Norway to Hide (21 page)

“I’ll tell you where I
haven’t
been,” she blustered. “Berlevag, Mehamn, Kjollefjord, Honningsvag, or Havoysund. Are you surprised I can recite them in order? I can even spell them.” She braced her fist on her hip and lengthened her eyes to slits. “I can spell them
backwards
.”

“You were studying the ship’s schedule all night?”

“No, no. I had other reading material.” She fished inside her shoulder bag and slapped a Hamlets brochure on the table. “For what it’s worth, I have memorized every freaking word in this freaking brochure and could offer my services as a human website for the freaking place. What would you like to know about the Hamlets, Emily? Ask me anything. Aver
age age of resident? Average number of golf carts per household? Average number of clubs the average resident belongs to?”

“WHERE WERE YOU?”

“In an emergency supply room, dammit!”

“Where?”

“On the car deck!”

“All night?”

“Well, I’m sorry I didn’t phone you to come get me out, but it’s hard to pick up a signal when you’re locked inside a steel-plated room!”

“I was really worried, Jack!”

“Hey, I had to spend the night in a janitor’s closet with gunked-up engine parts and motor oil. How do you think I felt?” She seized the hem of her miniskirt. “Do you know how impossible it is to get grease stains off delicate fabric?”

Bernice pulled her bathing cap off her head with a noisy snap. “Can you skip over all this emotional crap and get to the part where I come to the rescue?”

I regarded her in disbelief. “
You
went to the rescue?”

“She most certainly did,” Jackie said proudly, hanging an arm around Bernice’s shoulders. “I yelled until I was hoarse for someone to let me out, but there’s so much reverberation and rattling on that car deck, not one person heard me—until Bernice arrived. Yo, Bernice,” she hooted, squeezing tightly.

“It was nothing,” Bernice demurred.

Bernice to the rescue? Bernice Zwerg? The Klicks were right: the world really
was
ending. “How did you happen to be on the car deck, Bernice?”

She looked at me grudgingly. “I—uh, I remembered looking through that partition door when Alice and I were searching deck two, but we didn’t go in because of the fumes. All that was in there was cars, anyway. But I got to thinking after I talked to you that Jackie might have ended up in there somehow, so I went back to check it out.”

“And I’m ever so grateful you did,” Jackie cooed, bending over to plant a big sloppy kiss on her mouth.

“What
is
it with you two?” Bernice squirmed out of her embrace, scrubbing her lips with the back of her hand. “Get this into your heads: I only bat right handed! You understand what I’m saying? Oh, never mind. I’m leaving. I’ve had colonoscopies more comfortable than this damn thong.”

“Thong?” asked Jackie when she’d left.

“Don’t ask. So how in the world did you get locked in an emergency supply room?”

“Faulty hinge or something. The door opened easily enough, but when I went inside to look around, it locked behind me. They had to use a blowtorch to get me out.”

“What were you doing on the car deck in the first place?”

“Exploring. After I got hold of Tom, I went back to the cabin and you were sawing logs, so what else was I supposed to do? Talk to myself? I thought I’d look around to see if I could find a really cool place to hide a dead body.”

“Excuse me?”

“I’m so excited, Emily.” She jiggled from head to toe. “Tom said we always lose so many guests on your trips that for my next project, I should write a murder mystery! Isn’t that fun? So I was officially doing research. See?” She dragged a travel journal out of her bag and flipped it open. “I even took notes.”

Uh-oh.
“Jack, about your writing career.”

“Do you want to write it with me? Ooo, we could be writing partners! Come on, Emily. The fame. The fortune. And think of the fun we’d have picking out a pen name!”

“I hate to have to tell you this, Jack, but you’re going to learn it eventually. I heard on TV a little while ago that Hightower Books has just declared bankruptcy. They’ve closed up shop and let go all their employees.”

Her eyes glazed over. She appeared to stop breathing.

“Jack? I know. It really sucks.”

She staggered to the nearest chair and fell into it. “Closed up shop? You mean, no one’s there to handle orders? To add sales numbers into the computer? To answer my freaking phone calls?”

Her voice became a wail. I kneaded her shoulder in sympathy. “I bet there are plenty of other houses who’d love to publish a Jackie Thum novel. Don’t let this discourage you.”

“Discourage me?” She whooped with laughter. “Emily, this is the best news I’ve had in days! Don’t you see? It’s not me, it’s them. They don’t hate me. They’re not deliberately ignoring me. They’ve closed
up shop! They’re not
there
! It’s not about me; it’s about them. I’m
so
relieved.”

There was one conclusion I could draw about Jack with some authority: She was either the most resilient or the most delusional person I’d ever met. “But…what about your book? Your career?”

“Screw the career. I hate deadlines.” She unfolded her Hamlets brochure and poked her finger at a glossy picture. “See this building? It’s the Hamlets clubhouse. I’ve decided I want to work there.”

“Won’t you have to wait about thirty years to meet the age requirement?”

“I don’t want to
live
there; I want to work there. A clubhouse like that has to have a director. Don’t you think I’d make a crackerjack social director?”

I felt an almost imperceptible jolt as the ship bumped against the quay. “Welcome to Hammerfest,” I said, glancing out the window.

“Thanks for the vote of confidence.” She flipped the brochure over. “Did you see these pictures of the board of directors? The mini-interviews are very insightful.”

“Is there anything about Lauretta Klick?”

“Yup. It lists all the clubs she belongs to, how long she’s been on the board, and her proudest accomplishment. She’s president of the fox-trot club because she’s their best dancer, and vice president of the dominoes club because she’s their second-best player. It looks like they have a rule that if you’re the best, you get to be president, and if you’re second best, you get to be vice president. Portia and Gus were president
and vice-president of just about every club, so I predict a major reshuffling of power when everyone gets back.”

I scanned the text over her shoulder, curiosity turning to alarm when I reached the end. “Holy crap.”

“What?”

“Why didn’t Joleen hand these things out sooner!” I grabbed Margi’s photos and spread them out over the table. “It was so obvious, nobody picked up on it.”

“Picked up on what? Ooo, pictures.” She spun one around. “Nice one of Curtis and his camera.”

I studied another of the photos, plucking it off the table as I realized what was wrong with it. “Damn! Bernice isn’t the only one who bats right-handed. They’re going to arrest the wrong people.”

I ran from the library and charged around the corner to the main staircase. The stairs were clear, but the lower deck was gridlocked with passengers waiting to exit.

Changing direction, I sprinted up to the promenade deck and pushed through the bulkhead door to the rail that overlooked the gangway. Forklifts were already
hrrrm
ing. Car engines were idling. Passengers were pouring onto the quay in endless numbers.

I spied Nana’s white hair in the crowd and George’s green-and-white Pioneer Seed cap. They were stepping off the gangway, directly in front of Annika, and behind them was—

“Stop him!” I shouted. “The man in the navy blue jacket! He’s a killer!”

Passengers glanced up at me. I heard a rumble of
unease. Footsteps slowing. Heads turning. “Grab him before he gets away!”

A tall man on the perimeter of the crowd caught Curtis by the scruff of his neck. “Not him!” I shouted, doing a double take.
Etienne
? How had he gotten here so fast? “The other guy!” I yelled, pointing frenetically. “Him!”

Etienne tackled Reno and brought him down like a felled tree amid screams and shouts.
Oh, dear.

“Nana!” I shouted, making a megaphone of my hands. “Vern! It’s Vern! He’s behind you!”

She pitched her pocketbook to George, dropped into a predatory stance, made a wavy gesture with her hands, and with a banshee cry of “Eeeeyaaaa!” jumped straight up in the air and spun around like a top, smacking her foot into Vern’s face. He swayed precariously for a half second before falling flat on his face.

Ouch. That had to hurt.

Jackie came up behind me. “What was that? Another flying drop kick?”

“Spinning roundhouse,” I said. “She likes to mix it up.”

T
wo days later, at nine-fifteen in the morning, the atmosphere aboard ship was bubbling over with festivity. Neptune, costumed in flowing robes and wielding a rubber trident, dumped ice cubes down our backs, after which we toasted him with shots of strong liquor and much laughter.

We’d just crossed the Arctic Circle.

Nana handed me a couple of Polaroids of the metal sphere that marked the imaginary latitudinal line. “I seen a globe exactly like this back in sixty-four when your grampa and me took your mother to the world’s fair. Only it wasn’t perched on no rock in the middle a the ocean. It was in Queens. They called it a unisphere.”

We were sitting in the panoramic lounge, with the signs of the zodiac painted like a giant
Wheel of Fortune
on the ceiling above us and ice cubes melting at
our feet. “I hope you never part with your camera, Nana. It saved the day.”

“You was the one what saved the day, dear. Don’t know if I ever woulda noticed Vern catchin’ that tube a sunblock with his right hand.”

“Everyone made such a big deal about his being a lefty. No one ever noticed he became a righty after he took his pain meds.”

“Hard to imagine them pills made his left hand shake so much that he had to learn to write with the other one. I guess that’s why his handwritin’ never matched up with them samples the police took.”

I nodded. “He must have written the note before he took his meds, and given the writing sample
after
taking them. But the pills eased his knee pain, which allowed him to maneuver pain-free for the length of time it took to kill Portia and Gus.”

“You s’pose we’ll ever know how he done it exactly?”

“Annika says he was extremely uncooperative with the police. He wouldn’t give them any details because he said his methods are a military secret that would jeopardize national security if revealed. The only thing he admitted was that if Portia hadn’t knocked on his door that night in Helsinki and asked him to escort her to the sauna, none of this would have happened.” I shook my head. “Sounds like his defense is going to be that it was all Portia’s fault.”

“Has anyone figured out how come he didn’t leave no fingerprints on that note?”

“Gloves. It came in handy that he’d packed for cold weather.”

“You think he was wearin’ them gloves when he killed Gus? Is that why there wasn’t no marks on his hands?”

“I doubt he needed gloves. Vern’s knees were bad, but there was nothing wrong with his upper-body strength. Gus had pretty much gone to seed, so Vern just overpowered him.”

“I still can’t believe a fella would kill anyone over Scrabble.”

“It’s all he had left. His knees kept him from cycling, kayaking, horseback riding, and being the cha-cha king. He couldn’t even beat the Peabody sisters in a speed drinking contest.”

“He lassoed that reindeer real good.”

“Yeah, but how many reindeer herders live in Florida? He was accustomed to being the best at everything he did. So when his body started to fail him and he had to become more sedentary, he set his sights on being the Scrabble king.”

“But Portia and Gus was better players than him.”

“President and vice president of the Scrabble club, according to the brochure, so he needed to take them out so he could be first at something again.”

“Knee replacements woulda been smarter.”

“He
had
both knees replaced, but he had such a horrible experience, he swore he’d never go through it a second time.”

Nana stuffed her photos back into her pocketbook. “He was probably wishin’ the world would end so he wouldn’t get caught.”

“I’m not so sure. I think he was arrogant enough
to assume that if he disappeared in one of the larger ports, like Trondheim, he might never get caught. So it’s a good thing we stopped him when we did.” I glanced around the lounge. “Have you seen Etienne? Or Jackie?” I frowned. “Or anyone?”

“How ’bout your young man?” Nana continued. “Charterin’ a jet instead a flyin’ commercial. Isn’t that romantic?”

“Expensive,” I whispered. “Especially when we have a wedding to pay for.”

Nana made eye contact with someone behind me and popped out of her chair, tittering breathlessly. “You gotta come with me,” she said, hauling me to my feet.

“Where are we going?”

“You can’t ask questions. You just gotta follow me.”

She tugged on my hand, guiding me through the upper deck bar area, where Curtis and Lauretta sat side by side on a sofa, studying a sheet of handwritten notes.

“What about August twenty-fourth?” asked Curtis. “It could happen then, right?”

Lauretta shook her head. “I’m leaning more toward October tenth.”

“You thought it was going to happen on October tenth
last
year. Or November fifth, or December first, or—”

“Are you fussing at me for being wrong, Curtis Klick? Do you want to be reminded how many times you’ve been wrong?” She snapped the paper with a flourish. “July twenty-second, nineteen-eighty-two. April twelfth, nineteen-eighty-five. December twenty-
fifth, nineteen-eighty-six. Remember that Christmas? We didn’t even bother to put up a tree!”

George was waiting for us just inside the door to the sundeck. “All set,” he said, handing me a nosegay of daisies and yellow sweetheart roses.

“Why George Farkas, how sweet!” I sniffed the flowers and smiled. “What’s the occasion?”

“Can’t say. It’s a surprise.” He cracked the bulkhead door, signaled with his cap, then held the door wide for us as the strains of chamber music floated throughout the stern.

I listened with delight. “Is that the Pachelbel Canon in D?”

“It’s four Germans in monkey suits playing violins,” said Nana. “There isn’t no organ on board, so it was either the Germans or an old guy with a kazoo.”

“This is the song I want played at the wedding.” I dipped and bobbed my head to the flow of the music. “How do you think it’ll sound on an accordion?”

She ushered me past unoccupied chairs along the rail, and when the deck opened up to its full width, I stopped…and gasped.

The whole group was here, standing excitedly on both sides of a makeshift aisle, grinning like Cheshire cats. The captain stood at the aft rail in full uniform, flanked by Jackie and Tilly, who wore surprisingly well-coordinated outfits and held nosegays that looked like the centerpieces from the dining salon. Etienne stood off to the side, elegantly European in a black sport coat and turtleneck, his blue eyes locked onto mine with heartstopping intensity.

“Oh, my God, Nana, when did?—How did?—”

“We can make things happen when we gotta. Even Bernice. She bought your flowers, and she didn’t even fuss about havin’ to pay full price.”

“But what about Mom and Dad? My church wedding? My—”

“You can have your church weddin’ after Holy Redeemer gets rebuilt. And your mom and dad aren’t gonna miss a thing.” She nodded to an impressive-looking phone that was propped on a table beside Tilly. “Satellite phone. Compliments of the captain.”

“But what about blood tests? A marriage license? International laws governing—”

“Your young man seen to all that,” Nana assured me. “He said somethin’ about a cousin.” She squeezed my hand, tears welling in her eyes. “Ready?”

I brushed a tear from her cheek and hugged her close. “Ready.”

To the melodious strains of Johann Pachelbel, Nana escorted me down the aisle. She delivered me onto the arm of Etienne Miceli, who cupped his hands around my face and, in front of all who had gathered to witness this happy occasion, kissed me long and thoroughly.

“The kiss comes
after
the ceremony,” I laughed when I came up for air. “You’re supposed to wait.”

He gave me a steamy look. “On the contrary,
bella
. I’ve waited long enough.” Then to the enthusiastic applause of all on deck, he kissed me again.