Huckleberry Finished (9 page)

I
had a restless what was left of the night and woke up early the next morning feeling almost as tired as when I'd gone to sleep. The gray light coming in around the edges of the curtain over the cabin's single window told me that it wasn't dawn yet. I didn't think I could sleep anymore, though, so I got out of bed.

Hoping that a shower might wake me up, I went into the bathroom and started the water running, then looked around. Mark's shaving kit sat on the tiny vanity, partially unzipped. I felt the urge to poke around in it a little, but I resisted. I wouldn't want him digging around in my purse or my make-up bag, so I had to honor his privacy, too.

When I had the water at the temperature I liked, I took off my pajamas and hung them on the hook on the back of the bathroom door, then stepped into the hot shower. It felt mighty good. I stayed there for what seemed like a long time, letting the hot water work out all the kinks in my body.

I wished it could do as good a job working out the mental kinks, but I knew that wasn't going to happen.

Finally, when the water began to run cool, I turned it off and pushed back the curtain to step out onto the little mat. I pulled an unused towel from the rack and started to dry. I had pushed the bathroom door up without closing it quite all the way, so most of the steam from the hot shower had been trapped. The mirror was completely fogged up and probably would be for a while, but the steamy bathroom felt good. I like a nice hot shower, even in the summer.

When I finished drying, I moved to hang up the towel. As I did, I bumped the shaving kit with my hip. There wasn't much room on the vanity to start with, since it was so small, and the leather kit was perched near the edge. When I bumped it, it slid off and fell to the floor.

It landed on the tile with a heavy
clunk.

The sound brought a frown to my face. Just how heavy could a man's razor and toothbrush be, anyway? I bent over and picked up the shaving kit, set it on the vanity. It was heavy, all right.

Feeling a little guilty about what I was doing, I unzipped the top the rest of the way and looked inside.

The first thing I saw was a clear plastic bag with a tube of toothpaste and a toothbrush inside it. The toothbrush had one of those plastic covers over the bristles. Next to the bag was one of those razors with multiple blades. I don't know how many this one had, but it's only a matter of time until they come up with a twenty-two-blade razor that a guy has to move only an inch to shave his whole face. There was a can of shaving cream and a plastic bottle of aftershave, plus some first-aid stuff and a package of cotton swabs. Nothing out of the ordinary there, and although the shaving cream might have made the clunking noise when the bag hit the floor, I knew it hadn't.

No, the gun underneath all the other stuff was what had made the noise.

I saw the barrel and part of the cylinder poking out and recognized them for what they were, even though at the same time my brain was rebelling at the thought. Who carries a revolver in a shaving kit?

Well, Mark Lansing, for one, obviously. I had the testimony of my own eyes for that. I moved the stuff in the bag so I could get a better look at the gun.

It wasn't very big. A .32? A .38? I don't know. The whole thing wasn't over six inches long, and the barrel accounted for about two inches of that. The handle had plastic grips made to look like wood with a little checkered pattern in it. The finish on the rest of the gun was silvery. It looked sort of like a toy, but it was the real thing. The feeling of danger that came off it told me that.

And I had knocked it off onto the floor. Revolvers sometimes went off when they were dropped. Maybe it wasn't loaded. I didn't want to touch it, so I picked up one end of the bag and tilted it so I could look at the chambers in the cylinder from the back. As far as I could tell, they were empty. So at least the gun wasn't loaded.

That didn't take away from the fact that Mark had a gun in his shaving kit. And a package of condoms, too, I saw now, nestled next to the can of shaving cream. Obviously a man who wanted to be fully protected: Trojans
and
a Smith & Wesson.

I pushed that crazy thought away and set the bag back on the vanity. I pulled the zipper part of the way closed, like it had been when I found it. Then I realized I was standing there naked in the bathroom of a man who packed heat and had mysterious women visiting him in the middle of the night.

It was time to get out of Dodge.

The night before I had stuck a clean pair of slacks and a blouse in my bag, along with clean underwear, of course. I got dressed in a hurry, put on as little make-up as I could get by with, and ran a brush through my hair. I'm lucky that it doesn't take a lot of work.

As I came out of the bathroom I heard my phone ringing in my purse.

Mark was calling, I saw as I got the phone out and checked the display. I didn't know whether I wanted to talk to him or not. I had plenty of questions for him. Well, two big ones really:
Who was that woman? What's the deal with the gun?
But I thought it might be better to ask them in person.

If I ignored the call, though, he might get worried and show up to pound on the door. I didn't want to draw any attention to the fact that I had spent the night in his cabin, so I opened the phone and said, “Hello?”

“Good morning,” he said, sounding cheery as all get-out. “It's not too early, is it? I was afraid I might wake you.”

“No, I was up,” I said. I thought,
I've been up long enough to take a shower and find the gun in your shaving kit,
but I didn't say it.

“How about some breakfast?” Mark asked. “I realize it'll be our second breakfast today, but—”

“That's fine,” I said.

“Should I come to the cabin and get you, or would you rather just meet in the dining room?”

“Let's meet in the dining room,” I said. “I'll be there in ten minutes.”

If my rather abrupt attitude puzzled him, his voice didn't show it. “Sounds good,” he said, still cheery. “I'll see you there.”

I broke the connection and looked at the phone for a second, then said, “You sure will, bucko.”

 

Mark beat me to the dining room. He was sitting at one of the tables when I walked in. He smiled and raised a hand to catch my attention, but I had already seen him and started toward him.

He stood and held my chair for me as I sat down. I've been around long enough that such gestures don't bother me. As he sat down, he asked, “How did you sleep?”

“Fine,” I said.

“The bed was comfortable enough?”

“Sure.”

Tiny frown creases appeared on his forehead. “Is something wrong?”

“Wrong? No. What makes you ask?”

“I don't know, you just seem a little…different this morning.”

I shrugged. “I don't feel any different.”

Now that was a bald-faced lie. I felt a lot different than I had the night before. It bothered me that he hadn't told me the truth. Not all the truth, anyway. Maybe he hadn't actually lied, but he had left out a lot of stuff.

I wanted him to tell me on his own. I didn't like the idea of having to drag answers out of him. If he really was interested in me, as he'd acted, he owed it to me to be on the up-and-up. I hadn't been deceptive with him.

Other than not telling him up front that Ben Webster had been murdered, I reminded myself. I had sort of fudged the truth about that for a little while.

“If something's bothering you,” he said, “you need to just tell me.”

Of course he'd feel that way, I thought. He was a man. But if that's what he wanted…

I was about to open my mouth to ask him about the mysterious woman and the gun when someone paused beside me and a deep voice said, “Good morning, Ms. Dickinson.”

I looked up to see Captain Williams standing there. He looked tired, as if he hadn't slept much the night before. I guessed that was probably true. I'd think that having a passenger murdered on board would bother most boat captains.

“Hello, Captain,” I said. “Any news?”

I didn't have to specify what sort of news I was asking about, I thought. It was pretty doggoned obvious. My hope was that he'd tell me Detective Travis had found and arrested the killer and that we'd be on our way back to St. Louis later in the day, as scheduled.

Instead he shook his head and looked grim. “I'm afraid not,” he said. He glanced at Mark, nodded, and added, “Mr. Lansing.”

I could tell he was wondering just how well informed Mark was about what had happened, so I said, “Mark knows about the—” I started to say
murder
, then changed my mind. “Incident,” I said instead. I was sure that rumors would spread throughout the boat, especially if we didn't start back to St. Louis on schedule, but for now most of the passengers probably didn't know about the murder. No sense in starting a panic until you had to, I thought.

Captain Williams put a hand on one of the empty chairs at the table and asked, “Do you mind?”

“Go right ahead,” Mark told him, then glanced at me. “That is, if it's all right with Delilah.”

“Sure. Sit down, Captain.”

Williams pulled back the chair and sat down with a sigh. “I've been up most of the night,” he said, keeping his voice pitched low so that the early diners at the other tables wouldn't hear the conversation over their own voices and the noises coming from the kitchen. “I thought it best to go ahead and notify Mr. Gallister's office about what happened. I wasn't expecting Mr. Gallister himself to call me and demand to know what's being done. I was on the phone with him for a long time. He's coming up here himself to make sure that the matter is resolved in a satisfactory manner.”

That surprised me. I said, “I didn't figure a tycoon like Charles Gallister would have time for something like that.”

“He's a very hands-on owner.” The captain didn't look happy about that fact, either. “No detail is too small for his attention, he always says. And murder is no small detail.”

I couldn't argue with that.

“Has that detective found out anything yet?” I asked.

“If she has, she hasn't shared it with me. She was on board most of the night, I think.”

“Does she still plan to keep the
Southern Belle
here until she solves the murder?”

“As far as I know.” Williams shrugged. “She won't be able to do that, of course. Mr. Gallister's lawyers will be in front of a judge within the hour if she tries to, getting court orders forcing her to release the boat. Perhaps it won't come to that. We're not due to leave Hannibal until after lunch. With any luck the whole thing will be over by then.”

I hoped so. From everything I had heard, the longer it took to solve a murder, the less likelihood the killer would ever be found. And even though I was still a little mad at Ben Webster, I wanted justice to catch up with whoever broke his neck.

Even if it was Mark Lansing?

I didn't know where that thought came from, but it flashed through my head. I tried telling myself that Mark was way too nice to be a murderer, but I knew that things didn't work like that in the real world. You couldn't tell a killer by looking at him.

And Mark was big enough, and in good enough shape, to break somebody's neck in a fight, even if he wasn't a gorilla like Logan Rafferty. He was a man with secrets, too. His late-night visitor and the gun in his shaving kit were proof of that. Maybe he had some even more dangerous secrets.

“I suppose I'll have to make an announcement to the passengers,” Captain Williams went on. “If we aren't allowed to leave on schedule, people may need to make arrangements. I'll wait a while before I do it, but I want the passengers to have a chance to call anyone they need to call and let them know they won't be leaving Hannibal when they were supposed to.”

That made sense, but I didn't envy him the job. I was sure that once folks heard their plans were going to be disrupted, there would be a lot of angry passengers on board the
Southern Belle
. Chances were they'd be all over the captain and his officers like white on rice, complaining about the delay in returning to St. Louis.

A waiter came over and we ordered breakfast. Captain Williams didn't get up, so it looked like he was going to eat with us. I was a little disappointed. I wanted to talk to Mark in private, as soon as I got the chance.

But not
too
private, I warned myself, just in case he tried to break
my
neck when I started asking questions.

W
e were just finishing our breakfast when Logan Rafferty came into the dining room. He looked around, spotted the captain, and headed toward us. He didn't look happy to see me, and I knew I wasn't happy to see him.

“That cop is back, Captain,” he said as he came up to the table.

“Detective Travis, you mean?”

“Yeah. She wants to see you. I told her to wait in my office, and I'd find you.”

“She has good news, I hope?” Even as he asked the question, Williams didn't sound like he really expected to be happy with the answer.

Rafferty glanced at me and Mark. “I don't know,” he said. “She didn't tell me anything.”

Williams sighed wearily, drank the rest of his coffee, and stood up. “I'll go see what she wants. Thank you, Logan.”

They left the dining room together. Mark watched them go, then said, “Rafferty's not the most likable guy in the world, is he?”

“Not hardly,” I said. “I feel a little sorry for the captain, though, having to deal with a mess like this.”

“Yeah, me too.” He looked over at me and went on, “I wonder if we're confined to the boat. If the cops will let us go ashore, maybe we could have a look around Hannibal this morning. Pretend that we're just a couple of tourists.”

“That sounds nice,” I said. And it did, even though I wasn't sure I fully trusted Mark anymore. I had seen some of the sights in Hannibal the day before, but I'd been looking for Ben Webster at the time and hadn't really taken the time to appreciate any of them. I wasn't going to be surprised, though, if Detective Travis had left an officer or two on duty at the gangway to keep the passengers from leaving the boat.

She wouldn't want any suspects wandering off.

I was about to suggest that we take a stroll along the deck to walk off the food we'd just eaten. That would give me a chance to ask Mark about the mystery woman and the gun. Once I did, that might be the end of any budding friendship between us, but I couldn't help that. I felt like I had to know, especially about the gun.

Before I could make the suggestion, though, Eddie and Louise Kramer came into the dining room. Eddie looked around and then started across the room toward the table where Mark and I sat. He looked like he was fixing to cloud up and rain all over somebody, and since he didn't even know Mark, I figured I was the one about to get caught in the downpour.

Louise trailed after him, looking worried and ineffectual, as usual.

Mark saw them coming and said under his breath, “Uh-oh. This guy doesn't look happy.”

“Yeah, and I'm bettin' it's me he's not happy with.”

I would have won that bet. Eddie Kramer stalked up to the table and said, “What's this crap I hear about the boat not going back to St. Louis today?”

As usual, his voice was loud enough so that everybody in the room heard what he said. That brought some surprised reactions from the other passengers who were in the dining room. A few of them might have heard rumors about some trouble on the boat, but here was Eddie confirming it in a loud, blustery tone.

All I could do was answer him honestly. “That's a possibility, Mr. Kramer,” I said, “but I really don't think—”

“That's not acceptable. We've got a schedule to keep.”

“I thought you were on vacation.”

“We are. That doesn't mean we don't stick to a schedule. We need to get back to St. Louis. I've got a business to run, you know.”

Louise put a hand on his arm. “Eddie…” she began.

He shook her off, and I could tell from the way he did it that he had lots of practice. “What's the cause of this delay?” he demanded. “I want to know who to sue.”

“I'm sure there won't be any need to sue anybody. It's still possible that we'll leave Hannibal on schedule this afternoon—”

“We'd better.”

Somebody came up behind Eddie and put a hand on his shoulder. Without looking around, he tried to shrug it off and said, “Blast it, Louise—”

But the hand didn't shrug off, and it didn't belong to Louise. Vince Mallory just clamped down tighter and said, “Take it easy, friend. You're jumping the gun here. Ms. Dickinson told you there may not even be a delay in leaving. Why don't you wait and see what happens before you get upset?”

Eddie glared over at him. “Who the hell are you?”

“Just a fellow passenger who thinks it's too early in the morning for a big commotion,” Vince said.

Louise looked more worried than ever, and I wondered if she was afraid her husband would take a swing at Vince. Eddie looked like he was considering it, but Vince was just as big as he was and a good twenty years younger. So after a few seconds, Eddie said, “All right, all right already. I just wanted to know what's going on, that's all.”

I got to my feet. “I know that, Mr. Kramer, and I don't blame you for being concerned. I think the captain is planning to make an announcement concerning our plans later this morning, and I'm sure if you'll be patient, he'll explain everything then.”

“I wasn't counting on being stuck here in Hannibal.”

“None of us were,” I told him.

Vince let him go and stepped back. Louise seemed to relax slightly, but she still looked skittish. Mark had looked like he was about to stand up when Eddie was on the verge of making a scene, but Vince's arrival had kept that from being necessary. Now all of us waited to see what Eddie was going to do next.

“I need coffee,” he muttered. There was a self-service urn on a table against the wall, along with stacked cups and sugar and creamer. He headed toward it.

“I'm going back out on deck, Eddie,” Louise called after him. “I think I need some air.”

He just grunted, clearly not caring what she did.

Louise looked at Mark, Vince, and me, shrugged in apology, and then left the dining room.

“Thanks,” I told Vince. “I reckon he would've gone on gettin' louder and more obnoxious if you hadn't given us a hand.”

Vince smiled and shrugged. “No problem. I heard the commotion when I came in and spotted you in the center of it, Ms. Dickinson.”

“Do you know Mark Lansing?” I asked.

Vince shook his head. “I don't think we've met.” He stuck out his hand. “Vince Mallory. Are you a passenger, too, sir?”

“No, I work on the boat,” Mark said as he shook hands with Vince. “Nice to meet you.”

“Same here.” Vince turned back to me. “Is what that guy said true? We're not heading back to St. Louis when we're supposed to?”

“That's possible,” I admitted.

“Is something wrong with the boat?”

“The captain will explain it all later.”

Vince grinned. “I get it. You can't talk about it. Well, I don't have to be anywhere at any particular time, so I guess Hannibal is as good a place to be as any. Better than Baghdad or Tikrit, let me tell you.”

“You served in Iraq?” Mark asked.

“Yes, sir. I was an MP.”

“You did a good job over there.”

“Most of us. Thank you, sir.”

With a wave, Vince headed for the coffee urn. Eddie Kramer had already filled his cup and found an empty table in a corner. He watched Vince with a scowl on his face, but Vince ignored him.

“Did you hear that kid?” Mark asked as we sat down again.

“What about him?”

“He called me sir.”

“So?”

He smiled and shook his head. “You know you're getting old when grown men start calling you sir.”

“Oh, that's probably just because he was in the army. He's probably in the habit of calling everybody sir or ma'am.”

“He didn't call you ma'am,” Mark pointed out.

“Maybe not, but I wouldn't be surprised if he did. And it wouldn't bother me, either.” I gestured toward my head. “If you look close—and I wouldn't necessarily advise it—you might find a gray hair or two up here. I figure I've earned every one of 'em.”

He chuckled. “I've got to go tend to some business, but I hope I'll see you later. I'll call you, and we'll make a break for it.”

“Go see the Mark Twain Museum, you mean?”

“Hey, in my line of work, it'd be a business expense, now wouldn't it?”

I smiled as he stood up. I wondered if he was going to lean over and kiss me before he left.

He didn't. Just as well. I didn't need folks gossiping about me.

I had some coffee left in my cup. I lingered over the last of it. While I was doing that, Vince came over and used his coffee cup to indicate one of the empty chairs as he raised his eyebrows. I smiled and said, “Sit.”

He sat. A look of concern replaced the friendly expression on his face.

“I overheard some people talking. They said someone was killed on board yesterday and that the reason we can't leave is because of an investigation that's going on. Is that true?”

I took a deep breath. “You believe in puttin' it right out there, don't you?”

“I've never been one to beat around the bush.”

I hesitated for a second, then made up my mind to tell him the truth. “Yes, someone was killed.”

“An accident?”

“No. He was murdered.”

Vince let out a low whistle of surprise. “I thought maybe we'd have the NTSB coming on board, or some agency like that. I guess the cops are in charge, though.”

“Yeah, a detective from the Hannibal police force is handling the investigation. Detective Travis.”

“I wonder if he could use a hand.”

“She,” I said, then frowned. “What do you mean by that?”

“I told you, I was military police. I have a little experience with murder investigations. Maybe I should offer my services to Detective Travis.”

Remembering Travis's severe demeanor from the night before, I said, “I don't reckon that'd be a good idea. I think she's on top of the situation.”

Vince shrugged. “You're probably right. I've thought about going into police work, if I don't go back to grad school.” He chuckled. “But I guess nobody ever volunteers to be an amateur detective, do they?”

I hadn't exactly volunteered when folks started dying on that plantation outside of Atlanta the year before….

I pushed that thought out of my head and said, “I'm sure you'll figure out what you want to do with your life. Shoot, you're so young you don't have to worry about rushin' into anything.”

“Maybe so.”

We chatted for a few more minutes, and then my phone rang. I said, “Excuse me,” to Vince and took it out of my purse. Melissa and Luke's home number was in the display. “My daughter.”

“I'll see you later, ma'am,” Vince said with a friendly grin as he got up from the table. He waved and headed for the doors leading out onto the desk.

Ma'am?
Mark was right. It did sort of throw me.

I answered the phone, and Melissa's worried voice said, “Mom, are you all right?”

“Of course I'm all right,” I told her. “Why wouldn't I be?”

“It just came on the news that there was a murder on board the
Southern Belle
yesterday.”

Well, if it had made the TV, the proverbial doo-doo was about to hit the proverbial fan, I thought. Everybody on board would know before Captain Williams got a chance to make his announcement.

“Is it true?” Melissa went on.

“I'm afraid so.”

“Was the victim one of our clients?”

“Yep.”

“Oh, no,” she moaned. “More bad publicity. We were just putting that whole plantation business behind us.”

“Yeah, it sure was inconsiderate of Mr. Webster to go and get himself killed on one of our tours, wasn't it?”

“I didn't mean it like that,” Melissa said quickly. “Of course I'm sorry it happened. Is there anything I can do to help?”

“As a matter of fact, there is. Somebody broke into my cabin last night and stole my laptop—”

“That's terrible! Were you there?”

“No, it happened while I was out, thank goodness. But I'll need the serial number and all the other information you can get me about the computer for the police report.”

“Of course. When I get to the office, I'll e-mail it to—No, I guess I won't, will I?”

“Just call me,” I told her. “Check the computer for everything we have on Ben Webster, too.”

“The murder victim?”

“That's right. The detective in charge of the case asked me for his credit card number and anything else we have on file.”

“I'll take care of it as soon as I get to the office, Mom,” Melissa promised. “I don't imagine we'll have much that's useful to the police, though. Is there anything else?”

I hesitated, then said, “Find out anything you can about Eddie and Louise Kramer, too.”

“I remember the names…. Do they have anything to dowith the murder?”

“No, no,” I said. “I'm just curious about them.”

I wasn't sure why I asked her about the Kramers. They had no connection at all with Ben Webster except that they were on the same boat. But Eddie was big, and he had a temper….

There was no point in going down that road, I told myself. Anyway, Melissa probably wouldn't find anything in the computer except their basic info.

I assured her again that I was all right, told her to give my love to Luke, and said that I'd talk to her later after she got to the office. The coffee that was still in my cup was cold by now, but I drank it anyway and then left the dining room, unsure what I would do next. I was still mighty curious about the woman who had come to Mark's cabin in the middle of the night, as well as the gun, but circumstances had conspired to keep me from asking him about them.

Maybe I would go back up to his cabin and see if he was there. It wasn't as public a place as the dining room, but I couldn't really bring myself to believe that I'd be in any danger from him.