Haunted Destiny (21 page)

Alexi sat at the piano, stunned.

Clara looked at her and shivered. “We were
there
,” she whispered. “We were at Señora Maria's restaurant.”

Alexi nodded. She was surprised that Jude hadn't told her about the murder.

But then she realized he hadn't known—until recently. That was why he'd been called away.

“Okay, folks! Last call. Feel free to take your drinks to your rooms,” the bartender said.

Voices rose as everyone began to discuss the announcement; some people were obviously afraid.

Some were annoyed.

“Well, what do you think of that?” Roger wondered aloud, looking at Alexi and Clara where they sat at the piano.

Alexi didn't want to answer. She smiled at Roger and spoke into the mic. “Well, you heard the powers that be, people. Thank you so much, as always, for being with me. And whether I like it or not, I'm afraid I'm not considered essential crew.”

There were a few good-natured protests, and she smiled.

She went into the song “Closing Time,” and everyone joined in.

By the time she'd finished, most of the passengers had gotten their last drinks.

“Hope to see you all tomorrow!” Hank said, waving good-night.

“Ladies and gentlemen, shall we?” She turned in surprise. Johnny was there—to see the crew members down to their cabins.

Especially her and Clara.

Alexi covered the piano, and her group gathered together to head down the stairs.

“We were at the restaurant. I'm the one who said we should go there,” Ralph said, shaking his head. “I never met Señora Maria, but...how terrible.”

“So,” Simon said, “someone was out to get the poor woman. That must be why there was that explosion.”

“They tried to blow her up!” Larry shuddered. “Scary! Hey, do you think they're making us go to our cabins because of the storm—or because that woman was murdered?”

Clara shrugged. “I just hope we get tomorrow off.”

“Oh, I doubt we'll be off,” Ralph said. “They can't keep people in their cabins all day. Everyone has to eat.”

Simon laughed. “Maybe they'll have us delivering food.”

“Ouch! So much for fame and fortune,” Ralph murmured.

“Do you know what's going on?” Larry asked Alexi. “I mean, you're McCoy's...
liaison
, right?”

Alexi let his tone—and the word
liaison
—go without comment. Apparently, they still believed Jude was with the cruise lines. And that she was sleeping with a bigwig.

Well, she
was
sleeping with him.

“I don't know,” she said. “I really don't. I wish I did.”

“Should we all hang together?” Simon asked.

“Oh, guys, I'm exhausted!” Clara said. “I'm going to lock myself in and sleep—and worry about the storm and everything else tomorrow morning.”

“And I'm betting Alexi will have company at some point,” Simon put in.

“I have a bottle of single malt scotch and I'm willing to share,” Ralph offered. “The three of us can whine about our careers for a while.”

“Everyone inside,” said Johnny, who'd been following them.

“You got somewhere to go, Johnny?” Ralph asked.

“Oh, no, sir, I'll be here all night.”

Clara glanced at Alexi and said softly, “I'll be in my cabin. Sleeping, I hope.”

Alexi knew that Clara would wait until she and Jude knocked on her door in the morning before she left her cabin again.

“Well, then, good night, all,” Alexi said, and escaped into her cabin.

She waited. She showered. She paced.

At last, she went to bed. She was tired, so tired that even with her mind flying, she eventually drifted off.

Then Jude knocked on the door and called her name. When she let him in, he pulled her into his arms and just held her.

She knew he was tired and tense and worried. He opened his mouth to talk and then shook his head. “I would've told you,” he said. “Suarez finally managed to reach us. He's the Mexican police captain in Cozumel.”

“I heard,” she said. She swallowed painfully. “That means the killer really is on the ship, doesn't it? The Archangel is on our ship.”

“I'm convinced he's one of our four suspects. We have officers on them constantly, but...well, the missing security guard is still missing.”

“You're exhausted. You have to get some rest,” she insisted.

He nodded, stripping down to his briefs. She crawled into her bed, and he crawled in beside her. He was distracted, but it seemed that he needed to hold her.

They just lay together. She wasn't sure if he drifted off or if they both did. She wasn't sure if he touched her and instigated their lovemaking, or if she'd touched him first.

There were moments of bliss. As they held each other, Alexi felt she'd found an island of strength in a tempestuous sea.

And she never wanted to leave.

14

W
hile most communication was down, the cabin-to-cabin phone service was working fine.

Jude woke very early to the ringing of Alexi's cabin phone. She was still asleep so he grabbed it quickly. “Hello?”

It was Jackson. “Security's in place,” he said, “and the captain's staying ahead of the storm. He's moving north now, around the edge of Dinah. If we're lucky, by the end of today we'll be heading for port, either in the central Gulf or along the Florida coast. He's allowing passengers access to shops and restaurants during the day. All ship-run activities will be in the Egyptian Room, dinner served as usual—but there'll be a ten o'clock curfew this evening. I'm in our office, reviewing the information we have, working on the Mexican angle. The explosion, which I'm now positive was planned and somehow executed by the Archangel, created a lot of confusion. And of course that meant we lost visual contact with the suspects.”

“Yeah,” Jude said. “And if we had access to computers or even some way of getting in touch with the home office, we'd have a better handle on who could have rigged the kitchen to explode like that.”

“In such a way that the experts couldn't ascertain with any assurance whether it was accidental or deliberate,” Jackson added. “At any rate, David Beach has just rotated his people. They're working twelve-hour shifts until we get to port. The best solution for the day, I believe, is probably to arrange for Clara and Alexi to get involved in whatever activities are going on in the Egyptian Room. That'll put them in a public place, with lots of protection—and witnesses—around. If you can see to that and then join me here, we can go over what we do know and try to figure out who might've been able to rig the explosion and then get to Maria Sanchez, kill her and deposit her body in the church before we left port.”

“I'll make the arrangements with Clara and Alexi. I'll join you after that,” Jude told him.

Alexi was stirring, but Jude knew he had to get up, even though he didn't want to. Alexi looked like an artist's dream, sheet pulled down below the base of her spine, the curve of her body elegant, the sweep of her hair vivid against the white of the sheets.

He climbed out of bed. “I'm going to shower, then get to work,” he said briskly.

When he emerged, she was in a terry-cloth robe, sitting at her little desk. She glanced up at him, her expression bleak.

“It seems to me that any of our current suspects could've rigged something in the kitchen—and then gotten away with the murder of Maria Sanchez. Every one of them—Roger, Hank, Jensen and Simon—might've had the opportunity. Neither the ship's security nor the Mexican police believed you and Jackson.
No one
in authority believed the killer could be on this ship until Maria Sanchez turned up dead in that Mexican church,” she said. “If only...”

“If only?” Jude echoed.

“If only we knew what the medallions meant to the killer.”

He leaned down to kiss her neck. “Go shower,” he said huskily. “I'm escorting you and Clara to the Egyptian Room.”

He dressed as he waited for Alexi.

They were in a battle with time; they had to reach port with Alexi, Clara and every other entertainer safe. All the women on board were in danger. And if they didn't determine who the killer was by the time they docked, he might strike again elsewhere.

At least once they were on land, the FBI and local authorities would have the personnel to watch each of their suspects, follow in their footsteps, research their comings and goings.

But they'd known who their suspects were from the start of the voyage. They'd known when they were in Mexico. And yet the killer had still managed to elude them and rig the explosion. Which had given him the opportunity to kill Maria...

When Alexi had emerged and dressed, she called Clara to tell her they were on the way to pick her up.

Jude could hear Clara's response. “More bingo!” she said loudly and with feigned enthusiasm.

“People love bingo,” Alexi reminded her.

“I wish I was one of those people,” Clara muttered.

As Alexi hung up, there was a knock at her door. Jude looked out and saw Jensen Hardy.

He opened the door, and it was immediately clear that Jensen hadn't expected him there, judging by the way the man scowled at him.

“Morning,” Jude said cheerfully.

“Good morning,” Jensen said, just as cheerfully. He thrust a paper at Jude. “Notices for day duty to the entertainment crew. Alexi has the Egyptian Room again.”

“Yes, I know,” Jude said pleasantly.

“Of course you do.” Jensen smiled grimly. “Bingo.”

“Bingo,” Jude agreed. He took the paper and closed the door.

“You really don't like him, do you?” Alexi asked.

“He's fake. His smile is fake,” Jude said.

Alexi shrugged. “Well, he has to have that enthusiasm going all the time. No human can be that constantly happy.”

“Ah, yes, but have you seen the way he looks at me? His eyes become daggers!”

“Hmm. Maybe he doesn't like you.”

Jude laughed. “Hmm. You think?”

She grinned, but then her expression grew somber. “That doesn't make him a murderer, though,” she said. “I can't really see it.”

“Which of these four men do you see as a murderer?” he asked her. “Simon, Mr. Song and Dance? Hank, the awkward wizard, just lookin' for love? Roger Antrim, married father and grandfather?”

“No, I don't see how it could be any of them.”

“Serial killer Ted Bundy worked at a help line,” Jude told her. “If he'd looked like some kind of monster, people might have suspected him sooner. That's just it. We never want to accept that the boy next door could actually be a killer.”

Alexi nodded. “I have a hard time believing
any
of these men could be monsters—but I know that one of them must be. And...” She paused for a moment.

Jude waited, curious.

“And I want to stay alive!”

So did he, Jude thought. He recalled the pain he'd felt when they'd lost Lily. Nothing could have been worse. Yet, even then, he had never contemplated suicide.

Now he knew, more than he ever had before—he didn't want to survive just to catch the bad guys.

He wanted to
live
. Maybe now, for the first time in years, he could really live.

“We're going to get through this,” he told her.

“Of course we are.”

She kissed him. A quick kiss.

He smiled, thinking that neither of them dared to go any further. Out in the hallway, Jude saw another of Beach's men dutifully watching over his section of the ship. As Alexi tapped on Clara's door, Ralph and Larry stepped out of Ralph's cabin.

“Egyptian Room?” Ralph asked.

“That's where we're heading,” Jude replied.

Simon left his cabin. “Egyptian Room?” he, too, asked.

“On our way,” Alexi murmured.

“Bingo, yay!” Clara said.

“Well, if we could win the big bucks,” Simon said, “it might be fun. But since all we do is look at the cards...”

“Cheer up. Maybe there'll be another wet T-shirt contest,” Alexi told him.

Simon grinned. “A bunch of cute girls squirting me with water? Not so bad.”

He started singing “Master of the House” from
Les Miz
as he led them down the hall.

* * *

Alexi found it difficult to maintain a smile and an air of casual pleasure while working that day.

She couldn't help being acutely aware that every man on the suspect list was in the Egyptian Room.

Hank was there with Ginny, the two of them sitting at the bar. While Hank might not want the girl of his obsessions and dreams involved in a wet T-shirt contest, he wasn't at all averse to bingo. In fact, they had dozens of cards between them.

Roger was there with his wife—and with Flora Winters, the woman whose husband had owned a collectibles business. Alexi made a point of going over to chat. Flora was happy to meet her; she'd never been to the piano bar on the ship, she said, but since Roger and Lorna thought it was so wonderful, she'd decided to come by.

Flora seemed very nice, and she and Lorna seemed to get along well, Alexi observed after she'd talked with them. The two women engaged in conversation and laughter, some of it—or so it appeared—at the expense of Roger, who just smiled and shrugged.

Happy. Domestic. Friendly.

Alexi looked around the room whenever she could, trying to keep an eye on everyone.

It seemed ridiculous that a killer, the Archangel, could be among them.

They were all so...normal.

Simon appeared to be having fun.

Jensen was a little beleaguered, possibly because Bradley was in the room as they began their storm-swept day, arms crossed over his chest as he watched.

Alexi didn't care that Bradley was there. She realized she didn't care about his opinion of her work that day. She was a good employee, and if he didn't appreciate her, well...

Well,
what
she wasn't sure. But she knew this cruise had changed her.

She didn't need to escape anymore. Whatever happened in the future, she prayed Jude would be part of it.

She didn't believe she was just a diversion to him—or just someone he needed to keep safe.

But everything, even having a future, seemed to hinge on these last few days on the ship.

The bingo games went on. She and the others ran around, checking cards, helping out, improvising interactions with the guests.

After bingo Jensen announced a break before the trivia games.

First prize for trivia would be from Artiste, the ship's jewelry store.

Alexi considered their break a great opportunity to have a conversation with Hank Osprey and Ginny.

There was no empty bar stool near the two of them so she pretended she needed a glass of water and slipped by them to ask the bartender to hand her a glass.

She turned to them and shook her head sadly. “All those cards—and no bingo!” Hank laughed. “We didn't care. The challenge was keeping track of all the cards.”

“Actually,” Ginny said, “I think we did have bingo once. There were so many cards, we must've missed it.”

“Ah, well. Next up is the game I'd like to be on.”

“Ah, yes, jewels! The way to a woman's heart, right?” Hank teased.

“The main prize is a diamond necklace,” Alexi said. “Although—and you may not believe this—I prefer funky jewelry to diamonds. I like unusual designs. Or things that have some meaning. I inherited a pewter coat of arms from my mom's family. It's Italian. And an old cross that meant a great deal to my grandmother. Oh, and some weird dragon pieces I bought at a Ren faire.”

“I know what you mean!” Ginny said. “I have some spider stuff a lot of people might think of as nothing but Halloween costume attire, and yet I love it.”

Hank had risen, offering Alexi his seat. She shook her head. “Thanks, but I have to be back on the floor in a second. What do you think about jewelry? If you were trying to impress a woman, I mean. Are diamonds the way to go or would you opt for something else?”

Hank was thoughtful. “I'd consider the woman. I'd try to know her—and know exactly what kind of jewelry she'd like. Now, Ginny—”

“Trivia!” Jensen Hardy boomed over the microphone, interrupting whatever Hank had been about to say. “If my lovely singing and dancing assistants will please join me down here?”

Alexi set her glass on the bar and hurried down to the stage.

So much for her attempt at subtle interrogation.

But as she walked across the room, she saw that the ghost of Byron Grant was in the room, as well, leaning against the far wall.

Just watching.

He seemed confused, and Alexi quickly realized why.

Simon and Hank remained in the room, ready to play whatever game Jensen announced.

But Roger was on his way out, accompanied by his wife—and Flora Winters.

* * *

“There's nothing like working with charts,” Jackson was saying. “Physical charts, that is.”

“Actually,” Jude told him, “there'd be nothing like it—if we had some more information to put on our charts.”

They'd written their list of suspects on one side of an eraser board.

The list of medallions and the known dead was on the other side.

Jude stared at the two, thinking of the conversations he'd had with the men on the list. Something, some idea, was forming in his mind. Something to do with the medallions. As if reading his mind, Jackson said, “The medallions are the key. We know which saints they represent, and we know that they were made prewar in a small church in Italy.”

“I'm not sure that where they were made really matters. What they mean to the murderer is what's important,” Jude responded. “Now, we know that Flora Winters's husband sold a set of the medallions but that, too, could mean nothing.”

“It would be a big help to have our communications up and running,” Jackson murmured. “Angela always works like this—everything on a chart. But usually, our researchers are available to answer any questions that might arise from looking at the lists!”

“If those medallions were bought at auction or from an antiquities dealer like Flora's husband, that would indicate someone with money,” Jude said. “Hank Osprey or Roger Antrim, in other words.”

“But if the buyer of the medallions sold by Sam Winters turns out to be John Smith or David Jones or someone entirely unrelated, the Archangel might have inherited his—or even found them at a flea market,” Jackson said. “Or, who knows, stolen them...”

“But what do they
mean
to the killer? Are they just a way to taunt the police, or do they mean something personal to him? He obviously chose his victims, one for each of the medallions. He had to know who they were. He had to know about their lives and their work.”