Norway to Hide (16 page)

“You’re kidding me. Vern was a dancer? It must have been a really long time ago, because he can hardly walk anymore.”

“That’s so sad. If he was in better shape, you could probably hold a dance competition. Isn’t it funny how so many people in your tour group have ties to ballroom dance? Grundy, Lauretta Klick, Grace Stolee.”

I wasn’t sure it was funny, but I thought it might be significant in some unfathomable way.

“He’s also a skilled equestrian, kayaker, cyclist, and ping pong player. Isn’t it nice that the military makes sure its officers can be all that they can be?”

A long tone blared above me like an angry foghorn.

“Jesus, Mary, and Joseph,” cried Mom.

“Sorry! Ship’s whistle. Probably a warning blast to tell us we’re about to leave.” I looked over the rail to see passengers hotfooting it toward the gangplank and men in orange vests standing by to cast off the lines.

“You run along then, Em. I don’t want you to miss the boat. I’ll call you after I look into these new names.”

“You can’t call me. Remember? I’ll have to call you. Thanks, Mom.”

The activity in the dock area grew more frenetic. Quick hugs. Quick good-byes. A man in a tie-dyed T-shirt racing down the street toward us, waving his arms and shouting. A final blast of the ship’s whistle. A rush up the gangplank. Lines being cast off. The whine of the gangplank as it creaked upward. The man in the T-shirt pelting across the pavement and windmilling his arms on the edge of the quay as we pulled away.

“Halten sie an!”
he yelled, shaking his clenched fist at us. He stomped his foot and kicked a nearby pylon, then turned around to yell at the bystanders.

Tardiness? Yelling? I didn’t know where the guy was from, but I knew it
wasn’t
Iowa.

As we nosed into the harbor, I cast a nervous glance back at Vardo. The captain hadn’t been kidding when he’d said if we weren’t back in time, he’d leave without us.

I hoped Jackie had made it back in time.

When I climbed back down to the dining deck, I ran headlong into a throng of familiar guests, who were gathered in a noisy circle.

“Lay one finger on her and you’re a dead man!” barked George.

“Get the hell out of the way,” warned Reno. “Can’t you see he’s hurt?”

“Act not in anger,” cried Lauretta. “Turn the other cheek.”

“Make way!” yelled Margi. “I’m a nurse.”

“Hey!” I shouted above the din. “What’s going on?”

“She started it,” accused April.

“Did not,” said Bernice.

“Did so.”

“Bite me.”

“This is Vern Grundy,” Dick Teig said into his camcorder. “He’s flat on his back ’cause he just got the crap kicked out of him.”

What
?

I pushed my way to the center of the crowd to find Vern staring dazedly at the ceiling. “What happened?” I cried, dropping to my knees beside him.

A dozen sets of eyes riveted on Nana. I stared at her in disbelief. “
You
did this?”

She nodded sheepishly.

“Why?”

“’Cause he was lookin’ at Tilly funny. I didn’t wanna take no chances.”

“
I
have assurances from Mrs. Sippel that this will never happen again.” Annika had gathered us into the Fembfiringen Bar for an embarkation meeting that began as a lecture about how we should conduct ourselves aboard ship. “Isn’t that right, Mrs. Sippel?”

“You bet,” said Nana.

Tucked between the conference room and the library, the bar was a cozy salon with overstuffed chairs and sofas arranged in intimate groupings around small pedestal tables. At least, that was the idea. By the time everyone had finished rearranging the furniture, we were a room divided, with Iowans on one side and Floridians on the other. Kinda the nautical version of the War Between the States.

“How did Marion do it?” asked Joleen Barnum, who had staked out a neutral chair between warring
factions. “She really decked Vern, and she’s a foot and a half shorter.”

“She did
not
deck me,” growled Vern. “I stubbed my toe on the carpet and my knees gave out.”

Nana leaned toward me and whispered out of the corner of her mouth, “I decked him.”

“Spinning roundhouse kick?” I whispered back.

“Flyin’ drop kick.”

“They teach drop kicks in beginners’ Tae Kwon Do?”

“I’m not a beginner no more, dear. I graduated to intermediate. My instructor says I’m a geriatric wonder.”

April Peabody waved her hand lazily at Annika. “Some of us have been talking, and we think you should throw Mrs. Sippel into the brig.”

“Over my dead body!” threatened George.

“If Marion goes, I go,” Tilly spoke up.

“Me too,” said Margi. “I can monitor blood pressure for the folks who are claustrophobic.”

“I’m not committing to anything until I find out if this place has
en suite
toilet facilities,” said Bernice.

“If you don’t throw that woman in the brig
this minute,
” April warned Annika, “I’ll write you up for showing partiality to felons.”

“Marion didn’t hurt me!” Vern maintained. “I tripped. She had nothing to do with it.”

I guessed his military status forced him to say that. Better to fudge the facts than admit you’d been clocked by a seventy-nine-year-old dwarf.

Osmond stood up. “Show of hands, and I’d like to
be neighborly and include the Floridians in this. How many folks would like to be locked up with Marion?”

“Sit down,” Annika snapped, with the kind of irritation that also implied
and shut up.
“None of you will be sent to the brig because there
is
no brig.”

“What about an infirmary?” asked Dick Teig.

“There should be an infirmary,” agreed Margi.

“The matter is closed,” Annika decreed. “There are more important matters to discuss. Officer Vitikkohuhta has given me permission to tell you that he has received a preliminary report on the fingerprints found on Mr. Manning’s note.”

An uneasy hush fell over the room.

“The only clear impressions they could identify were of Mr. Manning’s own fingerprints.”

Margi gasped. “Does that mean he strangled himself?”

I hung my head.
Oh, God.

“It means that for the moment, you are exonerated. If your fingerprints were on the note, they could not be found.”

But…but…This was terrible! Someone in this room wrote that note. Someone in this room was a killer. How could they not find prints?

“Officer Vitikkohuhta also wishes me to tell you that they are pursuing other avenues of investigation, so you should not congratulate yourselves prematurely on eluding justice.”

I glanced at the Floridians, who all looked pretty smug about the fingerprint results.

“I end with a few housekeeping notes,” said Annika.
“I am in cabin three-ninety-two should you need me. Three-nine-two. I suggest you write it down. We have already suffered our first passenger loss—a man left behind in Vardo. So I caution you to double-check the posted departure times before disembarking, and to synchronize your watches with the ship’s clock. You would also be wise to return to the ship earlier rather than later.”

I exchanged a look with Jackie, who had found a cyber café and returned to the ship more depressed than she’d been yesterday—but at least she’d gotten back in time. I wondered if I’d ever learn not to be such a worrywart.

“Dinner will be served in fifteen minutes. We have assigned seating at the window tables on the port side, so please sit within the designated area. After dinner, coffee and tea will be served here in the bar. Do plan to partake of the refreshments. It’s quite rude not to. And if any of you are prone to suffer from motion sickness, I would advise that you take a prophylactic to ensure your continued good health.”

Nana’s eyes rounded in shock. “Usin’ a condom can prevent seasickness?” She raised her hand. “What size?”

“She’s talking about Dramamine,” April jeered. “Get a dictionary.”

“Does anyone have further questions or comments?” Annika interrupted.

Curtis stood up. “Lauretta and me have been going over our notes real carefully, so we have new information that the group might enjoy hearing.”

“Very good,” said Annika, looking relieved not to be refereeing another fightfest or shouting match. “We encourage outside reading, especially guidebooks that point out areas of local interest. Go on.”

“The world isn’t going to end in a few days.” He smiled broadly as he took Lauretta’s hand. “It’s going to end tomorrow.”

“Lauretta was one a them hoochie-coochie girls?” Nana asked after dinner. “I’ll be.” She took a sip of her tea as she considered this latest revelation. “You s’pose that pays good?”

“I imagine the income is based largely on tips,” said Tilly. “A woman with a Colgate smile and breasts the size of kettle drums could do quite well for herself.”

Nana glanced across the room to give Lauretta the once-over. “She’s kinda lackin’ in the kettle drum department.”

“Maybe she had breast reduction surgery,” suggested George.

Jackie stared at Tilly in confusion. “Did you say tips or tits?”

We were once again in the Fembfiringen Bar, gathered in a cozy corner, dazzled by the scenery outside the port window. Rocky headlands. Solitary beacons perched on lonely islands. Waterfalls. Snowcapped peaks. Unexpected homesteads in the middle of nowhere. The five of us hadn’t been able to sit together at dinner, so I’d related my earlier conversation with Mom as we oohed and aahed over the Norwegian coastline.

Nana drained her teacup and set it on a nearby table. “Don’t sound to me like we know much more now than we did before, except Vern was a cha-cha king, Lauretta couldn’t keep her clothes on, and April and June deleted May from their family calendar. You know what I think?” She cast a wary look at the guests seated throughout the salon. “I think they’re tryin’ to confuse us.”

“We know a little more than that,” Tilly spoke up. “If Curtis and Lauretta both had checkered pasts, they each had a stake in wanting to keep their secret buried.”

“So they’re probably working in cahoots,” said George.

“What’s to prevent ’em from walkin’ off the boat tomorrow and never bein’ seen again?” asked Nana.

“I hope the world does end.” Jackie sagged deeper into her chair, pouting. “That should wipe Amazon off the Internet, right?”

“Emily, you s’pose Portia knew about the Klicks and was holdin’ it over their heads?” asked Nana. “You said she sounded like she was threatenin’ ’em back in Helsinki. Maybe they had an understandin’. Portia wouldn’t tattle on ’em if they’d stop scarin’ folks with their end a the world talk.”

“Makes sense to me,” said George. “They knocked off Portia to keep her quiet, then they popped Gus because they probably figured he was the fella who told her. I say they did it.”

“It puts the nail in their coffin for me, too,” said Tilly.

“You want Osmond to take a formal vote?” asked Nana.

“Would anyone care to hear about my reviews?” Jackie said in a small voice.

“It could be the Klicks,” I agreed, “but how are we going to prove it before they disappear? And I’m still not convinced they’re tall enough to strangle anyone.”

“Son of a bitch,” growled Vern as the room echoed with the sound of crashing china.

Laughter. Razzberries. “Steady Eddie strikes again,” teased Reno.

“Step around the mess,” ordered Vern, directing traffic away from his broken coffee cup and saucer. “Let me find someone to clean this up.”

“Uh-oh,” Nana lamented as he left the salon. “You s’pose him dropping that cup is my fault?”

I gave her a puzzled look. “Why would it be your fault?”

“On account a when I drop-kicked him. Maybe he hurt his hand. You think he’ll sue? If it was Bernice, she’d sue.”

Jackie sucked in her breath like a Darth Vader action figure. “Oh, my God, Emily, you’re right. Women blame themselves for everything. This is so cool!” Settling back down, she continued in a more subdued tone, “I have new reviews on Amazon, if anyone is interested in hearing about them.”

“Do
not
play the heavy in this,” I begged Nana, rubbing my bruised hand. “Someone probably ran into him.”

“Is that where the Frisbee run into you?” Nana
fussed, wincing at the color. “Looks like one a them inkblot tests what tells you if you’re nuts.”

“The Wombai in New Guinea played Frisbee,” Tilly said reflectively. “With human skulls. Poor creatures had no concept of aerodynamics.”

“I have three new reviews,” Jackie burst out. “All one stars. I need sympathy!”

“Oh, no!” I leaned over to pat her knee. “I’m so sorry, Jack. Who knew that being a published author could be so traumatic? Is there anything I can do to make you feel better? I have chocolate in the cabin.”

“You could write a nice review,” she whimpered.
“Pleeeeease,
Emily. I’m going down in flames.”

“Are them one stars the bad ones?” asked Nana.

Jackie dabbed her eyes, sniffing delicately. “For an author, there’s only one thing worse than getting a one-star review.”

“Having your book go out of print?” asked Tilly.

“Getting
four
one-star reviews,” she sobbed.

“Isn’t there nothin’ you can do to make ’em disappear?” asked Nana.

Jackie shook her head. “Bad Amazon reviews don’t go away. The only time they’re deleted is if a reviewer reveals whodunit, or if the person being reviewed is married to the vice president.”

“Why don’t you write yourself a review?” George offered. “I bet other authors do that all the time.”

Jackie looked horrified. “But that’s so lowbrow. I’d much rather have you guys do it.”

“Seems to me you need lots a folks writin’ good reviews if you’re gonna get your average up.”

“Would you write one for me, Mrs. S.? I’d pay you…or…or I could have Tom give you a free cut and style the next time you’re in Binghamton. You’d look really hot with another choppy cut.”

Oh, God.
The last time she’d gotten the choppy cut, she’d ended up looking like the losing poodle in a cockfight.

Nana’s eyes crinkled in thought. “What you need is for that nice husband a yours to offer discounts to folks who’ll post nice reviews for you on Amazon. Marketin’ 101. Everyone loves discounts and free stuff. You think that’d work?”

Jackie’s gaze froze on Nana’s face. “It’s brilliant. Absolutely brilliant!” She peered out the window at the iron-ribbed coast. “Do you see any cell towers out there?”

I dug her phone out of my shoulder bag and handed it back.

She punched the power button, cursing under her breath. “Maybe I can get a signal if I go outside.”

George consulted the ship’s schedule. “If that doesn’t work, our next landfall is in four hours.”

“I’ll give it a try.”

“Doesn’t Amazon recommend that you actually read the book before writing a review?” I asked when she’d gone.

Nana eyed me curiously. “I never thought I’d be sayin’ this, dear, but I think you got some a your mother in you.”

“Would you like brochures over here?” Joleen asked, waving them enticingly. “They’re the latest literature
on the Hamlets.” She lowered her voice as she handed them out. “The community could use an infusion of new blood. Might make it less stuffy, which would be a whole lot easier on me and Jimbob. You folks seem real nice. You ever thought about moving south?”

“I been thinkin’ about buyin’ an island off the coast a the Bahamas,” said Nana, “but my accountant hasn’t worked out the tax implications yet.”

I stared at her, dumbfounded. “You’re going to buy an island?”

“I gotta get rid a my money somehow, dear. I’m makin’ it faster than I can spend it.”

“Well, if the deal falls through, you come down and visit Jimbob and me. We’ll give you the grand tour, take you to all the golf courses, and list a hundred good reasons why life in the Hamlets is so much better than life in the snow belt.” She lowered her voice again. “It’ll be even better if we can force the bad eggs out. But like Jimbob likes to say, ‘Everything comes to those who wait.’”