Oliver Twisted (An Ivy Meadows Mystery Book 3) (7 page)

CH
APTER 15

A Notable Plan

“Thanks so much for doing this,” I said to David as I followed him down the hall to the crew cabins. “And thanks to you too,” I whispered to Timothy, beside me.

Timothy’s white lie about me having a crush on Val was proving useful. After rehearsal, I’d said to David, “You know, I think I should ask Val about helping me with my accent. Do you think he’s in your room?” Everyone would think this was an excuse to get close to Val. It was, but not for the reason they thought.

“Either there or the bar,” he replied. Ada looked at me when she heard “bar” and pantomimed slitting a throat.

“I’d like to check his room first,” I said. “Would you show me where it is?”

David shrugged a slight shoulder. “Sure.”

I conferred with Timothy before we left the theater. “Here’s the plan. If Val isn’t there, I’ll say I want to leave a note for him. You offer to buy David a Coke so that I have a few minutes alone in their room.”

“A Coke?”

“I don’t know. Maybe go to the arcade and challenge him to a game of Donkey Kong? Or a round at George’s Shooting Gallery? Whatever you think will keep him away for a few minutes.”

“What if Val is in the room?”

“I’ll just see what I can. Maybe ask to use the bathroom.”

“Be careful. He’s a thief, remember?”

I snorted. “I can handle Val.”

Luckily, Val wasn’t there. I played my “I just need a minute alone so I can write him a note” card.

“I’m not sure—” began David.

“I’ve known Ivy for years,” said Timothy. “She’s harmless as a drag queen without heels.”

I waved goodbye to Timothy and David and got to work as soon as they shut the door. I went to one of the wardrobes and pulled open the door. Just clothes in the wardrobe, clean ones folded and on hangers, and a few dirty ones on the floor, judging by the mingled smell of detergent, aftershave, and feet. I rifled through the hangers in the closet. Definitely Val’s clothes. Though he and David both wore shabby-looking Victorian costumes, David was a good foot shorter and maybe fifty pounds lighter than Val. Nothing interesting in the closet. I shut the door and went into the bathroom. Nothing of interest there either, except for a large box of condoms. Pretty sure they didn’t belong to David.

I went through the drawers. Nothing that piqued my interest, and again, pretty easy to see what stuff belonged to who. Or Hu. Ha.

One of the shelves above the desk held a TV and a few books in Russian. The other shelf was bare except for a photo of an Asian family, a serious-faced David tucked in between his two smiling parents.

I’d heard that Oliver stayed with his parents onboard in some sort of family suite. I suspected David’s family wasn’t here or else he wouldn’t be rooming with Val.

I finished my investigation of the room.

I didn’t know exactly what I was looking for, but I certainly didn’t find it. Oh well. I’d just write the note to Val about helping me with my accent and be off. I grabbed a pen and piece of paper off the desk and sat on the lower bunk.

Huh. A piece of yarn crept out from underneath the pillow. I tipped up the pillow. A gray knitted scarf lay underneath. I felt a tingle of familiarity, but nothing concrete. I picked it up. A subtle pattern was woven into it, using gray yarn just a shade lighter than the rest of the scarf. I peered at it. Was that a bear? Yes. And a name. Val.

Someone dear to him must have knitted the scarf, or why would he have it under his pillow? I carefully tucked it back in its place when it hit me. I knew where I’d seen that gray yarn. In Harley’s hands, the last time I saw her alive.

CHAPTER 16

The Intricacies of the Way

“I found something. I’m following up on it.” That’s what I texted Uncle Bob the next morning as the ship pulled into Ensenada. What I didn’t say was that I was going to follow Val. I was pretty sure my uncle would say it was too dangerous. I was also pretty sure I knew how to tail someone (thanks to Uncle Bob and my PI handbooks), and that I wouldn’t look too suspicious if I got caught, since I was supposed to have a crush on Val and everything.

The
S.S. David Copperfield
had a four-hour stop in Ensenada, thanks to some maritime law that required a stay-over in a foreign port. We actors were given the time off to explore and blow off steam. Before leaving, I put on big sunglasses and a floppy hat to hide my strawberry blonde buzz cut. It wasn’t really a disguise, just something to make me a little less identifiable at a glance. Thus prepared, I pretended to gab with Timothy at the end of the hall so I could keep an eye on Val and David’s cabin. We’d only been talking a few minutes when Val emerged, wearing a t-shirt and cargo pants, a canvas messenger bag slung across his body. I waited until he opened the door to the stairwell, then took off after him.

“Be careful,” Timothy said after me.

“I won’t drink the water,” I covered.

I ran quietly up the stairs just in time to see Val exit onto the next deck. I did too. Once there, it was easy to lose myself in the line of employees waiting to get off, and easy to keep sight of Val. His white arms nearly glowed against the sleeves of his black t-shirt. I hoped he was wearing sunscreen.

As soon as he debarked, he lit a cigarette and headed off with a purposeful stride, as if going to a familiar destination. I joined the throng of people heading to Ensenada’s main drag, keeping Val firmly in sight. If he were involved in this theft ring, maybe he’d meet up with his contact. I almost lost him once on a busy street lined with busy shops made busier by their brightly colored signs advertising mariscos, cerveza, and Viagra. I caught sight of him again, partly obscured by a knot of tourists. He looked over his shoulder, then ducked down a small side street. I sped up and peeked around the corner in time to see him enter a small cantina. I pulled my hat down to hide my face and slowed, walking nonchalantly past the open door, facing straight ahead but looking sideways behind my sunglasses. Val approached a big man facing the bar and tapped him on the shoulder. The man spun around, a scowl on his pale face until he caught sight of Val. Then he broke into a grin, pulling Val into a bear hug.

Huh. Not the way I’d greet my criminal contacts.

“There’s no business like show busine—” Shit, I forgot to turn off the ringer on my cell. And it was on the loudest setting. Nice detecting style, Ivy. The two men turned toward the sound. I ducked away, scrambling in my bag to turn off my phone.

When I was a couple blocks away, I stepped into a souvenir shop. After a few minutes browsing huarache sandals and scorpions encased in plastic, I determined that I hadn’t been followed. I took out my phone, turned the ringer off, and redialed the number that had interrupted my spying.

“Ivy, where are you?” my friend Candy asked in her unmistakable Louisiana drawl. “Don’t tell me you forgot your best friend drove four and a half hours into another country just to see you.”

“Of course not.” Actually, I didn’t think Candy really meant it when she offered to meet me in Mexico. Sure, she’d mentioned it last week on the phone, but she said it kind of offhandedly, the way people do when they think something is a nice idea but they don’t really believe it will happen. Plus, Ensenada wasn’t that much closer than Phoenix and she hadn’t visited there once since moving to L.A. four months ago.

“Well, I’m here,” she said. “I’m at Hussong’s and there’s a nice icy margarita on its way, just for you.”

“Good. I could use it. And I could use you too. Want to help solve a murder?”

“Girlfriend,” Candy said, “what are friends for?”

CHAP
TER 17

Old Companions and Associations

There was no mistaking Candy, even from the back. Her curly brown hair had the same optimistic energy as the rest of her. When she jumped up from the table at Hussong’s and ran toward me, all the men in the area turned in her direction. She had that effect. I don’t know if it was the brilliant smile spread across her face or the fact that she looked like she might bounce right out of her sundress. Probably both. Candy radiated a sunny sexuality.

“Ivy girl!” Candy hugged me so hard my hat fell off. Then, “Omigod—your hair.”

“Audrey Hepburn, right?”

“The spittin’ image.”

We chatted as we walked to our table, catching up on our lives. I felt so good with Candy. Like I was on solid ground again.

Oh.

I was.

I’d thought I was doing pretty well with my water phobia, but I suspected it had been seeping into my mind all this time, wearing away my sense of wellbeing. I didn’t notice my chronic unease until it was gone.

Nothing I could do about it at this point. I had to get back on the ship in a few hours. I mentally packed my fear away in watertight luggage, pushed it far back into the attic of my mind, and focused on the time I had now, with Candy, on dry land.

After all, there were margaritas to be drunk.

We sat at a table already outfitted with a paper boat of crispy tortilla chips, a cup of chunky salsa fresca, and two margaritas—a frozen one for Candy, one on the rocks for me. “So,” Candy said, “what’s this about a murder?”

I filled her in, swearing her to secrecy. After she was caught up, I said, “So I need to find out a few things that could help. I want to look up some information on your phone.”

“Why not yours? You forget to charge it?”

I shook my head. “Do you know how easy it is for someone to hack into your phone? Get your texts, your browser history, even your voice commands?” I did. Working at Uncle Bob’s PI firm had given me quite the education. “Since we’re undercover, we’re trying to keep any cybertrails to a minimum. Even my texts have to sound innocent.”

Candy hauled her chair next to mine, pulled out her phone, and went to her browser. “All right, let’s do this. First thing?”

“Find out what Keppra is used for. It’s a prescription drug.”

A few taps later: “It’s an anti-seizure medication.”

“Any interactions with Amoxicillin?”

Candy and I scrolled through several sites looking for drug interactions. Didn’t see any issues with Amoxicillin.

“Can we look up something more exciting now?” Candy signaled the waiter for another round of margaritas. “Like how to kill your agent who promised you movies and can’t even get you a commercial?”

“Oh no.”

“Oh yes. She’s only managed to get me a handful of auditions since I got to L.A. Keeps sending me on cattle calls I don’t even need an agent for. And the only role I actually got was in an indie film where I played ‘sex tent female.’ Don’t even ask.” Candy rolled her eyes. “I actually dated ‘sex tent male’ for a couple weeks, but that went about as well as the rest of my Hollywood life. I almost miss Phoenix.”

“Almost? Do you miss Matt?” They had dated for more than half a year after I’d introduced them. Candy broke off the relationship when she moved to California to pursue a film career.

“I don’t know.” Candy stirred the slush in her margarita with a little straw. “Let’s investigate your murder some more. It’s less depressing.”

“Really?”

“Really.”

“Okay. Let’s find out everything we can about Theo Pushwright.”

“Ooh, is he onboard?” She tapped on her phone. “I love him.”

“You and about a million others.” I stared at Candy’s tiny screen. “Wow, he’s sold a lot of books. But that’s not what I really want to know.” Candy and I searched for something about Theo’s personal life for over ten minutes. Nothing that didn’t appear scripted by his PR firm. “Huh.” I knocked a bit of the salt off the rim of my glass and sipped my margarita. “No mention of wives or kids or girlfriends at all.”

“Maybe he’s gay?”

“Jonas said Theo was his stepfather, so he had to be married.”

“Doesn’t mean he’s not gay.”

“I’m pretty sure he’s not.” I remembered Theo sneering at Timothy. “Moral weakness,” he’d said. “Let’s move on,” I said to Candy. “See what we can find on Harley Locklow.” I’d seen Harley’s last name on her
Get Lit!
contract.

Candy Googled her. “Looks like she’s on a bunch of social media sites, but…kinda funny. She only posts about twice a month, but then she writes a ton.”

“That makes sense if she’s been working on ships for a while. Probably only gets online in between cruises. Hey, does she mention being onboard any other ships?”

Candy studied her phone. “Yeah.
The S.S. Jack London
and
A Cruiseship Named Desire
. Ooh, maybe I should audition for that one. After all, I have spent my life depending on the kindness of strangers.”

“Did you say
Jack London
?”

“Yep. She’s even got some photos.” Candy slid her phone toward me. There was Harley, smiling into a cup of coffee; then with a group of people; then in a swimsuit on a beautiful white sand beach.

“You sure that’s
Jack London
? It doesn’t look like Alaska.”

Candy looked closer. “Oops, that’s the
S.S. David Copperfield
. I can go back to
Jack
—”

“No, wait.” I grabbed her phone and looked at the group photo. I recognized some of the people: Timothy and David and Val. The whole group had linked arms, but Harley stood especially close to Val, looking up at him with obvious affection. “Look up Valery…” How had he introduced himself? “Boyko,” I finished.

Candy tapped. And tapped. And tapped some more. “Valery Boyko? You sure you got that right?”

“I think so. Why?”

“Nothin’ on him. Not a mention anywhere. As far as the internet is concerned, the boy doesn’t exist.”