Dark Passage (11 page)

The Zig-Zag Box.

Pia's face, her hands and her left foot were clearly visible through openings in the cabinet's front, and she waggled them just in case anyone in the audience had failed to notice.

As the music surged, Channing inserted two large metallic blades horizontally through the cabinet's mid-section, presumably dividing Pia – ouch! – into thirds. He then slid the mid-section of the cabinet away from the top and bottom thirds, taking Pia's mid-section along with it, turning her into a human zig-zag.

I stared hard at the cabinet, trying to shatter the illusion. I was still puzzling over it, watching closely while Pia's parts were being reassembled, and the wicked-looking blades, one by one, were removed. Then Channing opened the cabinet and Pia stepped out gracefully, completely unscathed. She bowed prettily, then scampered off stage right.

The audience went wild. Spotlights roamed the theater, fog began to curl about the stage, smoky tendrils drifted into the front row of the audience as the familiar strains of Ravel's
Bolero
began to weave their spell.

Pia returned pushing a four-legged, wheeled table. On top of the table sat a woven basket about three feet in diameter. She'd done a lightning quick costume change, and was now dressed in a sunshine-yellow harem-girl outfit, complete with ankle bells and matching toque.

Channing tipped the basket toward the audience and ran his hand around the inside, demonstrating that it was completely empty. He took Pia's hand, holding it while she stepped up on the table and into the basket. Channing passed the lid to Pia, who balanced it on her head, then slowly sank until she was completely hidden inside.

From a nearby table, Channing selected a sabre with a long curved blade, held it overhead by its elaborately decorated handle and brandished the weapon – snick-snick – like a Saracen warrior during the Crusades.

Oooh
went the audience as the highly polished blade flashed in the spotlights.

From his pocket, Channing produced an orange, tossed it into the air, and with a single
thwack
, split it neatly in two.

Aaah!

The music pulsed, throbbed, intensified. The magician inserted the tip of the sabre into one side of the basket, pushed hard on the hilt as if meeting some resistance, then with slightly more effort shoved it through. A second sabre was inserted in the opposite side of the basket, then a third, and a fourth. Only two sabres remained, and they went into the basket from the top as the audience
oohed
and
ahhed
over the urgent pounding of the soundtrack.

Placing both hands on the table, Channing spun the basket – one, two, three times around. Finally, with a flourish, he whisked off the lid.

For a moment, nobody moved or dared to breathe. Then, gradually, hands raised above her head, Pia emerged, unfolding slowly, sinuously, like a cobra.

We clapped like crazy, of course. Channing took Pia's hand and helped her down to the stage. As gracefully as a prima ballerina, Pia spread her arms and bowed, wobbled slightly, put her hands together prayerfully, bowed again, then backed away on tiptoe, like a good little harem girl, still smiling.

Channing returned to the basket and whirled it around again three times. We thought the trick was done, that he'd take the basket and push it off stage. But Channing had another surprise in store. The music made a crescendo, the magician reached inside the basket once again, and pulled out another young woman, this one dressed in a lime-green harem-girl outfit.

I gasped – along with everyone else in the audience. After a split second of stunned silence, the theater erupted into wild applause.

‘Bravo!' I shouted. I cupped my hands around my mouth and
whooped-whooped
like a mother at a Little League baseball game.

‘Where the
hell
did she come from?' Ruth asked.

Georgina bounced in her seat she was clapping so
hard. ‘I didn't think there was room for
one
girl in there, let alone
two
!'

‘They weren't actually
in
the basket, silly. There has to be a secret compartment under the basket, or a trap door.' Sister Ruth, the skeptic.

If there was a trap door, I couldn't detect it. The basket sat about two feet off the floor on a four-legged table that spun easily on casters. You could see completely under the table, all the way to the magician's polished shoes and as far as the curtains on the other side.

Channing took each woman by the hand, raised their hands high, and the trio bowed in unison. Smiling broadly, Channing released their hands, indicating with subtle flapping motions that they should return to the basket. When they were in position, one on each side, the two assistants spun the table three times – was a
third
girl going to materialize? But no, the show was over. Except for wheeling the basket off the stage, their work seemed to be done.

As I watched the girls go, I noticed a dark spot on the leg of Pia's harem pants. At first I took it for a trick of the stage lights, but then the spot began to grow, spreading quickly from the area of her thigh down to her knee. And was it my imagination, or had Pia begun to limp?

Channing apparently hadn't noticed anything out of the ordinary because he continued to bow right, left and center, basking in the limelight and the applause.

‘Ruth, Georgina, look!' I whispered. ‘I think Pia's been cut!'

Their attention had been focused on the magician, but they turned to look just as Pia and the basket disappeared into the wings. ‘Maybe it's her period?' Georgina suggested. ‘God, how embarrassing!'

‘Not on the outside of her leg, it isn't!' Ruth pointed out sensibly.

I had visions of a wounded Pia smiling bravely in a show-must-go-on sort of way until she got backstage, then collapsing in a heap of bloody chiffon and gold trim. ‘I hope she's OK,' I said.

The second assistant skipped out onto the stage just then, smiling stiffly. Clearly this was not part of the act, because even from where we sat, I noticed Channing's eyebrows shoot up in annoyance. The girl grabbed his hand and bent at the waist, forcing the magician into another bow. With her head close to his, she whispered in his ear.

Within seconds, the two had vanished. The stage was empty. As we watched, wondering and worrying, the emcee rushed into the whirl of multicolored lights and swirling fog, pressing a microphone to his lips. ‘Ladies and gentleman, wasn't that spectacular!' His free hand windmilled. ‘Please put your hands together for the Amazing Channing and his lovely and talented assistants, Pia and Lorelei!'

But Channing and his two lovely and talented assistants had already made their final bow.

Slowly the applause died out, the emcee bid us goodnight, the fog slowly dissipated, the house lights came up, and we were left to stare at a blank curtain. I wouldn't find out until late the following morning just how talented Channing's assistants actually were.

‘Alcohol is involved in at least 62.5 percent of on-board assaults with serious bodily injury, 35 percent of simple assaults, and 36 percent of sexual assaults. While this data suggests greater concern with responsible serving of alcohol and curtailing alcohol misuse, some cruise lines now offer ‘all you can drink' packages at flat rates for the duration of a cruise. Bar sales is one of the top sources of on-board revenue for cruise ships.'

Testimony of Ross A. Klein, PhD before the Senate
Committee on Commerce, Science, and Transportation,
March 1, 2012

I
spent a restless night. When I wasn't stewing about David, I was fretting about Pia. When the first light of dawn finally came, I gave up on sleep. I padded to the bathroom, then stepped into a pair of jeans, wrestled a T-shirt on over my head, slid my feet into a pair of flip flops and slipped out of the room, leaving Ruth huddled under her duvet, gently snoring.

Breakfast wouldn't be served until 6.30 a.m., but I knew that coffee and donuts were available in a corner of the Firebird café for the early birds – joggers, displaced spouses, and insomniacs like me – so I made my way up to deck nine. I filled a mug from the urn, stirred in some half and half and carried it over to a seat by the window where I could watch the water boil white around the hull as the liner sleeked its way through the sea. The Zen of it was calmly reassuring.

From the program I knew we'd be sighting Bermuda by mid-morning and docking at the port of Kings Landing shortly after noon. I hadn't signed up for any excursions, and I was grateful for that now, as I didn't intend to step foot ashore until I found out what had happened to Pia.

‘Hannah! I thought I might find you here.'

To my surprise, the speaker was Georgina, who rarely managed to make it out of bed before eight and never, to my knowledge, even ate breakfast. Her hair was twisted into an unruly knot at the crown of her head and held in place with a leopard-print claw clip. She carried a paper cup of coffee in one hand and a powdered donut in the other.

I grinned up at her. ‘So, who are you, and what have you done with my sister?'

Georgina snorted, then plopped herself down opposite me. She took an experimental bite of the donut, frowned, set it down on a napkin, then brushed powdered sugar off her dark blue T-shirt. ‘Julie's still asleep, and I didn't want to turn on the light, so I decided to wander up for some coffee.'

‘How was the movie last night, did Julie say?'

‘It was “fine,” the popcorn was “gross,” the girl she sat next to was “dumb,” and the idea of playing Charades was “lame, totally.” Believe it or not, Julie was back at the cabin by eleven. I was reading when she came in and I nearly fell out of my bunk.' Georgina tore open a packet of demerara sugar and dumped it into her cup, stirred. ‘What gets you up so early? It's not even six.'

‘Worried about Pia, I suppose. I'm sure that was blood I saw on her costume.'

‘I think so, too. Who can we ask, Hannah?'

I shrugged. ‘If she were injured, they must have taken her to the clinic. But I can't exactly go down there and ask. Patient confidentiality and all that. I'm hoping she'll show up as usual at the Oracle today.'

Georgina reached across the table and squeezed my hand. ‘I'm sure she's fine, Hannah. She walked off the stage, after all.'

I managed a smile. ‘Don't know why I'm being so mother-hennish. Pia reminds me a bit of Emily at that age, I suppose.'

‘Attractive, bright, idealistic and strong-headed, right?'

I grinned. ‘Get used to it, sweetie. It's genetic.'

‘Speaking of Julie,' Georgina said after a moment, ‘what are you planning to do today? She wants to hang out at the pool, but I've got an appointment at the day spa for a massage.'

‘Nothing definite,' I replied. ‘Thought I'd go out on deck and take pictures as we sail into Bermuda. Do you need me to watch Julie?'

‘No, no. She'll be fine. Just curious, that's all. How about Ruth?'

‘No clue. We decided to talk about it over lunch. Will you be done by then?'

She nodded. ‘As relaxed and boneless as a rubber chicken. Let's meet at the Oracle, then. Eleven-thirty?'

I nodded. ‘It's a date.'

The Oracle was on deck four, so it was easy to reconnoiter on the way to our stateroom. On my third ever-so-casual pass, a steward I'd never seen before was working behind the bar. My heart sank into my shoes.

I consulted the young man's name tag. ‘Prakash, I was looking for Pia. Will she be working today?'

Prakash wiped his hands on a towel and studied me thoughtfully. ‘I expect her to arrive sometime this morning, madam. Is there anything I can get for you in the meantime?'

I made a show of consulting my watch. ‘I need to check on my niece in a few minutes,' I improvised. ‘Do you know when she's scheduled to come on duty?'

‘I am so sorry, madam, but I do not. Until Pia comes, I stay.' Prakash began scooping crushed ice into the wine coolers. I'd been dismissed.

I'd actually promised Georgina that I'd check in on Julie from time to time, so I decided to work off the Belgian waffle I'd splurged on at breakfast in the Firebird café by walking up the ten flights of stairs that would take me to the swimming pool area on deck nine. Julie was there, sitting on the edge of a hot tub, her legs dangling, enjoying the whirlpool with two girls about her age. I waved as I passed by, but didn't embarrass my niece by actually speaking to her.

I spent the next half hour at the guest relations desk signing up for an Internet account, and the fifteen minutes after that recovering from sticker shock – sixty-five cents per minute! – over a four-dollar latte at Café Cino.

In the library on deck seven, I spent three dollars and twenty-five cents – five minutes – checking my iPhone for email which consisted of a birthday reminder for my sister-in-law, Connie, and a brief message from Paul saying he loved me and hoped I was having a good time.

I made a pit stop at our stateroom, where I found Ruth taking a shower following a Pilates workout in the fitness center. ‘Why you want to exercise on vacation is completely beyond me,' I said as my sister emerged from the bathroom wearing nothing but a towel wrapped around her head like a turban. ‘I just stopped by to see what you were doing.'

‘There's an acupuncture lecture at 11.00 a.m. I'll be about fifteen minutes late for lunch, if that's OK with you.'

I shrugged. ‘Fine. Nobody's calling the roll.'

Ruth stared into the closet. ‘What on earth should I wear?'

‘To an acupuncture class? Something with teeny tiny holes in it, I imagine.' Promising to let Ruth know the minute I found out anything about Pia, I left her to sort out her wardrobe and dress in peace.

Prakash was still tending the Oracle bar. He looked up suspiciously when I approached, so I simply smiled and ordered a split of the day's special, something called
Cair Blanc
, and carried the glass over to a chair in the corner of the bar where I could keep an eye on the elevators.