Ransom at Sea (30 page)

“What is it?”

“I don't know. Rebecca didn't know. It was something her aunt apparently packed on the sly. But the thing is—”

Barnes was nodding. “It's gone, I understand. But anything could've happened to it.”

“There's more, Sheriff,” Emily said firmly.

Ransom smiled.

“The other night,” said Lynn, “the night before the murder … the night Rebecca's aunt screamed and woke everybody up, something strange happened, and I only just remembered it this morning because of the package being missing.”

“Yeah?”

“I couldn't sleep. I came up on deck and found Rebecca at the point of the boat … the front … whatever you call it. She couldn't sleep either. We got to talking, and she was telling me about how worried she was about her aunt, and the crazy things she'd been doing … and she told me about the package. Right after that, we heard footsteps rushing away from us … well, it seems to me now that they were rushing. I looked around the side of the wheelhouse, but it was too dark. I couldn't see anybody.”

“Uh-huh?”

“But you see, it was right after that that it happened.”

Barnes shot a glance at Ransom to see if his urban counterpart was as confused as he felt.

“It was right after that that Marcella Hemsley screamed and claimed someone had come into her room,” Lynn explained. “You see, I was so surprised by the sudden noise that I didn't connect the two things.”

“So what you're saying is, you think someone heard Miss Bremmer say that her aunt had this box in her luggage, and went straight down to her cabin to find it?”

“Yes!” Lynn couldn't keep the edge out of her voice, particularly since she felt the idea sounded quite foolish when he put it so plainly. “And remember, Marcella Hemsley said that it was David Douglas who was in her room.”

The sheriff sucked in his lips for a second. “Yeah, but that doesn't make sense, ma'am. He wouldn't have to go into her room to steal something while she was in it. He could wait till the next day, when she was off the boat. There was no hurry.”

“I quite agree, Sheriff,” said Emily. “However, there are two facts to deal with here: Miss Hemsley is dead and the package is gone.”

“But like I said, anything could've happened to it. It could've been taken since. Or she could've done something with it herself.”

“Yeah, I did think of that,” Lynn said reluctantly.

“Did you search the boat after the murder?” Ransom asked.

“We had a look 'round,” Barnes replied. “But there wasn't any reason to do a full search. We knew where the woman was killed.”

“Hmm,” Ransom said, staring unblinkingly at Barnes. “Well, one way or another, one of Miss Hemsley's possessions has disappeared. Would it hurt to search it now?”

Barnes returned his gaze, pulled his radio from his belt. “I told you from the start this whole thing didn't set right with me. I'll get a couple of my deputies over here to help.”

“Thank you, Sheriff,” Emily said, eyeing him approvingly.

*   *   *

When the deputies arrived, Barnes assigned them the task of searching the white and red decks, which held far less in the way of hiding places than the cabins. He then went to the dining room where the passengers and crew were assembled and made a general announcement to the effect that nobody was to return to the blue deck until he'd given the all-clear.

Ransom and Barnes decided to begin at the beginning, with cabin 1, and to that end enlisted Emily's aid in extricating Claudia Trenton, the one passenger who had not been in the dining room. It was apparent that Claudia had finally managed to get some rest the previous night and had regained some of her poise, though the deepened lines on her face evidenced the strain of the past few days. Given her state since the murder, Ransom had expected her to bridle when she learned that her cabin would be searched. But much to his surprise, she accepted the news with complacency and allowed Emily to usher her to the dining room for breakfast.

“I thought there would be hysterics,” Ransom said once the two women were gone.

“She hasn't been taking this well, has she?” said Barnes. “I don't know what it's going to do to her when she hears about her grandson.”

The closet contained three suits, neatly spaced out to prevent wrinkles. Ransom noted that her wardrobe was a cut above tasteful and a step below elegant, but definitely out of class with this particular mode of transportation. She had left her purse on the bed: a medium-sized black bag with a long shoulder strap. Ransom picked it up and glanced inside.

“What we're looking for's too big to be in there, isn't it?” said Barnes.

“The box, perhaps, but we don't know what was inside the box. The contents might've been taken out and hidden anywhere.”

He found nothing out of the ordinary in the bag; merely a variety of cosmetic items, a red leather wallet, and a cell phone. This last item caused the detective's brow to furrow. He examined it, and found it set to vibrate rather than ring.

“Find something?” Barnes asked, noticing the change of expression.

“Just a cell phone.”

“Everybody's got those things, nowadays.”

“Yes, I know.” He replaced the phone, snapped the bag shut and laid it on the bed.

They went through the rest of the passengers' cabins in turn, including Lynn's and Emily's, assuming that someone could very well have hidden the package in one of their cabins.

“Hard part of it is,” said Barns as they finished Muriel Langstrom's room, the last of the passenger cabins, “we'll probably find the darn thing, open it and find out it's just a bunch of brushes, or a blow-dryer, or something.”

“Keep a good thought, Sheriff,” Ransom said wryly.

They moved on to the crew's quarters. The first on the left was the one unused space on the boat, and they found nothing there. Then they moved on to Joaquin's cabin, which was rather unkempt. Apparently the effort he put into keeping the passengers' cabins and the rest of the boat immaculate left him little time or inclination to tend to his own. White socks were strewn about the floor and the bed was unmade. The bedside chest was coated with a thick layer of dust, made all the more obvious by the clean circle that had been left when the compass lamp had been pushed out of position. The sheriff dropped down to his knees and looked under the bed, finding only an empty Pepsi can. When he righted himself, he found Ransom staring down at the lamp.

“What is it?” asked Barnes.

“Hmm? Nothing. I was just thinking that as neat and clean as Joaquin is himself, this room is awfully sloppy.”

“Yeah, well, the package isn't in here.”

They next went to Douglas's cabin, which they found perfectly in order. The bed was made, the blanket stretched so smoothly it looked as if you could bounce a coin on it. The table and lamp were beautifully polished, and there wasn't a speck on the carpet. The closet was in the same condition, the few garments that Douglas had brought with him looking so crisp on the hangers they might have been new.

“They're exactly the opposite, aren't they,” Ransom said.

“What do you mean?”

“Somehow I would've expected Douglas to be the sloppy one.”

Barnes smiled. “If you ask me, this looks compulsive.”

“Hmm.”

“Say, what's wrong with you, Detective? Something on your mind?”

“Yes, as a matter of fact,” Ransom replied with a sigh, “only I'm damned if I know what it is.”

The corners of Barnes's mouth turned down slightly. Unlike Gerald White, the sheriff wasn't inclined to be tolerant of artfulness or conundrums. “What do you mean?”

“I don't know myself. It's something just on the edge of my brain. It's something to do with…” The lines across his forehead deepened, then he relaxed and shrugged.

“It'll come to you the minute you stop worrying it,” said Barnes helpfully.

Next was the captain's quarters. The Farradays' cabin spanned the aft of the boat and was over three times the size of the others, with a decor that was far homier. The bed was covered with a wedding-ring quilt, and a small maple dresser sat beside the double-length closet. A shelf above the dresser held an array of well-thumbed paperback books, the kind that Ransom classified as nearly-best-sellers.

When he and Barnes had given the cabin a thorough going-over and come up empty, Barnes sighed. “Nothing!”

“Hmm,” Ransom replied, his arms folded as he held his chin between his thumb and forefinger.

“She probably never had any box.”

“You forget, Rebecca Bremmer actually saw it. It isn't something Marcella Hemsley made up.”

“She probably did something with it herself, then. She could've just chucked it over the side of the boat or something.”

“Perhaps.”

Barnes sighed again. “Turning out the passengers' rooms like this, I'm going to look like a big fool if we don't find something.”

“I don't think so.”

“Really? How do you figure that?”

Ransom dropped his hands to his side. “Far from looking foolish, it will be very interesting if we don't find that package.”

Barnes pursed his lips, unable to see the importance. “Well, I'll go see how my men are doing with the other decks, and I'll tell the passengers they can have their cabins back.”

While Barnes went to the red deck, Ransom continued his way up to the top. Emily and Lynn were there, occupying the two deck chairs closest to the boarding plank.

“Did you find anything?” Emily asked.

“Not in any of the cabins, no.”

“I see,” she replied with interest. “If it isn't in any of the cabins, I don't think it will be found anywhere else. It seems to me it would be too risky to hide it anywhere else on board. There would be too much of a chance of it being discovered.” She paused for a moment, then a new idea came to her. “Unless…”

“Unless what?” Lynn asked.

Emily shook her head slowly. “I've been extremely slow-witted in this matter. I suppose I can chalk that up to being on the water: I said before that it has a soporific effect.…”

She stopped, her pale lips set in a slight frown, and her eyes staring straight ahead. She looked exactly as if she were silently scolding herself for her mental truancy.

“Emily, you didn't answer my question.”

“What?”

“You said you didn't think the package would be found if it wasn't in anyone's cabin unless…”

“Oh, yes! I was forgetting that Marcella's mental state was well known to everyone. I was looking at it backwards. It would make much more sense to hide the thing anywhere else on the boat. That way, the person who took it—if anyone, indeed, did take it and Marcella didn't do something with it herself—wouldn't be in danger if the package was found. Everyone would believe it was just another one of Marcella's lapses.”

“But—” Lynn began to protest, but Ransom cut her off.

“I know you want to believe that you and Rebecca were overheard on the deck and that led to the incident of someone supposedly being in Marcella's room, but Lynn, you have to look at it reasonably. The sheriff was right about that: even if someone did overhear you, there was no reason to go for the package while Marcella was in her room. But more than that, why go for it at all? There was no indication that there was anything valuable in it. You didn't say what was in the package, did you?”

“No,” Lynn said, reluctantly accepting that he was right. “Rebecca didn't know what was in it.”

They fell silent for a time. Ransom rested his palms on the railing and looked down at the small strip of water between the dock and the boat. Then movement to the left caught his eye and he looked up. One of Barnes's deputies was approaching the boarding plank, a sheet of paper in his right hand.

“Are you Detective Ransom?” the deputy asked when he'd reached them.

“Yes,” Ransom replied, shaking the younger man's outstretched hand.

“I'm Deputy Mitchell. This here's for you.”

He handed Ransom the sheet, and the detective looked down at it. It was a photo of a young man with tousled brown hair. There were bruises and smudges of dirt on his face, but the head had been turned judiciously so only the barest edge of a bullet hole could be seen.

Lynn had helped Emily to her feet. “What is it?” the old woman asked.

“Gerald called me this morning,” Ransom explained. “There was a murder sometime last night, and it appears that the young man was the grandson of Claudia Trenton.”

“Oh, dear,” Emily said, drawing back slightly. “This will be a terrible blow to Claudia.”

“Yes, I know. Gerald sent a copy of one of the pictures up for positive identification.” He handed it to Emily.

Emily's eyes widened, and she looked up at Ransom. “But Jeremy, I know him!”

“You do?”

“Oh, no, I don't mean I
know
him, but I've seen him before. He was on Navy Pier the day we sailed.”

Ransom shrugged. “It's perfectly natural that he'd be there to see his grandmother off.”

“But that's just it—he wasn't seeing her off. He was hovering very furtively in the background, in the shadows inside the building. Claudia was sitting off to the side. He made no attempt to make himself known to her.”

“That is … curious.”

“Good heavens!” Emily exclaimed.

“What is it?” Lynn asked, slightly alarmed.

“When I first saw that young man on the pier, he was carrying a package—one wrapped in brown paper. But when we set sail, I saw him walking away … and he no longer had it.”

The group was momentarily struck dumb by this announcement. Lynn was the first to speak.

“But … but that doesn't make sense. Why would Claudia's grandson have something that belonged to Marcella Hemsley? I mean, if you're thinking that he put it in her suitcase—”