Gene Wolfe - Home Fires

Vanessa waited, large brown eyes wide, crimson mouth poised to moan.

“Chelle said they were in Jerry’s cabin. By that time I thought I knew who ‘Jerry’ was. I told the captain, and he came with us. You walked in on that.”

“So I could tell you what I just did.”

“I wish you’d told me earlier,” Skip said. “She was there. We could have held her.”

“Well, I couldn’t tell you without telling the others, could I? Not unless you’d been willing to go into a corner with me and whisper, and you wouldn’t have done that. You know you wouldn’t.”

“I suppose you’re right.” Skip closed his eyes. “Did I say that Susan had Chelle? I mean a moment ago.”

“You certainly did.”

“Then I misled you. Susan said ‘we.’ ‘We have Chelle.’ She talked about a man, apparently a lover.”

“That would be Jerry. I see.”

“Would it? That’s what I thought. I wish I weren’t so tired. It’s hard to think straight when you’re tired.”

“You need coffee. I can try to find you some if you like.”

He opened his eyes. “I need sleep, but I have to find Chelle, and find her quickly.”

“She said Jerry’s room?”

“Yes. Just that. Nothing more.”

“Then she expected you to know who Jerry was.”

“Correct. When she came back from that party, she mentioned a man called Jerry. So that’s the man, or I think it is. If she thought about it at all, she must have thought that it would be easy for me identify the Jerry she knew.”

“I can go through the list for you.” Vanessa sounded thoughtful. “My terminal’s gone, but I can find another. Richard would let me use his, I’m sure. There are bound to be more Geralds, perhaps some of those other names, too.”

Skip took off his sunglasses to rub his eyes. “The thing is, we’ve searched the ship. All the cabins. Even the crew’s quarters. They may have killed her already and disposed of the body. Only I don’t dare let myself assume that. What if they haven’t?”

“Well, I don’t believe it. Let’s get back to that little blonde who was at your meeting. You said she was your secretary?”

Resuming his sunglasses, Skip nodded.

“And it sounded as if the man with her was her lover?”

“She didn’t say so, only that she loved him. But yes, it did.”

“Only you think she was in a suicide ring.”

“Correct.”

“Well, she hasn’t committed suicide. I can promise you that. If there’s one kind of woman in the whole world who won’t kill herself, it’s a woman with a new lover. You’re fretting because you didn’t find Chelle. Did you find your secretary?”

Skip shook his head.

“You had the others looking for her? As well as Chelle?”

“Yes, certainly.”

“Then Chelle isn’t dead, and they’re still together. It’s just that nobody looked in the right place. She said she was in this Jerry’s cabin?”

“Let me think. Yes. She said Jerry’s room. ‘We’re in Jerry’s room.’ ”

“That might not be a cabin at all. We’ve an artist on board. Her name’s Cynthia Van Houten, and she’s teaching sketching and oil painting to anybody who wants to learn. She got half off on her ticket for that.”

“Are you sure this is germane?”

“I think so. She’s got a studio on D Deck, and just about everybody calls it Cynthia’s room. Suppose we go around the ship asking people where Jerry’s room is? If Chelle knew, other people are bound to know, too.”

They stopped an elderly man with a corncob pipe who had come up on deck to smoke. When Skip explained, the elderly man said, “Who’s Jerry?”

“Just someone I ran into a few days ago.” Skip paused, trying to place the man. “Young, nice-looking. We’d like to find his room. Do you know where it is?”

“ ’Fraid not.”

Ramón, the C Deck steward, knew no one of that name. Hoping against hope, Skip selected Susan’s number yet again. It was still out of service.

The muscular woman standing in the door of the spa said that there had been a woman called Jeri on the previous cruise. “Real nice lady, only she gone now.”

Skip said, “That won’t help, I’m afraid.”

“This important, Ms. Healy?”

Vanessa nodded. “Very important.”

“You wait jus’ one minute an’ I’ll help. I got to lock my place up.”

She returned a moment later. “Don’t anybody want no massage now anyhow, an’ three’s better’n two.”

“Let me have your number,” Skip said. “I’ve already got Virginia’s. We can search a lot faster if we split up. I’ll call you both if I find something; you call Virginia and me if you do. Ask for Jerry’s room. That’s all we know.”

They separated, Vanessa going up to B Deck and the muscular woman to the crew’s quarters, forward on E Deck. Skip began knocking on doors.

“Yes?” The woman’s face was innocent of makeup and smeared with cream. Her hair was in curlers.

“I’m sorry to disturb you,” Skip said, “but this is important.”

“I was getting ready for bed.” The woman paused. “You should go to bed, too. You’re that man who goes around with the captain, aren’t you?”

Skip nodded. “I’m trying to find Mastergunner Chelle Blue. I don’t suppose you’ve seen her within the past few hours?”

“Not since yesterday, I think.”

“She told me she would be in Jerry’s room. Just that—Jerry’s room. Do you have any idea where that would be?”

“No. Not here. I have son-in-law named Jerry back home. Should I call him?”

“I don’t think that will be necessary,” Skip said, and thanked her.

The knocking at the doors of the next three cabins evoked no response. The fourth was opened by a boy. In response to Skip’s question he said, “I’m Jerry, and this is my room, right here.”

No words came.

“See, my folks don’t want me in with them because I drive Dad nuts, and I don’t want to be in with them anyhow because Mom drives me nuts, so I get my own room. Brass, right?”

“Very brass.” Skip had recovered himself.

“Only this game’s kinda itchy, and there’s never anything on tele.”

Wondering what an itchy game was like, Skip nodded.

“So I’m gonna sit around the pool, and maybe swim if it’s not too crowded.”

“Could we go into your cabin for a minute? Please? You’d be doing me a great favor.”

“Mom says not to let anybody in.” The boy shrugged. “Only you look okay, so I guess so.” He stepped aside.

“Thank you, Jerry. I don’t think Chelle’s in here, but I’ve got to look. I really must.”

There was no one in the lavatory, no one out on the veranda, and no one in the closet.

Jerry said, “Who’s Chelle? Is that Mastergunner Blue? I saw her once, and Steve says her first name’s Chelle. Is she hot or what?”

Skip nodded.

“You think she might be hiding in my room? Wait’ll I tell Steve!”

“I was hoping she was hidden in your room,” Skip said. His phone vibrated as he spoke; he took it out and flipped it open.

“This Trinity, Mr. Grison. I found that man got no hands. You know? He say you know him.”

“Achille,” Skip said.

“Got big ol’ hooks. He say he know where that Jerry’s room is, and he take us there.”

“Did he say what deck it was on?”

There was a murmur of speech too faint for Skip to understand. Then: “This Achille, mon. Is on bottom, mon. Bottom deck, you know?”

“M Deck?”

“You know cheap bar? We meet you there, you buy drink, I show you.”

“The tourist-class bar?”

“Is so, mon. Meet there. I take you Jerry.”

Skip sighed. “All right.”