Cruise Chaos Read online

  Kelly’s door was already open when I arrived and it looked like it may not have been closed since the previous time I was there. Kelly was sitting on the edge of her desk, facing the door, with the desk phone cradled in her lap and her cell phone pressed against her ear.

  “Hi, Adrienne!” she called. “Not you, sorry, someone came to my office.” She looked up at me with a smile. “How’s it going?”

  “Great,” I said with a slightly worried frown. I was concerned for the person on the other end of Kelly’s phone call.

  “Sorry!” she said into the phone. “I have a meeting now. Gotta go.”

  Kelly picked up the phone on her lap with her free hand and placed it back in its cradle. “Shoot!” She lowered the cell phone from her ear, pressed a button, and placed it down on the desk next to her.

  Kelly was less bee-like today than she had been the first time we’d met, and instead she was more like a fire beetle. She was wearing a dark red dress, matching heels, and earrings that may have been rubies. She seemed just as busy as last time, though.

  “Right. Our meeting.” She looked around the room as if hunting for a clue. “Is it just us?”

  “No,” I said, shaking my head. “We’re waiting for some of our other staff.”

  “Panic not, for I am here!” came an excited male voice from the doorway.

  It was Greg Washington and he was dressed in a chef’s outfit, along with a tall chef’s hat.

  “There’s a stain on your outfit,” I said as I approached him.

  He flung his hands up into the air and let out an exaggerated sigh.

  “Of course there are stains on my outfit! I’m a cook in a diner! Have you ever been to a diner?”

  “Not into the kitchens.” I’d been to many diners in my life, including one in particular where I had a horrific experience.

  “Honey, diner cooks are rough. Blue collar workers. They smoke, they drink, they’re fat, they’re unreliable, and, they have stains on their uniforms.”

  “All of them?” Kelly had her face scrunched up like a disbelieving gerbil as she asked.

  “One hundred percent,” said Greg with the confidence of someone who knew what he was talking about. “So, the stains are authentic. There’s ketchup here,” he pointed at the larger stain on his front. “And here, there’s mustard. Both are genuine, I can assure you.”

  “You’re thorough. Good work!” said Kelly, and she walked toward Greg with her little hand held high in the air. As she approached, they slapped their hands together in a high-five.

  Really? For spilling stuff on his uniform?

  “Hi, am I late?” asked Sam, speaking and bustling in. She was dressed in her regular clothes: a pair of jeans and a tight T-shirt, but hanging around her neck on a lanyard was a badge reading “PRESS” in capital letters, and she was carrying what looked to be a small voice recorder.

  “Not late! Don’t worry. We’re all just arriving. Except me. I was already here. Are you really a reporter?”

  Sam shook her head. “No... I’m playing one for the murder mystery.”

  “Fantastic! You had me convinced!” said Kelly, offering Sam a high-five too. They slapped hands with a smile.

  “Is that everyone now?”

  “Just one more to come. Cece is coming as a maid.”

  “Oh yes! I remember. I ordered the costume myself,” said Kelly.

  At that point, we were all surprised when the stripper arrived.

  At least, that’s what it looked like.

  “Hi guys!” said Cece, as she entered.

  “Uh...” said Sam.

  “Oh, you go girl!” said Greg.

  “Cece!” I nearly screamed. “What in the...”

  Cece was dressed in black high-heels that seemed to add six inches to her height. Above them were black lacy stockings and suspenders, followed by the tiniest of black skirts, and a midriff- and shoulder-baring white blouse that only seemed to have two operational buttons. On her head was about the only presentable part of her costume: a black maid’s hat.

  “I look awesome, don’t I?”

  I slowly shook my head and looked at Kelly.

  “Oh... shoot,” she said, scrunching up her face and balling her hands into fists by her side.

  “Kelly?” I asked.

  “Shoot! I should have checked. I messed it up. I mess everything up, don’t I?”

  I reached over and gave her arm a supportive squeeze. She certainly had messed up, but she really didn’t seem to have meant it.

  “I just searched online for a maid’s costume, and the Hot French Maid’s costume came up. I thought, since we were going down to Mexico, it would suit the climate!”

  Cece stuck a hand on her hip. “What’s wrong with the costume? I think it looks amazing. Am I too fat for it?”

  I glared at her. She knew perfectly well what was wrong with it. The kind of clientele who went on Swan Cruises did not expect to see saucy French maids walking around. Not at all.

  “Oh, you’re not too fat! You’re not fat at all!” said Kelly in alarm, oblivious to the fact that Cece was teasing us all. “You look fantastic. But...” Kelly looked to me to finish the sentence.

  “But you can’t wear that in public. The uniform’s a mistake. We’ll have to sort something else out.”

  Cece pouted. “Everyone else thought it was awesome. At least they stared at me enough.”

  “You haven’t been strolling around the ship like that, have you?”

  She shrugged. “I came straight here. Well, after I went to sickbay.”

  “Sickbay?” said Kelly with concern. “Are you okay?”

  Cece nodded. “I was just feeling so hot, you know—I went to see Dr. Ryan to get a second opinion.”

  I glared at her.

  “Hot? Do you have a fever?” Kelly still had her hands scrunched up into little fists, and was banging her right hand against her thigh nervously.

  “Nope,” said Cece with a wicked smirk. “Anyway. I’ve gotta change? Really?”

  “Well, it might be for the best,” said Kelly gently.

  I narrowed my eyes at Cece adamantly. “Yes. Yes, you have to change. I guess you could wear your normal work clothes?”

  Cece’s expression turned dark, and it was genuine this time.

  “My work clothes? The housekeeper uniform? You want me to wear that at a public event? Do you know how demeaning that is?”

  “You could spruce it up a bit?” I suggested.

  “I think she looks foine now,” said Greg, earning his own personal glare from me.

  “Thanks, Greg,” said Cece, blowing him a kiss.

  “How about a compromise?” I suggest gently. “If you got a black dress, a nice one, but nothing too... strippery, and you swapped out the shoes for something a little less like clown-stilts… And you could keep that hat.”

  “Put a white apron on the front and you’ll be golden,” finished Greg.

  Cece’s look softened. “Yeah, I guess I could go for that.”

  “Do you have a black dress?” I asked her.

  She frowned. “Sure. In San Juan.”

  Greg shrugged. “I don’t have one either. Sam?”

  She shook her head. “Nope. Didn’t bring anything like that with me. Nor did you.”

  Sam of course knew exactly what I had with me, and she was right. The only proper dress I had with me was the one I’d bought that morning, and it was a lovely light blue color and not at all maid-like.

  I began to look toward Kelly and then stopped myself. She was so much smaller than the rest of us that even if she did have a black dress, it would be small enough on Cece to be almost as scandalous as what she was currently wearing.

  “Oh, I have an idea,” I announced.

  They all looked at me.

  “That dress Harley was wearing last night. The black one. Do you remember it?”

  “You thought she looked like a maid?” asked Cece curiously.

  “Well, no, but if you put a white
apron in front of that dress, and then put that little hat on, you’d look like the most glamorous maid that ever worked.”

  The corners of Cece’s mouth crept up. She liked the idea. From her perspective it would certainly better than her wearing her regular outfit, and from the perspective of Swan Cruises it would be a lot better than having one of their employees dressed like a stripper.

  “Do you think she’ll go for it?” asked Sam.

  “I think so,” I said. “I just need to frame it in such a way that she thinks it’s in order to help out her husband, which—tangentially—it will be. It’s his murder mystery plot we’re following.”

  There were murmurs of agreement all around. It seemed like we had a plan.

  “Hey, Kelly?” asked Cece.

  “Yes?”

  “Can I keep this Hot Maid outfit?”

  The rest of the meeting was largely uneventful. No one had any concerns or questions; however, the fact we had discovered Cece’s wardrobe malfunction before the guests saw meant that it had been worthwhile.

  After dismissing everyone, and wrapping Cece in a bedsheet borrowed from a nearby housekeeping supply closet for her walk back to her cabin, I went to the Danes’ cabin to see if I could persuade Harley to loan us her dress.

  I had a sneaking suspicion that she wouldn’t be wearing the same dress more than once anyway. She didn’t seem like the kind of woman who would ‘embarrass’ herself by being seen wearing the same outfit more than once. She was the opposite of me in that regard. I intended to wear the same dress every time I played my character.

  When I arrived at their stateroom, which was located in the VIP section of the ship, I found that their door was ajar. Hovering my hand over the lion’s head doorbell outside the room, I listened to see if I could hear anything. I didn’t want to interrupt; if they seemed busy, I would just come back later.

  I could hear a voice coming from inside, and I listened intently to see whether I would be disturbing the conversation. It was Edward Dane talking, and after hearing him speak, followed by a pause, and then speak again, I realized that he was talking on the telephone.

  “... Don’t worry! Look, I told you, I will be back in the States in six days... Yes!... Of course!... Look, this gig will pay enough, and then... Yes! ... The new contract will cover the rest... all of it!”

  I hadn’t meant to listen to so much—it just kind of happened. I stood there and the words kept coming. I should really have stepped away as soon as I heard it was a confidential telephone call, but it was hard to drag myself away.

  Finally, I backed up from the door, waiting until I could no longer hear Edward speaking. I gently pulled the door toward me, so it appeared to be closed even though it was still slightly ajar. When I was sure he was done with his telephone call, I reached for the bell and pressed the button located inside the mouth of a brass lion.

  There was the sound of something being put down, and then footsteps punctuated by the smack of a cane against the marble floor of the VIP suite’s living room as he approached.

  “Yes?” he said as he answered the door, speaking before he’d even seen who it was.

  “Hi. Adrienne James. Do you remember?”

  “Yes.” He gave me a pointed look.

  “I was wondering—is Harley in?”

  He shook his head at me. “Afraid not. She’s been dragged away by that annoying amateur.”

  I frowned in thought. Amateur? Then I realized he must have meant Mary Mead, the young lady novelist I’d met the night before. She said she had just finished working on her first book, so I supposed that did make her an amateur.

  “Do you know where they went?”

  He tapped his cane on the floor several times while he thought. It seemed that not every parting word of his newly wedded beloved echoed in his mind when they were apart.

  “I think they were going to the library, and then going ashore.”

  “Ashore?” I said with a frown.

  “Yes. Mexico. That’s right, isn’t it?”

  “Oh! Right, yes. That’s correct.”

  After our overnight cruise, we had docked at our first port of call that morning. The passengers had a chance to go ashore for the day if they so desired. For our mystery cruisers, they would need to make sure they were back for the first clues to be distributed and first scenes to be acted out that evening.

  “I’ll see if I can catch them before they leave. Have a nice day, Mr. Dane.”

  He acknowledged me with a grunt and a smack on the floor with his cane, before closing the door completely.

  It seemed a little odd to me that he wasn’t joining his wife for the trip ashore, but then again, if she was palling around with Mary Mead and he didn’t like her, it made sense that he was avoiding the trip. He’d probably been to Mexico many times before anyway.

  I checked the time. It wasn’t yet 10 a.m., so there was a chance they were still in the library.

  Chapter 7

  I could smell breakfast pastries coming from the library before I'd even turned the final corner to arrive at the murder mystery set, or the conference suite as it was normally known as.

  As part of the mystery package, the guests had access to the library and lounge to use throughout their cruise, as well as food and refreshments which would be provided throughout the day. They were paying significantly more than the regular passengers to participate in the event, and thus, they earned a few perks.

  Although I had eaten breakfast, being at sea really builds the appetite, so I was looking forward to refueling in the library. I suspected the coffee might be better than what we got in the staff canteen, too.

  I was hurrying along as fast as I could—without looking like I was running—when I was nearly bowled over as I rounded the corner before the conference suite.

  "Thank goodness!" said Harley Dane.

  "Oh, you have to come quickly!" said Mary Mead. "There's a fight!"

  "That woman is going to ruin my husband's event! You have to stop her!"

  All thoughts of pastries pushed aside (for now), I followed the two women back to the library. Sure enough, as I approached, I could hear the sounds of arguing coming from inside.

  I was not surprised to discover that that woman was none other than Felicity Bull. The person she was arguing with was Oliver McGinty, the bookstore owner. They were facing each other, red-faced and shaking with rage.

  “It’s not your place! They’re not your books! Leave them alone!” Beads of sweat had formed on McGinty’s head and he was waving his fist at his tormentor in rage.

  Felicity was shaking her head so fast her hair was whipping around like she was caught in a hurricane.

  “No! You have no right! I am a customer and you have to respect me! They need to be in the right order!”

  “They’re my books, and I’ll arrange them however I like!”

  I looked to Mary for an explanation before I dived in.

  “The big lady was rearranging the books on the shelves. She wanted them largest to smallest. She said it upset her when the sizes were all mish-mashed together.”

  Harley nodded in agreement. “And he said that the books have to be arranged by category, sub-category, and author.”

  Goodness, people can sure be petty, I thought.

  “You don’t like the books in the correct order?” said Felicity, steamrolling across the room to the bookshelves. “Well, how about if they’re on the floor instead!” She reached out two ham-sized hands and began yanking handfuls of books off the shelves, letting them fall to the floor.

  I ran across the room. “Felicity? Excuse me—”

  I tried to slip between her and the bookshelf, to create a barrier to stop the destruction.

  “Move! I’m a customer! You need to respect the customer!” She put an arm around me to try and grab at more books.

  “If she knocks any more books on the floor, I’ll knock her on the floor,” said McGinty, who was now crossing the room toward us.

 
As he walked, he rolled up the sleeves of his white shirt. He raised two fists in front of his face like he was entering a boxing match.

  “Stop it! Both of you!” I shouted. If the fight escalated to a physical confrontation, Oliver McGinty wouldn’t stand a chance. Felicity would crack him like an egg.

  WHEEEEEE!

  There was a sharp, earsplitting whistle. Everyone stopped what they were doing and turned to look at the source, even Oliver and Felicity.

  My heart lifted when I saw who it was. Ethan Lee was standing in the doorway, holding a tin whistle which he had just removed from between his lips.

  “This is a murder mystery event, not a murder in public event,” he said. “I’m sorry to say it, but you’re embarrassing yourselves. And before you start saying I shouldn’t speak like that to customers, I’m here to tell you that I am and I will. I’m in charge of the ship’s security and that has to be put above all your petty squabbles, no matter what they’re about. This argument ends now.”

  Oliver McGinty had lowered his hands and unclenched his fingers. His shoulders had drooped and he looked suitably chastened.

  Felicity Bull lowered her arms to stop from pulling more books off the shelf, but a steely look of anger still burned in her eyes.

  Behind Ethan, Sam slipped inside the room and hurried over to me.

  “Hi,” she said smiling. “I heard the commotion from outside.”

  “Felicity, this is Samantha, one of our customer liaison officers. Perhaps you can explain to her what happened and we’ll work out a way to make it right.”

  I gave Sam a thankful smile. She gave me a nod of acknowledgment and gently took Felicity by the arm, leading her away.

  Oliver McGinty had walked back behind his book-selling table and was leaning on it. His face had gone from angry red to tired pale. Ethan and I both reached him at about the same time.