Set Sail for Murder (20 page)

“I was terrified that Dorian—by the way, he’s a creep—or the guards would turn around before you vanished! How did you know when it was safe to open your door and flee?”

“I have an actor’s perfect timing for making entrances and exits!” Polly insisted. “Also, I’d been watching those two thugs …”

“I thought they were kinda cute.”

“… through the peephole all night. They were bored out of their skulls. I could hear ‘em grousing about never getting to stand sentry for a
real
star. By the way, who is Jessica Biel and what’s an Amy Winehouse? Anyway, I was waiting for something that might distract them. I just knew my time would come, and it did. You and Dorian came along at precisely the right moment.”

Placenta looked at Polly with unvarnished distress. “Don’t blame the Grim Reaper if he reads the
Daily Wave
and realizes he has to make a quick stop here after all.”

Tim nodded. “You were safe inside your cabin.”

“As long as everyone thinks I’m under house detention, I’m completely secure,” Polly said. “Anyway, I’m not a child who can be sent to my room because of some infraction of parental rules or curfew. I’m Polly Freaking Pepper! Plus, we’re down to the wire. We have only two days left at sea. We have a mere forty-eight hours to find the killer. I can’t waste time with maritime laws, or whatever phony legal statutes Captain Sheridan thinks he can use to boss me around.”

Tim took a sip from his champagne glass. “Speaking of being bossed around, who the heck is this Dorian jerk? He reeks of gold digger. And he’s not the slightest bit cute!”

Polly’s face expressed mild surprise. “Not even a little? I think there’s some Charlie Gibson there. Minus the integrity, of course.”

“Not even Robin Williams sorta cuddly when he was Mork from Ork.”

Polly rolled her eyes. “Okay. So Dorian isn’t exactly the 1-800-Dentist guy, but he has a certain je ne sais quoi. No?”

“Bourgeois!”

Polly half nodded and half shook her head. “Actually, he’s already boring the sequins off my Bob Mackies. Any man who continually uses dumb phrases like, ‘Shows to go you’ is someone I’d probably end up hurting. Physically. By the way, I heard what you said about how well I raised you. I take full credit.”

Placenta took a deep breath. “You may reconsider knowing Tim, and me, after you hear the rumors that are probably circulating throughout the ship.”

Polly looked at Placenta, then took another sip from her champagne glass. “Rumors. Generally I love them. They usually hold a kernel of truth. What level of gossip are we talking about? Big stuff like Madonna’s latest boy toy? Or the who-seriously-gives-a-darn about Mel Gibson’s latest
lawsuits, knocked-up girlfriends, and Catholic hypocrisy? By the way, I think his ex-wifey totally deserves all the dough she’s getting from his hairy
Braveheart
butt.”

Tim shrugged. “Closer to Madonna, I guess. We found the killer tonight.”

Polly instantly sat up straight. “Who? What? Where?” Then she asked, “Wait a minute. You said ‘rumor.’”

Tim nodded. “Remember Lawrence?”

“I recall someone by that name being uncooperative with me.”

“Perhaps because he was innocent!” Placenta said.

“I mean, remember what you said
about
Lawrence?” Tim continued.

Polly pouted. “A minor misunderstanding.”

“Minor?” Placenta huffed. “Eddie Griffin crashing a Ferrari is minor compared to what you did.”

“Could’ve happened to anyone,” Polly defended herself.

“Glad that you feel that way,” Tim said, “because we played ‘Polly-mistaken-identity-Pepper’ tonight.” He nodded toward Placenta. “We were in the bar. Drinking martinis. Suddenly we found ourselves accusing a couple of people of killing Laura Crawford.”

“Martinis? That’s the root of your problem,” Polly said. “Stick to champagne, as I do. Keeps one’s mental acuity in perfect equilibrium.” She suddenly looked concerned. “Are we in trouble? Do I have to call J.J. to call in a few favors from his broken-nose friends to prevent slander lawsuits?”

Tim set his glass down, finger-combed his hair, and looked at his wristwatch. “It’s late. Let’s talk about this in the morning.”

“It’s already morning,” Polly said.

“So I’ve already been reminded.”

“Get it over with now.”

“Saul and Rosemary,” Placenta continued.

Polly twisted her mouth, knitted her eyebrows, and held
out her glass for another refill. “What about ‘em?” she said, taking a small sip from her glass.

“We sorta told everyone that they were Laura’s murderers,” Placenta said.

“We only
suggested
that they were guilty of one murder. Laura Crawford’s, to be precise,” Tim said.

Polly stood up and began to pace the small cabin floor. “I can understand how you might think Rosemary had something to do with Laura’s death. After all, she had the body in her massage room. But Saul? He’s an innocuous cruise director with a severe identity problem. The man hardly has enough time to race from his duties running the safety drill and the bingo games, the paintball contests, and the triple-X video rental library. When would he find the minutes needed to hack up a celebrity? Did you ever bother to ask yourselves what his motive might be? I guarantee it’s not because Laura rejected sleeping with him.”

When Tim and Placenta finished retelling the story of how they came to their erroneous conclusion that Saul and Rosemary and even Cori Berman had collectively become number one suspects, Polly threw her hands up and moaned. “Okay. Let’s look on the perky weather girl bright side. The good news is that we can cross off three more passengers from our list of suspects. The bad news, however—”

“Is that only leaves another couple thousand-plus possible killers,” said Placenta.

“Way to go, kids,” Polly said. “Now nobody will believe us the next time we point a finger.”

Tim and Placenta were at once relieved that Polly seemed to take their faux pas in stride, but upset that indeed they could hardly be taken seriously from this day forward. “I wish you could have seen the captain when he realized that we’d erred again.” Tim smiled.

“I also missed Mike Tyson cannibalizing Evander Holy-field’s ear,” Polly said. “Thank God for small blessings! And speaking of all that I’m thankful for, it’s nearly dawn!
As you know, I’m supposed to go overboard at seven. So let’s take a stroll along the Lido Deck. It could be my last bit of exercise before swimming to the Aleutian Islands. We might even encourage a killer to come out from hiding.”

Tim’s shoulders sagged. “I’m going to bed,” he said.

“I need a witness to my murder.”

“Call Dorian. He’d love to be your escort.”

Placenta made “Mmm-mmm” sounds and shook her head. She stood up, yawned and stretched, and looked at Polly. “You can break out of a gilded cage and evade two uniformed security personnel with side arms, but you’ll be a dead woman before you get past me. You know that’s true,” she said sharply. Placenta reached for a bathrobe hanging in the tiny closet next to the cabin door. As she tossed it to Polly she said, “Take off your clothes and put this on. Brush your teeth. And be afraid.”

Polly took a defiant stance. “I’ve told you a gazillion times; I worked for Sterling ‘We put the sun in places where it don’t even shine’ Studios. They’re all killers at that famously unhappiest place in the universe. Since then, I’m not afraid of anything. You’re the one who should be in fear. I hold the pen that signs your paychecks!”

Placenta straightened to her full height. “Don’t make me e-mail the
National Peeper
with a firsthand account of how the famous Polly Pepper is carrying on a shipboard romance with Cori Berman. It’s easy enough to Photoshop a picture of you dancing with that way-too-young-for-you child star has-been.

Polly swallowed hard. She looked at Tim for support. When he smirked and nodded in agreement with Placenta, Polly’s nostrils flared and she folded her arms across her chest. “You’re not the boss of me,” she countered. “I have so many Emmy Awards, Angela Lansbury hates me!”

Placenta said, “Trust me. I can unload those babies to private collectors for big bucks. If you want to live to worship
those little gods again, you’ll wash your face, tinkle, and hit the sack until Cap’n Crunch is told that you disappeared into thin air, and comes looking for you here.”

“Good night, er, morning, Polly,” Tim said as he tried to peck his mother’s cheek, which she turned away in rebellion. “When I wake up, I’ll share a great idea for recruiting your fans to help in the search for Laura’s killer,” Tim said.

Polly gave Tim a hurt look of betrayal. “I may not be around to discuss the idea. I could be killed at any moment, and it appears that my own army is turning its back on me.”

“Remember that adorable Pillsbury dough boy we met when you were making that
Detention Rules!
stinker musical last year?” Tim asked.

“Duane, the security man,” Polly said.

“Sweet, obsequious, servile Duane,” Tim confirmed.

“Unlike you two, he would have done anything for me!”

“Precisely,” Tim asserted. “We’re surrounded by a boatload of bootlickers just like him. We’re not taking advantage of their starstruck idol worship. Someone on this ship knows who knocked off Laura. All you have to do is appeal to your fan base to spread out like a search party with bloodhounds, and beg for their help in tracking down whatever information they can score.”

Polly’s eyes glistened. “Go away. I need to sleep. I’ve got a big day ahead of me. I have to rehearse a big scene. The one where I convince my fans that I’ll probably become their best friend if they help me ferret out a killer.”

A
t ten
A.M
., Captain Sheridan arrived at Polly’s stateroom. The two guards reported that their assignment had gone smoothly, and that with the exception of Dorian Dawson and Tim Pepper attempting to visit, the night was uneventful.

Captain Sheridan knocked on Polly’s door. No answer. He knocked again and called out, “Miss Pepper?” No response.

“Perhaps she’s in the shower,” said one of the security guards.

“Perhaps she’s passed out from all the champagne she drinks,” said the other.

“Or maybe she found the cabin too small and stuffy and decided to take a stroll for a bit of fresh air and autograph signing,” a woman’s voice said from behind the men.

The captain and guards turned around.

“You boys did a nifty job,” Polly said, smiling at the two handsome sailors.

Captain Sheridan looked at Polly Pepper with a dumbfounded expression. “How?” he said, then turned to the two seamen who were at once confused and embarrassed.

“Impossible!” said one of the men to Polly.

Polly stepped forward and patted the young man’s cheek. “My mother used to use that word a lot when I said I wanted to be a star.” Then she pushed her key card into the slot on the door lock. “I just stopped by to get a few things.” She turned around and curtsied to the two guards. “You boys were divine. If I were the queen of England, I’d certainly assign you to guard the crown jewels.”

She then turned to the captain and smiled. “I know that you’re just doing your job, Sweetums. Protecting a famous passenger, I mean. I promise to return the favor. In fact, I’m already on the job. My divine agent is doing his best to kill a story that was leaked to the
National Peeper.
Something about a banner headline in which the entire Kool Krooz fleet of boats is accused of holding celebrity passengers against their will in the ship’s meat lockers. For some reason, you’re singled out as an example.”

Polly saw the look of incredulity on Captain Sheridan’s face. “Of course that’s a stretch. You and I know it. But the ladies in the checkout line at the Piggly Wiggly believe everything they read in that nasty tabloid. Not to worry. We’ll do all we can so that your upcoming retirement doesn’t come sooner than expected. After all the years of service you’ve given to this cruise line, we wouldn’t want to give them any reason to withhold your full pension.”

Just as Polly was about to turn around and enter the cabin, Captain Sheridan suddenly growled and kicked in the cabin door.

Polly looked at the broken door, then at the captain and the security team, and back to the door again. She crossed her arms. “I smell a cabin upgrade,” she said.

Captain Sheridan glowered, gave the door one more kick, and left in a huff. As he disappeared down the corridor Polly called out, “I hope that the
National Peeper
story isn’t too hot to retract. Good luck, Sweetums!”

The two security guards were shaken to the soles of their highly polished black shoes. “He’ll calm down,” Polly said. “When he’s in a better mood I’ll talk to him.”

“Don’t hold your breath waiting for the right moment,” said Stephen Ronson, the shorter guard. “He thinks he’s king of the world. The only fear Captain Sheridan has is that something will happen to keep him from retiring next year.”

The other guard, Marc Garner, added, “He’ll probably go to his grave angry that he was outfoxed by a mere celebrity. One from
television
no less! Oh, no offense.”

“None taken, dear,” Polly said. “Actually, being on the tube, more people have seen me than all the collective audiences on Broadway who ever saw Ethel Merman. The captain may not realize it, but he was outwitted by a very big star.”

She looked at the two blank faces. “Ethel Merman. An American actress. Known for singing in hit shows on Broadway.” The two men shrugged. “Forget it,” she said. “You’re too young to even know that Ron Howard was once famous for doing something other than directing movies.”

Officer Garner said, “We didn’t fall asleep during the night, so how did you get past us?”

“Honey, stars do all sorts of astonishing things. Stick around and you might even see me fly. I was a hit as Peter Pan at the Manassas Music Tent!”

“Seriously,” said Ronson. “We’re in deep doo-doo. How can we explain ourselves to Captain Sheridan?”

Polly instantly felt bad for the young men. “I’ll have a chat with Captain Neptune. I’ll explain that while you were heroically trying to stop a fight between my son and Dorian Dawson, I slipped away. You’re not at fault. I’ll make him understand. There. Done. Now, you can do something for me. What’s the dish behind the death of my friend Laura Crawford?”