“I see.”
She nodded. “Would you like to have lunch with me here, Jessica? It’s lonely not having anyone to talk to.”
“Thank you, no, Betty. I can’t right now. Is there anything I can do for you before I leave?”
She shook her head. “Thank you for all you’ve done for me already.”
“I haven’t really done anything at all,” I said. “I’ll check in on you later.”
“I’ll look forward to your visit.”
Even though I wasn’t privy to many conversations between Betty and Kim, I suspected her explanation of the reasons behind their disagreements was a fabrication. And I highly doubted that she was lonely and longed for my company. That she wasn’t about to admit to her trip to Deck Seven with Kiki Largent only compounded the mystery surrounding their relationship. They must have known each other before meeting on the ship. We knew Jennifer and Kiki were last-minute additions to the ship’s passenger list, but how far in advance had Kim Chin-Hwa made his reservations? I made a mental note to ask George if he knew or could find out.
After a wonderfully refreshing catnap in my cabin, I arrived at lunch precisely at noon and was surprised to see Harry Flynn, Dennis Stanton, and Jennifer Kahn already seated. Harry got to his feet and greeted me. Dennis smiled broadly. Jennifer’s greeting was pure frost.
“How is everyone?” I asked.
“Did you know?” Jennifer snapped.
“Know what?”
“What a phony that Wendell Jones is.”
I drew a breath. The ship’s rumor mill had reached her.
She didn’t wait for me to answer. “Harry just told me that Jones is not who he claims to be. He’s some kind of cop who’s been put in charge of the investigation of Kim’s murder.”
I said nothing.
“Well, did you know?” she demanded.
“He’s an old acquaintance of mine.”
“It seems everybody on the ship knew except me.”
“I didn’t know,” Stanton lied.
“Then that makes two of us. What an insult to be toyed with like this.”
“I hope I haven’t let some cat out of a bag,” Flynn said. “I assumed everyone knew.”
“It’s not any fault of yours, Harry,” I said. “Mr. Jones—Michael Haggerty—he has his reasons for traveling under an assumed name.”
“What reason?” Jennifer asked.
“I think that’s a question to ask him,” I said.
“Actually,” Harry said, “he’s a British intelligence agent.”
“A
what
?” Jennifer said.
I saved Harry from having to explain further. “Mr. Haggerty is a former agent for British MI6. He’s retired now.”
“So why the phony name if he’s retired?” Jennifer asked.
“As Jessica has suggested,” Harry said, “we’d better ask him, and here he is.”
We all turned as Haggerty entered the Princess Grill and approached the table. Jennifer, whose appetizer had just been served along with a drink, stood and stormed out, coming so close to Haggerty that he had to move aside to avoid physical contact.
“What’s gotten into
her
?” he asked, taking his seat.
“I’m afraid I spilled the beans,” Harry said dejectedly.
“Nonsense,” Stanton said, slapping him on the shoulder. “It’s not a state secret anymore, now, is it?”
I reinforced his message with a smile at Harry.
Harry’s presence held Haggerty, Stanton, and me in check. We wanted to discuss what had been happening but were restrained by his presence. As nice as he was, Harry was a big talker. We couldn’t trust him not to pass along a good story, so instead we made small talk during the meal. In the end, he didn’t stay very long. He didn’t look well, and when I questioned Harry, he said he was feeling tired and just needed a nap.
“I took a nap earlier,” I said, putting a hand on his arm. “You’ll feel a lot better later. I can guarantee it.”
“I hope so,” he said. “We’re in for a rough evening.” He waved at the view through the huge windows.
He was right. What had been a sanguine, sunny day at sea had changed over the past hour. It was now misty and overcast, the bottom of the clouds an ominous charcoal. The swells had begun to increase, causing a slight but discernible motion of the ship. “I checked with the weather officer,” he said. “We’re headed into a nasty cell, a real gale.”
“He feels bad about telling Jennifer who you really are,” Stanton said to Haggerty after Harry had left.
“Does she know about you?” Haggerty asked.
Stanton shook his head. “I’m sure she doesn’t,” he said.
“Let’s keep it that way,” Haggerty said.
At Haggerty’s urging, I filled Stanton in on what had occurred with Betty LeClair, and her clandestine meeting with Kiki Largent. I also summarized what I’d told Haggerty earlier that day, my thoughts on the matter and the conclusions to which I’d come. “I think the three of us are now up-to-date on everything.”
“You’re right,” Haggerty said, “but what do we do with what we know?”
“I have an idea,” I said.
I spent the early part of the afternoon in my cabin going over lecture notes for that evening’s presentation in the planetarium. The ship’s entertainment director called to say that he expected a full house, and to inform me that my final book signing, which usually occurs immediately following a lecture, would be held the following morning at ten.
At four, Harry Flynn called.
“Feeling better, Harry?” I asked.
“Somewhat. Jessica, I was wondering whether you’d join me for a drink.”
“I won’t be drinking,” I said, “not with my lecture coming up this evening. But I’d be happy to meet you.”
“Terrific! The Commodore Club, say, at five?”
“Yes, that will be fine. You won’t be meeting with the others for drinks before dinner?”
“I’m not sure. But I do want to spend some time with you without all this talk of murder and the intrigue that goes with it.”
I laughed. “I couldn’t agree more,” I said.
Before meeting Harry Flynn, I went to the staff captain’s offices, where I spent a half hour outlining ideas I had about identifying Kim Chin-Hwa’s murderer, and as a bonus hopefully locating the missing Heart of India diamond. He was skeptical at first that my approach would work, but eventually agreed to cooperate.
Harry was already at the Commodore Club when I arrived. He was as nattily dressed as usual, in a pale blue blazer, white slacks, multicolored striped shirt, and white loafers.
“You look like you’re ready for a party,” I said after he’d stood and kissed my cheek.
“On cloud nine, Jessica. Always ready for a party. Do you know where the expression ‘on cloud nine’ comes from?”
I laughed and assured him I didn’t.
“Years ago they classified clouds into ten types. Number nine is the cumulonimbus, you know, those tall, fluffy clouds, some of them towering forty or fifty thousand feet above us. They look so peaceful and happy, like people said to be ‘on cloud nine.’ Of course inside those happy-looking clouds can be violent storms.”
“So people who say they’re on cloud nine might be hiding something tumultuous inside.”
“Exactly. Thank you for joining me.”
“I was pleased that you called.”
“You never know whether you’ll see someone again on a huge ship like this before reaching port, and I didn’t want to miss the opportunity to spend some quiet time with you. I decided years ago that when I meet someone who is especially nice and caring, someone with intellect and an appreciation for a variety of things including man’s many foibles, it’s almost a sin to not tell that person of your feelings.”
“I wouldn’t argue with that,” I said.
“Well, then,” he said, “I am simply following through on my promise to myself to never let such an opportunity pass by. You are a lovely, sensitive woman who I am sure does not suffer fools easily but who is always looking for the best in people. You are obviously also a trustworthy person of sterling character.”
“That’s very flattering, Harry.”
“Which is not my intention, I assure you. In other words, Jessica Fletcher, you have been added to my not very extensive list of white hats who have enriched my life by their sheer presence. I wanted you to know that.”
I blushed. “I’m afraid, Harry, that for me to now tell you what a delightful gentleman you are would sound hollow.”
“Say it anyway, Jessica.”
I said through a smile, “All right, Harry Flynn, you are a delightful gentleman.”
“I like that,” he said. “Now, let’s toast to having met.”
I didn’t want a cocktail or wine with my lecture looming, so Harry ordered a bottle of sparkling apple cider. We clicked the rims of our flutes and laughed.
“It’s a nasty storm we’ve entered,” he said, pointing to the vast stretch of roiling water ahead of us. “It will get worse before it gets better.” Sheets of seawater splattered the large window that afforded a panoramic view of Mother Nature’s fury.
“Funny,” he said plaintively, “how I actually prefer weather like this to smooth sailing.”
“In your blood?”
“Undoubtedly.”
We sat in silence watching the scene through the window until I announced that I needed to leave.
“Thank you for joining me,” he said, standing, taking my hand, and kissing it.
“The pleasure was all mine, sir,” I said. “You’ll be at my lecture?”
“I’m sure you’ll knock ’em dead, as the saying goes.”
“And the origin of that phrase is?”
“I haven’t the foggiest notion. If for some reason I’m unable to attend, please know that I’m with you in spirit.”
I thought it strange that he didn’t commit to being there. He’d attended the two previous lectures and seemed to enjoy them.
“Thank you for the cider but especially for the kind thoughts, Harry,” I said. “Coming?”
“No. I think I’ll sit here for a while and enjoy the view. There’s something majestic about an angry sea that stirs my imagination. You run off and do what you must to prepare. Lecture well, Jessica Fletcher.”
I returned to my stateroom and called Dennis Stanton to check on whether his role in that evening’s lecture was in place. He assured me that it was. My next call was to George Sutherland’s cell phone.
“How are things going?” he asked.
“All right, I think.” I outlined for him the plan I’d fostered with the help of Haggerty, Stanton, and the
Queen Mary 2
’s staff captain.
“It’s a bit of a long shot,” he said when I was finished.
“I know that, George, but time is running out. It’s worth a try.”
“I wish I were there with you,” he said.
“I do, too, but we can’t change that. You still can help me. Can you think of anything to add to what I’ve decided to do?”
“I can’t think of anything at the moment, but if I do, I’ll get back to you. I’d wish you good luck, lass, but I have confidence in your abilities.”
“Good luck is welcome, too. I’ll certainly need plenty of that,” I said.
“Then good luck and have a care.”
My final call before dressing for dinner was to the staff captain, who’d assumed responsibility for the final piece in that night’s puzzle.
“It’s all worked out quite nicely,” he said.
There was nothing left now to do but wait until it was time to take the podium.
Chapter Twenty-four
T
hat night, Dennis Stanton took Jennifer Kahn and Kiki Largent to dinner at Todd English, a specialty restaurant on the ship created by its namesake, one of the world’s most celebrated and charismatic chefs.
Michael Haggerty avoided the Princess Grill and had dinner in his stateroom.
Betty LeClair was escorted from her suite to a private dining room where she dined with the ship’s master and a select group of his officers.
Kim Chin-Hwa’s two bodyguards ate in Kings Court.
In another private dining room, Richard and Marcia Kensington were the guests of the ship’s uniformed hotel manager and his staff. The couple had been told that it was the custom on the
Queen Mary 2
to host newlyweds enjoying a shipboard honeymoon. No such custom existed, but the event had been choreographed by the staff captain to accommodate me. I didn’t want any of these people coming into contact with one another until my lecture, assuming they’d all be there. Making sure they showed was the responsibility of various people who’d been enlisted as part of the plan for the evening. As skeptical as the staff captain had been at first when I outlined what I intended to do, he pulled out all the stops once he’d signed on, and his cooperation was appreciated.
My plan was to start with dinner in the Princess Grill, which would give me another opportunity to chat with Harry Flynn before the night’s program. Much to my surprise he didn’t show up, but I would catch him later. He’d probably be in his regular seat at the lecture. I ate light, a special selection from the Canyon Ranch Spa menu. I knew our waiters were puzzled by my lack of dining companions, but they said nothing, and neither did I.
Following dinner I went to the planetarium and secluded myself in a small room reserved for lecturers. The entertainment director poked his head in the door.
“All set?” he asked. “I don’t think we’ll have a vacant seat in the house.”
“That’s wonderful,” I said.
He lowered his voice and moved into the room. “I get the feeling that something unusual is happening.”
“What gives you that idea?”
“Just a vibe I’m getting.”
“Well,” I said, “I admit that I’ve decided to abandon my original lecture plans and take a different approach.”
“Really? Different in what way?”
“I’ve decided to use a real murder as the basis for my talk. I thought it might be fun for the audience to see how a mystery writer creates a story using real life as its basis.”
“I’m sure they’ll be fascinated by that, Jessica.” He looked back to make certain no one else was listening. “Especially considering the tragedy that’s occurred on the ship. Did you hear about that? We’ve been trying to keep it quiet, but I know rumors are circulating.”