Darkest Journey (21 page)

“But Ricky Simpson...he and the entertainment staff—including the other tour guides—could have been on deck.”

“And,” he said, “they could be on the Sun Deck right now. Shall we go up?”

She nodded and started walking, then hesitated and turned back again. For a moment it seemed as if the day went away, as if a gray miasma fell over the room. She heard coughing and moaning, and where only a moment ago there had been a busy crowd of employees, only a few men and women, doctors and nurses, were moving about the room. The floor, though, was covered in men, some lying on pallets, others seated, all of them wrapped in bandages and the tatters of their uniforms, both the blue and the gray. Rickety tables held bowls of water, and most of that water was red. She blinked, but the vision remained, and she wondered if what she was seeing replayed daily, like long-gone soldiers living out their last minutes on the battlefield. They were clearly unaware of her or anyone else.

She reached out to grab Jude's arm, but he had already moved into the hall, and she could vaguely hear him talking to Alexi and Clara.

Suddenly one of the men—a doctor, she thought—turned to look at her, aware of her even as the scene went on around him. He saluted her and then went back to his duties.

“Charlie?” Clara said.

“Coming,” she said, and quickly joined her friends in the hall.

A dish dropped and shattered, followed by laughter. Drawn by the sound, Charlie looked back through the doorway.

The window to the past had disappeared.

But memories of the long-dead man who had paused to look at her remained. He'd realized she was there.

Did he know something? Anything? Could he help her?

If he could, she knew he would find her.

She shivered slightly. These days the
Journey
might be a beautifully restored riverboat.

But her past, Charlie knew, had been bathed in blood.

11

T
he
Journey
was leaving port.

Ethan saw Charlie standing at the rail, watching the river. A quick glance assured him she wasn't alone. Clara, Alexi and Jude were only a few feet away. Thor had been planning to meet with the ship's doctor earlier, but the man hadn't shown, so Thor had chatted with the nurses instead. The doctor still hadn't arrived by the time Thor had to leave to join the others.

The wind caught Charlie's hair and swept it back. Her profile was so perfect, caught in the golden light of the setting sun. The Algiers district was across the river, and as they left port, they could see the riverfront by the French Quarter, the steeple of St. Louis Cathedral rising high. Ethan strode over to her, aware the ship was now filled with passengers crowding the rail here on the top deck as they set out.

“Isn't it beautiful?” Charlie said to him. “I understand why my father's chosen to work on a ship. Of course, he didn't start until after I left for college and my mom died. Before that he'd taught in Baton Rouge and gave tours there and at various plantations. But he loves this.” She paused, looking at him. “Speaking of my dad... How did it go?”

“Great. He thinks you have deplorable taste in men, but since you can't have a giant German shepherd on board, he seems to think I'm the next best thing. In fact, he pretty much gave me his approval to sleep with you.”

“I'm sorry,” she said, laughing. “But...really? Dad gave you his approval? I'll believe that when I see it.” She turned serious. “But I guess you being able to joke about it means he wasn't too hostile?”

“No, actually, we had an almost pleasant conversation.”

“Well, good. And what do you think about what he told you?”

“I think I need to speak to Shelley Corley and find out if anyone else had even an inkling of what was going on between her and Farrell.”

Charlie looked worried. “I'm not trying to pretend bigots don't exist, but I honestly don't think the killer's a racist who was mad because a white man and a black man were friends.”

“Charlie, I agree. I think we're looking for someone who had a very personal grudge against both victims, a grudge that had nothing to do with racial prejudice but might still involve the engagement.”

“But why kill Selma?” she asked. “Albion was friendly with her, but I doubt she knew anything about his personal life.”

“I don't know the answer to that, not yet. But I'm certain she died because she knew him.”

Just then Thor walked up and joined them. “It's beautiful here—very different from where I come from.” He leaned against the rail. “I talked with the two nurses. A number of the reenactors wound up in the infirmary. Two wasp stings, one gash that needed stitches—another reenactor didn't know his right from his left—and a case of poison ivy acquired ashore. They didn't remember the names, but they're going to get the records for me. Probably won't mean anything, but...” He shrugged. “I still need to talk to the doctor. Apparently he's up here on deck somewhere.”

“I think that's him,” Clara said, and pointed across the deck. “I saw his picture on the Meet Your Crew bulletin board by guest services.”

A man in a white uniform, complete with cap, was talking to a pair of young women. He was tall and blond and suntanned, lean, probably about forty-five or fifty.

“We can find out,” Ethan said and walked over to the man. He excused himself to the women and said something to the man, who shook hands and then accompanied Ethan to join them at the rail.

He was indeed Dr. Gerard Amerind—“Gerry to my friends”—and he said he hoped they would all be his friends.

After the others introduced themselves, Ethan cut right to the chase and asked, “So, what do you remember from the day of the special reenactment?”

“What do I remember?” Amerind asked. He snorted. “Grown men getting hurt in ridiculous ways. First, two of them disturbed a wasps' nest. Could have been worse if they hadn't been the only ones stupid enough to try getting rid of it. Then there was an idiot guy who got confused between right and left, and cut one of his fellow reenactors. That guy needed stitches. Another idiot got into poison ivy before he came aboard.”

“Your nurses told me about all of them,” Thor said politely.

Amerind let out a sigh. “They're great nurses, though they'd be even better if they weren't jumping out of their skins all the time. They're convinced the ship is haunted.”

“What respectable ship isn't?” Clara asked with a smile.

Amerind didn't seem to hear her. He looked perplexed, as if he had just thought of something. He looked at them and said uneasily, “There was another man. He came in after the reenactment... Well, he didn't come in, exactly. He was older, tall, a very dignified-looking African American. He was seated at one of the deck tables, near the infirmary. He looked flushed and he was out of breath. Given his age, I immediately wondered about his heart, but when I offered my assistance, he said he'd be fine in a minute. I'd heard him arguing with a couple just before I walked by and saw him, so I assumed that he'd gotten a bit upset, and his blood pressure had risen. He wasn't in any immediate danger, so there wasn't much I could do. But I did ask Mindy—Nurse Gunderson—if she'd bring him some water, which she did. He was one of the men who was killed, wasn't he?”

“Possibly,” Ethan said. “It does sound like Albion Corley. He was a very striking man.”

“Noble,” Amerind said thoughtfully. “That's what came to mind. And he had a beautiful speaking voice, deep, rich, very clear.”

“Like a professor,” Charlie murmured.

“Yes, exactly.”

“Do you have any idea who he was arguing with? He'd had an argument with someone earlier when the performance was being set up,” Ethan said. “You said you overheard him arguing with a couple. Could the man have been the same one he'd argued with on deck?”

“It definitely wasn't the same man he'd argued with earlier. I wasn't out on the deck at the time, but we all heard about it. No, it wasn't the same man he'd argued with before the reenactment.”

“How can you be so sure when you didn't witness either argument?” Ethan asked.

“Because I was on deck for the reenactment, and when it ended the other man had to leave right away. People were talking about the argument, and someone pointed him out. Later I saw him saying goodbye to people. You can ask Jonathan Moreau and Captain Banks, because he talked to both of them before he left. Our entertainment director, Ricky Simpson, said the guy had put off some kind of business to be there for the event and had to leave right away to take care of it. So it couldn't have been him. He was gone.”

“But the other reenactors were still around, right?” Ethan asked.

“Yes. Most of them, anyway. I can't swear they all hung around.”

“If I showed you pictures of them, do you think you could tell us who stuck around?”

Amerind sighed. “I could try. A lot of them had beards and mustaches I don't think belonged to them. Naturally, that is. Beards may be in these days, but not with the sideburns a lot of them had. One of the women was still here, too.”

“Pretty, blonde, petite?” Charlie asked.

“Yes! She played a nurse.”

“Jennie McPherson,” Charlie said. She knew, of course, that Jennie had been involved in the reenactment.

“I don't know her name,” Amerind said. “But if you have pictures, I'm happy to look at them and try to identify those who were still aboard, if you think it would help.”

“Thank you. I'll drop by the infirmary with the pictures later,” Ethan said.

“Just let us know when you'll be in,” Thor added politely.

“I'm in any time someone needs me. I have a small cabin behind the infirmary. There's a red bell, so if one of the nurses isn't on duty, just ring it. As it happens, I should be in now. We're out on the water. Anyone prone to seasickness will be turning green soon. They call her the Mighty Mississippi for a reason. And this old girl can rock and roll quite a bit. Excuse me, gentlemen. Ladies.”

With a broad smile, he left them.

“So Corley argued with someone else,” Thor said thoughtfully, looking at Ethan.

“A man, so it can't have been Jennie. But she could've been somewhere nearby. I mean, we've heard about a couple. Jennie's the makeup artist on our film,” Charlie explained quickly to Thor. “Not that she could kill anyone anyway. She's as tiny as a flea.”

“It does seem unlikely that she shoved a bayonet into anyone,” Ethan admitted.

“And it wasn't my father,” Charlie said, looking him straight in the eye. “Dr. Amerind knows my father, so he would have recognized his voice.”

Charlie was right, though; knowing Jonathan, Ethan had never suspected him, even when circumstantial evidence had pointed in his direction.

Even so, Ethan didn't think Charlie was going to be happy anyway once they finally discovered the truth.

They had grown up in a small world, and he was very afraid that someone in that small world would prove to be their killer.

* * *

The
Journey
was beautiful. There was something truly magical about taking a riverboat up the Mississippi, Charlie thought. The coastline filled with views of bayou country, sweeping landscapes, homes large and small, high bluffs and low shores, was stunning. The tremendous power of the river made itself felt beneath them and seemed to hum in time to the
Journey
's engines.

The main dining room didn't open until eleven, for lunch, and then it closed at three before opening again at five for dinner. Breakfast was available in-room or could be enjoyed on the Sun Deck.

At four thirty the Southern Belles were in the dining room, getting ready for the diners who'd chosen the early seating.

They had enough material to cover seven nights with very little repetition, since they would be playing to the same diners every night, though when they were in port many of the passengers would choose to dine on shore. By land it was just a little over two hundred miles from New Orleans to Vicksburg, the farthest point in their journey, so they spent a fair amount of time in each port. But the Eagle View was open every night, since some passengers preferred to dine aboard ship, so there was entertainment every night, too.

The first sitting brought in most of the older diners and families, which included children of varying ages. Jonathan had alerted them to the age range before they started and supplied them with a number of Civil War–era toys, such as cup-and-ball games—getting the damned ball in the cup was a lot harder than it looked, Charlie had discovered—metal “detangle” puzzles, cloth dolls, tin soldiers and more. As Jonathan helped them prepare, Charlie found her heart swelling with love for her father.

“I'll be here,” he promised them. “Shout if you need help. But you won't.”

They opened with one of their medleys—the only songs they would repeat to open their show each night. After three songs, Charlie spoke, explaining the importance of the Mississippi River during the war. “Counting everything from major battles to skirmishes to small confrontations, there were nearly ten thousand engagements during the four years of the war. The loss of life on the battlefield was only a part of the tragedy our greatest internal conflict created. There was pain on the home front, as well,” Charlie said, introducing their next song. “Sometimes brother was forced to fight against brother when they chose to enlist on different sides.” While most of their songs were from the period, one had been written by Irving Gordon in the twentieth century. “Two Brothers,” often known as “One Wore Blue and One Wore Gray,” was heartbreakingly beautiful and often thought to have been taken from an old folk song.

They took a break and invited the children up to play, then sang some more. They were thrilled to see how well their act was received. Charlie was particularly happy to see her father nodding his approval.

Charlie was enjoying herself. She had missed this kind of creative expression, just three friends making music together and sharing it with an appreciative audience.

Things began to change as the second seating drew to a close.

As the diners were enjoying their dessert and Charlie was singing a sad ballad, “Home Sweet Home,” a song beloved by soldiers both North and South, she realized that reality was being overwritten right in front of her eyes.

It wasn't that their living passengers disappeared, but rather that a gentle gray mist settled over the room and filled it with the sick and the injured from the long distant war.

Charlie saw the man she was certain had been a doctor sitting in the front, tears streaming down his cheeks. Her throat tightened, and she nearly missed a note. There was an aura of sadness mingled with hope in the room that was almost palpable.

The song ended. She was rewarded with thunderous applause. The mist lifted, and she was just a woman on a dais in the twenty-first century, surrounded by her friends.

Alexi and Clara came forward, and the three of them linked hands and bowed. The diners began to flood out. It was late. The next day they would be at Oak Alley, and many were eager to see the famed plantation and spend the day roaming the beautiful estate.

“My God,” Clara breathed, and Charlie turned to look at her. She'd known that Alexi saw things, but she hadn't realized Clara could, too. Then she remembered that Clara had recently been through a brush with death. Perhaps that had brought about the change? There was more that connected them than they had wanted to admit until they were left in a position where they had no choice.

“You saw them, too?” Charlie asked.

Both women nodded, but neither spoke. Jonathan was hurrying toward them, a huge smile on his face. “You were amazing!” he congratulated them.