Set Sail for Murder (26 page)

“Isn’t this romantic,” Dorian purred as he slowly guided Polly along the deck. “It just shows to go you that in America anyone can grow up to meet Polly Pepper and spend time on an intimate ocean cruise with the legend herself.”

Wedged tightly between the vise of Dorian’s arm and the side of his body, the position made it impossible for Polly to walk casually. Her rigid body was growing more uncomfortable with each step. Finally she shrieked, “Oh, look! A shooting star!” She extricated herself from Dorian’s grip and dashed to the railing along the edge of the deck. “Darn, you missed it.”

“You’re the only star I want to see,” Dorian said as he sidled up to Polly at the railing. “I hope your invitation to visit Pepper Plantation is still a go. I’m eager to see your famous home. And your art collection.”

“Ah, the not-so-famous can,” Polly said. “I don’t know why you’d care about such a dreary subject for a painting.”

“Far from dreary!” Dorian objected. “If you don’t like it, maybe I can take it off your hands.”

“I’d have a difficult time explaining that to my decorator,” Polly said. “She designed the entire room around it. Matching cushions on the sofa. Even the rug was made es-specially to pick up the colors of the canvas. I’m afraid it’s staying right where it is.”

“I was kidding, of course,” Dorian said, not sounding too convincing. “But maybe when I visit, you’ll have a dinner party and invite David Hockney to join us, so he can tell me all about that canvas of his that you own.”

“Mmm,” Polly said, vaguely. She yawned and said it was time for her beauty rest, and would Dorian mind awfully if she called it a night. “We’ll have brunch tomorrow.”

Dorian looked at his wristwatch, obviously disappointed. However, he said, “Absitively. Posolutely.”

Polly shivered at hearing that ridiculous phrase again, but pretended it was the chilly night air that caused her to shudder.

Dorian began to walk Polly back to the inside deck when she insisted that he stay out and enjoy the star-filled night. “I can certainly find my way back alone.”

Suddenly, Dorian became testy. “Are you tired of me? If you are, it’s fine. You can be tiresome too. But I’d like to know where I stand.”

Polly gave Dorian a blank look. “It’s been an exhausting day. I had very little sleep last night, you may remember. Also, Polly Pepper is many things, but
never
tiresome. She’s—rather, I’m—the life of the party.”

Dorian instantly checked himself. “I’m so sorry, Polly. That didn’t come out the way I intended. Of course you’re
never
tiresome. I have to face the fact that we’re from two different worlds, and compared to your exciting showbiz friends, I don’t have very much that’s interesting to talk about. I hope you’ll forgive me.”

“There’s nothing to forgive,” Polly said. “One can’t help being a fireman or a computer programmer or—a shoe salesman. Just as I can’t help being an internationally acclaimed, multi-Emmy Award-winning superstar with a new DVD collection of all-time greatest hits musical/comedy sketches from my long-running television variety series which is syndicated in forty-two countries.”

Dorian leaned in to give Polly a kiss but she turned her cheek to his lips. “I have done something to change your mind about me,” he said, coldly. “Will you keep our brunch date, or blow me off with an excuse that you have a headache or some other such transparent lie?”

“Sweetums, I have no idea what you’re talking about,” she said with mock sincerity. “You’re a lovely man, and I’m happy that we’ve had this opportunity to get to know one another. I’ll see you at brunch.”

Polly turned and disappeared into the ship. She rode the
glass elevator to her deck and quickly moved along the corridor to her deluxe veranda suite.

As she was about to insert her key card into the door lock, a voice from behind startled her. “Don’t turn around,” a man with a New England accent spoke. “I have a message for you, Miss Pepper.”

Polly wanted to say, “Not Miss Pep-pa. It’s Miss ‘Pepper.’”

“It comes from the grave. Laura Crawford’s grave.”

“She’s in cold storage, not in a grave.” Polly found the temerity to speak.

“Splitting hairs,” the voice retorted. “Do you want this information or not?”

Polly didn’t answer.

“Laura Crawford said to tell you that the man who killed her is probably …”

“Probably?” Polly scoffed. “The dead are supposed to be omniscient. Doesn’t she know for sure who killed her?”

“Jeez, lady, do you mind if I talk?” The voice lost its accent. After a moment, the accent returned. “The killer is probably a man she double-crossed….”

“Ugh! She was always doing something stupid to tick people off.”

“Before you interrupt again, no, it’s not a fan she snubbed or a celebrity she had a fight with.”

Polly kept her back to the voice, but folded her arms across her chest. “Laura Crawford seems to be sending you a lot of vague signals. Can you be more specific about what she did to make someone so angry that they’d slice and dice her?”

“I’ll say this much. A fragile ego seeks revenge.”

“An actor?” Polly guessed.

“Don’t you listen? I said he wasn’t a celebrity!”

“Excuse me,” Polly said in a sarcastic tone. “Maybe the killer was jealous of one of her lovers.”

“With all the weight she’d packed on, do you really
think she had a stream of men flowing in and out of her life?” The voice was now impatient. “Forget it. In fact, forget that I tried to help.”

“No!” Polly begged. “I’m at my wits’ end and need all the help I can get to solve this crime. What else do you know?”

“Laura Crawford wants me to tell you that if you’re not careful, you’ll die for the same reason that she did. Be wise.”

“Is that really Laura giving me a warning, or are you simply trying to scare me and redirect my investigation, or stop it altogether?” Polly demanded.

The voice stammered. “Look, I’m sorry. I had nothing to do with Laura Crawford’s death but I think I know who did.”

“Tell me! I promise I won’t tell a soul. About you, I mean. You won’t be in trouble,” Polly implored. “I’ll protect you.”

“You can’t promise that! Anyway, I’ll be considered an accessory for not coming forward. I just can’t speak on the record. You’re going to have to find out for yourself!” The voice cracked in fear. “But you’re closer than you think.”

“Please, please, please!” Polly begged. “At least give me a hint. A really good one, ‘cause I’m not so hot with riddles.”

A loud but resigned sigh came from behind Polly. “What can I say that won’t implicate me? Okay. Um. Maybe this will help. A book. A movie. I guess a play, too. Oh, and an Oscar nomination for A.L.”

Polly rolled her eyes. “How can I play charades if I can’t see your signals? A book? How many words in the title? How many syllables? Sounds like? You have to tell me if I’m getting hot or cold. This is totally dumb. Why don’t we go to the Polar Bar for a drink and sort this out?”

Silence.

“The champagne is on me.”

Silence.

“You can’t pass up champagne! Oh, but you’re right. We can’t be seen together. But I can’t let you into my cabin either, because for all I know you may be the killer and you’ll do to me what you did to Laura.”

Silence.

“Are you the killer? Would the real fiend who murdered Laura Crawford as she prepared to have a relaxing massage, please stand up. Please?”

Silence.

Polly slowly and tentatively moved her head to look over her shoulder. The corridor was empty. Polly turned around and looked up and down the hallway. She turned back to her door and slipped her key card into the lock once more. “Damn. Maybe I do talk too much.”

“To yourself.” Tim’s unexpected voice gave Polly a start.

Placenta said, “Why so jumpy? Dorian’s frightening, but …”

“I was just talking to … Did you see anyone in the hallway as you came down?”

Tim and Placenta looked up and down the corridor. “Just us chickens.”

“That’s me,” Polly sighed. “A chicken talking to a ghost.” She pushed the door open and entered her stateroom.

“Ghost? Anyone we used to know and like?” Tim mocked.

“I’m serious!” Polly said, expecting a glass of champagne to be placed in her hand right away. “Thank you, dear,” she said as Placenta fulfilled her duty. “I was outside the stateroom, just about to unlock the door when the voice from the Pepperidge Farm commercials spoke to me. He had a dire warning.”

“That the Keebler elves are baking something illegal in their cookies?” Tim teased.

Polly gave him a scornful look. “He had a message from the grave. Laura’s grave.”

“She doesn’t have a grave,” Placenta said.

“Splitting hairs. He said he thought he knew who killed Laura!”

“Who?” Tim ask.

“He wouldn’t say.”

“Jeez. You’d think the spirit world would repay the living for all the people who help guide the losers into the light,” Tim said.

“A prankster who was having fun at your expense,” Placenta said as she poured herself a glass of champagne. “He was probably getting back at you for all the finger-pointing that turned out to be false.”

“I’m not so sure.” Polly defended her phantom. “There was something legitimate in his voice.”

Tim took Polly’s glass from her hand and took a sip, then handed it back. “We’re on a ship filled with actors. Any one of them could have changed their voice, slipped into ghost character and, as Placenta said, had a big ol’ laugh at spooking Polly Pepper. Look for it on ‘The
Intacti’s
Funniest Kool Krooz Videos.’”

Polly swallowed the remainder of her champagne and waited for a refill. “Now I’m depressed. I’m at the end of my rope. Like David Carradine. But without the added entertainment.”

“Or as much behind-the-corpse sniggering,” Tim teased.

“The voice. No, I never saw who it belonged to.” Polly answered the question before it could be asked. “However, he said that Laura double-crossed someone, and that if I wasn’t careful, I’d die for the same reason that she did.”

“We’ve been hearing that all week,” Placenta snorted. “You were supposed to go overboard hours ago. Look who’s still drinking.”

Feeling devoid of any hope that she would ever find the killer, Polly sighed and folded herself onto the sofa. “This has not been a very good vacation. Not to speak ill of the
dead, but it’s all Laura Crawford’s fault. As usual. Right from the moment she got me involved in this cockamamie scheme to earn a few extra bucks, and up to the moment she got herself ripped apart, it’s been a nightmare for me. And God knows I haven’t sold nearly as many DVDs as Laura promised I would!”

“It hasn’t exactly been a Carnival Cruise for Laura either,” Tim reminded.

Polly shook her head. “In some ways, she’s better off. At least she doesn’t have to live with my guilt.”

Placenta heaved a heavy sigh of frustration and then tried to comfort Polly. “The only thing you’re guilty of is calling my beau a sociopathic serial killer who, if not immediately locked up and kept under tight security, would have every celebrity aboard this Kool Krooz slaughtered before he finished playing the Rodgers and Hammerstein songbook.”

Tim agreed with Placenta. “Add a heaping scoop of guilt for scaring away my one and only true love-of-the-week. Without Dangelo I’m an old maid at twenty-seven, with absolutely no hope of finding everlasting love on the high seas during the last forty-eight hours of this voyage. You’ll be paying for years of therapy for me after this.”

Polly looked at her family with the condescension they deserved. “I’m talking about the guilt of not being able to solve the murder for Laura. I’m a failure!”

The room remained quiet for a long moment as the trio sipped champagne and thought about the ordeal they’d all endured over the past five days. Finally, Polly said, “Who’s up for a game of charades?”

“It’s too late,” Tim said.

“We don’t have enough people,” Placenta added.

Polly stood up. “My ghost and I were playing, when he suddenly vanished.” Polly opened her palms and held them up.

“Oh, Lord, we’re stuck in game mode,” Tim said.

Placenta gave in with a loud moan. “A book,” she said, recognizing the charade clue to indicate a book title.

Polly nodded in excitement. She then curled her fingers to her thumb and made an O, which she brought up to her eye, while using her other hand to pantomime cranking a handle.

“A movie,” Tim said halfheartedly.

Again Polly nodded effusively. She then stretched out her arms and placed the backs of her hands together in front and pushed them in opposite directions.

“Swimming!” Tim said.
“Swimming with Sharks!”

Polly shook her head.

“You’re parting something,” Placenta said. “Tall grass, like in the savannahs of Africa. Pushing away grass to see a lion.”

“The Lion King! Out of Africa!
Tim wailed excitedly.

Polly shook her head firmly and tried another clue. She held out her palms and raised them up as if lifting a heavy object.

“Levitation!” Placenta said.

Polly shook her head. She then clenched her fists around an invisible rope and acted as though she were straining to hoist a heavy pulley.

“You’re raising a flag!” Tim said.

Polly shook her head.

“Hand over fist!” Placenta said, getting into the fun. “A book from a movie that brought in money, hand over fist!”

“What’s the clue for a play?” Polly said.

“You not supposed to talk!” Placenta snapped.

Polly gestured zipping her lips. She thought for a long moment and then stood perfectly rigid and as still as a statue.

“A guard at Buckingham Palace!” Tim said.

Polly pinched her thumb and forefinger together.

“Small!”

Polly nodded.

“Miniature guards. Toy soldiers!”

Polly frowned. She pretended to place something heavy in the crook of her arm and cradle it.

“
Rosemary’s Baby!”
Tim shouted.

Again Polly looked through the O of her fingers while turning a crank.

“Movie. Baby.
Toy Soldiers.”

Polly was clearly frustrated and repeated looking through a viewfinder, standing rigid for a moment, placing something in the crook of her arm.”