Oliver Twisted (An Ivy Meadows Mystery Book 3) (12 page)

CHAPTER 28

A True Tale of Grief and Trial

After rehearsal, I wanted some air, so I took a detour outside before heading to Food, Glorious Food for a quick supper. My cell buzzed in my skirt pocket. This whole in-cell-range/out-of-cell-range thing was mystifying.

Timothy said it had something to do with my carrier and satellites and vectors. Whatever.

The number on my phone was one I didn’t recognize, and not an Arizona number. Normally I wouldn’t pick up, but who knew who might be calling about Cody?

“Hello?” said a tentative female voice. “Is this Ivy Meadows?”

Not about Cody then. Anyone calling about Cody Ziegwart would have known me as his sister, Olive. “Yes,” I replied, “but I’m at work right now, and—”

“On the
S.S. David Copperfield
?”

“Yes…” How would a stranger know that?

“
Get Lit!
gave me your number. Oh, I’m sorry, this is Sue Locklow.”

Locklow, Locklow…Oh. “You’re related to Harley?” I held my breath, really hoping she’d been notified of Harley’s death.

“I’m her mother…was her mother.”

So she had been notified. I let go of my breath in a whoosh, then immediately felt guilty for feeling relieved. “I’m so sorry about Harley, Mrs. Locklow.”

“That’s why I’m calling. I just wanted to talk to someone about her. You were her roommate, right?”

I’d spent just minutes with Harley when she was alive. “Yes, but—”

“And you found her?”

Oh boy. “Could you hang on a second?” I made my way to a single wheelchair accessible bathroom, the nearest private space I could think of. I stepped inside and locked the door. “Yes, Ms. Locklow, I found her.”

“Was she…harmed?”

“It didn’t look like it.” I left out the “stuffed in a closet” bit. Didn’t seem necessary or kind.

“Do you think it was drugs? Did my daughter do drugs? You can tell me.”

“I don’t think so.” No one had ever mentioned drugs when talking about Harley. Ada did say she thought Harley was selling her wares, so to speak, but again, I didn’t think that information would be pertinent, and I didn’t want to cause Harley’s mom any more grief. “They said it was natural causes.”

“But she was twenty-nine. She was just twenty…” Sue gulped a breath and didn’t say any more. Like she couldn’t.

“Um, did Harley have epilepsy?”

“What?”

She sounded shocked, so I rephrased the question. “Did Harley have any medical conditions?”

“I think she had some sort of sleep disorder, but…I don’t know. I don’t know anything about her anymore!” An anguished wail spilled from her, followed by deep wracking sobs.

Then it all came out. How Harley had left home at sixteen after a fight about a boyfriend. And had never come home again. Never called. Never written. “I’m sure she was just trying to find herself.” I didn’t know what else to say.

“I kept trying to find her too. That’s how I knew she was onboard the
David Copperfield
. A private detective told me. I wrote to her, but…”

“She got your letter,” I said, glad I had a scrap of comfort to offer. “She kept it in her desk drawer.”

“Do you think she knew I loved her?”

“I’m sure.” I knew it was the right thing to say.

“Thank you,” Harley’s mom whispered. “And Ivy?”

“Yeah?”

“I’m glad she had a friend.”

CHAPTER 29

A Strange Sort of Young Gentleman

“Please, sir, I want some—”

A passel of orphans swept into the Leather Bottle Bar before I could place my order.

“Gin!” cried Oliver. “Gin for everyone.”

“Out!” I shouted, waving my arms at the lot of them and startling one old fellow off his barstool. The great thing about playing Nancy was that I could say or do pretty much anything I wanted. Even better if I did it loudly.

“Shut up and drink your gin,” said Oliver.

“That’s not Dickens,” I said.

“It’s from the movie.”

I grabbed the little hellion by his collar. “It’s also out of character.”

“The kids drink gin in
Oliver Twist
.”

I beat down the urge to make his little snub nose even stubbier and instead said, “Get out of here, or I’ll sic my Bill on you.”

“Talk about breaking character,” said Oliver. “You’re supposed to be my protector. C’mon, boys,” he yelled to his troop. “Let’s go pick some pockets.”

The noisy wave of kids swept out as quickly as they’d swept in.

Except for one. “I’ll have a pint of stout,” said the Dodger, sidling up to the bar, top hat in hand.

“When I said out, I meant everyone.”

“I’m twenty-two.”

“Right.”

“It is right,” said the bartender. “I checked his ID when he first started working onboard. David Hu, age twenty-two. Hey, that rhymes.”

“Sorry about that,” I said to David.

“It’s okay. I wouldn’t be playing Dodger if I didn’t look twelve.”

“You don’t look twelve.” He looked fourteen. “Can I buy that beer for you?” I said.

“Sure.” He sat down at the bar, placing his hat on the stool to his right.

I pulled out the barstool to his left. Perfect. I’d wanted to talk to David for days, as he seemed to be the only one really upset by Harley’s death. “Could I please have a Diet Coke and whatever will fill me up the most?”
I asked the bartender. “I have the feeling this will be dinner.” He nodded at me as he slid a pint of dark beer toward David.

As I sat down, I noticed Bette and Madalina by themselves at a nearby table. Huh. I hadn’t seen them together before, and the only connection I knew they had was Theo. And though they had to know I was in the bar, they leaned in toward each other, so engrossed in their conversation they didn’t even look up when a waiter deposited drinks on their table. Interesting. But now I had a dilemma: spy on them or question David? I decided to go with the orphan-in-the-hand and try to eavesdrop on the other two birds at the same time. I turned my head to keep one ear in their direction.

My phone buzzed in my pocket. A text from Matt: “Good news. Cody spotted again.”

“Thank heavens,” I texted back. “Keep me in the loop.” I texted my uncle with the news and put my phone back in my pocket. I’d felt like my brother was okay, and he was. It may have been denial, or the fact that I was miles out to sea and couldn’t do anything, but I decided to trust my feelings and my brother.

The barman set down my Diet Coke and a small wooden board topped with bread, ham, a slab of cheese, and a small dish of brown stuff that looked like mincemeat. “A Ploughman’s Lunch,” said the bartender. “Should hold you.” I poked at the brown jam or whatever it was. “Branston pickle,” he said before walking away.

“Sort of like chutney. It’s good.” David took a sip of his beer, its creamy head leaving a little beer-foam mustache on his smooth upper lip. “Thanks for the beer. And in case you’re wondering, I’m off-duty ’til the ball.”

“Don’t worry, I’m not everyone’s keeper. Just Oliver’s.” I strained to hear what Bette and Madalina were saying but couldn’t catch a word.

“He needs one,” said David. “That kid is a menace. I can hardly wait until his voice drops and we can get rid of him.”

“You’ve worked with him before?”

“This is his third summer.” David took a long drink. “Thank God he’s underage or we’d have to put up with him all year.” The
S.S. David Copperfield
did five shows in rotation:
Oliver! At Sea!
in the summer;
A Tale of Two Cities
in the fall;
A Christmas Carol
, of course, during the holiday season;
David Copperfield
for the rest of the winter; and
Great Expectations
in the spring. All adult major characters from all the novels were onboard all year, so that guests could drink with
David Copperfield’
s
Mr. Micawber
, eat wedding cake with
Great Expectations
’ Miss Havisham, or join
Two Cities’
s
Madame Defarge’s knitting circle.

Madame Defarge. That’s who I really wanted to talk about. “I’m so sorry about Harley,” I said. “I just talked to her mom.”

“Her mom?” David’s forehead wrinkled. He must have known they were estranged.

“Yeah. She was glad Harley had a friend.” Sure, I knew she meant me, but I also knew she would have been glad David had been a friend to Harley, so it wasn’t a fib. “How long did you know her?”

“She came onboard the
Copperfield
about a year ago.”

Not an actual answer. “And you met her then? Or maybe on another ship?”

“This is the only
Get Lit!
ship I’ve worked on.”

Another non-answer. I switched directions. “You know, I was surprised more people weren’t upset when she died. She must have had friends.”

“Just a few. Harley kept to herself.”

“Kinda hard to do in a place like this, isn’t it? Oh, but the private room must have helped.”

“Yeah.”

“She was pretty upset when she found out I was going to room with her. Said she’d been promised no roommates ever.”

“Yeah.”

Arghh. I’d get more answers out of a clam. I took a leap. “Ada said Harley had a private room because
Get Lit!
was pimping her out.”

David carefully set his glass on the counter and turned to me. “That is
not
true.” His voice was low and his black eyes burned with barely restrained rage. “Harley had a private room because of a medical condition.”

Now we were getting somewhere. “Do you know what it was?”

“Something to do with her sleep.”

Harley’s mom had said something about that too. And Ada said that Harley made freaky sounds. Still, a private room?

Crash!
A glass shattered behind us. I turned to see Madalina’s wine goblet in shards, red wine sluicing off the table into Bette’s lap. Darn.

Madalina jumped to her feet. “Children? No!”

“I wouldn’t make it up.” Bette dabbed at her lap with a napkin.

“You know this for sure?” Madalina’s eyes could have set the place on fire.

Bette nodded. “But why are you…?” The question died on her lips as Madalina dashed from the room, nearly running over Scrooge and Marley as they walked in.

The two actors approached the bar. David took his top hat off the stool to make room for Marley and settled it on his head. His
top hat
.

“Hey,” I said. “Were you following me the other morning?”

“Why do you ask?”

“Just a feeling I had.”

“I do watch people,” he said. “I find it useful.”

“For acting?”

“Sure,” he said. “For acting.”

CHAPTER 30

Unite Business With Amusement

I planned to take David’s tack at the costume ball: watch instead of dance. After all, this event seemed like a good opportunity for pickpockets. I wanted to keep my eyes peeled for any suspicious behavior, especially from Val or Oliver. Plus I wanted to save my energy for the silk rehearsal after the dance. But all was lost as soon as I stepped through the door of the ballroom. A full orchestra played and men bowed and ball gowns glittered—oh, it was glorious.

“Isn’t it great?” I said to Timothy, who’d accompanied me.

“Fancier than my underwear,” he replied, then sidled toward a long table that held crystal punch bowls and glasses.

The floor was crowded with Dickens characters. As the costume shop manager said, most people were clothed in upper-class period dress, so it was hard to tell what characters they were. I did recognize a couple of sailors, several Miss Havishams in tattered wedding dresses, and a couple shady-looking characters from Dickens’ criminal underworld. Then, of course, there were the ghosts from
A Christmas Carol
. A black-hooded Ghost of Christmas Future stood talking with Madalina, who made a beautiful Ghost of Christmas Past with a shimmery blue gown and jeweled stars in her hair.

A black hat blinked in my peripheral vision. David must be around. I tried to spot him but couldn’t. I did see Oliver and his gang weaving through the dancers. They tripped a few people and lifted up a few skirts, but didn’t steal anything as far as I could see. Val staked out a spot near the punch bowl. He greeted a few people, slapping them on the back in a buddy-buddy sort of way, but mostly he drank punch, spiking it with something from a little flask he took from his inside coat pocket. He didn’t seem to care if anyone saw him. I guess it would have been in character for Bill Sikes, and Val didn’t have to rehearse tonight like we magic show actors did.

“And Mr. Boyko drinks a little.” Jonas had come up behind me and followed my line of vision. I really needed to work on snooping more subtly.

I turned and smiled brightly, hoping to distract Jonas from my investigative gaze. The orchestra was playing a lively tune with lots of fiddle. “Shall we finish out this song?” I said.

Jonas’s eyes flitted toward Madalina, who practically shone in her silver and blue costume. He seemed satisfied with whatever he saw. “You bet.” He led me onto the dance floor. “I heard that you talked to Cody. So he’s okay?”

“Yeah. He’s okay.” I needed to believe that.

“Good. Let’s dance.” Jonas spun me round and round in some sort of energetic polka. It was invigorating, but really difficult to do anything besides keep up with the music. I finally caught my breath and said, “So you and Theo…”

“Things are good,” Jonas said. “We made up.”

“Made up? Were you fighting?”

“Not anymore. It’s all past history.” The orchestra played a final chord. “And so is our dance.” Jonas kissed me on the cheek. “Enjoy the rest of the party. I’ll see you at rehearsal later.” He walked away from me and out of the ballroom.

Off-again/on-again Jonas was beginning to freak me out. Not because I wanted him to be on-again, but because I was beginning to doubt my instincts. And because on-again Jonas was more likely to tell me about Theo.

I started to follow him, but was intercepted by Valery.

“Now I dance with you.” He smiled a snaggledy grin.

I craned my neck, trying to see where Jonas was going. “I’m not sure I feel like dancing.”

“You feel like something bigger and better?” Val waggled his bushy eyebrows at me.

“What’s the news, my dears?” Timothy said as he approached us. He had a bit of beef from dinner stuck in his fake beard. It looked kinda Fagin-ish so I didn’t tell him.

“Jonas just said he made up with Theo.” Val and Timothy exchanged a knowing look. “What were they fighting about?”

“Probably his ‘moral weakness,’” said Timothy.

“What?”

“Ivy does not know she is Jonas’s mustache,” said Val.

“His beard,” said Timothy.

“He isn’t gay,” I said. “He took me on a date last night.” I looked around, but couldn’t see Jonas anywhere. So much for following him.

“Did he kiss you good night?” asked Timothy.

“He did, as a matter of fact.”

“Not like I would kiss you,” said Val.

“That’s probably true,” I said. Val did everything with abandon.

“You’d be better off with Bill Sikes here,” Timothy said.

“I promise not to kill you.” Val downed another cup of punch and winked his bi-colored eye.

I stared at it, fascinated by its yin-yang quality. “You have the coolest eyes,” I said to Val. “I’ve never seen anything—”

“Come, and know me better, woman.” A large fake-bearded man in a crown of holly and a fur-trimmed green robe glided up and held out his hands to me.

“Perfect.” I curtseyed to Uncle Bob. “You are the epitome of Christmas Present.”

“A big guy who likes to eat?”

I took my uncle’s hands. “A big
jolly
guy who likes to eat. And you look good with a beard.” He did. He looked even more like Santa Claus, which was pretty nice in my books. “Hey,” I said as he led me into a waltz, “I didn’t know you could dance.”

“Took a few lessons onboard. This cruise stuff is pretty great.” Uncle Bob’s robe billowed around him as we danced and I slid a look at the lining. Phew, no Ignorance and Want.

“So what had you never seen before?” he asked.

“What? Oh.” My uncle was a notorious eavesdropper. “Val’s eyes. One is blue and the other is half-blue, half-brown.”

“That’s called heterochromia. It’s pretty rare,” said Uncle Bob. “It can be genetic if it’s different colored eyes, but if one eye is bicolored, it’s usually due to something that happened in the womb.”

“Sheesh, do you know everything?”

He sighed. “I still don’t know much about this case we got. I did get some info from one of the guests. Seems she was one of the folks who was robbed on another ship.”

“The
Jack London
?

“No. The
Virginia Woolf
.”

“I’m not sure I’d name a seagoing vessel after a writer who drowned herself.”

“It’s
Get Lit!
’s singles ship. Something about a room of your own? Anyway, this lady said a bunch of the theft victims traded info among themselves—I think they’re looking to sue the cruise line—and she said they’re nearly certain it’s a gang of Eastern Europeans working all the boats. They have operatives on each ship—”

“Operatives. I love spy language.”

My uncle wisely ignored me. “Who steal small stuff off people—mostly phones and jewelry—and also break into cabin safes where they—”

“Did you see that YouTube video ‘How to Break into a Hotel Safe in Sixty Seconds’?”

“Would ya let me finish?”

“Wait, are you the Ghost of Christmas Cranky?”

Uncle Bob rolled his eyes. “Where they take whatever’s in the safe, usually more jewelry, plus wallets, artwork, and passports, and hide them onboard until they get off in port, where they meet with their higher-ups.”

I remembered Val’s meeting in Ensenada. But surely his crime boss wouldn’t hug him.

I looked back at him, and he waved at me as he tossed back a big glass of punch.

Uncle Bob continued, “The guys—or gals, we shouldn’t make any assumptions—they have fences for the goods in all the ports. And they have people who pay them for the information.”

“What information?”

“Are you asking the Ghost of Christmas Cranky?”

I stuck my tongue out at him, in a good-natured way.

“The information they get from the phones, wallets, and passports. They’re not just stealing money and jewelry. They’re stealing identities.”

“That’s big stuff, but…do you think you can trust what this woman’s telling you? Maybe she’s part of the criminal ring and she’s trying to throw you off the scent.”

“I’m gonna have her checked out, but I think she’s legit. She’s an old friend of Bette’s.”

“Lord, my ears are burnin’.” Bette gave her loud attention-grabbing laugh. She must’ve been stalking Uncle Bob. “Why are you dancing with this wench when you could be dancing with me?” She was dressed just like me, but in green. Weird. Did she really think Uncle Bob had a thing for me?

I held up my hand and stepped away. “I ain’t goin’ to fight you for him,” I said in Nancy’s voice, “seein’ as how I got my Bill. This fella’s all yours, Miss…Nancy, is it?”

“Nah.” She took Uncle Bob’s arm. “It’s Bet.”

Of course. Bet was Nancy’s fellow tart in
Oliver Twist
, a character so minor she was cut from
Oliver! At Sea!
and called Whore Number Two in
Fagin’s Magic Handkerchief
.

And I thought Bette didn’t know anything about Dickens.

“Just a second, hon.”

Oh no. Uncle Bob called her hon.

“I was just telling Nancy here a joke. Can’t leave without giving her the punch line.” Bette took the hint and gave us a bit of space, stepping away with a forced smile on her face. Uncle Bob leaned into me. “Watch that director of yours.”

“Jonas?”

He nodded. “Been decoding that background check all day. He’s one of the rotten apples.”