watching her drinking habits all cruise, and they certainly would’ve noticed her doing bright orange shots at the bar.”

“And three?” he said.

“Sorry?”

He smiled now. “I assumed you had a whole countdown of clever clues you were about to dazzle me with.”

Alicia shot him a smirk as she held up a third finger. “And thirdly… well I haven’t got a third. But you have to consider the fact that you might have at least part of the solution wrong.”

He reached into a box below the table and pulled out a plastic bag with some bright fabric inside. “Corrie’s missing kaftans,” he said, slapping it down in front of her. “It took us a while to find them. They’d been stashed behind the headboard of the bed.”

“Whose bed?”

He waited a beat. “Corrie’s bed. They were never missing after all.”

She picked up the bag and studied it, then frowned. There was no green kaftan inside.

He held his own forefinger up, reading her mind. “Exactly! Where oh where is the elusive green kaftan? I’m beginning to think this mysterious ‘woman in green’ is actually a ‘red herring’. Isn’t that what Agatha Christie would call it? I think she—whoever she is—had nothing to do with any of it, and we’ve all been letting that cloud this entire case. And by ‘we’ I mean ‘you’.” He chuckled. “The woman in green was probably just a friend from the bar who walked Mrs Jollson back to her cabin and promptly left. And then after that, after your friend Anita gave the two lovebirds her cabin, they snuck out, knocked on Mrs Jollson’s door, gained entry—probably by insisting she join them for a bottle of champagne—then drugged her drink, nicked her jewels, and well, you know the rest.”

He smiled as Alicia’s own smile crumpled.

“I think,” he continued, “that if we had more time and resources, we’d eventually locate some old lush with a silly green dress in her luggage who has no idea she has caused such a fuss.”

Alicia rubbed a hand through her hair. It did kind of make sense, she had to admit that, but she was curious why the kaftans had only just been discovered. Before she could ask, Anders walked in, looking drained.

“Oh hey, Alicia. I thought you’d be at dinner with the rest of them.”

She glanced at the clock above the faux fireplace in the library. He was right. The evening meal would be well under way, but she had lost her appetite.

“What about you? Captain’s table not so appetising tonight?” She hadn’t meant for it to sound so acerbic, and his eyes flashed at her.

“I’ve been busy with another body, remember?”

“Yeah, sorry. More paperwork?”

He slumped into an armchair. “Most of it’s done. After the first one you kind of get the hang of it. Tragically. That ice room’s getting pretty packed though. Could barely fit Dame Dinnegan in the refrigerated box. Out of her wheelchair she’s not as diminutive as you’d think.”

Alicia shot him a placatory smile. Perhaps she’d been too harsh. Poor Anders had only signed up to investigate some suspicious doping on board the ship. Now he had two corpses to contend with. “I guess the only consolation with Dame Dinnegan is she was very old. I guess that makes it slightly more bearable than Corrie.”

“Oh I reckon the old lady had a few more years in her yet. Other than her obvious frailty, she was in pretty good shape for a woman her age. That’s probably why Cheyne bumped her off. And please don’t waste your sympathy on Corrie. She was playing with fire, hooking up with Cheyne, helping him steal other people’s property.”

Jackson said, “Ah, but your girlfriend here seems to think Corrie wasn’t the one out thieving with Cheyne.”

Alicia winced at the term “girlfriend” and wondered why that suddenly didn’t sound right. Anders was looking doubtful for a different reason.

“So what are you saying, Alicia? That Cheyne was the thief but not Corrie?”

“Maybe.” Her confidence was wavering. “That’s what Anita says, and she’s the one who knows Corrie the best.”

“So let me get this straight,” Anders continued. “She thinks Cheyne was the one running around in dresses and wigs, pilfering stuff? All by himself? And despite the goatee?”

Okay, so it sounded a bit stupid, and so did her next question, but she asked it anyway: “Do we even know if Cheyne’s goatee is real?”

Jackson laughed. “That ain’t no fake goatee, Alicia.”

“Then maybe he was stealing with someone else, some other woman we haven’t even suspected yet. She could have put the kaftans back in Corrie’s room later. I mean, everyone says Cheyne was a sleazebag, so it’s probable.”

“But highly unlikely,” said Anders, his tone weary. “What are you saying now? He was married to one woman, having an affair with another, and pinching jewels with a third? Come on, that’s impressive even for a gigolo. Here’s a better idea. Maybe Anita has it wrong, or maybe she’s just trying to clear her friend’s name.”

“Or better yet,” said Jackson, pushing his laptop away, “maybe it’s the captain’s reputation Anita’s trying to protect, have you thought of that? It’s pretty obvious Anita’s got a major crush on the bloke. Perhaps she thinks that if passengers realise his wife was a thief and murderer, he’d be ruined.” He stood up and reached for the internal phone. “Don’t know about you two, but I’m starving. Might see if I can get them to bring something here. That is if Chef is still speaking to me.”

He explained, “We naturally suspected that the knife that killed Dame Dinnegan came from the galley, so I put his whole predinner prep into chaos, having the place thoroughly fingerprinted and searched. You know there’s one other knife missing that we can’t account for.”

“You think it was used to stab Corrie?”

“Don’t know. In any case, it didn’t kill her. She screamed as she went over, remember? We haven’t located it in Cheyne’s cabin, so if he did use it, it probably went over the side with Corrie. Anyway, enough of all that!” He began to dial. “Why don’t we all get some grub brought in and keep working on it?”

Alicia blinked at him. “You want me to stay as well?”

He smiled. “Sure. Your theories are even more entertaining than mine.” He held a finger up and spoke into the phone, “Yeah get me room service, please,” then turned to look at Alicia again. “So what are you hungry for?”

She felt a sudden jolt in the pit of her stomach, but it was not hunger. It was the feeling of being welcomed, of being appreciated. It was a feeling Anders hadn’t given her for quite some time. Alicia loved the idea of settling in here and counting the clues with Liam Jackson, but Lynette’s face suddenly flashed before her eyes and she thought better of it.

She stood up. “Thanks, Jackson, but I’d better report to the restaurant. You know how protective my ‘spinster sister’ can get?”

He mouthed the word, “Ouch!” just as the room service attendant picked up.

Chapter 9

By the time Alicia made her way to the Grand Dining Room, most of the passengers were onto dessert, and she apologised profusely as she took her seat at the book club’s table.

Lynette was not easily appeased.

“I was starting to seriously panic!” she told her sister, her eyebrows arched high. “I morphed into you, all freaked out! It was not a pleasant place to be.”

Missy giggled, dipping her spoon into her crème caramel. “That’s true, ducky! She thought Anita must have bopped you over the head and thrown you overboard. She was rushing about like a mad sailor when we finally found Anita who insisted you were alive and kicking. She said you were giving that useless copper a good boot up the butt.”

“Oh he’s not so bad,” said Alicia, causing Lynette’s eyebrows to rise again but for a very different reason.

She went to say something when a waiter appeared with a plate of thinly sliced prosciutto over a bed of rockmelon.

“Your entrée, Madame.” He placed it down in front of Alicia as Claire explained.

“Your sweet sister got them to save it for you.”

“Thank you, Lynny,” she said, even though her appetite had not exactly returned.

“So, spill, woman!” said Perry. “Tell us what you’ve learned!”

And so, as Alicia made her way through several courses, she gave them an abridged version of her various conversations that evening, starting with Anita’s revelations and ending with Jackson and Anders.

“I’m inclined to agree with Jackson on this,” said Claire after some musing. “It does make the most sense. Sure, some bits are a bit loose, but it’s most likely that Cheyne and Corrie were in on it together, and then he turned on her for whatever reason.”

“Yeah, I get why he thinks that,” said Alicia. “But why did he turn on his wife? She was his meal card. Why kill her and in the gym of all places? He shared a stateroom with the woman. It’s identical to Corrie’s, apparently, with a lovely private balcony—just perfect for foisting old ladies over in the dead of night. Why wheel her somewhere so public, stab her, then leave her there and calmly walk into the next room, sit down and wait to be caught? Cheyne must have known Groot would be in there; Dermott says it was pretty common knowledge the guy went there at that time each morning to get away from his wife.”

“What’s wrong with the wife?” asked Lynette.

“Champagne taste on a beer budget, apparently,” Alicia replied, referring to Eva’s stateroom aspirations. “I hear she gives the hubby a hard time about it.”

“So what’s the alternative?” said Perry. “Someone snuck past the library while he was in there and killed Dame Dinnegan, then snuck back again without being spotted?”

“There is a set of stairs at the other side of the gym. Maybe they snuck down that way and back. It is possible.”

Lynette held her wine glass out for the waitress to refill it and said to Alicia, “I need to talk to you about Anita.” Alicia glanced up from her fork. “I know you’ve really connected with her, but I’ve been giving it some thought, and I hate to say this, but well…”

Lynette took a quick sip of her wine as if fortifying herself. “I wonder whether Anita has been playing you.”

“How do you mean?” Alicia felt a ripple of irritation.

“The first time you spoke to her, remember? Up at the bar when you were looking for the barman? She’s the one who first caught your eye, acting all teary and reeling you in. Right?”

Alicia just glared at her, so she continued. “She’s the one who keeps popping up with different stories. One minute Corrie’s a selfish cow who uses and abuses people, the next she’s some saint who wouldn’t steal a complimentary soap. What is all that about? And there’s another thing.”

Alicia frowned.

“Didn’t you just say that Anita insists that Corrie and Cheyne never did the dirty deed in either of their own cabins? Isn’t that what Anita said?”

“Yes, that’s why she was brought on board, to give them a place to hook up.”

“So tell me this then, why would Cheyne’s cigarettes show up in Corrie’s cabin the night she vanished? And why would there be a condom packet in the bathroom bin? Obviously they did hook up in Corrie’s stateroom and Anita is lying through her nicotine-stained teeth. Sorry, sister, but she’s playing you like an accordion.”

“But… but why?” Alicia didn’t like being played, and she liked her sister pointing it out even less. What she had liked was Anita’s forthrightness. She felt she could trust Corrie’s best buddy. They had a genuine connection.

“I don’t know. I’m not saying she’s necessarily guilty of anything. Maybe she’s a narcissist and wants to put herself at the centre of it all, or maybe she’s just an attention junkie and that’s why she hung out with Corrie for so long, to bask in her friend’s shadow. I mean, what kind of person comes on board to provide a love nest for someone else, especially if she is such a fan of that someone else’s husband? Who does that? I reckon there’s something seriously strange about that woman. I mean, look at her over there.”

She nodded her head towards the captain’s table, which was half-empty tonight, just a few glum-looking passengers nursing the last of their coffee and wine. The Captain was not present, but Anita was, dressed in a long, pale-blue dress tonight, and she didn’t look glum so much as pitiful, hunched over her glass.

“Look how pathetic she looks,” said Lynette, “like she has the world on her shoulders. Yet she didn’t even like Corrie Van Tussi, so what’s she got to mope about? It’s an act, I’m telling you. She’s a fraud!”

Several of them were nodding agreement, but Alicia’s jaw was dropping. There was something about the way Anita was sitting, it reminded her of a comment Anders had made earlier. She sat back with a start.

Lynette said, “Are you okay?”

Alicia swept her eyes from Anita back to her sister. “Tell me, Lynny, that galley tour you did on our first full day on board. Who was on it?”

“What?”

“Just tell me! Who was on the tour when you inspected the kitchen?”

“Um, I can’t remember. It feels like weeks ago now.”

“Think!”

“Okay, take a chill pill. Um, there were about twenty-five of us, I guess. I didn’t know most of them. Why?”

“Was Cheyne on the tour? Or his wife? What about Anita, was she there?”

She thought about it and held her hands up, flustered. “No, I didn’t see Anita or the Dinnegans. The Groots were there, one of the Solarnos I think. Oh and the trainer guy.”

“The trainer guy?”

“Yeah, Steve someone or other. Apparently this was his first cruise, and he wanted to check it out. They’re pretty relaxed with the staff, aren’t they? Letting them dance in the main bar, letting them come along on—”

“Never mind!” Alicia interrupted her. “Just do me a favour. After dinner can you try and get back in and see the chef?”

“I can try. Nice bloke. He was quite interested in the fact that I was also a chef so—”

“Ask him who else had access to the kitchen, which passengers? Did he run another galley tour before we got on board, or were there any private tours? We need to get a list of who had access to a knife.” She stood up. “I’ve got to run.”

“Hang on! What are you going to do?”

“It’s not what I’m going to do, it’s what Jackson has to do.”

They were all staring at her now, their faces bursting with curiosity, so she said, “We’ve all been fooled, big time. Anita’s not the fraud, and neither is Corrie. It wasn’t Corrie who was stealing jewels.”

“Who then?” hissed Perry, excitedly.

She went to say something when she noticed Dermott bearing down upon them, a waltz in his step. He was no doubt eager to entice them all back onto the dance floor, so she leaned in and quickly whispered, “I’ll explain it all later, I promise. Suffice it to say, we’ve been looking at it from completely the wrong angle!”

Jackson was just taking a bite of an enormous club sandwich when Alicia swept back into the library, and he looked pleased to see her again, his eyes sparking up.

“You want?” he mumbled, his mouth full as he indicated a bowl of fries.

She shook her head, looking around.

“Where did Anders go?”

“Back to the medical centre, more forms or something. Welcome to my world.” He brushed crumbs from his mouth with the back of his hand. “So, you’ve finally come up with a third point to prove your mad-arse theory about Corrie?”

She beamed. “Yes I have, and you’re about to help me prove it.”

“And how am I going to do that, Ms Finlay?”

“By making a deal with Cheyne Smith.”

“Sorry?”

She sat down next to him and plucked a chip from the plate. “With the right incentive I think you can get him to admit what he’s probably itching to tell you but knows will only incriminate him further.”

She chomped off the top of the chip, her eyes squinting mischievously.

“Okaaaay, Alicia, now you’re just sounding confused.”

She finished the chip and sat back, barely able to contain the smile on her face.

He smiled too, her excitement infectious and said, “Come on then, out with it!”

“I think I know the identity of our mysterious woman in green.”

His smile deflated. “Are we seriously still banging on about that?”

She nodded. “Wanna hear who I think it was?”

He rolled his eyes playfully and said, “Go on then, get it off your chest.”

She snatched another chip and was just about to take a bite when she decided to put him out of his misery and said, “It wasn’t Corrie Van Tussi at all. It was her nemesis!”

“Her nemesis?”

“Dame Dinnegan, of course!”

Chapter 10

It was now 11:35 p.m. on the final night of the cruise, and the Grand Salon was full to bursting. The scheduled Captain’s Formal Farewell Dinner Dance had been cancelled for obvious reasons, but that didn’t stop the crowds from gathering again, toasting the end of their mammoth fifty-day journey and, for those in the know, congratulating themselves on another near miss.

They would sleep more easily in their beds tonight, although, if truth be told, very few of them had lost sleep over the recent events. The captain had seen to that, aided and abetted by his devoted team, including both Anders and Jackson. They had carefully screened how much real information filtered out, and so while colourful rumours had swept the decks and fuelled the conversation in the bars and dining room, unless you knew the players directly, there were not a lot of specifics to keep it burning.

And so most of the passengers never felt genuinely threatened.

They knew the captain’s wife had fallen overboard, but they had begun to suspect it was all just a terrible, terrible tragedy. These things happened, didn’t they, even on the best of ships?

As for the missing jewels they’d heard about? Well, their bling was still safe in their cabins, so it was nothing to get in a lather about.

And Dame Dinnegan’s death? Somewhere between her vicious knifing in the gym and post-dinner drinks in the music bar, the story had morphed from murder to a terrible case of domestic violence.

That’ll teach the silly old goat for marrying a man half her age! And an artist to boot. What did she expect?

Alicia knew from conversations with Jackson that Cheyne would be quietly whisked off in Auckland, and while his subsequent court case would ruffle a few feathers, most of this international crowd would have moved on by then and onto their next holiday.

It was a win-win for everybody, Alicia thought as she accepted the champagne glass that was now being foisted upon her. Except perhaps for Corrie. She was guilty of a very foolish, childish affair, but that was about the extent of it.

“To Alicia!” someone said, and she swept her attention back to the crowd that had gathered around the velvet booth where she had now taken centre stage.

The book club was all there, as were Anita, Dermott and one of the Solarno sisters. Billie, she decided. The Groots were seated close by listening in as was the American man in green from earlier that day.

“How on earth did you figure out that Dame Dinnegan was the one running around stealing jewels with Cheyne?” asked Perry after everyone had sipped. “I would never have guessed that woman was not disabled. Not in a million years.”

“Yes, she had us all fooled, even most remarkably, you guys.” Alicia slid her gaze across the veteran cruisers.

“And don’t I feel like a fool for it!” Dermott replied. “She waltzed with me on a cruise just two years ago.” He waved a hand at Billie. “She almost smashed you at shuffleboard, remember? I can’t believe we didn’t notice.”

“We just assumed she had cancer or something,” said Billie. “Us oldies do tend to age quickly once we get past seventy-five. And she really did look frail.”

Alicia nodded. “She was clever all right. Hiding her strong limbs under flowing chiffon and pretending to be scatty, her makeup badly applied, all the things that indicate someone is not quite with it. At Dame Dinnegan’s age, looking ‘your age’ is perfectly normal. It’s also a great disguise. No one suspects the batty old dear in the wheelchair.”

“Except she wasn’t so batty,” said Claire, and Alicia nodded.

“You noticed that, Claire, when you spoke to her, but you kind of dismissed it as everyone did. It was only when I saw Anita sitting down at dinner that it dawned on me: most of us look a lot smaller when we’re seated, especially if we hunch over. Then I remembered what you said, Anders, about how much bigger the Dame was once you saw her fully laid out on the slab. Not nearly as frail and diminutive as we’d been led to believe. But of course proving it now that she’s dead… well, that’s the hard part.”

She glanced at Jackson who was just pulling up a seat at the edge of the table, a frosty glass of beer in his hand. Now everyone was staring at him, and he laughed.

“My chance to be all show-offy is it?” He smiled playfully at Alicia. “Alicia’s right of course. Dame Dinnegan had no need for a wheelchair; it was all a charade. Cheyne’s just admitted it. He’s cut a deal with his lawyer. You know, he’s bloody lucky to have that woman on board.”

“So how did it work?” asked Lynette.

He took a refreshing gulp of his beer, then cleared his throat. “Well we only got the basics tonight, will hopefully fill in the fine print later, but it sounded like a pretty tight operation to me. The Dinnegans ran a few different lines, which is why it was so hard to pin it on them. Sometimes Cheyne would pretend to tuck his wife into bed early, then return to the bar where he’d chat up a rich widow, find out her room number, then slip a roofie into her cocktail. Then he’d depart, all alone, making sure there were plenty of ogling ladies to witness it. Dame Dinnegan would then take it from there, either by slipping into the bar in disguise and guiding the poor victim out and back to her room, or she’d wait for her in the passageway and walk her back from there.”

“You have to remember,” said Anders, “Rohypnol works fairly quickly. So once the women were drugged, it wouldn’t take long for them to start feeling woozy and want to hit the sack.”

“That’s right,” said Jackson. “But they’d just look very drunk, so it’d be easy for Dame Dinnegan to look like she was helping them to bed. Once she had them in their room, she’d put them into bed and steal what she could find. Cheyne tells me that sometimes they did it in reverse—the Dame would drug the victim’s drink in the bar, and he would take over once the victim got back to her cabin. That way the person who last had a drink with the victim was never the last person to be seen with them. The perfect alibi.”

“I don’t understand this!” said Eva Groot now, calling out from her table. “How did no one recognise the Dame walking around? Even out of her wheelchair, she would look the same, yes?”

“Not if she made her face up differently and put on a wig.”

“Or a green kaftan and a captain’s hat,” added Alicia, and Jackson nodded.

“The creepiest part is, Cheyne reckons the ‘Corrie’ disguise only started soon after his affair began, which was the second week of the voyage. Before that her usual disguise was a boring brown wig and a long black dress. He preferred that look, said it made her blend in better.”

Claire and Alicia swapped a small satisfied smile.

“So the silly old cow was deliberately trying to pin it on my Coz?” said Anita.

“Looks like it,” Jackson replied. “She obviously uncovered the affair and sought revenge. We suspect the Dame pinched Corrie’s kaftans herself on one of several occasions she’d been invited into her cabin for drinks with the captain. They were old mates. She obviously did it to throw suspicion at the woman who was stealing her partner in crime. After Mrs Jollson’s death, we suspect the Dame returned them to Corrie’s cabin and hid them behind her bed.” He caught Alicia’s eye. “As for the enigmatic green kaftan? That probably went overboard with Corrie the night she vanished.”

“Just hang on a minute,” said Gunter now. “Before we move on to that, can you explain to me why this lady, this rich Dame Dinnegan, would need to steal other people’s jewellery?” He glanced at his wife. “We thought she was very rich.”

“Apparently not rich enough,” said Jackson. “Several husbands had seen to that. According to Cheyne, she was close to foreclosure on her beloved estate in Oxfordshire. It’s been in the family for something like 135 years. She was damned if she was going to lose it in her lifetime.”

“Enter Cheyne Smith,” said Alicia, and he nodded.

“They met about eighteen months ago at a mutual friend’s party in some London mansion apparently. He made a clumsy attempt to pinch her ruby broach, I think he said, and the Dame caught him in the act. But instead of handing him over to the police, she realised it could be the answer to all her prayers. She convinced him to steal for her in exchange for pulling strings and establishing his art career, which at that time was going nowhere fast.”

“And with good reason,” said Lynette, her legs curled up beneath her as she listened.

“I suspect this wasn’t their first job,” Jackson continued. “We haven’t had a chance to go into the details, but I’m sure if we approach the authorities in the UK and elsewhere, we’ll find there were several fancy parties they both attended where mysterious thefts occurred. Maybe another cruise or two. What we do know is they worked as a team, stealing the odd gem to keep her creditors at bay just long enough for her to live out her final days in her beloved mansion. Then when she was gone—which had to be soon, he thought—she would leave him everything, and he would be an established artist. Win-win.”

“It’s like Billie said,” Alicia added as Billie glanced across at her, looking bewildered. “You said Cheyne was like the thriving strangler vine, clinging onto the crumbling castle, sucking it dry. It wasn’t just him getting all the benefit. Dame Dinnegan couldn’t have survived without the ripe green vine. It kept her castle intact, didn’t it?”

“Ah but she didn’t anticipate another thief coming along and luring the vine away,” said Perry.

Jackson said, “According to Cheyne, it was love at first sight for him and Corrie. I’m not sure that lowlife has any idea what love even is, but that’s what he says, and that’s why he wanted out. Sadly for everyone Dame Dinnegan wasn’t having it. She insisted he finish this one last job—Mrs Jollson—and then said she’d cut him free. And so he did.”

“But they went too far with the drugs this time,” said Anders, all eyes now sweeping across to him. “Or at least Dame Dinnegan did.”

A shiver ran through Alicia then, and she wondered silently whether the overdose was actually intentional. Perhaps Dame Dinnegan had done it to blackmail her own husband, to bond him to her for life? Stealing jewels is one thing, manslaughter quite another. Perhaps she was going to hold that over him to keep him with her until her final days?

As if reading her mind, Jackson said, “We suspect it wasn’t an accidental drugging. This last operation went against their usual modus operandi. Cheyne was supposed to drug Mrs Jollson’s drink that night, that was the plan. But he says, at the last minute, his wife insisted on doing both—drugging the drink and taking the victim back to her cabin to steal her jewellery. And she wouldn’t be dissuaded. He thought she was letting him off the hook. He now believes she was setting him up, and I’m inclined to believe him. I think Dame Dinnegan deliberately overdosed Cecilia Jollson. She wanted to put the fear of God in her husband.”

Just then a round of applause caught their attention, and they all looked around with a start, realising that it must now be midnight. The band was departing, and a DJ was just starting up. The Groots made a quick exit, and Billie, too, groaned and gave her apologies.

“That’s me done. I can’t stand that racket, so I’ll take my leave but well done everyone.” She swept her eyes from Alicia to Jackson. “You did a very impressive job. The captain will be eternally grateful!” She placed a hand at her heart. “I am eternally grateful.” She bowed her head and shuffled away.

Dermott, too, was looking weary despite having the night off his dance duties. “I think I’ll turn in as well, folks. But Billie’s right, commendable work. Oh and sweet dreams. I think we all deserve it!”

That just left the book club and Jackson. Alicia wasn’t sure where Anita had got to, but at some stage of the conversation, she had snuck off. Probably looking for the captain, she decided.

“Shall we get another round?” said Perry, waving a waiter over, and they all nodded eagerly. They weren’t ready to retire just yet.

As soon as the fresh drinks arrived, Claire began to wonder about a few loose ends.

“Okay, so now we know who the elusive woman in green was. It was the Dame—and quite frankly I’d rather not call her that, as far as I’m concerned she’s lost the privilege. But what I want to know is, who killed Corrie? Surely that can’t have been Dorothy? She might have been mobile, but I doubt she could have overpowered a woman half her age, one with footballer’s shoulders no less.”

Jackson shrugged. “If she’d used a few roofies, she might have been able to disable her first. Look, as with every investigation I’ve ever worked on, we’re still cloudy on a few of the details, but we’ll work it out. For all his candour, Cheyne’s refusing any culpability when it comes to the disappearance of Mrs Van Tussi and the murder of his wife.”

“No way!” said Perry, aghast. “He must own up to that last one, surely he must!”

“Nope, not playing ball on anything other than the thefts and the doping. He’s also admitted to conspiracy and fraud with his wife but insists she killed Mrs Jollson and must have had something to do with Corrie’s little slip over the side. As for his wife’s murder? He’s refusing to say a word.”

“So he’s not as stupid as he looks,” said Lynette.

“Actually it’s his smart lawyer he can thank for that.” He picked up his fresh glass of beer and leaned back. “He’s lucky Brenda Williams was bored out of her skull. Even if he wanted to confess, no way she’d let him.”

Anders shifted in his seat. If he had looked weary earlier that evening, now he looked positively wiped out.

“Bad luck, guys,” he said, “looks like there’ll be no perfect Agatha Christie ending to this one.”

Several of the book club members frowned, and Alicia felt her own temper ignite. It wasn’t a fictional Agatha Christie ending she wanted. It was the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth, and she still had a niggling feeling they weren’t quite there yet.

Chapter 11

The last day on the ship was a dreary one, finally mirroring the mood Alicia had felt for most of the journey. Having rained most of the night, it was still overcast when Alicia joined the small group of passengers on the top deck for the scheduled morning jog. During her investigation, she had learned that gym instructor Steve Owens led a group around the perimeter of the ship daily at 7:00 a.m., and she was determined to finally get some exercise in. It was not just that the endless meals were beginning to stack up; she also needed to clear her head after another restless night.

So much for sleeping better at sea.

Alicia still felt a nagging sense that they had all missed something, that something wasn’t quite right. Yet for the life of her she couldn’t get a handle on it, and so she was beating a path around the ship, hoping to knock some sense into herself and some calories off her thighs.

After two circumnavigations, she was panting like her beloved Labrador, Max, while the other joggers, most of them twice her age, looked as lively as puppies. There was barely a sweat on their brows.

“You okay?” Steve called out to her as she bent over to catch her breath.

“Sure!” she called back. “No problemo.”

He made his way over, holding out a fresh bottle of water and a towel.

She took the water and gulped half of it down. “So embarrassing,” she said when she came up for air. “I’m the youngest here, and I’m the most pooped.”

He laughed and looked around at the group who was now stretching and chatting amongst themselves. “I learned that six weeks ago when I first joined the ship. Don’t ever underestimate the older passengers! Most of them give me a run for my money.”

She smiled. “I heard you were new. Are you going to stay on? It must have been a bit of a shock, all of this.”

“Oh they got their guy. I think we’re safe for now.” He swung the towel over his shoulder. “So are you joining us for some weight work up on the promenade? It’s nice and private up there. We usually do a bit of lifting before we head down to the gym. Not that we’re allowed in the gym today. They’re keeping the place sealed for forensics apparently.”

“You’ve got weights up on the promenade deck?”

“Oh yeah. It’s a lot less painful when you pump iron in the fresh air and sunshine. And no corpses up there, I can assure you.” He frowned just slightly. “Although we may have another thief on our hands.”

She raised her eyebrows. “Oh?”

He laughed. “Just some missing weights. Someone’s probably snuck them back to their room. Some of the older gentlemen get embarrassed sweating it out with the rest of us.”

Alicia’s brain did a little ping!

“So, interested in joining us?” He nodded towards the upper deck.

She shook her head. “Thanks, Steve, but I think I’ve punished myself enough for one morning.” She reached for the bag she’d left under the deck chair and pulled out her book. “Time for a bit of R&R.”

He noticed the cover and looked impressed. “Murder on the Orient Express. How appropriate.”

“You’ve read it?”

“Nah, I’m not much of a reader, but I’ve seen the movie a few times. You know, the one with all the big names in it. My girlfriend loves those old flicks. Amazing story. Bunch of passengers playing God. Bit creepy if you ask me.” He swung around and called out to the others. “Okay gang, let’s make our way up to the prom deck, please! Take it easy on the steps, okay?”

He waved good-bye to Alicia, but she did not notice. Her head was pinging like a pinball machine now as she stared up at the promenade deck and then down to the book in her hands.

No way! She thought, bristling with excitement.

Could the real truth behind Corrie’s disappearance lie in an Agatha Christie plot?

Chapter 12

There were no revellers getting their nicotine fix in the Smoking Salon today. It had been cleared of passengers, and an elegantly decorated table was placed in the centre of the room to accommodate a private luncheon.

Captain Van Tussi was hosting the event and had drawn up a very special guest list that included Anita Monage, the Solarno sisters, Dermott Killarney, Mr and Mrs Groot, and all six members of the Agatha Christie Book Club.

Chief Officer Pane was also in attendance as was Paul Packer, who was standing on duty at the door sending frantic smokers away.

The ship was due to dock in the Port of Auckland in less than five hours, and there was one final scene that needed to play out.

“Think we can pull this off?” Perry whispered to Alicia as they took their seats near Missy and Lynette, and she nodded confidently.

She had read enough Christie novels to know how this worked. “I just hope the captain will be okay.”

“Well you said it yourself, there’s no other way.”

The first course was relatively smooth, and the group grew louder and livelier as the Tasmanian oysters and chilled sparkling wine worked its way into their system. By the time the main course, a delicious minted lamb dish, had arrived, almost everybody looked relaxed.

It was time to pounce.

Alicia gave Packer a subtle nod just as the captain began tapping at his crystal champagne glass with his silver knife.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” he said, his voice as deep and smooth as ever. “Please, can I have your attention?”

This time the Solarno sisters, who had been chuckling with the Groots, behaved themselves and immediately quieted down, their smiles wide, their expressions relaxed.

“I would like to propose a toast,” he said, and everyone reached for a glass.

He took a deep breath as if steadying himself before he spoke. “This has been an extraordinary cruise,” he began, “a very arduous journey, not just for me but for all of us. And so I have brought you here together today to offer my sincerest apologies for what has transpired—”

Several of the gathering went to protest, but he held a hand up to stop them.

“—no, no, let me finish, please.” He glanced towards the Dutch couple. “It has been especially hard for you, Mr Groot, and I hope that a future cruise can go part of the way to helping you recover from your terrible ordeal. Complimentary, of course.”

Gunter looked delighted by the offer, but Eva cocked an eyebrow and asked, “A stateroom this time?”

As her husband cringed beside her, the captain just smiled and bowed his head. He then turned his attention back to the gathering and raised his champagne glass.

“I would now like to take a moment to remember my beautiful, beloved Corrie. May she rest in peace wherever she may be. To Corrie!”

Most of the group held their glasses high and called out Corrie’s name before taking sips of their champagne, but not everyone, and this did not surprise Alicia. She had been expecting that.

The captain remained standing as he raised his glass again. “Finally, I would like to say a very warm thank-you to a group of book lovers who, instead of relaxing and getting a suntan like everybody else—”

He paused now as a few people chuckled.

“—they went out of their way to help my beloved Corrie, to clear her name and to solve the horrendous series of crimes that have plagued my beautiful ship.” He thrust his glass in Alicia’s direction. “I am only sorry I did not get a chance to properly meet you sooner, but I hope to get to know you all much better on a future voyage.” He smiled. “You are also welcome back aboard the SS Orient whenever you choose, and I hope that will be very soon. We owe you a debt of gratitude.” Alicia nodded her appreciation as he addressed the gathering again. “To the Agatha Christie Book Club!”

This time a more rousing chorus repeated the words, and now the club friends all bristled with pride as they accepted the toast and took another gulp of their drinks.

Alicia stood up then. “I’ve got one more toast if that’s okay?”

The captain bowed his head again and resumed his seat.

She glanced around the table. “I know that we’re getting a lot of the praise for this, but I have to say, I don’t think we can take all the credit.” She turned her eyes to the Solarno sisters who were seated together directly opposite her.

They stared at her, surprised.

“Without you three ladies, Corrie’s disappearance may well have remained a mystery.”

“Don’t be silly—” began Millie, but Perry was nodding his head enthusiastically.

“Oh it’s true!” he said. “If you ladies hadn’t insisted we head back to our cabins at the exact time we did, via that outside staircase, well none of us might have heard poor Corrie go overboard that night. We might not have known exactly when it happened, and it might all have been pinned on the wrong person, like the captain perhaps?”

“We would never have allowed that!” said Billie sternly.

“No, it was a true miracle,” Perry continued. “I mean, from what the barmen tell me, you ladies are never normally up that late. They said how lucky it was you were around that night because you usually take off the second the DJ comes on. It seems to me, you chose the perfect night to stay up, didn’t you?”

The captain stood again, a thin smile on his lips. “In that case, I’d like to join Alicia in proposing a toast to the Solarnos.” He took a moment to look at each of the sisters, first Tillie who was blushing, then Millie who had an awkward smile on her face, and then Billie who sat stone-faced, refusing to meet his eyes. “To the Solarno sisters, for looking out for my Corrie.”

“The Solarno sisters!” the group now sang before slugging back another sip.

The captain sat down and placed his glass on the table untouched.

Alicia noticed it and felt a stab of pity for the man just as Detective Jackson swept into the room, Packer at his heels.

“What are you doing here?” Anita said, but Jackson held a hand up to stall her and strode across to the captain who was just placing his serviette on the table. He looked up, eyebrows raised.

“I’m sorry to have to do this, Captain Van Tussi, but I’m arresting you for the murder of your wife, Corrie.”

You could have heard a pin drop.

“What?” someone said eventually, Anita it turns out, then there was a collective gasp as Jackson began to read the captain his rights.

“You are not obliged to say anything unless you wish to do so, but whatever you do say will be recorded and may later be given in evidence—”

“It’s absurd,” said Billie, struggling to her feet. “You must be wrong!”

Jackson stopped and looked across at her impatiently. “Afraid not, Madame.”

“But… but it was Cheyne Smith, surely it was Cheyne? He killed Corrie, and then he killed his wife. That’s what you said.”

He shook his head firmly. “Mr Smith may have killed his wife, but we have evidence to suggest that Corrie was killed by the captain.”

“What evidence?” cried Anita now.

“We have a witness that has finally come forward. He has placed the captain going into his wife’s cabin just before 2.00 a.m. the morning she fell overboard. That’s fifteen minutes before she fell.”

“Who? Who is this person?” demanded Millie, also getting to her feet.

“That is confidential, I’m afraid.” He turned to the captain. “I’m very sorry, sir, but it is a reliable witness. They have no reason to lie.”

“Well they must be lying, it’s utter nonsense!” said Billie, almost laughing while Tillie stared up at her, pale as a ghost.

“It’s okay, Bertha,” the captain said, holding out his wrists as Jackson slapped on a pair of handcuffs.

“Is that really necessary?” demanded Dermott.

“This is bloody ridiculous!” screamed Anita while the Groots just sat back, gobsmacked.

Millie, too, was still struggling with the news and shaking her head over and over. “He couldn’t have done it, he couldn’t have! He was sleeping on the bridge.” She looked at the captain. “You told us that’s where you sleep every night. You said there would be witnesses.”

“I was on the bridge.” He sighed. “But I was worried about Corrie. After our little tiff at dinner, after I couldn’t find her at 11:00 p.m.… well, I needed to check on her again. I needed to apologise. Someone must have seen me go into the cabin at two.”

“But it doesn’t make any sense,” scoffed Millie. “You couldn’t have done it.”

“Did you see Corrie?” asked Dermott. “Was she in her bed then?”

The captain shook his head. “It was dark. I assumed she was asleep, so I decided not to disturb her. I just looked in quickly and left again. But I’m afraid my alibi is useless.”

“It doesn’t matter, don’t you see?” said Billie, still looking amused. “It doesn’t prove anything. You had no reason to kill your wife.”

Jackson cleared his throat. “In fact, he has a very good reason, Ms Solarno. The captain knew about his wife’s affair. Isn’t that correct, sir?”

The older man nodded.

“You knew about that?” said Anita looking aghast. “When? When did you find out?”

“What does it matter?” snapped Millie. “It doesn’t mean he killed her. You don’t even know if she was killed at that time.”

She glanced at her sisters, who were staring at her anxiously. Billie was slowly shaking her head. “Sorry but, well, none of us really know. She… she might have been killed any time before then.”

Perry raised a hand in the air. “But we heard her, didn’t we, ladies?” He glanced between the sisters. “It was 2:15 a.m., and we heard her scream, remember? Then we heard her fall. That splash! I will never forget that splash.”

They all said nothing for a moment before Millie began shaking her head wildly, her double chin wobbling like a bowl of jelly. “Maybe that was fake! Maybe someone had already thrown her overboard and they just screamed later to make it sound like it happened later, maybe they threw something overboard to make it sound like a splash. Maybe it was a setup.”

“Really?” said Jackson, watching her keenly. “Is that how it happened, Ms Solarno?”

She looked at him, blinking rapidly, then across to her sisters. “I… I don’t know. I’m just saying it could have.”

She slumped back into her own seat.

The captain glanced at Jackson again, then sighed even more heavily. “It’s a pity for me, Millicent, that it didn’t happen earlier because then I might be saved. I have an alibi all night, except for the time she was thrown over. I don’t think anyone can get me out of this mess.” He turned to Jackson. “Take me away. I deserve this anyway after neglecting my beautiful wife.”

“No!” roared Billie suddenly. “You did not neglect that woman. I won’t have you say that! It is she who neglected you!”

“Bertha,” said Millie, grabbing hold of her arm, but she shook her off.

“No it has to be said. We all know it! Corrie was never worthy of you, captain, never!”

His jaw tensed, but he took another deep breath and said, “I loved her. She was everything to me.”

“But what about her affair?”

He shrugged. “I deserved that. I was too busy with my duties. I neglected her.”

“No! Never say that!” Billie’s voice was now hoarse with anger. “You did everything for that woman, everything! You pulled her from the gutter and you cleaned her up! You made her respectable and you gave her free reign of this beautiful vessel! And how did she repay you? She slept around like the slut that she was! She deserved to die! And we would kill her again if we had to, wouldn’t we girls—?”

She stopped, slapping a hand across her mouth, but it was too late. The words were out, and they hung in the room like a poisonous gas, causing her sisters to recoil in their seats while the rest of the gathering gasped audibly.

Billie blinked a few times as if trying to recall just what she had said. Eventually it must have sunk in because she slowly removed her hand, straightened her shoulders and sat down again.

There she took a few deep breaths before turning to her sisters and taking their hands in her own. After another minute of horrified silence, she said very softly, very sweetly, “The game is up my darlings. The game is up.”

Chapter 13

The captain looked fit to burst. Beneath his beard, his ruddy cheeks were violent red, his eyes were blazing, and he could barely contain his rage as he stared at the Solarno sisters who shrank from his glare.

“What are you saying?” he boomed. “What the hell have you done?”

“We… we just thought…” Billie began, darting looks at him and away.

“We were trying to help you,” cried Millie.

“Help me? I never asked you to help me!”

“But you wouldn’t, see?” said Millie. “You were too sweet. We had to save you from that woman. She was no use to anyone, she—”

“She was my wife!” he bellowed. “She was Anita’s friend, she deserved to have a life!”

Van Tussi stood up, still shackled, and Jackson rushed to release the handcuffs—they were only ever for show anyway—then glanced at Alicia with a slim victory smile. They had done it. They had forced the sisters into a confession, yet it felt like a hollow victory somehow. Corrie was still dead, the captain more distraught than ever.

The Groots, Dermott and Anita, meanwhile, were all struggling hard to get to grips with what had just been said, glancing from Jackson to the sisters to the captain and back, looks of confusion clashing with shock and outrage.

“What the hell is going on?” demanded Anita, grappling for her cigarette packet.

“What are you saying, Billie?” cried Dermott. “What is all this? Millicent? Mathilda?”

The younger woman flinched at her name and blinked up at Dermott. “We didn’t expect it to go this far, honestly we didn’t!” She looked towards the captain. “Please, Tonio, you have to understand, we were only trying to help, to show you the loyalty you have shown us.”

“Loyalty? This is how you repay my loyalty?”

They shrank back, but he was not finished yet. He leaned down towards them, his voice shaking with rage. “How dare you rob me of the woman I loved. I know she was flawed. I knew that from the start, but I loved her anyway! Yet you… you three! You discarded her like a piece of garbage into the sea. She didn’t deserve that!”

Anita went to take his arm, but he shook her off and pushed his chair back so hard it toppled over. His loyal staff seemed paralysed now, not knowing how to ease his suffering, how to get their calm and controlled captain back.

Billie held a hand out to him, her voice also shaking with emotion. “We tried to warn her, Tonio. We sent her a message, begging her to see sense, but she would not listen.”

“That letter was you?” said Anders suddenly, his expression shocked, but her eyes never left the captain.

“We would have stopped there if only she had listened! But she laughed at the letter, Tonio, she ignored us. She ignored you! Can’t you see, she trod all over you, she spat in your face. She spat in the face of this ship. She had to pay for that.”

“What?” The captain boomed, dragging in air with raspy, angry breaths. “Who… who the hell did you think you were, punishing her like that? Did you think you were God?”

That final word echoed around the room, and they blinked up at him silent and teary-eyed.

“And Dame Dinnegan!” he boomed. “How could you be so inhumane, so brutal? You stabbed her in the back!”

This was too much for Gunter, and he gasped. “What? Dorothy as well? No! That cannot be! That simply cannot be!” He stared at the sisters, pleading for them to refute this accusation, but they would not meet his eyes. “But… but I thought you liked that dear lady!” The horror in his tone had turned to disgust. “You said you wanted to protect her. Why would you kill her? Why? Because she was stealing some jewels? This is absurd!”

“No!” Billie had found her voice again, and she was almost as angry as the captain. “The stupid bitch! We did her a favour, and that is how she repays us? With threats and blackmail!”

Tillie suddenly giggled, catching everyone by surprise. She was clearly hysterical and was waving one hand in front of her mouth as if trying to control the laughter. Eventually she gulped. “Oh Dame Dinnegan was not happy with us, no, no, no, not at all!” She giggled again. “Turns out the crumbling castle needs her ripe green vine after all, hey Billie? Who knew?”

“Shut up, Mathilda!” screamed Millie, but the captain had heard enough.

He reached for his cap and thrust it onto his head, then he turned to Packer, who had been standing quietly beside him and barked, “Get them out of my sight and off my ship as fast as you physically can! They make me sick.”

Now it was the Solarnos’ turn to gasp, and Billie plunged a hand at her heart as if she had just been stabbed through the middle of it.

“No, Tonio, noooooo!” Millie wailed while Tillie seemed to deflate into herself, her shoulders hunched over, her head flopping down towards her chest.

He gave them a final, disgusted look then turned on his heel and strode out of the room, hands in tight fists by his side. Anita grabbed her things and scurried after him while Pane had a quick word with Packer then promptly followed.

The head of security signalled for several men who had been waiting by the entrance, and they swiftly took the Solarno sisters into custody. The women did not fight, cry or even giggle now, they simply shuffled out, their laughter finally muted, their heads no longer high.

It was a good five minutes before anyone spoke.

Just like Pane and Packer, the six book club friends had been in on the whole charade but were still startled by the turn of events. They had all hoped that Captain Van Tussi’s fake arrest would inspire a confession from the Solarnos, but none of them had expected it to go that well. Nor had they expected it to cut the captain so deeply and Anders wondered whether he should chase the poor man down, and see if was okay.

The Groots and Dermott were the only other civilians left at the table. They had not been privy to what was about to unfold and were still trying to wrap their heads around it.

“I don’t understand… I don’t understand any of it.” Dermott stared at Perry. “How could the sisters have done it? They were on the deck with you when Corrie fell in… weren’t they? Isn’t that what you said?”

Perry nodded. “But that is not when Corrie was thrown overboard. She didn’t fall over at 2:15 a.m. as I was led to believe. It was much earlier than that.”

“More like some time between 10:00 and 11:00 p.m.,” said Jackson, picking up the captain’s chair and dropping into it.

“But how did you work this out?” said Eva. “What is all this? You have to explain!”

Jackson reached for a half-full bottle of champagne and helped himself to a glass. “Actually I think Alicia should be the one to explain. She’s the one who put two and two together, or should I say three and three.”

The group’s eyes swept to Alicia, and she said, “Well, I can try, but I’m not sure I’ve got all the details exactly right.”

“Go on,” said Jackson, giving her a sly smile, “have a crack.”

She sat back and glanced around the table. Anders was looking exhausted, his shirt crumpled, his fringe flopping over one eye, and he gave her the nod while the others all smiled encouragingly.

“Well, the way I see it, we’ve all been completely fooled in almost every aspect of this case, especially the most crucial part, the when,” Alicia said. “I kept coming back to those missing hours. Where was Corrie between 9:45 p.m. and 2:15 a.m.? I also kept wondering why someone would wait until so late to throw her over. Both the Dinnegans could easily have done it much earlier. Most people were well and truly in bed by then, and my guess is the sisters didn’t intend for it to all unfold as late as it did, but Perry refused to leave the dance floor, and he was their alibi.”

Perry shrugged almost apologetically behind his wine glass.

“I’m not sure why they decided on you, Perry. I guess it’s because, like Anita said, you were the biggest party boy amongst us.” She glanced at Lynette. “If it wasn’t for my drunken antics that night, Lynny, it could easily have been you.”

Lynette grimaced at the thought.

“Here’s what I think happened,” Alicia continued. “I think the sisters planned to kill Corrie early in the evening yet make it appear as though she had died so much later. That’s why they hung out in the Grand Salon after dinner, as they always do, and made sure they spread themselves wide, sitting at different tables, dancing at different times. It would have been hard to keep up. There’s no way anyone could say for sure that all three sisters were in the bar at that really busy time between ten and midnight.” The Gunters were nodding in agreement. “In fact, one of them, Billie I suspect, carefully snuck out some time before 10:30 p.m. and made a fateful visit to Corrie’s cabin and threw her over.”

“But how on earth could Billie overpower Corrie?” said Dermott. “She’s half her size!”

“Ah, that’s where her background comes in.” She turned to look at Lynette who took up the story.

“That’s right. I know from chatting with the ship’s chef that two boning knives went missing from the galley—they’re very thin and very sharp and are perfect for cutting meat.” She grimaced again. “Well guess who has a background in cutting meat?”

Dermott flung a hand to his mouth, and Lynette nodded.

“Yep, the famous ‘Salami Sisters’, heirs to a British butcher’s fortune.” She glanced at Jackson. “You’ll probably find at least one of the sisters was taught the tools of the trade and knew exactly where to stab a knife to ensure maximum impact with as little noise and blood loss as possible.” She grimaced at the thought. “I agree it was probably Billie and not just because she’s the scariest of the sisters. She was also the one who went on the galley tour I did three days ago. She could easily have stolen the knife when no one was watching.”

“In fact,” said Jackson, “we suspect she stole both knives then—the other one turned up in Dame Dinnegan’s back yesterday morning.”

“In any case,” said Lynette, “Billie could easily have hidden the knife in her dress when she went to Corrie’s cabin around 10:30 the night she fell over. She somehow talked her way in, convinced Corrie to take a stroll on the balcony, then probably pointed out something in the ocean below and stabbed Corrie just as she was leaning over the railing. That’s my guess anyway. Whether she killed her outright or just disabled her enough to cause her to fall over, I don’t know, and I guess you’ve got all that to look forward to in your interrogation, Jackson.”

He didn’t look too enthusiastic at the prospect.

“Nobody heard her go over then because everyone was in the music bar at that time,” added Alicia. “Then Billie would have been able to just sneak back into the bar and pretend she had been there all along.” She paused. “But she wasn’t counting on Dame Dinnegan.”

Gunter’s eyebrows rose high, and he glanced at Jackson.

“Yes,” the detective said. “We suspect the Dame was on one of her thieving missions, disguised as Corrie, when she spotted Billie coming out of Corrie’s cabin at that time. Or perhaps the Dame was on her own balcony, which is right next door to Corrie’s, and heard the scuffle out there. You can’t see across to the next stateroom balcony, but she may have heard something.”

“In any case,” said Alicia, “Dame Dinnegan must have been thrilled! It was a total win-win for her. Not only was her husband’s mistress dead, but now she had a new income stream—the Solarno sisters. She just had to pretend to be outraged to ensure they paid up.”

“She blackmailed them for her silence?” Gunter said and they nodded.

Dermott visibly shivered. “I was so fooled by her, by them, by everyone! I never would have guessed.” His eyes squinted. “I’m still confused though. Why did the Solarnos go to all the trouble to reenact Corrie’s fall later? Why bother? You said yourself, they moved around in the bar, no one would suspect Billie didn’t have an alibi.”

“Ah yes,” said Alicia now, “but I reckon they wanted as much distance between Corrie being thrown overboard and the ship turning back to find her. Remember you said how it had happened once on board another ship in the Bahamas? How the guy had been rescued? They couldn’t risk that.”

“Ghastly!” said Dermott. “So why raise the alarm at all? Why not just let the captain discover his wife missing the next day?”

“Good question,” said Jackson. “I suspect it’s because they needed to firmly establish an alibi for themselves and for the captain. By reenacting Corrie’s fall at 2:15 a.m. with Perry as their witness, it not only ensured Corrie was less likely to be found, but it also gave them a firm alibi—Perry. Most importantly, however, it put Captain Van Tussi in the clear. Think about it: if no one knew Corrie had fallen over until the morning, then no one had an alibi, including Van Tussi who was safe from suspicion while he remained on the bridge, which he was known to do each evening after dinner until dawn. And there were witnesses there to prove it.”

“Hence the reason you all pretended he had left the bridge at two?” Dermott said to Jackson, who nodded again.

Alicia said, “You have to keep in mind, the Solarnos were under the delusion they were doing all this to save the captain, so the last thing they wanted was to land him in it. That’s why,” she glanced at Jackson, “Jackson and Packer had to pretend to arrest the captain. They made up the story of him visiting Corrie’s cabin around the supposed time of her disappearance. We all figured it would force the Solarnos to confess, which they did. I mean they had to! Otherwise what was the point of the whole, murderous exercise?”

“You know Billie was very lucky for a little while there,” said Missy, who had been uncharacteristically quiet throughout, her eyes shiny with excitement nonetheless. “The captain really did leave the bridge to check on his wife, but it was at 11:00 p.m., which is when he first noticed she wasn’t there. If he had gone just half an hour earlier, he may have been able to stop the whole thing.”

Anders’s mobile beeped suddenly, and he pulled it out then pulled himself up.

“I need to get back to the surgery,” he said. “I’ll catch you all up on deck when we dock, yes? You’ve got less than two hours, people, so you might want to wrap it up.”

He glanced across to Alicia, but his eyes were flat, his smile forced, and she felt a deep sadness she couldn’t quite articulate yet.

Dermott was still looking puzzled and said, “Before you all run off, I still need to get my head around this. So Billie kills Corrie, throws her overboard before eleven and then, what, returns to the bar and waits it out?”

Alicia helped herself to a glass of iced water. “Something like that. Around 2:00 a.m. she finally convinces Perry to desert the dance floor and head to bed via the upper deck stairway.”

“She said we needed the fresh air, but really what she needed was to place me on the deck just above Corrie’s stateroom, the evil wench!” he said. “Billie pretended to be all cranky and told us we were taking too long, so she raced ahead. I thought she was going down to her room, but we now realise she must have gone up the side steps to the deck above the upper deck, the private promenade deck where—lo and behold—there’s a full set of weights. She grabbed a dumbbell and threw it over just as she faked a blood-curdling scream.”

“The gym instructor has confirmed that a dumbbell went missing the night Corrie fell over,” added Jackson, more to Alicia who had not yet heard this verified.

“Okay,” she said, “so, while Perry was busy trying to spot whoever went over, Tillie pretended to run downstairs to get Billie back, but really they must have come from the direction of the promenade deck. I mean, you wouldn’t have noticed, Perry, you were genuinely flustered.”

“So were they, I thought! They were hysterical.”

“Just acting,” said Jackson.

“And maybe, hopefully, a little shocked by what they’d done,” said Claire now. “Because I think they must have realised how horrendous it was, and it may explain why they didn’t do the same thing to Dame Dinnegan. Rather than throw her over, they decided to kill her quickly. Better to get it over with.”

“Nah,” said Lynette. “More like they were terrified Corrie would be found, alive, and they would be up the proverbial creek, so they stabbed the old lady to make sure this time.”

Claire scowled at that. She liked her theory better. So did Alicia. It would help her sleep better that night.

“But why would they do this?” Gunter demanded now. “I cannot believe they could be so cruel. They seemed so sweet, so pious, so moralistic!”

Claire began nodding along with him. “That’s the bit I’m stuck on too,” she said. “Why kill Corrie? Why not just tell the captain what she’s been up to and initiate a divorce? Why go to such horrendous lengths?”

“Ahh,” said Alicia, “that’s where we come back to Agatha Christie.”

And she pulled the battered book out from under the table.

Chapter 14

As the Groots and then Jackson quickly skimmed the book’s back blurb, Alicia brought them up to speed on the basic storyline, abridging Murder on the Orient Express as best she could. She told them of the evil Mr Ratchett and his plot to kidnap and murder a beloved little girl called Daisy.

“Ratchett had escaped justice for the hideous crime, so Daisy’s distraught family and friends colluded to avenge her death,” Alicia explained. “They plotted and planned so that they would all be on the infamous Orient Express at the same time as Ratchett. Then, while he was drugged asleep, they each took turns to stab him in the chest. There were twelve of them, and what did Poirot call them?” She retrieved the book from Jackson and turned to a page marked with a ship’s postcard. “A ‘self-appointed jury’ that’s right.”

She cleared her throat and began to read from the book: “‘I visualised a self-appointed jury of twelve people who condemned him to death and were forced by the exigencies of the case to be their own executioners.’”

She glanced up with a shiver. “I think that’s exactly how the Solarno sisters saw it. They believed they had the right to play the role of judge, jury and executioner on this ship. They had shares in it, they even helped design it, remember? So they felt entirely justified to do what they needed to do to protect the ship and its captain.”

She looked at Dermott. “You said it yourself the first evening we met, when the sisters ruled the roost during that drill. You said they were veteran cruisers and thought they owned the ship.”

He nodded his head, his eyes wide.

“I think they also thought they owned the captain and how dare his upstart wife ruin his life? Despite what they told me, they obviously knew about Corrie’s affair with Cheyne long before Tonio did, and it outraged them that the woman who had treated their beloved captain so badly was going to sail off into the sunset with a younger man and leave poor Tonio bereft. For years they’d watched her treating him this way. How many cruises had they done with the captain and Corrie? Three was it?” Dermott nodded. “They’d seen how she behaved and how the captain turned a blind eye. But this, well, this was too much.”

“But it was more than just that,” said Missy.

“Oh yes. The jewellery thefts.”

“They didn’t!” gasped Dermott.

“No, no, that really was Cheyne and his wife,” jumped in Jackson now. “But the sisters had heard about the thefts from the captain and, like others, they naturally suspected Cheyne and Corrie. They knew that a woman matching Corrie’s description had been seen hanging around the cabins that had been burgled.”

“Imagine how furious that must have made them,” said Alicia, “especially if they really are as pious and moralistic as you say, Gunter. They must have been outraged that this young Amazonian beast was not only ripping out their beloved captain’s heart, she was sullying his beautiful ship. Their beautiful ship! Because that’s how they saw the SS Orient. They felt like it was theirs. That’s when they sent her the threatening note, trying to scare her back into line.”

“But she wasn’t easily scared,” said Claire sadly, and Alicia nodded.

“Then when Mrs Jollson died of a suspected overdose. Well that just sealed Corrie’s fate. They needed to act; they needed to stop her! I think they truly believed they were on a crusade, that they were doing it all to save the captain and the ship. You said it yourself, Dermott, enough rumours get around on a ship and the whole ship starts to ‘sink with the stink’. There was no other way. Corrie had to go, and wouldn’t it be great, they probably thought, if she just vanished overboard? It must have seemed like a very simple solution to everything.”

She turned her eyes to her book club friends. “I don’t know if they first got the idea when Tillie saw Cheyne rolling Dame Dinnegan a little too close to the railing one day, or whether they just made that story up to paint him as a potential killer, because that’s how it all played out. That’s why they pinched a packet of Cheyne’s cigarettes and planted them in Corrie’s cabin, along with a condom packet.” She stopped to flash Lynette an “I-told-you-so” smile. “They weren’t to know that the lovers never hooked up there, or if they did know, they didn’t care. They just needed to pin all the blame on Cheyne. They had to make him look as guilty as possible.”

“‘There are clues here in abundance,’” Perry said, quoting from the novel.

“Indeed,” said Alicia. “They overdid it a bit just like in the book. Still, it was the perfect revenge. They’d get rid of the unfaithful, thieving, murdering Corrie and plant it all on her equally guilty lover. The one who was also deceiving a little old lady in a wheelchair.”

“Except she wasn’t a little old lady in a wheelchair,” said Claire.

“No indeed,” Alicia replied. “The Solarnos must have gotten the shock of their lives when Dame Dinnegan began blackmailing them, probably for money, maybe also so they would back off and leave her meal ticket alone, because Tillie’s correct—Dame Dinnegan needed young Cheyne Smith. She didn’t want him locked up in jail. Either way, I suspect Dinnegan’s murder was less premeditated, more seat-of-the-pants.

“My guess is one of the sisters, again probably Billie, arranged to meet her in the gym first thing that morning, probably to discuss payment. But she’d already decided by then to kill her, and must have brought along the second knife stolen from the kitchen to do the deed. She could have snuck in and out using the side stairwell by the gym; no one would have seen her. The Solarnos knew the gym would be empty at that hour. They also knew as most regulars on the ship knew, that you, Gunter, would be quietly reading away in the library.”

She didn’t mention the reason why he hid out there each day, and the blasé look on his wife’s face suggested she didn’t have a clue. Alicia continued, “That was perfect for Billie. It gave her a witness who could put Cheyne at the scene of the crime, because he couldn’t use the stairs. Remember, he and Dame Dinnegan were pretending she was disabled so he would have to use the elevator and wheel her straight past the library to get to the gym.”

“So why was that poor woman put on the exercise bike?” Gunter demanded. “That was such a cruel thing to do! Was it a clue? To show she could walk? What do you think?”

He referred the question to Jackson, who just shrugged. “I’m hoping to find out when I interrogate them later, if I interrogate them later. I’m still not sure if the New Zealand police will take over the investigation or whether they’ll let me sit in on it. I guess all the finer details will be explained eventually.” He smiled. “That is if they don’t hook up with someone as proficient as Brenda Williams!”

“What I want to know,” said Lynette, “is why Dame Dinnegan didn’t tell her husband who she was meeting that morning. I mean, it must have been a secret; otherwise, he would have pointed the finger straight at the Solarnos, right?”

“The Dame probably just wanted to keep the blackmail money to herself,” said Jackson, “or maybe she worried that he’d be so angry if he knew what the Solarnos had done that he’d dob them in and then her income stream would stop. He obviously suspected something was going down because he was very anxious that morning, wasn’t he, Mr Groot?”

“Oh yes, he was very nervous. I think now he must have been very scared of his wife. I know when a man is scared of his wife.”

This time Eva glanced at her husband, a small frown crinkling her forehead.

Alicia nodded. “That’s also the impression Anita had, and I tend to agree. Cheyne already suspected his wife of overdosing Mrs Jollson on purpose, so maybe she wanted to string him along on this, make him believe she had also killed Corrie. The Dame probably decided to keep it to herself to keep him in line in future. Boy it must have made her feel very powerful.”

“But not as powerful as a group of sisters with a god complex,” said Claire softly.

“Or a group of sisters who believed they had every right to play the role of judge, jury and executioner,” added Alicia, resting her palm back on the Agatha Christie novel and releasing a long, satisfied sigh.

She looked up to find the gathering still watching her, wide-eyed, and she laughed. “That’s it, guys, that’s all I know. And I’m pretty sure we’ve got it right this time.” She laughed again. “As Poirot would say, ‘This case is now officially retired.’”

Chapter 15

As the city of Auckland began to bob into focus, the book club friends held on to their hats and leaned against the railing of the main deck, trying hard to focus their own energy on the busy harbour and not the seething sea below.

Corrie was long gone, everyone accepted that now, but she was at the forefront of their minds as the ship ploughed towards safe harbour. All except for Claire, that is. She still had her mind firmly on board.

“I do hope this ship’s going to be okay,” she said. “I hope it manages to spring back. It’s such a beautiful vessel. It’d be a shame if it suffered because of everything that’s happened.”

“Well Agatha Christie’s plot never hurt the real Orient Express,” said Missy. “In fact, thanks to that book more people than ever want to go on that train journey.”

“Yes except that didn’t actually happen,” said Anders, ever the realist, and Alicia flicked him a disappointed look before sighing to herself.

There had been another death on this ship, one that no one else had noticed except for Alicia and Anders—the death of their relationship. Nothing had been said, not one word of bitterness or remorse. Instead, they had simply come to a silent agreement, now standing at opposite ends of the group, their eyes barely able to meet.

Alicia wondered whether Anders would try to reconcile things once they returned to Sydney, but she knew it would be foolish. Theirs had been a tenuous pairing right from the start. In the few months they had been dating, Anders had held Alicia at arm’s length while still holding a candle for his wife. Alicia had known, deep down, that Anders would return to his “first love” in a heartbeat if only she would have him, and it had always left him distracted and her feeling unsettled.

And everyone knew that when Alicia was unsettled, her mind began to race.

She sighed softly again. The truth is, they were never a perfect match. All she and Anders really had in common was a shared adoration of Agatha Christie. And as much as she loved Dame Christie, Alicia knew that wasn’t enough.

Missy meanwhile was pulling Anders up on his facts. “The murder might not have happened on the Orient Express, Doc, but the case that inspired it really did happen you know? Remember the famous aviator Charles Lindbergh? His baby son really did get kidnapped and murdered back in the 1930s at the time Agatha was writing. That’s where she got the idea. And you know what? Even though she changed the names and so forth, one servant really did kill herself because everyone thought she was involved, but she wasn’t. Oh, my goodness me! The police made such a botch-up of the whole thing!”

As she prattled away, Alicia glanced down the deck towards a group who were just making their way from the bridge. It was the ship’s senior staff including Packer, Chief Officer Pane and, just behind them, Liam Jackson.

She couldn’t help smiling as she caught his eye, and he said something to the others before walking down the deck towards her. Alicia met him halfway, and they stood awkwardly for a moment, not quite sure what to say.

Eventually Jackson asked, “You’re all packed and ready to hit the shore?”

She nodded. “I’m looking forward to it in fact.”

“Yeah, I guess this voyage wasn’t exactly what you guys were hoping for.”

“No,” she conceded, thinking not of murderers and thieves, but of Anders and all those romantic nights that had never eventuated. “But that’s life, I guess. So what’s going to happen now? To the Solarnos and Cheyne?”

“Well Cheyne’s in pretty good hands, but his solicitor doesn’t want anything to do with the Solarno sisters. She said, and I quote, ‘They can fend for themselves, the rotten sods.’ Still, they’re loaded, they’ll get the best representation, maybe even get off.”

“No!”

“Hope not, but we don’t have a huge amount of evidence. Hopefully their confession at lunch today will count for something.” He met her eyes. “You were amazing, you know that?”

She blushed.

“No, seriously, I can’t understand why your boyfriend would keep you out of the loop. If you were mine I would have told you everything. In fact, I would have insisted you roll up your sleeves and give me a hand.”

She looked at him sideways. “Even if your boss told you to keep it quiet?”

He scoffed. “Do I look like the kind of guy who plays by the rules?”

No, she thought, and that’s what she liked about him.

“Seriously, you’re in the wrong profession,” he persisted. “For a book reader you’d make a great cop.”

“What about you?” she said. “For a cop are you a good book reader?”

“Sure, I read a bit. Why?” Now he dropped his head to one side. “You’re not going to ask me to join your nerdy book club are you?”

“Ha!” She mock punched him across the shoulder. “After that! No I am not.”

“So you were going to ask me!”

“Well…” She glanced back towards the book club. “We did lose a member awhile ago. We do need to fill a spot.”

“Right, so you don’t just want me for my cocktail skills then?”

She laughed. “No. I think not.”

“I’ll give it some thought.” He smiled. “Although, to be honest, I’d rather get you one-on-one. Maybe take you out for dinner one night. On terra firma, no corpses, I promise. What do you think?”

She hesitated, and he followed her glance to where Anders was standing, watching them, a defeated look on his face.

“I’ve got some business to finish first,” she said softly, “but then, yes, I’d really like that.”

“Good, then I’ll see you on dry land.”

He leaned down and planted a very gentle kiss on her cheek before offering her a cheeky grin and rushing off to catch up with his colleagues.

Alicia tried to smother the smile that was threatening to hijack her face as her mind began to charge ahead imagining a date with the cute detective and…

Nothing.

For the first time in a very long time, Alicia couldn’t foresee a single thing, not one spilt margarita or bout of food poisoning or even the prospect of being stood up.

Now that was strange.

“Oi, woman! Get over here!”

Alicia swung around to find Lynette waving her over.

“You’re missing the best bit!”

They were just being taxied into position at the wharf now, and she rejoined her friends to drink in the sight of all the happy faces beaming up at the ship, oblivious to its horror, eager to embark on their own journey. Alicia wondered how much of the past four days they would hear about and how much they really cared. Many of those faces were about to jump on board for the fifty-day voyage back to London, and Alicia guessed that as long as they were pampered and fed and having fun, the tragedies that had befallen the previous passengers would quickly sink into folklore. Just as most crises did.

She wondered too whether Corrie’s body would ever be recovered and doubted it. But if she was recovered, Alicia was sure they would find a single stab wound in her back, and a look of utter surprise on her beautiful, sun-kissed face.

“Come on then, guys,” Alicia said, feeling lighter suddenly as the ship’s horn blasted its jaunty welcome. “Let’s get out of here. I think I’ve had enough exotic voyages to last me for a while.”

Then she smiled in memory of Agatha Christie and headed for the gangway.

#######

Bibliography

With special thanks to the following:

http://collections.museumvictoria.com.au/items/404048

http://www.clydesite.co.uk/clydebuilt/viewship.asp?id=1263

http://www.bogstown.com/ss-orient/

The SS Orient Story by Roy Clifford and Dave Knight

#######

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About the Author

Christina Larmer is a journalist, magazine editor and author of ten books including The Agatha Christie Book Club, An Island Lost and six in the popular Ghostwriter Mystery series (Killer Twist, A Plot To Die For, Last Writes, Dying Words, Words Can Kill and A Note Before Dying). She also wrote the non-fiction book A Measure of Papua New Guinea: The Arman Larmer Surveys Story (Focus; 2008). Christina grew up in Papua New Guinea, spent several years working in London, Los Angeles and New York, and now lives with her musician husband and two sons in the Byron Bay hinterland of Northern NSW, Australia. Christina is passionate about crime fiction and when she’s not scribbling away, can be found immersed in a classic Agatha Christie (surprise, surprise!).

Want to read more by C.A. Larmer?

Here’s an excerpt from the first book in the Ghostwriter Mystery Series starring fast-talking, merlot-swilling, mystery-loving amateur sleuth Roxy Parker.

Killer Twist

(A Ghostwriter Mystery Book 1)

Preface

Her eyes were wide with frenzy and despair, her lips icy blue as she stretched them into a scream that was lost into the night. All around her, ragged gray strands of hair clung like seaweed to the surface, now broken with one more push, one final grab at life as she thrust her mangled hand out before sinking from sight.

Chapter 1: A Close Shave

A cool breeze slithered in through the open window and Roxy Parker stifled a smile as she slipped a deep blue, velvet jacket over her T-shirt and jeans and pushed her legs into long, black boots. She pinned a small diamante broach onto the jacket and slipped some dangly earrings on. She adored autumn and winter: the clothes, the crispness, the chance to stay snugly indoors with little more than a good book and a decent bottle of red to keep her company. No need to hover over the answering machine, listening with guilt; in cold weather you were allowed to stay home. Not that she was doing so today. Her agent had called her in and she was running late.

The silver clock on the mantelpiece read 9:25 a.m. and Roxy scowled at it as she scooped up her keys and smartphone, dropping them into her oversized leather handbag, and pushed her glasses into position on the diving board to her nose. A long, thin scarf had been left drooping over a chair and she retrieved it, wrapping it around her neck and losing her shiny black bob in the process. As she glanced around, ready to depart, she spotted the newspaper, discarded on the coffee table.

‘Oh, that’s right,’ she said, grabbing it and studying the small headline that had caught her eye earlier. ‘One-handed corpse washes up in Rushcutters Bay.’

Practically her own neighborhood, she thought, before ripping out the page and darting into her office to wedge it into a well-thumbed manila folder. Back in the lounge room, she quickly checked her reflection in the hall mirror (straightening the glasses, retrieving the hair) and then slammed the front door solidly behind her.

‘Urgh, fug orf!’ growled a foul smelling mass of brown rags on the pavement downstairs and the young woman diverted her eyes and breathed in through her mouth as she stepped around him and away. Checking that her bag was securely zipped, she dug her hands deep into her pockets and strode swiftly through Elizabeth Bay. If she picked up her pace she might just make it in time. Roxy took a hard right at the old police station, cutting past the fountain, through to Macleay Street and towards Kings Cross station. The city-bound train was late as usual and by the time Roxy reached Martin Place she was racing, up the grimy escalators, past the sullen stream of commuters and out onto Macquarie Street. Then across to Elizabeth Street, a quick glance around, a light change and a moment of calm before everything turned to pot.

In retrospect, Roxy would remember a definite hand print on the small of her back just moments before the bus tore past, but for now she was simply flying, her chin propelled forward, her arms flailing about as she tried to regain control. Somewhere along the way her glasses—her beautiful tortoiseshell glasses—also took off, rendering her blind. Somehow, miraculously, Roxy managed to break her fall, and landed in a huddle in the gutter, her face pressed hard against the cold cement, one arm twisted up beneath her. She moved the arm carefully, checking it wasn’t broken, and then struggled to her feet just as a large, grayish blob swooped down towards her.

‘You okay, love?’ the blob asked, helping her up. ‘That was bloody close, you nearly caught the bus to Bondi!’

Roxy nodded unconvincingly in his direction and made her way through the crowd to what she hoped was a wall. Ah yes, a low brick one. She leant against it, her cheek throbbing a little, and scrounged through her handbag for her emergency spectacles while the world whirled on around her. The glasses were an old set, gold and garish, but they would do. Pushing them onto her nose, she straightened her fringe down, dusted off her jeans and looked around again. Her tortoiseshell glasses were nowhere to be seen and the gray-suited man was walking slowly away, glancing back occasionally, wondering if his job was done. She waved him away and turned back in the direction from which she’d come, eager to find the stranger she’d glanced at a split second before she went flying. There was something suspicious about his eyes, the way they darted sideways the moment she looked at him. She suspected premeditation. Within minutes Roxy acknowledged defeat and turned back.

‘Damn it!’ she hissed beneath her breath, and made her way down a few more blocks to the next corner, then looked around before dashing along an alleyway and up to an unmarked door. She quickly stabbed in a code and watched as the door swung open, then entered, making sure it shut firmly behind her before ascending the stairwell two steps at a time until she reached an office marked Horowitz Media Management. Panting heavily, she let herself in.

‘Jesus, Roxy, you look like shit,’ Oliver Horowitz announced as she strode past reception and straight into his office.

‘Hello to you, too, Olie. Can I use your mirror?’

‘Yeah, go for it.’ He pointed one pudgy thumb towards the small bathroom in the corner of his office. She went in and surveyed the damage relieved to see just a small graze where her skin had made contact with the pavement. She splashed her unsettled expression away with some cold water and returned to the outer office where Oliver tossed her a towel. It had the word Nike printed across it.

‘So,’ she said, wiping her face before tossing it back and then dropping down into a scratchy sofa in front of his desk, ‘what’s up?’

‘Huh?’

‘Earth to Olie. You left a text message for me to get in here at 10. Pronto.’

‘I did?’ Roxy narrowed her eyes and waited for him to click. ‘I didn’t leave any message, Roxy. What is it with those glasses? Bit retro for you, eh?’

‘The chic ones died a death this morning. What do you mean you didn’t leave me a message?’

Oliver surrendered some papers to his desk and sat upright in his overstuffed, leather chair. ‘What’s going on?’ he asked.

‘Not sure yet.’ She dug about in her handbag for some lipstick. ‘Well, I’m here now, got anything for me?’

‘No I don’t. You in trouble, Roxy? Again?’

‘I’m never in trouble, you know that.’ Roxy brushed the lipstick across her bottom lip, painting it a matt red hue, and then flung it back into her bag as she rolled her lips together, spreading the color evenly. ‘Come on, Olie, darling,’ she continued, sea green eyes sparkling through provocatively wide eyelashes, ‘you have to have something for me. I can’t wear these dowdy specs for much longer.’

‘Oh, I dunno, they’re kinda growin’ on you.’

‘Olie.’

‘How’s the Musgrave biography going? Is everything okay?’

‘Fine, fine.’ Her eyes glazed over. ‘It’s not exactly riveting stuff.’

‘No? You don’t find church fundraisers intriguing?’

Roxy smirked back at him. Sydney socialite Beatrice Musgrave wanted her life story told and had approached the Horowitz Agency for a ghostwriter, someone with a gift for words who could help her construct her story into a half-decent ‘autobiography’. The deal with all of these jobs was simple: while Roxy never got any credit for the book (ghostwriters remain just that—a ghostly presence behind the scenes), she did get compensated sufficiently to squirrel some away and pay off the much-abused Visa card. And that’s the only kind of credit she cared about, at least while she had a mortgage to contend with.

Oliver had wasted no time calling his favorite ghostwriter, Roxy Parker, who’d been on his books now for many years. While the money was substantial—double what Roxy had ever been paid for ghostwriting before—the job, so far, was extraordinarily dull. She would have exchanged the cash for a little conspiracy in a heartbeat.

‘Not every story has to be about mystery and intrigue,’ he reminded her, doodling on some paper with a biro. ‘Anyway, I was thinking maybe I should just pass it on to Klaus.’

‘Ha! Don’t make me laugh!’

‘Don’t knock Klaus, he’s a good writer.’

‘Yeah, if you like your stories like his hair: thin on top.’

‘Well at least he doesn’t bring headaches into it.’

‘What headaches?’

Oliver stood up, his beer belly peeking through where several buttons on his ’50s-style bowling shirt were undone, and shuffled over to the office door.

‘Shazza! Where the hell are you?’

‘Awww, I’m here, boss, fixin’ the photocopier!’ came a hoarse smoker’s voice from the next room.

‘Good, get us a coupla coffees will ya!’

‘Milk and two sugars for me, thanks!’ Roxy called out and watched her agent as he wedged himself back into his chair. She wondered if he had once been a good looking man before a steady diet of doner kebabs and cold beer ruined him. Her agent was in his late 40s, single, a hard worker with a lopsided grin and a kind of roguish charm that forgave his sloppy looks and smart-ass ways. Roxy liked him. He called a spade a spade and that was a prerequisite in this business.

‘What headaches?’ she repeated, smiling innocently.

‘Oh, let me think, Roxy, sweetheart, what headaches? Oh maybe the time I sent you out to interview a band grieving their departed drummer and you came back with some cock ‘n’ bull story about the ex-girlfriend and how she might’ve done him in.’

‘It was a possibility.’

‘It was a self-administered drug overdose. He was a friggin’ junky. Full stop.’

‘Well, in any case, it made good reading for the Tele and you got your 15 percent. Anyway, that was ages ago. I’ve been good lately.’

‘That’s what I’m worried about.’ He eyed her for a moment and then asked, ‘Still keeping The Book of Death?’

Roxy shifted uneasily in her seat. ‘It’s not a book of death!’ She scoffed. ‘It’s a crime catalogue.’

‘Same difference.’

‘Hardly. Besides, it has a purpose.’

‘Yeah, right.’

‘What’s the big deal, Oliver? All good writers file clippings away. You never know when you might need them.’

‘Do all writers focus only on crime articles? I swear, Roxy, it’s like you’re planning the perfect murder.’

She shrugged wishing the subject away and was saved by Oliver’s secretary who appeared at her side, two Horowitz Management mugs in her hands and a half-finished cigarette dangling from her mouth. Sharon was a middle-aged woman with short, spiky red hair and a penchant for extremely tight, brightly colored spandex that only worked to accentuate her scrawny, stick-thin form. But perhaps that was the idea.

‘Oh Sharon sweetheart,’ Oliver gushed as she thumped the mugs down. ‘What ever would I do without you?’

‘Hmph!’ she snorted back, offering Roxy a cheeky wink before moping out again, the fag still firmly in place.

‘Thanks, Sharon,’ Roxy sang after her. They eyed their coffees for a while and then Oliver stood up again and shuffled over to the door to close it. Roxy rolled her eyes in response.

‘Come on, I know something’s up.’

‘Like what?’

‘Like, you get a strange message from me that I never left, then you get beat up—’

‘Hang on a minute—’

‘I can see the scratch, Roxy.’ She reached one hand up to her cheek instinctively, running her forefinger across the web-like mark.

‘Oh the cat did that.’

‘You don’t have a cat.’

‘And now you can see why.’

They sat back and sipped their drinks, Oliver shaking his head reprovingly, Roxy ignoring him as she glanced around the room. She wondered, as she always did, how he could get it so dusty. They were three floors up. Tatty posters of sci-fi films had been sticky-taped to the walls, and every possible bench was cluttered with assorted memorabilia from past events and publicity gimmicks. There was a teddy bear draped in an oversized T-shirt that read, ‘Mardi-grass 2001, Nimbin’, a mug shaped like the Opera House and a pair of 3D glasses with one lens missing. She connected eyes with a giant cardboard cut-out of a buxom blonde in a stretchy red dress with the words ‘Tina Passion–Writing passion into your life!’ scrawled across the bottom, and wondered as she often did, how she could possibly share an agent with one of the country’s corniest romance writers. Romance was always the last thing on her mind.

‘Okay, then,’ he relented. ‘I’ll see what else I can find for you. If I do find something, will you swap the Musgrave biography for it?’

‘Um, no, you don’t seem to get it. I want more work not less. Can’t stand it when I’m not busy, you know that. Besides, I’m a third of the way through the bio, why on earth would I stop now?’

‘Just a thought. Look, Roxy, be careful, alright? Enjoy the down time. Take a trip somewhere. Relax. Here,’ he fetched his iPhone and held it out to her. ‘Look it up on my dictionary app, it’s a useful word.’

She dismissed him with a wave, got to her feet and was halfway out the door when he called her back.

‘Why don’t you call one of your old contacts, that sexy Greek chick from Glossy for instance?’

‘Oh, you mean the one who never comes through? Pah!’

As it turns out, Maria Constantinople, the editor of one of the country’s top-selling women’s lifestyle magazines, had come through the day before, offering Roxy ‘a big one, baby, a big one!’ She was on her way to the Glossy offices now, she just didn’t believe it would amount to much. Roxy wrote a lot for Maria, mostly mundane articles about women’s health, relationships, money, anything Maria wanted, really. They were always fairly safe subjects, the kind of stories she’d written a hundred times before and would write a hundred times again. The only challenge was changing the heading, introduction and content sufficiently enough to confuse the readers into believing they hadn’t read the exact same thing just 12 months before. Pure trickery, of course, and not something she was particularly proud of, but, hey, it paid the bills. Well, it almost did. The worst part of the whole deal was that these articles were never very long, 1200 words at best. At 70c a word, it didn’t amount to much. She wasn’t about to go renovating the kitchen, let’s put it that way. Roxy longed to sink her teeth into something wordy, something original, something she wanted to read.

Yeah right, she thought, like that’s ever gonna happen. This was a briefing session with Glossy magazine, after all, not The New Yorker.

This time, however, Roxy couldn’t have been more wrong.

‘Sorry to keep you waiting, gorgeous,’ Maria boomed when, after 30 minutes chewing her lips in the lobby, Roxy was ushered through to the editor’s spacious corner office by her new assistant, Trevor.

‘Bit of a hunk, eh?’ the editor whispered, eyeing the young man up and down as he closed the glass doors behind them.

‘Yeah, I guess, if you’re a bloke.’

Maria’s thickly penciled eyebrows shot skyward. ‘You don’t reckon he’s gay do you?’

‘We’re in Sydney. He’s got the body of Adonis. I rest my case. So what have you got for me?’

Roxy was not a big fan of Maria Constantinople, and not just because of her lack of originality and depth. The woman was loud and brash, and prone to stomping her five-foot frame around like a rugby player, tossing expletives about as though they were superlatives and playing God over her quivering staff. But even that Roxy could have forgiven—Olie was hardly the Prime Minister of office politics, let’s face it—yet there was something else, something she couldn’t quite put her finger on. Perhaps it was the feeling that this editor would sell her out for a headline in a heartbeat.

Well into her 50s, Maria wore her thick, dyed auburn hair in long, wild curls, and plastered her face with a gelatinous coat of foundation, the type that implores you to play naughts and crosses with your nails.

‘Oh, I got a treat for you, Roxy,’ she said, clasping her bejeweled hands together, prayer-like in front, ‘and I need it done fast.’

‘No problem.’

‘Coffee?’

‘No thanks.’

‘Well then, let’s get straight to it.’ She reached for a file marked ‘Heather Jackson, Artist’ and flung it across her sparkly glass desk towards Roxy. ‘You’ve no doubt heard of this one. One of Australia’s top modern artists. She’s super private and, as far as the rumors go, a complete freakin’ cow. But I’ve scored an interview and I want you to do it.’

Roxy flipped through the file. A selection of old press clippings had been placed inside, along with a black and white print, autographed, and a tattered leaflet which read, ‘Sydney Art Gazette Annual Competition, 1989’.

‘Why me?’ Roxy asked, surprised.

‘Why not?’

‘Well, for starters, I know very little about art.’

‘So improvise.’

‘Why not use your art writer?’

Maria sighed heavily. ‘Because I’m giving you a bloody break. Do you want the job or not?’

‘Of course I do.’ Deep down, though, Roxy wondered what the woman was up to. She wasn’t in the habit of doing Roxy any favors. Besides, it wasn’t her style to commission the good stories out, especially when she had one of the best editorial teams in the country assembled right under her oily brown nose. Roxy smelt a rat, but didn’t push the matter further. Ten years as a freelance writer had taught her that. You just take the job and run.

‘That’s the spirit!’ Maria said as she adjusted a collection of gold chains that had lost themselves in her cleavage. ‘All the info you need’s in the folder. Thursday seems to work well for Heather. You give me a time and a place and I’ll set it all up. Too bloody easy if you ask me.’

They chatted for a bit longer before Maria started playing with her watch and, getting the hint, Roxy closed the folder and got to her feet. ‘I’ll give you a call this arvo to talk time and money.’

Maria pushed her eyebrows together. ‘What? You want some freakin’ dosh for this?’

Roxy just laughed as she saw herself out.

If you enjoyed this excerpt, look for Killer Twist at Amazon

Other books by C.A. Larmer

Ghostwriter Mysteries:

A Plot to Die For (Book 2)

Last Writes (Book 3)

Dying Words (Book 4)

Words Can Kill (Book 5)

A Note Before Dying (Book 6)

Plus:

The Agatha Christie Book Club

An Island Lost