Murder for the Halibut (25 page)

“Not too good,” Ray replied. “We’re looking at him as a person of interest, and he’s
not real happy about that.”

“He was on stage the entire time,” Jordan said before adding, “and I can’t prove it,
but I’d bet money he was with Marsha Davenport before the competition. I don’t see
how he could have poisoned his wife.”

“Why’s that, sweetie? It wouldn’t be the first time a
killer lied about where he’d been during the time a crime was being committed,” Ray
said.

“They were both late and came in within a few minutes of each other. She had that
look—you know, messy hair, flushed cheeks. And they kept making goo-goo eyes at each
other.”

“Ooh, goo-goo eyes,” Victor repeated. “That’s it. Lock the bastard up.”

Jordan shot him a look that shut him up immediately.

“I’ll have Orlando check into that tomorrow,” Ray said, pausing to rub his forehead
as if he had a migraine. “There is one other thing. About six tonight Beau called
room service for a bottle of Scotch for him and a bottle of champagne for Charlese.
When the purser delivered the booze, Beau asked for a bucket of ice even though he
has never asked for ice with his Scotch before and the champagne was already chilled.
The purser was gone about fifteen minutes, and when he returned with the ice, he offered
to pour both Beau and Charlese a drink like he’d done every other time he’d brought
their liquor. He remembers thinking it odd that Beau refused a drink after specifically
ordering a bottle and insisting that they deliver it immediately.”

“You think he slipped the cyanide into the liquor when the purser left the room?”
Rosie asked, scooting her chair closer to better hear the details.

“I don’t know. Orlando’s man found the empty champagne bottle, along with the opened
bottle of Scotch on the table in the room. Either Beau changed his mind and poured
himself a drink, or Charlese helped herself to his whiskey after polishing off the
champagne. We do know
she was carrying a tumbler with Scotch and ice, not the champagne glass, when she
collapsed on stage.”

“The preliminary check for cyanide in the Scotch from the bottle was negative,” Alex
piped in. “But that only means no one was able to detect the classic almond odor at
first blush in either the liquor or her drinking water. However, that’s not unusual
and doesn’t mean the booze wasn’t the cyanide source. The rule of thumb is that if
you can smell the almonds, the levels are too dangerous to drink. My guess is that
Charlese would have been too drunk, after the champagne, to notice even if there had
been an odor, and since liquid cyanide is pale blue or colorless, she wouldn’t have
seen a color change in her drink.”

“Wait a minute. Are you saying the cyanide could have been in the water she drank?”
Victor asked, his eyes widening. “Isn’t that the same water we all drink?”

“Yes to both questions. Cyanide can be found in some water supplies, both public and
private, but the levels are usually not high enough to cause problems,” Alex explained.

“Sheesh! So it could have been her water?” Jordan said while shaking her head. “Not
that she was drinking a whole lot of H-two-O tonight.”

“Cyanide can be delivered as both a gas and a liquid. Of course, the gas kills the
fastest,” Alex commented.

“The gas method is a little far-fetched, don’t you think?” Rosie asked.

“It’s not as far out there as you might believe,” Alex explained. “Cyanide gas can
be produced several ways, including the burning of certain plastics. Then there’s
cigarette smoke that can release it, and even the stuff you girls use to take off
acrylic nails.”

“Charlese definitely had fake nails,” Lola said. “Do you think that’s what did it?”

Alex shook his head. “Gas poisoning is a long shot, plus she still had all her nails
intact. I’m leaning toward the booze. And let’s not forget, the cyanide could have
been in the champagne bottle, too, even though that’s less likely since the poison
works quickly.”

“So, you think she finished off the champagne, then reached for the Scotch?” Michael
asked. “She did seem really snookered when she walked up the steps.”

Alex nodded. “There was only a small amount of Scotch gone, so we think that’s exactly
what she did. Since she would’ve had to have consumed the entire bottle of champagne
in fifteen or twenty minutes—the time it takes the poison to kill—that’s our theory.
If it had been in the champagne, she would have been dead before she got to the Scotch.
Of course, there is the possibility the cyanide was in the glass already and the Scotch
just got poured on top of it.” He paused to look up when Rosie gasped. “Just to be
on the safe side, though, I had the captain make an announcement warning people not
to drink the water from the tap or use ice cubes until we can sort this out. He’s
agreed to furnish bottled water free of charge until we dock.”

“We heard him about an hour ago but didn’t know what to make of that. I can’t believe
he took an order from you,” Victor said. “No offense, Alex, but aren’t you just a
passenger like the rest of us?”

Alex looked at Ray, who nodded. “Not anymore. This might very well be a murder of
a United States citizen, and the FBI has jurisdiction in international waters. When
they found out I was on board, they put me in charge of the investigation.”

“And not a minute too soon,” Ray added. “The ship has only six men designated as security,
and Orlando is the only one with any police training. He was an MP in the army, and
he knew he was way out of his league. I thought he would cry with relief when he was
told to hand over the reins to Alex.”

“I’ll bet,” Rosie said.

“Frankly, I am, too. It’s been a long time since I actually investigated a murder,
and back in Ranchero, it was usually a domestic violence thing. I’m relieved Alex
has agreed to take charge.”

“So, Alex, what happens next?” Michael asked.

“Nothing, really. I’ve advised your boss and Emily to cancel the rest of the competition,
only because the stage is now part of a crime scene. They’ll go forward with the Captain’s
Gala tomorrow night, but the stage will be off-limits. They’re working on building
an elevated area in the front of the first row that will function like a stage for
the introduction of the ship’s officers before the party gets underway.”

“So we won’t know how Charlese was poisoned until after the cruise is over?” Michael
asked.

“That’s right. It will take up to a week after we dock in Miami to get the test results
back, and even then we may never know how the poison was introduced. Ray and I will
take another stab at questioning the kitchen employees, but I don’t expect any big
news flashes there. According to the purser, both the Scotch and the champagne were
sealed when he delivered them to Beau’s room. Even Emily confirms that story.”

“Emily? How did she see the bottle?” Jordan asked, wishing the night would end so
she could get Alex alone. The smell of his aftershave was working overtime on her
senses.

“She was in the kitchen conferring with the head chef about tonight’s competition
baskets. She remembered the purser calling Beau an American jerk after the call, which
is when she noticed the sealed bottle of liquor.”

“Where is Emily?” Lola asked. “She seemed really upset earlier, and I thought for
sure she’d come up with you two after you’d finished with Orlando down there.”

“She was upset,” Alex replied. “Especially when the decision was made to cancel the
rest of the competition. She got really angry at first, saying Charlese’s death had
nothing to do with the contest, but then she calmed down. She left shortly after that
for her room and told us she’d confer with Wayne in the morning to try to find a way
to salvage the contest somehow.”

At the mention of her friend, Jordan felt a pang of sympathy. She was the only one
besides George Christakis who knew about the life of servitude Emily had been subjected
to with her aunt and uncle. She and Michael’s boss had worked so hard planning the
cook-off. Now it was ending in the worst possible way—with the death of the wife of
one of the judges.

Earlier, during the doctor’s frantic attempt to revive Charlese, Emily had retreated
to the back of the stage. Jordan had followed in an attempt to comfort her. Noticing
Emily’s hands shaking badly, she’d covered them both with her own. Emily had responded
by jerking her hands away and shouting, “Leave me alone.” That reaction had caught
Jordan off guard, but within seconds,
tears had welled up in Emily’s eyes, and she’d apologized profusely, blaming her unexpected
outburst on crazy nerves.

Still, Jordan wished her friend had come up to the upper deck with the rest of the
gang tonight. If there was another group of folks more qualified to comfort someone
during a crisis situation, Jordan hadn’t met them yet. She made a mental note to find
some alone time with Emily after breakfast in the morning and let her know her friends
were there for her if she needed them.

“So what happens now, Alex?” Victor asked.

Alex shrugged. “I’ll do what I can from here and then turn the case over to the Miami
field office. My guess is they’ll want to have a detailed conversation with Beau and
the kitchen staff. As for me, I’ll be on a plane back to Ranchero.” He gave Jordan
a smile that nearly melted her heart.

“What about Beau?” Rosie asked. “Is he taking Charlese’s death pretty hard?”

Ray grunted. “If by taking it hard you mean he’s spouting off like a jerk, then yes,
he’s taking it hard. When they declared his room a crime scene and moved him to another
suite, he pitched a fit. His old room was the biggest one on the ship, and he’s not
real pleased with his new one. Can you believe it? The man just lost his wife, and
he’s upset because the room is a few feet smaller. What an ass!”

“Now that’s an understatement,” Jordan said, remembering the way Beau had acted with
Marsha. “What if Beau and Marsha were in this together?”

Alex ruffled her hair. “There goes that overactive imagination that I adore.” He stood
and helped Jordan to
her feet. “There’s really nothing more to be done tonight, and since I have a busy
day tomorrow, I’m heading to bed.” He reached for Jordan’s hand. “Come on, love. I
want to go make goo-goo eyes at you and mess up your hair.”

The next day Jordan waited around nearly thirty minutes after breakfast for Emily
to show before finally giving up and heading to her friend’s room. Although the purser
told Jordan he hadn’t seen Emily leave that morning, there was no response when Jordan
knocked. Assuming Emily had slipped out for an early meeting with Wayne to discuss
how to proceed with the competition, she made a mental note to hook up with her later.

For now she had the entire morning to herself. Alex and Ray had a full day ahead with
the investigation, and although she hated losing the time with Alex, they didn’t have
a choice. He was on the job now. Victor and Lola were earning their keep by running
a trivia tournament and teaching tarot reading classes respectively, and Rosie was
caught up in preparations to serve her last lunch at the small café. Jordan had no
idea where Michael was,
but since he no longer had to worry about the cook-off, he was probably with Victor
having fun playing games with the passengers.

Victor had begged her to join him, but she’d never been good at trivia with the exception
of sports questions. Besides, she had only one day left to work on her tan, and she
intended to make the best of it.

After she left Emily’s, she went up to her room and slipped on a swimsuit. Since she
rarely had time to indulge in her love of mystery novels, she was really looking forward
to a little peace and quiet to start the book she’d purchased in the gift shop. Before
she left the room, she tried Emily one more time, but as with the previous three other
attempts, she was forced to leave a message.

Being the last day of the cruise, the pool was jam-packed, with everyone trying to
soak up as much sun and as many alcoholic concoctions as possible. Jordan made a quick
sweep of the area and was disappointed to see that all the lounge chairs were either
occupied or had a towel draped over them. Vowing not to let a little thing like that
ruin her day, she made her way to the shallow end of the pool. If she had to sit on
the edge with her feet dangling in the water to start her novel, so be it. She was
determined to have a nice leisurely day reading.

Halfway there she was surprised to see Marsha Davenport by herself in the middle of
the deck, looking gorgeous in her purple bikini. She was even more surprised when
Marsha smiled.

Jordan smiled back.

“Looking for a chair?”

Jordan nodded. “Not likely to find one today. Looks like the entire ship is out here.”

Marsha picked up the towel lying on the chaise lounge next to her and gave it a pat.
“You can have this one. I don’t think Casey’s going to make it back.” She grinned.
“She’s tied up with one of the other chefs going over her résumé for a new job search.”