Killer Knots (20 page)

Vail raised his eyebrow in a questioning slant. “Aren’t you continuing the cruise?”

Countess Delacroix gave a theatrical shrug. “My mission is accomplished, and I must follow through on the mainland. But you need to beware,
cherie
,” she told Marla. “Certain parties aboard are poised to erupt. You do not want to be caught in their crossfire.”

Sensing the woman was about to leave, Marla clutched her bony arm. “Wait. Do you know who’s been plotting against us? We almost didn’t make it back from Roatan. Someone paid our driver to take us on a detour so we’d miss the sailing.”

The countess peered down her nose. “I know who it is
not
, but he, too, still searches for answers. You may consider him a friend. And that is all I can say.” Turning away, she left.

“Whom do you suppose she means?” Marla asked Vail.

“Kent Harwood? We know he’s investigating the museum gang.”

“How would the countess possibly be acquainted with him? From what I’ve gathered, she’s never been to the museum, plus he only works there part-time.”

Vail pointed down the street. “What about that guy?”

Twisting, she let her jaw drop in surprise. Bob Wolfson was emerging from the same door as the countess had exited. “Bless my bones, we found him! Let’s go see what he’s been up to.”

Waving, she attempted to catch his attention, but he hurried off in the opposite direction. Feeling as though her shopping bags had accumulated weight during her brief conversation with the countess, she scurried after him, Dalton by her side.

Her steps faltered when she regarded the office from which he’d appeared. “Real estate? Do you suppose he was buying more property? And where’s his wife? How did he ditch Sandy when she must be suspicious about his investments?”

Clearly enjoying the puzzle, Vail gave her a lopsided grin. “Maybe Sandy convinced him to make a deal with the countess.”

Marla shifted her burdens, ignoring a painful twinge in her shoulder. “You could be right. If I were his wife, and he pulled something like this behind my back, I wouldn’t be too happy. She’s entitled to share in his nest egg.”

“So she might’ve demanded that he sell his property. Bob can’t take the money back to the States, because he’d have a big tax liability. Speaking of which, where did he get the cash in the first place to make his land purchases?”

They exchanged stunned glances. “The bank on Grand Cay-man Island,” they said in unison.

“Typical route for money laundering,” Vail cracked.

“Holy highlights, that could be what Helen meant. Somehow the head docent figured out Bob was siphoning funds from the museum. She’s hot to trot for the guy and doesn’t mind taking risks, meaning she’d flee to Mexico with him to enjoy his bounty. She must be figuring he’s eager to leave his staid wife.”

Glancing around to make sure they weren’t being overheard, she stepped closer to an overhang to benefit from the shade. “And Brooklyn knew. Brooklyn told Kent that Bob had charged for kitchen items he’d never ordered.”

“That’s three people. But we’re guessing. Let’s go inside the office here and ask some questions.”

Posing as a wealthy couple interested in investing in Mexico, they mentioned their association with Bob Wolfson to the dark-haired woman in a red suit who greeted them in Spanish, and then flawlessly switched to English after Marla spoke.

“Senor Wolfson is one of our regular customers,” the lady said, while Marla stared at a mole on the woman’s nose. “We count on his business every year at this time. What can I do for you? Are you interested in a villa, perhaps, in Guadalajara or Lake Chapala? More than fifty thousand Americans live there now, so you’d feel right at home.”

“That’s not quite what we had in mind.” Marla offered a conspiratorial smile. She plopped her packages on an empty chair and felt her shoulders sag from relief. Rubbing her neck, she continued, “We understand Bob bought property in the mountains.” Surely vanilla grew on fertile hillsides? Her guess relied on the countess’s claim that she owned adjacent territory.

While the saleslady maintained a polite expression, her eyes chilled. “I’m so sorry; you must be misinformed.”

“Countess Delacroix is our friend,” Vail cut in, his tone hard-edged. “She claims her family owns estates in the area, and they were seeking to expand their vanilla-growing operation. Did Bob Wolfson accept her offer to sell?”

A lightbulb popped in Marla’s head. “I told Bob he should give up his idea to build a resort and settle for a more intimate bed-and-breakfast instead. That would appeal much more to the tourist trade. It wouldn’t require as much capital either. We’re sort of interested in doing the same thing.”

“Oh, I see. Then you might be interested in this plot of land over here.” The woman walked to a display of terrain in a glass case. “Senor Wolfson just purchased this section with the proceeds from his sale to the countess. It is a prime location for a hacienda, as you see. And more than one lodging facility will bring in tourist dollars.”

“It looks great. We’ll have to think about it.” Vail jerked his head, signaling they should go. They’d gotten the information they needed.

Marla hesitated. “If we should decide to buy, what kind of currency do you accept? I doubt that Senor Wolfson pays in traveler’s checks.” She chuckled as though that were a joke they shared.

The real estate agent folded her arms across her chest. “He brings cash, but you may do a wire transfer. Or you can speak to our investment department.”

“That won’t be necessary, thanks. We’ll let you know.” Vail shuffled Marla outside after the lady gave them a brochure.

“Hold on,” Marla said as they reentered the world of traffic congestion, construction noise, and Spanish dialect. She veered toward the main avenue. “So you think Bob was embezzling money in his job as business manager? If so, what did that have to do with Alden Tusk’s death?”

“The artist may have discovered Bob’s crimes. Don’t forget, Kent Harwood is on the case because somebody is substituting fake paintings for original artworks. Maybe Bob has been doing more than cooking the books. Maybe he’s responsible for the museum thefts as well.”

I can’t believe how late it is,” Marla said as they hurried back toward the ship.

“Time flies when you’re having fun,” Vail replied in a sardonic tone. He compressed his lips as though doing so would keep the fatigue dragging on his eyelids from spreading.

The crowd in downtown Cozumel had increased threefold as the day’s tour excursions had emptied their occupants into the main shopping district. Marla wove her way through the throng, feeling as though her arms were being pulled from their sockets. Her bundles weighed heavier with each step. Vail carried his share with a stoic expression, but Marla could tell from the set of his shoulders that he was pushing it.

“Maybe we can still make afternoon tea on the ship,” she said brightly. Food would revive them both, especially a cup of coffee with cookies and fruit.

“Look, there’s Betsy,” Vail said as they approached the street corner near Goodmark Jewelers.

The museum’s public relations director stood watching the mariachi band. Betsy couldn’t have been in town too long, because she hadn’t bought anything. Straps from her swimsuit peeked out from under her scoop-necked shirt. Shorts and sandals completed her sporty attire.

“Hi, how’s it going?” Marla greeted her. “How was the snorkeling expedition?”

Betsy’s face became animated as she poked Marla in the ribs. “Hey, guys. You wouldn’t believe the water here. It’s so clear you can see straight to the bottom, and the fish are fantastic. I hated to leave.” Her gaze focused on their packages. “Holy mackerel, you’ve been busy.”

Marla grinned, ignoring Vail who stood by with his eyes narrowed as though alert for pickpockets. “Man, I am
way
over my budget. But who cares? I may never get here again.”

“Never say never,” Vail muttered.

She rounded on him. “Why? Would you go on another cruise?”

He shrugged, jostling the bags in his arms. “I suppose so. The ships leave right from our backyard, so it’s no big deal to hop on one, and the food beats eating donuts every day. I’d hope for a more restful trip, though.”

“
You
, rest? That’ll be the day.”

He raised an eyebrow. “I meant that I’d prefer to spend a week where no one is out to kill us.”

“Oh…yeah.”

Betsy mouthed something, but Marla couldn’t hear her over a sudden blast of trumpets. “I’d like to pick up a CD of this music!” the brunette shouted, her eyes gleaming. “It makes me want to dance.”

“Too bad you can’t ask Oliver Smernoff. He’s bought a disc of native music in every port.”

“You’re right. I thought he downloaded most of his tunes and went around with those iPod things in his ears so he wouldn’t have to listen to Irene. Or maybe Oily listens to the CDs at home when he paints.”

Marla’s heart skipped a beat. “Oliver paints? I didn’t realize he had artistic talent.”

“Oh no? He used to be quite good and even taught art classes in the past. I don’t know why he stopped, but obviously his interest in art led him to the museum.” After stepping aside so a family of four could pass, Betsy leaned closer. “I’m just grateful Olly never had any contact with Alden when he practiced his instrument. Poor Alden couldn’t stand to listen to anything orchestral, especially flute music.”

Marla and Vail exchanged glances. “Oliver plays an instrument,
and
he paints?” Marla said slowly.

Betsy froze. “You don’t think…?”

“We have some questions to ask people,” Vail stated. “Let’s get back to the ship.”

“I just got here,” Betsy pointed out, “and I want to shop. You guys go ahead.”

“Are you nuts? You shouldn’t be here alone.”

“I’m not a
schlemiel
, Marla. Thurston and Heidi are inside that jewelry shop. I’ll tag along with them.”

Relief washed over her. She wouldn’t want anything to happen to Betsy this close to the end of their cruise.

“Okay, then we’ll see you at dinner. Happy hunting!”

An hour later, Marla felt refreshed after dumping her bundles in the cabin, showering, and changing into black slacks and an amethyst knit top. Pleading fatigue, she remained in the cabin while Vail went topside for a snack.

He must have turned their radio on, because as she laid down on the bed, closing her eyes, she heard soft music playing in the background. Her eyelids popped open. What had Vail meant when he’d said they had more questions to ask people? Was he thinking the same thing as her?

A sudden obsession to find the museum director gripped her mind. Leaving Vail a note that she’d gone to locate Oliver, she decided to try his stateroom first. Remembering the tale of a honeymooner who’d vanished from his balcony cabin, with bloodstains left behind, she vowed not to enter unless Oliver’s wife was present. It was too easy to toss a body overboard with no one the wiser.

When no response came to her knock on the Smernoffs’ door, she trod down the hallway toward the midship elevators. She’d look for Dalton, and they could proceed together.

The elevators were held up by people returning from Cozumel, so she forced herself to climb to deck eleven. Every couple of landings, she stopped to catch her breath. Her legs didn’t ache as much as at the beginning of the cruise, but she seemed to get winded easier. Or maybe she was just tired after walking in port all day.

Admiring a Burmese sandstone carving of an eleventh-century deity in a glass case, Marla waited until her respiration slowed before gripping the banister again. A Cambodian bronze warrior kept her company at the next rest stop.

Unfortunately, her climb brought nothing but frustration, because she couldn’t find Vail when she searched the throng at the buffet. Pushing her way outside, she propped her sunglasses on her nose while scanning the bodies at the pool area.

Her gaze zeroed in on Kent Harwood, who squatted on the edge of a chaise lounge facing Cliff Peters. Cliff lay back sunning himself, his muscular body greased like a wrestler’s. He didn’t seem in the least concerned about whatever Kent was saying, despite the angry expression on the inspector’s face.

Deciding not to bother them, Marla passed through to the solarium and spa. Where had Dalton gone? Inspiration hit, and she hastened toward the teen center. He might be looking for Brianna.

Her search proved fruitless, even when she tried his parents’ cabin, the promenade deck, and various lounges. Since they hadn’t left port, the shops and casino were still closed. Thinking of all the hideaways on board, she detoured by the Pirate’s Grotto, but her spirits fell when she found the disco deserted. Nor was her fiancé skulking about the photographer’s gallery.

Don’t tell me Dalton is missing now
. Her heart pounding, she figured he’d have to turn up by dinnertime. Contemplating the other possibilities made her vision blur.

“Marla, come have a drink with me.”

Whirling at the sound of Irene’s voice, she caught sight of the elegant blonde in a quiet alcove by Mariner’s Martini Bar, on the other side of the stairway.

“Have you seen Dalton?” she asked, approaching. Having a drink wasn’t a bad idea. It might quell the panic blooming inside her. “I can’t find him anywhere. I’ve looked all over the ship.”

“That can be a good thing, darling. Sometimes we have more fun without the men.” Irene’s words were slightly slurred, undoubtedly due to the two empty glasses in front of her.

As Marla took a seat opposite the round table, Irene waved at the waiter. Bracelets clinked on her arm, six white-gold chains sharing wrist space with her diamond watch. Although casual dress was the mode for that evening, Irene wore a pair of silver silk trousers and a beaded black top.

“What did you and Oliver do today?” Marla asked after the waiter took their orders. She wondered if they still served drinks when passengers got too tipsy. “We went into town for shopping. I bought these earrings.” Lifting her hair, Marla showed off her new purchase.

“You can never lose with jewelry.” Irene tried to smile, but with her frozen facial muscles, she only managed a grimace. “Oily and I went to the Mexican folkloric performance. It was colorful albeit rather standard.”

“Was that your choice, or his?”

Irene switched her gaze to the floor-to-ceiling window. “You know how Olly likes his music.”

“That’s true. Did he ever play an instrument, Irene?”

Irene didn’t answer until the waiter delivered their beverages. She’d ordered her third martini while Marla got a Caribbean Cooler. Taking a sip, she smacked her lips. She needed the energy from the fruit juice.

“Olly is obsessed with the arts in general,” Irene said, swirling the liquid in her glass. “If he’d been a better instrumentalist, he might have joined an orchestra. As for painting, he got as far as teaching novices but was never good enough for the galleries. Mediocre, that’s his middle name.” From her sour expression, she meant that across the board.

“What does he play?” Marla asked in a conversational tone. “Maybe he’d like to join the passenger talent show.”

“Hell no.” Irene gulped down a large swallow. Her hand shook as she replaced the glass on the tabletop. “He plays his flute in private.”

Marla couldn’t help the gasp that escaped her lips.

“Oops,” Irene hiccuped. “I’m not supposed to tell anyone.”

“Why is that, Irene? Is he shy about it?”

Irene gave her a searing look that could boil water. “I don’t believe so, darling. He has other reasons. But why in heaven shouldn’t I tell you? You’re not one of us.”

While she waited for Irene to continue, Marla’s mind raced with possibilities. According to Betsy, Alden Tusk had an aversion to hearing the flute. Martha, the gift shop manager, claimed she heard flute music immediately before Alden plunged over the balcony railing to his death. Just how were those facts related?

“Olly threatened to reveal our secret,” Irene said in an increasingly slurred tone. “You won’t rat on me, will you?”

“Of course not,” Marla replied, wondering why Irene hadn’t come forward during the police investigation. But how could she if her husband was involved? “I’m sorry, what secret is that?”

Ice rattled from the direction of the bar, and Marla glanced around to make sure they weren’t being overheard. The lounge was beginning to fill with pre-dinner passengers. She caught a whiff of lady’s perfume, similar to her favorite, Obsession. Resisting the urge to crane her neck to search for Dalton’s familiar face, she focused on Irene.

“Our daughter…she isn’t his,” Irene’s voice grated. “Delaney is the result of my affair with Eric Rand.”

Marla’s brow wrinkled. “Your daughter? I wasn’t aware you had a child.”

“She’s grown now and living on her own. The sad truth, darling, is that my passion for Eric has never abated. Especially when Oily isn’t…he doesn’t…he’s never been very attentive in our sex life.”

Marla nearly jumped from her seat. “If you’ll forgive me for asking, then why are you still together?”

“Olly needs my money. And I fear he’d break Delaney’s heart if he told her. She adores her daddy and might turn against me. My baby is the only good thing in my life, Marla.”

Marla, seeing the distress on Irene’s face, reached across the table to pat the older woman’s hand. “When the truth comes out, she might be glad Oliver isn’t her father.”

They locked gazes, and Marla saw that Irene understood what she meant. “Here, I’ll show you some pictures,” Irene said, with a misty smile. “I took these of Delaney when she visited us for Mother’s Day.”

After Marla made appreciative comments and Irene packed away the photos, Marla said, “I appreciate what you’re doing for Dalton’s dad. John said you’re introducing him to the art world, and he’s excited about participating in the various shows.”

Irene gulped down the remnants of her drink. “His wife is holding him back.”

“Kate may have a change of heart. Aren’t you also helping them find a condo in Florida? I remember you said you worked in real estate.”

“I like to keep my hand in it.” Her expression sobered. “It’s not that I need the income, but working gives me a sense of independence. Know what I mean?”

“Sure do.” Marla pulled her key card from her purse.

Irene gestured. “Put that away, darling. It’s my treat. You’ve made me feel a whole lot better.”

“I’m glad,” she said, half rising. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to find my fiancé. And don’t worry, Irene. Things will work out for you.”

She headed for the staircase, deciding to check their cabin first to see if Vail had stopped by.

Vacancy met her disappointed glance. The efficient steward had already turned down their bed, leaving a towel twisted into a penguin shape, and chocolate mints on each pillow. She’d miss this service when she got home.

Sick to her stomach with worry, Marla wound her way through the ship’s maze to John and Kate’s stateroom. Hearing Brianna’s excited voice from within, she felt a whoosh of relief. At least they’d returned to the ship safely.

Her ease didn’t last long. Kate said they hadn’t seen Vail either, but then they’d only just made it back after lingering in the shops outside by the pier.

“Do you want to come in, Marla? We’re getting ready for dinner, but you can wait with us,” Kate said in a kind tone. “I’d love to hear all about your day.”

“Like wise, but I have to find Dalton. I thought he’d be in the Outrigger Cafe but I didn’t see him.” She bit her lower lip. When she did catch up to her betrothed, she hoped he would have answers to some of the questions that plagued them.

An increase in vibration told her the ship was getting under way. While people were occupied, she might be able to slip into the art gallery unnoticed. A burning desire to see Alden Tusk’s center painting took hold of her; it might confirm her theories.

On the seventh deck, she slipped past the polished wooden door into the ornate foyer. Overhead, the crystal chandelier gleamed brightly, sparks of light flashing off its facets like the jewels she’d seen in town. The place was empty, so she tiptoed past paintings propped on easels and up the red carpeted stairway toward the gallery beyond.

Oddly enough, the upper doors weren’t locked, which would have inhibited her progress but proved to be a lucky break instead. Why they weren’t secured became evident soon after she entered the auction house. Someone had ripped paintings off walls, toppled easels, and left a side door ajar. She hadn’t really studied the workrooms before, but now she saw they were set up for repairs, framing, and packing in preparation for shipping. She bet the auctioneer had an office there too.