Ed Gorman - Several Deaths Later

There were two of them in deck chairs side by side, the redhead and the man in the western suit. They might have been enjoying a view of the moonlit ocean swelling on the endless line of horizon. Or the clarity of the Big Dipper laced across the ebony tropical sky.

Each of them had been shot several times in the chest. They were very bloody.

They appeared, as dead people usually appeared to Tobin, to be playing a trick of some kind. Any moment now they'd be leaping to their feet and saying they'd only been trying to frighten people.

He edged Cindy a little closer to the bodies. They did not seem to have been bound in any way. They just sat in their chairs with their eyes fixed in the general vicinity of the Big Dipper.

A semicircle of passengers stared at the corpses with a mixture of awe, terror, and bewilderment. There were tears, of course-soft and childlike, without anger because apparently no one here had known these two people-and there were furious glances at Captain Hackett, who stood among a group of white-uniformed stewards whom he was dispatching to various tasks with an air of sweaty purpose that might soon become-unthinkable for the placid captain-real panic.

The chairs in which the dead people sat were adjacent to one of the ship's three pools. The water was aqua. The tartness of chlorine was in the air. When Tobin looked back at the assembled passengers-some were in pajamas and robes and nightgowns and some still wore neckties or loud Hawaiian shirts from any number of private or public parties-he felt his first bit of sympathy ever for Capt. Robert Hackett. The ship was three days out with four more days to go before port. And now there could be no doubt about it. There was a killer on board and this time it would do no good whatsoever to point a finger at a beautiful secretary from Kansas City, Missouri.

"There's that doctor," Cindy McBain whispered to Tobin.

A stolid, brown-haired man in a white shirt and dark slacks and white deck shoes came up the steps from the deck below and walked over to the bodies. He nodded to several of the stewards and then started talking to the captain.

Tobin glanced around at the crowd and, not seeing who he was looking for, said, "Cindy, would you mind waiting here?"

"For what?"

"I forgot something in the room."

"Forgot what?"

"Gee, I'm glad you don't ask a lot of questions."

"Well, you're lying to me, Tobin."

He sighed. "I need to go find somebody."

"Who?"

"Alicia Farris."

"The producer's wife?"

"Right."

"Why?"

"I'm not sure."

"Bull."

"I'm not. I mean, I just want to ask her what she knew about the red-haired woman."

"And you can't take me with you?"

"It'll be easier if I go alone."

"Thanks a lot."

"I'm sorry but it will." Now she sighed. "All right."

"C'mon, Cindy. I'm really not trying to hurt your feelings."

"I know."

"I won't be long. I promise."

She made a little flouncing motion, as if her entire body had simply given in to his deserting her. "Just go on, Tobin. Just go on.”

Not even after Ken Norris's murder had Tobin thought of all the neat places a killer could hide aboard a cruise ship but now as he made his way down two decks and along shadowy passageways, he realized that, especially late at night, a killer would have no problem at all hiding and then fleeing back to his or her room. No problem at all.

When he came to the Farrises' cabin, he put his ear to the door before knocking.

Inside he heard drawers being opened and closed hurriedly. It did not seem likely either Jere or Alicia Farris would frantically search through their own drawers-not unless they were planning to go someplace… and where could they go in the middle of the ocean?

He moved away from the door and pressed himself against the wall.

More drawers were jerked open, slammed shut. Closet doors on rollers were hurled back. Then, more faintly, things in the bathroom medicine cabinet were pushed around.

All Tobin could do was wait.

Two minutes later the door squeaked open and a figure he did not at first recognize moved out into the hallway.

True to TV movie fashion, the figure wore a dark beret, a dark sweater, a dark jacket, dark socks, and dark shoes.

Unfortunately, her hair was not dark but dishwater blond.

He got her by the wrist. "You're the last person I would have suspected of being a thief."

Joanna Howard, the quiet makeup girl, glanced up at him and said, "Oh, God, Mr. Tobin, are you going to tell anybody?"

From the opposite end of the hall, he could hear passengers coming. This corridor was no place to talk.

He kept hold of her wrist. "Come on," he said.

"I don't know why she started suspecting us," Joanna Howard said ten minutes later.

Tobin had gone to one of the lounges and gotten them diet 7-Ups. He puffed on a cigarillo and let her explain.

"This is Alicia, you mean."

"Yes."

"Suspecting what?"

"The fact that Jere and I were having an affair."

"You and Jere?"

She smiled, looking sad as she did so. "I know, neither one of us are likely types, are we?"

Tobin shrugged. They stood on the sports deck watching the ocean churn behind them. He was chilly.

"Unfortunately for the institution of marriage," Tobin said, "everybody seems to be the type at one point or another."

"It wasn't sleazy."

"I'm not saying it was."

"And it wasn't just a one-night sort of thing."

"I don't imagine it was."

"And I really think we may love each other. We've talked about it, anyway." She paused and glared at him. "What's so funny?"

"The idea of talking over if you're in love or not. I'm not sure that's necessary. It seems to me you're either in love or you're not."

"That's because you've had so many affairs, Mr. Tobin. Jere and I-well, we're not really experienced." She flushed. "He's my first real lover and even though he won't exactly admit it, I think Alicia was the first woman he ever slept with." In her beret and dark clothes, she was fetching. But how sad she looked leaning against the railing with the furious white wake waters below them, the dark and silver ocean covering all else.

"You could get hurt."

"He wouldn't do that to me, Mr. Tobin."

"He might not want to but he might have to."

"If he decides to stay with her, you mean?"

"Yes."

"I'm prepared for that." But there was a catch in her throat and Tobin knew better.

"So why were you in their room?"

"Because I'd acted impulsively. Stupidly, really."

"Tell me."

"I'd… I'd been afraid of exactly what you were talking about."

"Of being dumped?"

"Yes."

"And?"

"And so tonight I wrote him a letter. It was a very… it was kind of a real blunt letter."

"Telling him you love him?"

"Yes."

"And telling him you want a decision right away?"

"Yes."

He smiled and slid his arm around her shoulder. "Joanna, we've all written letters like that. We get lonely and scared and it's only natural."

"Yes, but I made the mistake of sliding it under his door because he told me Alicia was going to a party tonight and that he was just going to go to bed. They don't have a very good relationship and do a lot of things alone like that." She paused, shook her head. "So I pushed it under the door and knocked, hoping he'd wake up and see it. Then I went back to my cabin and waited for a phone call. I thought he'd read it and call me right away. I mean, I figured my knock had awakened him for sure. But then no call came. I waited for nearly two hours. Then I got this terrible feeling. What if he changed his mind at the last minute and went to the party and when they got back to their room they would find my letter on the floor? She'd see it for sure."