Set Sail for Murder (21 page)

Both men shrugged.

“I know this is a big boat and the crew is quite large, but surely you all talk amongst yourselves and someone must have heard something that could be used to indict the killer,” Polly said. “I’m getting desperate. Tell you what, I’ll send a letter of commendation about your exemplary work ethics to the CEO of Kool Kroozes, if you give me just a small bit. A nibble. A morsel. Please?”

Officer Ronson shook his head. “All I’ve heard is that whoever murdered the actress had to be physically strong.”

“Also, they were able to evade detection for one reason only: there are no cameras in the spa,” the other sailor said. “We’ve got hundreds of hidden lenses everywhere, so either the killer got lucky by terminating the passenger’s life in the spa, or he knew from firsthand experience that he’d be safe there away from the eyes of Big Brother.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know all that,” Polly said as she folded her arms across her chest and slipped into deep contemplation. Finally, she said, “Most passengers don’t know about all the security measures that cruise ships take to prevent piracy and terrorists blowing ‘em all out of the water. I never ruled out foul play by a member of the crew. Now, after seeing your lovely captain’s bizarre-o outburst, I’m adding him to the pool of suspects.”

“Captain Sheridan wouldn’t hurt a fly,” Officer Garner said. “However, in the absence of flies, he’s more than happy to tear a new hole into anyone in the crew who disobeys an order, or who just crosses him. I’ve seen him go berserk if he sees a distant cloud in the sky when it’s supposed to be sunny.”

“In other words, he’s mental like the Sterling Studios publicity execs I’ve had to deal with,” Polly said.

Tim’s voice was heard.

Polly and the two crew members turned to find him and Placenta sidling up to them.

Placenta added, “Everyone’s left our pool of suspects. Lawrence and Rosemary and Dangelo and Saul and every
other innocent we’ve foolishly suspected. They’re all drying off together in the cabana marked
ABOVE SUSPICION.”

Tim pointed to Polly’s cabin door. “Yikes!
Fee-fi-fo-fum.
If that’s the result of a tantrum, I’d hate to be around when the giant is out for blood!”

“Yeah. Look for us in the infirmary,” said Ronson. “What Captain Sheridan did to that door, he’s likely to do to us, too.” He looked at Polly. “There isn’t anything you can do to make him see another side to the situation. All that he’s able to understand is that we failed our assignment. He doesn’t have an once of empathy in his body. There isn’t room in his thought process for excuses, even if they’re legit.”

Polly’s shoulders sagged. “Sorry, boys. I know how you feel. I used to have to tighten my sphincter whenever Shari Draper, that vice president of publicity witch, summoned me to her office to complain about something I’d said in an interview with
Good Housekeeping
or
Redbook
or
Vanity Fair.
The only way to get back at people like Draper or your Sheridan is to find their Achilles’ heel and publicly puncture their arrogance. I did it with a hidden camera in my hair, and broadcast her tirade on YouTube.”

“It was hysterically funny!” Placenta laughed. “Draper made Bill O’Reilly, Glenn Beck, and Michael Richards look like spoiled brats.”

Polly smiled. “Ha! She forgot how beloved I am. By the time my little video, which my brilliant Timmy put together complete with the ‘O-E-Yah! E-O-Ah!’ chant by the castle guards of the Wicked Witch of the West in
The Wizard of Oz,
made the rounds on 4.5 million computers worldwide, she was tossed out of Hollywood. Do I feel any remorse over having someone dethroned? Nah!”

The two security guards looked at each other. The taller one said, “I never thought of Captain Sheridan being guilty of anything so heinous as murder. But hypothetically, what if he really is responsible for something like Laura Crawford’s death? What if we could help prove it?”

Polly clapped her hands together in heady excitement. “I love retribution, don’t you?” She planted kisses on the foreheads of both men and said, in her most theatrical voice, “Go forth, my children! Return unto me when thou hast slain the dragon!”

Tim rolled his eyes. “In other words, reconnaissance and then let’s meet up for a drink in Polly’s new cabin—wherever that ends up being—at say, seven tonight.”

As they nodded and began to walk away, the two men looked as gleeful as Polly. “If you don’t see us again, check the meat locker,” Ronson called back in jest.

“Or the ocean,” said Garner.

Polly, Tim, and Placenta watched as the men slowly disappeared down the corridor. They turned a corner and were gone from sight. “They’re too cute to be in trouble,” Tim said.

“I feel completely guilty,” Polly added. “Those boys don’t deserve what they’ll probably get from that monster Captain Sheridan. Wouldn’t it be marvelous if Sheridan actually had something to do with Laura’s death? He’s certainly strong enough to have ripped her head off. And God, he’s got a mean streak!”

“I just hope that you haven’t sent those two cuties to their deaths,” Tim said. “Now let’s get the deck steward to get you a new cabin.”

“One as gorgeous as Laura’s! Restitution for all the mental trauma I’ve suffered,” Polly said.

After supervising the transfer of the contents of Polly’s stateroom to an upper deck veranda suite, the trio set out to collect as many of her most stalwart fans as possible and invite them to meet personally with the legend herself. With each hesitation to accept the offer came the same question, “Am I going to be accused of not tipping enough? Or of cheating at bingo?”

Following her four o’clock appearance with Arnie and
Tommy in the theater, Polly raced to the Coral Lounge where Tim and Placenta had assembled thirty of her fans for this special meet ‘n’ greet. Among the collection of mostly elderly women, there were also a few men. While everyone held a glass of champagne in their hand, Polly made a brief speech about her appreciation of their support over the many years of her career, and how much she valued each and every one of them.

Then Tim took the floor. He explained that as a dear friend and colleague of the late Laura Crawford’s, Polly had a very personal interest in finding the person who’d snuffed out Auntie Laura’s life. “Therefore, would everyone present please put on their thinking caps and try to remember if they had seen or heard anything about that terrible night that might offer a clue as to who the killer might be.”

Although there was a lot of murmuring in the crowd, no one raised their hand. Tim persisted. “My mother is so distraught about what happened to her very best friend on the planet, that she hasn’t been quite herself since our first day at sea. You’ve brought Polly Pepper enormous joy and pleasure for many years. And she’s done the same for you. She loves you as much as you love her. Don’t we want to help the people we love? Of course we do. Therefore, even the smallest bit of information that you might have about Laura Crawford’s death may mean more than you think. If you have anything to mention, even something that you think is dumb or insignificant, please let Polly know. There’s a reward, too.”

At the sound of the word
reward,
six hands reached into the air. Tim smiled warmly and called on the woman closest to him.

“How much?” she demanded.

Tim was taken aback. “Um, that depends on how useful the information is.” He called on another old woman.

“I want cash.”

“Do you have information that could lead to the arrest and conviction of Laura Crawford’s killer?”

“That depends.”

“On?”

“Whether or not you pay me in small bills.”

Tim was becoming increasingly frustrated but forged ahead. “Is there anyone here who loves Polly Pepper, and maybe even Laura Crawford, enough to be of service? Sure there’s a reward, but isn’t it in our natures to do the right thing even if there’s no monetary compensation?”

The room was quiet. Tim gave up. “Thank you all for coming,” he said. “I know that Polly wants to say thank you, too.”

Polly stood in the center of the bar and smiled her famous overbite smile. “I certainly do adore all of you. If any little memory about this case creeps into your heads, you know where to find me. I’ll be all ears. Cheers!” She raised her glass and, speaking out of the side of her mouth to Tim, said, “Little memory is all they have collectively. This was a waste of time.”

As the fans shuffled out of the room, Polly, Tim, and Placenta sat down to finish off the bottle of champagne. Placenta poured and Polly raised her glass again. “What would Jessica Fletcher do if she were in my shoes?”

“At eight fifty-five she reveals the killer,” Placenta said. “We still have time to solve the mystery before the end credits roll.”

From the corner of her eye, Polly could see a figure slowly approach the table. She turned and found a shrunken woman with a widow’s hump reaching out to touch Polly’s shoulder. Polly smiled as Tim gallantly stood up and retrieved a chair for the woman.

“You have a very polite son,” the woman said. “I’m Mrs. Hardy. I want to tell you how much I love you and your old show.”

Polly put her hands to her heart and sighed. “Dear Mrs. Hardy. I can’t tell you how much it means to me to hear you say those words. Don’t I know you? Are you in that commercial? ‘Clap on! Clap off!’ No. Of course not. That old woman probably clapped off ages gone. May I offer you a glass of champagne?”

Mrs. Hardy shook her head but smiled. “I stopped doing drugs and alcohol years ago.”

Polly said, “I hope you don’t think less of me for enjoying a small glass now and then.”

“Heavens, no,” Mrs. Hardy said. “It’s your liver!”

Placenta tittered.

Polly frowned. “Would you like an autograph, dear?”

“No thank you,” Mrs. Hardy said in her soft and easygoing manner. “I just wanted to unburden myself of guilt about that dear dead girl Laura who used to be on your show.”

Polly straightened up and took a long sip from her flute. “What would a dear old, er,
sweet
woman such as yourself have to feel guilty about?”

“I think I sent her to her grave.”

Polly, Tim, and Placenta were now facing Mrs. Hardy so closely that they could smell her dusting of lilac talcum.

“I was having dinner in the Tsunami Grill on our first night out,” Mrs. Hardy continued. “I travel alone, so I’m generally seated at an orphan’s table. I heard a commotion at the maître d’s stand and I instantly recognized Laura Crawford, even though she was fatter than when she was on your show. The next thing I know she’s being seated next to me! I remember she grumbled and said, ‘Can’t even get a decent table in this dump!’”

Tim nodded. “That’s Laura.”

“Anyway, the poor thing ignored dining room etiquette and answered her cell phone,” Mrs. Hardy continued. “She was instantly agitated. Her hands were shaking, as if
she hadn’t had a ciggy in days. I asked her what was wrong and she said, ‘Roaming charges. They’re killing me. And mind your own business.’”

Placenta said, “Yep.”

“Finally, after a Manhattan, she loosened up. Said she was upset by the call, and that she had some unpleasant business to attend to.”

“What business?” Polly said.

Mrs. Hardy said, “Laura knocked back her drink and signaled for a refill. Then she said, ‘I have to meet a man about an empty can of soup.’ I patted her hand and told her to order the chicken noodle, and that everything would work out fine. She gave me a look, as though I was off my rocker and said, ‘No it won’t. My life is over.’

“That’s when I suggested tha t she treat herself to a massage before her tryst. I assumed ‘an empty can’ is young people speak for something clandestine. I said that a full body massage would loosen her up better than alcohol. For the first time she gave me a small smile. She said I had a good idea and that she wasn’t hungry anyway, she was just killing time until her appointment. Then she left the table. I watched her leave, and saw that she grabbed her second Manhattan off the waiter’s tray as he passed by. She drank it down and then disappeared out of the restaurant.”

Polly and her team were less than enthusiastic. However, they expressed sincere appreciation to Mrs. Hardy for taking the time to share her memory of meeting Laura Crawford. Polly promised to send a complimentary special collector’s edition boxed set of
The Polly Pepper Playhouse
with commentary and color photo booklet, as an expression of appreciation. When Mrs. Hardy stood to leave, Polly, Tim, and Placenta politely stood as well.

As the old woman shuffled away, the trio exchanged looks. “Laura was a recovering alcoholic,” Polly said. “A
couple of Manhattans would have knocked her on her butt. But maybe she didn’t care if she fell off the wagon.”

“She ate junk,” Tim added. “I never think of her as the type to order soup.”

“But she did go to the spa for a massage as Mrs. Hardy suggested,” Placenta said.

“Everyone knows that Laura was murdered there,” Polly said. “It’s not a stretch to think that Mrs. Hardy imagined that she and Laura Crawford shared a few moments together on the last night of Laura’s life. Oh, I don’t know what to think!”

Just then, Tim looked up and said, “Here’s what I think—that I should be leaving. Dorian just entered the room.”

“Good grief,” Polly said before switching to “Polly Pepper the legend” mode. She smiled warmly and accepted Dorian’s kiss on each of her cheeks. “Dear me,” she said, “I think it’s high time you met my lovely family. This is Placenta….”

“A pleasure,” Dorian said as he extended his hand to hers.

“And my little Timmy.”

Dorian and Tim stood perfectly still, their eyes locked on one another. Finally, Dorian nodded his acknowledgment and simply said, “Son.”

“You’re just in time to buy me another bottle of veuve,” Polly giggled.

Tim nudged Placenta and said, “We have that
thing
to get to.”

“That doesn’t start for another hour.” Placenta smiled wickedly.

“All the good seats will be taken,” Tim insisted.

Polly said. “You two run along. Dorian and I don’t want to bore you with art talk, which seems to be his topic du jour every time we meet. I’m so glad that I found another passenger with more on his mind than wet T-shirt contests! Off you go.”