Cruel Capers on the Caribbean: A Kate on Vacation Mystery (The Kate on Vacation mysteries) (12 page)

Kate gave him a big smile back. “Well, thank you for clarifying that for us. We were just curious.”

“Have a good evening,” Hudson said as he turned his wife away.

“Nice meeting you,” her voice drifted back to them.

“That guy’s kinda creepy,” Liz muttered.

“I’ll say,” Kate replied.

“Come on,” Skip said. “We agreed to leave the investigating alone now, didn’t we?”

Kate smiled up at him and took a sip of her wine. She felt herself begin to relax. “Yes, we did.”

A collective gasp went up around them. Kate turned toward the sun. It sank below the horizon, painting the sky with shades of orange, purple and red.

A cheer rose from the beach. The ship’s passengers joined in.

Skip wrapped his arms around her from behind. She breathed out a long sigh and leaned back against him. They watched the colors drain slowly from the sky.

“Mother Nature at her best,” Liz whispered.

Rob held up his hands as if he were framing a picture. “Sunset at Key West, signed by the artist–God.”

Kate felt Skip’s chuckle rumbling in his chest. She sighed again. He tightened his arms around her.

She vowed she would enjoy this evening, the end of a great vacation despite the tragedy of Cora’s murder.

She’s in God’s hands now.

~~~~~~~~

T
he dining room was more crowded than usual, everyone anxious to partake of this last gourmet meal. Kate noted that the mother-daughter duo was unusually quiet. The daughter was sitting on an angle, her back slightly toward her mother. Another pair who had perhaps spent a little too much time together in close quarters. Or maybe they’d fought over the girl’s interest in Clem, who was now a murder suspect.

Stop that, Miss Nosy!

She wondered if they should have checked out this young woman. Was she some kook who thought knocking off the competition was a good way to start a romance? She would fit through that hidden compartment.

Damn it, stop it! It’s out of our hands. Relax and enjoy this evening.

It was taking longer than usual for their dishes to arrive. The waiter and his assistant apologized, yet again, for the slow response from the kitchen. No doubt they were worried about their tips.

Kate finished her appetizer, a green salad with an exotic mango dressing. Trying to be discreet, she carefully lifted her skirt under the tablecloth and scratched her thighs. The relief was temporary. “My sunburn’s reached the itchy stage,” she whispered to Skip. “I’m gonna go back to the cabin and put some lotion on it.”

He nodded, then leaned away from her to hear what the woman on the other side of him was saying.

Kate took the elevator up to their deck. As she walked to her cabin, her mind turned to Clem. Was he spending tonight in a Key West jail? She hoped the authorities would eventually realize he wasn’t the most likely candidate for Cora’s murderer.

She shook her head, reminding herself she’d promised to let it go.

Reaching her cabin door, she rooted through her evening bag for her key card.

“Ma’am.” A low but urgent voice from her right. She turned.

A woman stood at the other end of the corridor. She was too far away for Kate to make out her features.

“Ma’am,” the woman called out again. “I’d like to talk to you about that lady’s death.”

Kate walked toward her. “Yes?”

The woman gestured for her to come closer. “I have some information for you, but it requires some discretion.”

Kate recognized Mrs. Hudson as she closed the distance between them. “Wha–” A flash of movement out of the corner of her eye. She started to turn around.

Dr. Hudson grabbed her arm and pulled her against him. “Do exactly as I say or you die.” She felt a prick on the back of her neck.

Numb with shock, she stumbled as he dragged her down the hall, his arm locked firmly around her torso. She felt the prick again.

“This needle’s full of a fast-acting poison,” Hudson whispered. “If I inject it into you, you’ll be dead before that fool of a ship’s doctor can even get here.”

“What are you doing? People will see us.” Kate’s heart pounded in her chest. Her brain scrambled for a course of action.

The Hudsons? Were they the smugglers, and Cora’s killers?

“Almost everyone’s at dinner. I’ve had enough of your meddling.”

They’d reached the end of the corridor. Kate dragged her feet as Hudson pulled her across the landing to the glass wall. “You’re going to take a little tumble,” he hissed in her ear. “That ought to keep your husband and friends distracted until we get back to Tampa.”

He shoved against the back of her shoulders, forcing her upper torso forward over the wood railing. Six decks below them, stragglers lingered over drinks. The singer and her piano-playing partner were packing up their music.

Kate’s head swam from vertigo as Hudson pushed it further down. She opened her mouth to scream. The prick against her neck stopped her. She clutched at the railing and tried to lean away from the needle.

Movement in her peripheral vision.

“Hold still!” Hudson hissed in her ear.

Unable to turn her head, she rolled her eyes to the left. Jorge stood next to the railing about ten feet away.

Hope surged. Belatedly, his body language registered–hands clasped in front of him, knuckles white, his face a frozen mask of terror.

No help from that quarter.

The pressure of the needle disappeared as Hudson quickly leaned over. He was going for her legs to topple her over the glass wall.

She bent her knees, dropping her center of gravity below the railing.

Startled, Hudson fumbled the syringe. It fell from his hand. He struggled to hang onto her legs.

“He’s trying to kill me!” she screamed. She let her legs go limp, throwing him further off balance.

Her butt hit the carpeted landing. Wrenching one leg loose, she kicked out. Her foot smashed into something soft.

An oof of expelled air. Hudson dropped to the floor, arms clutching his stomach.

Damn!
She’d been aiming lower than that.

Crawling away as fast as she could, she frantically looked around for something to use as a weapon. A man’s shoe came into her line of vision, with a leg attached.

She looked up. Jorge was still rooted to the same spot. A brief moment of eye contact, then he bolted for the corridor.

The last piece fell into place.

A hand grabbed her ankle. She sucked in air to scream.

A dark blur in the corner of her eye. Another loud oof. The hand was gone.

“A
re you okay?” A male voice.

“I... I think so.” She pushed up on her elbows. Hudson lay on his stomach several feet away. Fredericks was sitting on top of him and attaching a plastic restraint to one of the doctor’s wrists.

People swarmed up the stairs and onto the landing. Skip shoved through the crowd. He knelt down next to her. “Are you hurt?” His voice reflected barely-controlled panic.

“I’m fine. Help me up.”

He pulled her to a stand. She stared at Hudson, who was thrashing around under Fredericks, trying to keep his other wrist out of reach.

“Just who are you?” Skip said to Fredericks.

“FBI. I’d show you my credentials but I’m a little busy right now.” He grabbed Hudson’s elbow and yanked hard. The doctor yelped. Fredericks wrestled the restraint onto his wrist.

Rob and Liz frantically pushed through the onlookers. “Are you okay? What’s going on?” Rob asked.

“Good question,” Skip said.

Fredericks stood up. “Take your wife back to your cabin, Mr. Canfield. I’ll be along as soon as I take care of a few things.”

~~~~~~~~

B
ack in the cabin, Kate had just finished describing her encounter with the Hudsons when there was a light tapping on the door. Rob was closest and answered it. Covered dishes piled on a large tray almost obscured their assistant waiter’s face.

Gratitude squeezed Kate’s heart as the young man entered and placed the tray on the coffee table.

“I dint want you go hungry, Miss Kate.” He ducked his head. “I know how you ’preciate your food.”

“Francis, you’re a gem.” She grinned at him.

The assistant waiter gave her a shy smile in return, then scurried from the room.

Skip examined the dishes. “He brought all our entrees.” He passed out the silverware, wrapped in cloth napkins.

They had long since finished their dinner and were getting tired of speculating about what might be going on, when knuckles rapped again on the door, much louder this time. Rob got up and opened it.

Fredericks stepped into the room. Rob gestured toward his vacated spot on the loveseat. Liz scooted over and patted the cushion.

Fredericks sank onto the couch with a small sigh. He looked around the room. “I know your backgrounds so I’m assuming I don’t have to mince words.”

Skip raised his eyebrows at the agent.

“Maryland State trooper for eleven years, bodyguard for five, then a PI for the last eight.” Fredericks turned his head toward the others. “Your closest friends, lawyer Rob Franklin and his wife, Liz, an insurance company actuary. And
your
wife, Mr. Canfield, is a psychotherapist who has a penchant for stumbling over dead bodies.”

“Not intentionally,” Kate said from her seat on the end of the bed.

Fredericks’ mouth quirked up on one end.

Skip leaned forward from his perch on the desk chair. “So how much of all this are you gonna be able to tell us?”

Kate figured very little. She expected him to start questioning them. Her eyelids drooped. With the adrenalin gone and a rich meal in her stomach, staying awake was becoming a challenge.

But Fredericks surprised her. “I’ve been following your movements fairly closely. And since you all gave us the leads we needed to close this case, I figure you’ve earned the right to know at least the gist of it. We got a tip there was a smuggling operation on this ship. Black market kidneys.”

That snapped Kate out of her drowsiness. She realized her mouth was hanging open. “Black market kidneys?”

The agent tilted his head in a sharp nod. “Hudson was harvesting them from donors in Mexico, paying them a thousand dollars–”

“A fortune to them,” Liz said.

“But a pittance to Hudson,” the agent said, “who then sold them to impatient rich people for a million a pop.”

Skip let out a low whistle. “The cabin steward, Jorge, he was his Mexican connection, wasn’t he?”

Fredericks raised his eyebrows. “You figured that out, huh.”

“Yeah,” Kate said, “after he ran away instead of helping me fend off Hudson.”

“You provided the missing piece,” the agent said. “That secret compartment.”

“How’d you find out about that?” Kate asked.

“I was watching you all when you went into Ms. Beall’s cabin. Then you,” Fredericks pointed at Kate, “came out of the cabin next door. I searched that cabin and found the hole in the closet.

“Jorge Fernandez lined up the donors in Cozumel. Hudson operated on one each trip, then put the kidney in a special container with dry ice and preservatives to keep it viable. Fernandez snuck it on board and put it in the compartment.”

“Lemme guess,” Kate said. “Mrs. Hudson took it ashore in New Orleans, in her oversized bag.”

“Yeah. They flew to their clinic, did the transplant, then flew back to Key West to catch the boat. Just another couple enjoying a cruise vacation.”

“No wonder the woman was so nervous,” Kate said.

Skip cocked his head to one side. “Wouldn’t it become obvious to the crew after a while that the Hudsons always missed the boat in New Orleans?”

“We think the previous captain was in on it. He forged the records so no one knew the Hudsons hadn’t boarded.”

“Ah, but now they’ve got a new captain,” Rob said. “I wonder if the cruise line had become suspicious, and that’s why the previous captain was transferred.”

“Could be,” the agent said.

“So are Mrs. Hudson and Jorge in custody?” Skip asked.

“Mrs. Hudson is. The ship’s security people are still searching for Jorge, but he can’t go far since we’re out in the middle of the Gulf of Mexico.”

“Hudson was the doctor Jorge went to get when Cora hit her head,” Kate said.

Fredericks shook his head. “Yes and no. According to Mrs. Hudson, Jorge went into the cabin to put the container in the compartment, and Ms. Beall came out of the bathroom and surprised him.”

“So that part of his story was accurate,” Liz said. “He did think she’d gone ashore.”

“He hit her with the container,” Fredericks said. “Hard enough to knock her out and put a crack in the container. But they didn’t realize until later that it had sprung a leak.”

“So that was what stained the carpet,” Kate said. “Not wine or blood.”

“Not Cora’s at least,” Skip said. “It was blood from the kidney, diluted by the chemicals they’d packed it in.”

“And that was the medicinal smell in the compartment,” Liz said. “Let me guess this time. Jorge hid the container, then went to get Hudson, who injected the drugs into Cora’s arm. The doctor left through the door, and Jorge set up the alarm and went out through the compartment.”

“That’s what the wife says.”

“Hmm, that may not be admissible in court,” Rob said, “since she didn’t directly witness it.”

“Once we catch up with Jorge,” Fredericks said, “I’ll get him to confess, in exchange for deportation to Mexico rather than prosecution. It’s Hudson we want, and his cell phone records will hopefully lead us to the recipient of the kidney.”

“Who gave you the tip?” Skip asked.

The agent hesitated, then said, “Daughter of a dead patient. His transplant didn’t take, or the kidney was bad or something. But he never told her who he got the kidney from, only that it was smuggled in on a cruise ship from Mexico. This was the ship with the best itinerary to make that happen.”

“Thus the last minute booking,” Liz said. “Your name isn’t really David Fredericks, is it?”

The man actually smiled. “Not exactly. Special Agent Frederick Davis, at your service.”

Liz pursed her lips, then shook her head. “So that man died because he was unwilling to wait his turn on the legal transplant list.”