Cruise Ship Cozy Mysteries 06 - Cruise Millions Read online

  Helen gave Cece the kind of condescending smile that only those who truly believe they’re better than everyone else can give.

  “Well, if you work hard, I’m sure one day you’ll be able to find yourself a position in a household with all of those things. If you work hard!”

  Cece looked up at her with an incredulous look.

  She opened her mouth and I knew that whatever was going to come out of it wouldn’t be suitable for polite company. In fact, it probably wouldn’t be suitable for a company of sailors. I was about to intervene but was beaten to the punch.

  Sam stood up, pushing her chair back with a loud screech to drown out whatever Cece might have been about to say.

  “Why don’t I take you where you were going, and we can finish our conversation?” said Sam, quickly taking Helen by the arm.

  As Sam walked away with Helen, Cece glaring after them, a woman at a nearby table smiled in our direction and caught my eye.

  “Could I join you for a moment?”

  “Sure thing.” I hoped she would take Cece’s mind off of Helen Johannsen.

  “If she’s as bad as that last one, I’m going to chuck her overboard,” said Cece under her breath.

  I squeezed my friend’s knee supportively under the table while the new woman came to join us. She was younger than Helen, and even from the few words we’d already heard she sounded more down to earth than Helen Johannsen.

  “I’m Lesley Stein, and I’m here for the Claim Your Million cruise as well. I couldn’t help but hear you talking about it with that woman.” From the way she said that woman, I could tell that she was about as impressed with her as we had been.

  “Yes, I think it’s going to be an interesting competition,” I said as noncommittally as I could.

  “I hope you don’t think I’m awful…” Lesley leaned across the table and dropped her voice so that only we could hear it. “But that woman’s idea sounded ridiculous.”

  “Yes!” said Cece, slapping her palm on the table for emphasis. “It was the stupidest idea I’ve ever heard.”

  I was glad that Lesley had arrived and given Cece some outlet for her frustration. Hopefully she would have forgotten all about how awful Helen was by the time she saw her again.

  Lesley raised the back of her palm up to her forehead and broke into an impression of Helen Johannsen.

  “Oh, I don’t know how to pour coffee into a mug by myself—I need the help to do it,” said Lesley in her only slightly exaggerated impression.

  Cece and I couldn’t help but laugh.

  “Oh, I need the help to carry me to my Bentley! I’m too rich to walk,” she went on. “Oh, my revolutionary coffee cup is so clever. I think I’ll make one out of swan’s beaks for rich people.”

  Cece clapped her hands together at the end of Lesley’s impression of Helen. “So you’re in the competition too? What’s your idea?”

  Lesley stopped kidding around and stared at us seriously. “What I’ve got is unique. Revolutionary.”

  We both looked on, intrigued, our inquisitive looks urging her to continue.

  “I’ve got a new cleaning product. It’s called Platinum Power Punch, and it’s both natural, and effective. It’s amazing stuff. Those Spiders are going to sign me up right away. I just know it.”

  I could see Cece’s jaw tensing. The product sounded a lot like her own.

  “I’m also in the natural product business,” said Cece in a way that probably sounded like a casual mention to Lesley, but I could tell the phrasing was deliberate.

  “It’s a fascinating area, isn’t it? Unfortunately, a lot of people think natural means anti-science. They think throwing some re-ionized water into a bottle with baking soda and flavoring it with lemon is all you need to do. You end up with a product that smells like lemon but doesn’t do anything. What I’ve got has been scientifically proven to be over 84% more effective than three of the top five leading brands.”

  Cece folded her arms in front of her chest. “Lemon is a very effective cleaner, and it has a beautiful aroma.”

  “Yes, a lot of people think that.” Lesley shook her head, as if the idea of it was ridiculous. “People think all kinds of things.”

  I could see Cece’s hands tighten around her biceps, and her nostrils flared as she set her jaw.

  I shot up out of my seat. “Well, it’s been great meeting you, Lesley. But we’ve got to get going, don’t we?”

  Cece stared up at me for an uncomfortably long time, and for a moment I worried she was going to refuse. Eventually, she nodded. “I need a drink.”

  “Come on.” I stood up and gave the newcomer a smile. “Bye, Lesley. Good luck in the competition.”

  Cece and I left her rival competitor with what looked like a smug look on her face as we walked away.

  I hoped not all of the contestants would be quite so effective at upsetting Cece. If they were, the ship was going to see some fireworks.

  I shuddered at the thought of it.

  So much for a drama-free cruise.

  Chapter Four

  The next morning, Ethan and I met for breakfast in the Croissant Club, one of the ship’s smaller but higher quality eateries. It was a kind of mini-tradition that we started during the last cruise. Since Ethan often had to dine with the guests, and I was busy with customer-related activities, evening dates were difficult to arrange. But at breakfast, we could usually squeeze a few minutes in together.

  The air in the Croissant Club was rich with the aroma of coffee and fried and baked breakfast foods, and the gentle sounds of people enjoying their breakfast on the first full day of the cruise. It was quiet enough to provide a relaxing start to the day but the food offered a nice pick-me-up.

  Ethan was wearing his shiny white and gold uniform as we sat at our usual table by a sea-view window. People often stared our way, or their gazes lingered on us as they walked past, as they saw his uniform and deduced he was one of the more important members of the crew.

  “How’s being back on board?” he asked me. “Any drama?”

  “Nothing too dramatic yet,” I said between sips of deliciously bitter black coffee. “But the Claim Your Million crowd seems enthusiastic.”

  “Enthusiastic?” asked Ethan, an amused twinkle in his eyes.

  “Yeah. And by enthusiastic, I mean insane.”

  The twinkle turned to a chuckle. “I thought they might be. The chance of getting rich always seems to bring out the worst in people.”

  “And the investors call themselves Spiders.” A small shudder shook my shoulders. “It doesn’t inspire confidence, does it?”

  “A spiderweb is like a network, I guess. Or maybe because it’s sticky, it’s supposed to make money stick to you?” Ethan suggested.

  After swallowing a mouthful of scrambled eggs and smoked salmon, I mumbled an agreement. I glanced at my plate and was pleased to see that I was managing to eat at about the same speed as Ethan today; sometimes I found myself clearing the entire plate before he’d barely begun. The food was top-notch in the Croissant Club. That was my excuse, anyway.

  BZZZ.

  I picked up my phone and peered at the screen. It was Sam, wondering where I was. Oops. I forgot we were starting early.

  “Cornstalks, I’ve got to go.”

  “Got a better offer, huh?”

  “Nope. A much worse offer. With a motivational speaker and a bunch of money-hungry guests. Let me just…”

  Not wanting to waste the delicious breakfast, I made quick work of the rest of the eggs and the croissant. Although they tasted great, the portion sizes in the Croissant Club weren’t massive.

  “Have a good day. I’ll be doing rounds so I’m sure I’ll see you at one of the events later.”

  I pushed my chair back as I stood, mouth completely full, with a final farewell wave to Ethan as I hurried out.

  Time to get to work.

  When I arrived at the Claim Your Million Power Breakfast event, I felt like I’d been teleported to another ship. Po
ssibly even a spaceship. Most Swan of the Seas passengers tended to be older folks who weren’t fans of noise.

  But not this crowd.

  I could hear the event long before I arrived. Loud, thumping dance music blared over the speakers, and it felt entirely inappropriate for the early hour. It wasn’t even 9 a.m.

  Who wants noisy drum beats blasted into their head at that time of the day?

  This event was being held in one of our larger event spaces, an outdoor area near the stern of the ship with an elevated stage and a few dozen large plastic tables and chairs. The whole area had been decked out in green, gold, and silver. It was obvious why: green for the color of money, and gold and silver representing, well, all the gold and silver that Paul Parker was accumulating from his attendees.

  The space was packed with attendees, most of them looking bright-eyed and bushy-tailed as they walked around the room attempting to network as the near-deafening music played.

  Many of them were clutching various things. The things came in all varieties: little plastic things, large cloth things, inflatable things, soap-like things, and a few things that looked quite tasty. Presumably these were their products that they would pitch to the Spiders for the big competition.

  I was still scanning the scene and trying to take it all in without being overwhelmed when someone cranked the dance music even louder. Paul Parker, the main Spider himself, ran out onto the stage. Not walked, not jogged. He sprinted until he reached the middle of the stage, where he leaped into the air and landed with a solid thump. The dance music cut out just as he landed back on his feet, letting everyone hear his high-impact entrance.

  “Looks like we’re in for quite a show,” said Sam, nudging me in the side.

  “I hope it isn’t all like this,” I replied.

  “Welcome, welcome, welcome all! Today is the first day of the rest of your life.”

  “Do you think he’s going to only speak in clichés?” asked Sam.

  “Probably.”

  Paul Parker clapped his hands together before continuing. “It’s just before 9 a.m., right?” The audience cheered in confirmation. “This is about the time when desk-jockeys are heading into work, isn’t it?” The crowd cheered even louder.

  “Back before I claimed my first million, this is when I thought the workday started too. But now I know better. I’ve already done six hours of work.” The crowd oohed in impressed surprise. “They say the early bird catches the worm. But they shouldn’t. They should say the early bird claims! His! Million! Not that a bird needs money. The early entrepreneur claims his million. And that’s your first lesson!”

  While the crowd erupted into applause and Paul Parker took the first of many bows, Sam and I shook our heads at each other. It looked like we were the only nonbelievers, though. His audience was enthusiastically lapping up his nonsense.

  “Take a look at this. What is it?” From inside his suit jacket, Paul Parker had pulled out two giant wads of green paper.

  “Money! Dollars!” shouted the audience members.

  “That’s right. Money!”

  Paul Parker removed an elastic band from around each of the two stacks of cash and tossed them dramatically out into the crowd. The audience seemed to lose what little of their minds still remained.

  Men and women of all ages started diving for the floor to snatch up as much as they could.

  “What the—hey!” said Sam, scrambling toward the front of the stage to join the throngs crawling on the floor.

  I was debating if I should stoop to their level when Paul Parker helped me make up my mind.

  “Of course, it isn’t real money,” said Paul just when the frenzy was reaching a crescendo. People pulled themselves up from the floor and held the convincing fakes in front of their eyes to examine them. Instead of getting angry, the crowd started to laugh.

  Sam came back to join me with a sheepish look on her face, still holding one of the pieces of fake money. From a distance, it looked genuine, but up close you could see that the picture on it was of Paul Parker and the scroll at the top read, ‘In Claim Your Million We Trust.’

  “But that could have been real money had I wanted it to be. I could stand up here, throwing millions of dollars until we broke for lunch, and my bank manager would barely notice.” Paul waited for the inevitable laughter to arrive and then waited for it to abate.

  “That’s not why we’re here, though. We’re here so you can learn how to claim your million. But I have a confession to make.” Paul paused for effect, letting his words hang in the air before continuing. “‘Claim Your Million’ is an inaccurate title.”

  “Finally some honesty?” I said to Sam in a whisper.

  Before Sam could respond, Paul Parker was back at it. “It should be ‘Claim Your Millionsss,’” he said, drawing out the S like some kind of cartoon snake. “You can actually earn as many millions as you want if you follow my simple twelve steps to financial success. Millions. Not one million, not two million, not three million—why not ten million? Why not a hundred million?”

  While the crowd cheered, I felt bored to tears by the empty promises. Turning my gaze away from the host on stage, I focused on the audience. They all had greedy glints in their eyes, and I could see they were imagining the luxuries they would be able to afford once they had claimed their millions and millions and millions. Sadly, among them was Cece, who seemed just as smitten by the motivational speaker as anyone else there.

  “…and as you know, we will be holding a competition this week. Two of my mega-rich associates and I will be choosing one lucky person to invest in. While you’re learning how to make millions, someone is going to get a bootstrapping kickstart cash injection to turbo-boost their rocket to the moon of millions.” He stared out at his adoring audience. “Sounds exciting, right?”

  I paced near the edges of the crowd, taking pictures of people screaming their heads off, clapping their hands together, and raising their arms above their head in delight at Paul Parker’s words. I also took more than enough of the man himself, up on stage like a preacher, strutting around, clapping his hands, and jumping in the air to punctuate various lines of his motivational speech.

  “Now you’re probably wondering who the investors are.” The crowd responded predictably with more cheers. “For their safety, I’m going to have to keep their identities a secret until the actual competition begins. I mean, you’re all cray-cray for those millions, aren’t you?”

  The crowd couldn’t agree fast enough that they were, indeed, crazy.

  “That’s why we have to keep their identities secret. Otherwise they’d be hounded day and night by you all, knocking on their doors, bothering them in the pool, and trying to interrupt their meals, wouldn’t you?” The crowd shouted in agreement that they would indeed harass the investors given half a chance. “Of course you would—you’re go getters! That’s why you’re going to claim your million!”

  While he was talking about the investors, I watched Cece, who had a spot near the front of the crowd, to see if she would give anything away. She didn’t. Despite the fact that Alejandro and Stan were both in the audience with her, she didn’t spare them a single glance. But not everyone was as well-behaved as my friend. It seemed someone else had figured them out.

  While I was looking at Alejandro Ciudad, I was surprised to see Lesley making a beeline toward him. At that time, it sounded like Parker was finishing up his introductory spiel.

  “It’s been great meeting you all. I’ve got to make a few international trade deals right now, but it’s time for you all to begin to shine and take your first step to claiming your millions. I want you to go to your tables, introduce yourselves to each other, and start practicing your pitches for the competition. Show each other your products, and tell your new entrepreneurial friends why they should invest in you. Pretend they’re my Spiders from the Spider’s Web.”

  Paul Parker paused and then shouted out as loud as he could into the microphone a phrase that I would hea
r many more times: “Let’s make some mo-ney!” He dragged out each syllable in the word ‘money,’ turning it into a hip-hop refrain.

  The audience parroted “Let’s make some mo-ney!” back at him, his singsong rhythm intact.

  As fast as he had arrived, Paul Parker sprinted off the stage, this time without a dramatic jump, presumably to go make another million before lunch.

  Lesley was now standing in front of Alejandro chatting him up like they were old friends. Sam was making her way over to them as well, presumably to rescue the investor, and I decided to tag along.

  As I got close, I could tell that Alejandro looked uncomfortable. He didn’t seem to appreciate Lesley’s too-friendly demeanor. Sam got there before me, taking him by the arm and apologizing to Lesley before leading him away.

  I watched Lesley curiously. Was she just talking to him by chance, or had she figured out that he was one of the investors? If so, how could she have managed that already?

  Snapping a few more pictures as I went, I casually tailed Lesley. I wasn’t surprised when she proceeded to make another beeline, this time toward Stan Westbrook. I ambled my way over and stood nearby, taking pictures of anything and everything I could.

  After greeting Stan, Lesley pulled a bottle out of a large pink bag that was hanging from her shoulder. The investor took it from her hand, opened the top, and took a sniff. He frowned for a moment and then smiled at Lesley, offering some kind of approval. I couldn’t hear what they were saying as the thumping dance music was playing again, but it looked like Stan asked her a question.

  Lesley reached back into her big pink bag and took out a piece of paper. Holding it in front of her eyes, she seemed to recite some of it to Stan, who listened carefully and then nodded back at her.

  I wasn’t the only one who was curious about what she was doing. Cece had spotted Lesley talking to the investor and was on her way to investigate. Just as Cece arrived, Lesley shoved the paper back into her bag, nodded her head toward Cece, and broke away from Stan. Before my friend could even speak to him, he too had turned away and started to walk toward the exit.