Set Sail for Murder (11 page)

Without missing a beat Polly said, “I didn’t want to carry around all seventy-five pages filled with names, dear. I won’t have time to thank everybody, the way I wanted to express my appreciation to you and Sarah.”

Rachel gave Polly a quizzical look, and took another sip from her champagne glass. “The truth is, a guy came into the bookstore while I was there. He didn’t have his Kool Krooz Swelltime Pass for shopping. He asked if I would charge it to my account, and he’d give me the $29.99, plus tax. I was just doing a good deed for another passenger.”

Polly gave Rachel a wide, insincere smile. “Then he’s the next customer on my list of passengers to whom I must give a great big Polly Pepper hello and autograph. What’s his name?”

Rachel shrugged. “Sorta cute-looking. Maybe a little tough acting.”

Tim leaned in toward Rachel and said, “Neil Patrick Harris cute? Or Mark Harmon cute and tough acting?”

Rachel returned Tim’s smile. “We’re on the same page, sugar. This one was Colin Firth extreme.”

“And you didn’t get his name?” Placenta marveled.

Rachel shook her head. “I’ve been kicking myself ever since! I figured I’d see him around and then guilt him into
buying me a drink. You know the game. I did him a favor, now it’s his turn to repay. But I haven’t seen him anywhere. Maybe he’s spending all his time watching those darn DVDs.”

“That’s the only logical explanation!” Polly said. “But in the meantime, I’m keeping my eyes on Miss Vacation Bible School. Something tells me there’s a serpent missing from the garden, and she knows where it’s slithered to.”

A
s Polly and her posse left the lounge, they wandered to the glass elevator in the center atrium. Soon, they found themselves walking without purpose along the vast expanse of the outside Lido Deck. It was late. The air was crisp and breezy. Despite the hour and cool temperature, laughing couples were enjoying the Jacuzzi. A few other romantics were enfolded in each other’s arms. “That puts me in a mood,” Polly sighed as she and her team strolled passed another canoodling couple.

Polly looked at Placenta. “You have Mr. Piano Man,” she said. She looked at Tim. “And you have Mr. Danger-glow. Don’t ever let me go on a romantic cruise again, unless I’m with Randy, or a reasonable facsimile of Mr. Right.”

Tim hugged himself against the cold air. “You and Randy aren’t married, or even engaged. There’s nothing wrong with you making a new friend—just for this week.”

Polly harrumphed.

“A Kool Krooz is not elegant enough for your mama to find anyone suitable to hang with,” Placenta agreed. “God knows she can’t be seen sitting alone at a bar in the Coral Lounge. The
Peeper
would love a shot of that! That only leaves a one-in-a-bajillion chance encounter with an eligible
man in the library or at the bingo parlor or the shuffle-board playoffs. The good ones don’t play old folks’ games, and they bring their own books. So it’s a lost cause.”

Tim briskly rubbed his arms for warmth. “When I see Dangelo tonight, I’ll get the skinny on who’s single and available. You do the same when you meet up with Lawrence,” he said to Placenta.

Polly shook her head. “I can take care of myself. The only man I want is whichever of your boys killed Laura Crawford. Just hand him over to me in the morning!” Polly turned around and started back toward the warmth of the inside deck. “Get on with your love lives! And play safe!” she said to Tim and Placenta. “I’m going to my stateroom. And don’t call me before nine, unless you’ve got someone handcuffed.”

“You mean with a signed and notarized statement of guilt in hand!” Tim said, and gave his mother a kiss on her left cheek.

Placenta gave her a tight hug. “Sleep well,” she called back to Polly as she and Tim bolted toward the glass elevator and their respective assignations.

Polly shook her head. “Who needs it? I’ve had my fair share.” She gracefully walked along the carpeted floor to the center atrium. At the railing that overlooked all the decks, she peered down ten stories to the sparkling mirrortiled grand piano on a platform stage. Soon the music stopped, and although she couldn’t see well enough from her distance, she knew it was Placenta who closed the keyboard cover and guided her boyfriend off the small stage. “I guess that’s a wrap,” she said, and started to walk away.

“Rotten timing,” said a voice from a man she hadn’t noticed leaning against the balcony beside her. Polly turned and did an imperceptible double take. He was slightly taller than she, probably in his early sixties, and wore his gray hair in youthful but not immature short spikes. “I was going to cap off the night with a drink by the piano,” he said.

Polly smiled as she instantly absorbed the bright white teeth behind the man’s own wide smile, as well as his rimless glasses, smooth facial skin, brass buttons of his navy blue sport coat, and a lapel pin that Polly assumed was from a fraternal organization. “There’s always the Carpathia Lounge,” Polly offered. “That is if you like Gershwin, Rodgers and Hart, Porter, Coward and a smattering of the Beatles.”

“Toss in a bit of Dusty Springfield, a pinch of Petula Clark, and a dash of Diana Ross, and I’m a very happy man.” He held out his hand to shake. “I’m Dorian.”

Polly accepted Dorian’s hand. “I spoke at Dusty’s funeral. So sad.”

After a moment in which the two absorbed each other with their eyes, Dorian said, “Let’s hit the Carpathia.”

“The Germans already did that.”

Dorian uttered an involuntary laugh. “A quick drink and a memorial toast to dead singers we’ve loved and lost. That may take us to dawn.”

“Dawn, as in, Tony Orlando
and?”

In a fraction of an instant, a thousand thoughts about not accepting candy from strangers and never picking up hitchhikers raced through Polly’s mind. However, none of the warnings were persuasive enough to outweigh the allure of a glass of champagne with an attractive and friendly gentleman, and listening to what she called “real music.” The fact that Dorian got Polly’s joke about the Carpathia cinched the deal.

When Tim and Placenta knocked on Polly’s stateroom door the next morning, the usual call to
“Entrez vous,”
didn’t come. After a few more knuckles to the door, and a long gulp of coffee from a stainless-steel carafe on the corridor floor, Tim used the spare key card to enter Polly’s cabin. In the pitch-blackness of the stateroom, Placenta felt along the wall for the light switch by the door. When the
room was visible, she and Tim saw Polly in bed, lying in repose on her back. Her pink silk monogrammed sleep mask covered her eyes. “It’s Evita Perón in her glass coffin,” Placenta cracked. “How the heck can anyone sleep as long as she does?”

“It’s in the family genes. I’d still be in the sack, if you hadn’t barged in on me …”

“… and Dangelo!”

“You should have arrived sooner. He’s in deep doo-doo for missing his five o’clock call. I need more java.”

Placenta looked at her watch. “It’s way past breakfast time in the dining room, and she’s dead to the world.”

“Undead,” Polly moaned, but did not move.

“It’s alive!” Tim cried out in his best Gene Wilder impersonation, and moved to sit on the edge of Polly’s bed. He picked up his mother’s inert hand and let it drop back onto the mattress. “What’s up?”

“Late night?” Placenta teased.

“Mmm.”

“Henry Winkler happened along and you made babies until all hours?” Tim said.

“Mmm.”

“She played nurse to Patrick Dempsey’s Dr. Shepherd,” Placenta added.

Polly was silent.

Tim chuckled. “Nah. Polly would be more likely to go for Richard Dean Anderson. I think he’s aboard.”

Polly remained silent.

Suddenly, Tim looked at Placenta. Then he looked at his mother. He looked back at Placenta. Together they cried, “Oh my God!”

“You’re the ones who suggested I find a friend,” Polly said flatly.

Tim and Placenta exchanged momentary looks of confusion before they reacted with simultaneous wide smiles. “Who is he?” Tim demanded, like a kid wanting to know
what surprise was waiting for him in a gift box. “A deck officer? The cruise director’s assistant is hot. Not one of the chorus boys from
Ha-Ha, Hollywood!”

“The captain?” Placenta added, expecting that any man that Polly had met had to be someone more important than a cabin steward.

Polly lifted the sleep mask from over one eye and squinted at the bright light in the room. “Which chorus boy?” she asked Tim.

“Never mind,” Tim said. “What’s going on?”

Polly groaned as she sat up in bed and adjusted the pillows behind her back. “Obviously, I’m not going to get any sleep with you two Katie Courics waiting for a news headline.” She looked at an uncorked bottle of champagne in the ice bucket. “Anything left in there?” she asked.

Placenta poured what little remained of the champagne into a water glass and handed it to Polly. “I’ll call room service.”

Polly drank the now-flat champagne and handed the glass back to Placenta. She sighed. “Yes, I met someone. Yes, he’s very nice. Yes, I stayed up all night long. No, we did not exchange body fluids. At least as far as I can remember. Anyway, you two probably had a much hotter time.”

“As a matter of fact …” Tim started to say.

“Things are …” Placenta interrupted him.

Polly looked at her son and then her maid with an expression of bewilderment. “Familiarity breeds contempt, eh?”

Placenta picked up the telephone to reach room service. “Don’t get me wrong, Lawrence is a man of many talents. But he can’t let go of Laura Crawford denting his ego. Get over it. The woman’s dead, for crying out loud!” She returned to the operator and said, “Dead? Yes. 911? No.”

Tim nodded in agreement. “Dangelo is everything a shipboard fling should be, except …”

“Last night you were all sweaty and into each other,” Polly said.

“But it seemed that he spent more time telling me Laura got what she deserved, instead of giving me what I deserved. I need …”

“… a security blankie.” Polly chuckled. “Poor baby. You should have hung around with me a while longer last night. Like Forrest Gump’s chocolate box, you never know what you’re going to find on a cruise ship.”

“And a large pot of coffee, please,” Placenta completed her room service order.

“Whatever happened would
not
have happened if we’d hung out with you,” Tim said. “And you haven’t answered our question. Who?”

Polly was now as animated as a fairy-tale princess awaking from a deep sleep and finding that the ogre had turned into Ryan Reynolds. She crossed her legs Indian-style on her bed and welcomed Tim and Placenta to sit closer to her. “He’s just a guy,” she said.

“Cute?” Tim asked.

“As cute as sixty-two can be,” Polly sniggered. “I’m sure he was more attractive forty years ago!”

“Rich?” Placenta asked.

Polly shrugged. “There was an air.”

“Gigolo,” Tim said.

“We like a lot of the same things.”

“Your Facebook page doesn’t hold back many secrets,” Tim continued. “Don’t get me wrong. I’m thrilled that you finally met someone on this floating crime scene, but you’ve gotta be wary of good-looking, single men of a certain age. Does he wear a mustache?”

“No.”

“Drats!” Tim said. “There goes my image of a grease-ball slime bucket.”

Suddenly, there was a knock on the cabin door. “Champagne
and coffee,” Placenta said, and went to open the door. The steward holding the tray gave her a warm smile and set the tray down on the small dressing table. He handed her an envelope and said, “This was outside your door.”

Placenta nudged Tim and rubbed her thumb against her fingertips. “Tip the man,” she said, and handed the envelope to Polly. On the outside was hand printed: P.P. “I’ll open the bottle,” she said.

As Tim poured himself a cup of black coffee, Polly opened the sealed envelope and withdrew a sheet of paper. After a quick read she said, “Timmy, you’re better at riddles than I am. What’s this supposed to mean?”

Tim took the paper from Polly and read aloud. “‘You’re as warm as Laura is cold.’” He handed the note to Placenta.

“Yikes! Someone’s telling you that you’re close to finding the killer. D’ya think?” Placenta handed the note back to Polly. “Maybe it
is
Lawrence Deerfield. As I was starting to say earlier, his obsession with how poorly Laura Crawford treated him is really weird. If only he didn’t cuddle so well. Still, he’s not the catch I thought he was. And speaking of boxes—we weren’t, but I’m changing the subject—I found the special deluxe edition boxed set of DVDs in his cabin. Guess which disc is missing? Number six! I peeked. He might be your match for murder. Just let me have a couple of more nights before you have him arrested.”

Tim made a face and shook his head. “I was going to say the same thing about Dangelo. Talk about being neurotic over Laura Crawford. The guy is amazing in—”

“Save it for Grandma,” Polly reminded her son.

“But my gosh, I want to hear about how adorable
I
am, not all the lascivious things he did to convince Laura Crawford to drop her formal complaint against him.”

Polly looked at her son and maid and held up the note. “So, is this a threat, or an indication that I’m close to solving the crime?”

“Maybe it’s from your new boy toy, er grandfather joy,” Placenta said. “How warm did the two of you become last night?”

“Nah. If the note came from Dorian, he’d have signed it,” Polly said.

“Dorian?” Tim and Placenta chuckled in unison.

Polly laughed too. “Some parents can be mean. Imagine going through life with a name like Dorian or Track or Trig or Kal-el or Puma or Moon Unit? We had a set of twins in school named Tamara and NotTamara. Your father #1 insisted on Tim for you because the experts at the time said that a one-syllable name was very masculine.”

“Joke’s on him!” Placenta teased.

Tim gave her a playful shove. “But seriously, an anonymous note is not something to take lightly.”

“I don’t see anything sinister about this one,” Polly quipped. “Whoever sent it is probably a fan who is simply expressing what everyone knows, that I’m a warm human being.”