Stowaway (10 page)

For the first
time, I smile at Smith, extend my hand out for a shake to seal the deal. Just
as he reaches for it, he drops like a rock to the platform. He is out cold.

“What the…?”

“Go!
Now!”

There is a vice
grip on my arm, and I am being towed once again across this platform, this time
around the smokestack and back toward the ladder. In the dark, I can’t see who
it is. Mike’s voice is too nasally. No way
he could
have disguised it. That leaves one candidate.

“Luke! You knocked
him out?”

“Yeah,
yeah.
Now hurry, before he wakes up! I’m just glad I got here in time.”

I fight him, but
he pulls harder. There’s no way I can escape his iron grip. So, I do the only
thing I can think of. I throw my body to the platform and go completely limp.
If he’s going to kidnap me, he’s going to have to drag my limp weight around to
do it. I’m not helping him by staying afoot.

“What do you think
you are doing?” he yells down at me.

“Not
getting kidnapped, you idiot!”
Whoops, probably not good to call killers
names.

“I’m not
kidnapping you, I’m saving you. Now, let’s go!”

“I don’t need
saving! That is Agent Smith’s job. He is with the FBI.”

“With
what?”
Luke says. He stops yanking, but doesn’t let my arm go. He must
assume, rightly, that I would jump up and bolt if given the chance.

“It’s a long
story, but he just handed me this official paperwork saying I’m in the clear.”

Luke snatches the
documents and begins to scan them.

“You are wanted
for fraud? And, theft?” He looks down at me warily, like I’m the criminal.

“No, my roommate is.
Keep reading. She stole my identity, along with a lot of other people’s, and
did those things. That guy,” I say, pointing to the unconscious man slumped in
the shadows, “is my ticket to freedom. That is, if you don’t kill me first.”

He hands back my
papers after verifying my claim, drops my wrist and lets out a long sigh.

“What do you mean,
if I don’t kill you first? You actually think I could do that. Or, killed
either George or Mario?”

I sit up
cross-legged, and also cross my arms, hugging the file safely to my chest.

“You were hanging
around that night. Awfully convenient, don’t you think?”

“I was at the
casino until five minutes before you walked in trying to cheer myself up. But I
lost. Certainly, not enough time to dash to the gallery, kill someone,
then
hide in an upper deck lounge. Look, I have receipts,
see? Go ask anyone!”

He pulls a wad of
crumpled, time-stamped tickets from his wallet. It looked like he had bad luck
with the ponies. But, sure enough, he has an air-tight alibi.

“Fine.”
I hand his stubs back.

“Fine?
That’s all I get after you accuse me of double homicide? Well, what’s to keep
me from thinking you did it?” he asks angrily.

“Where’s my
motivation? I hopped on this ship to hide from that guy over there, not do
something stupid that would only get me more attention. Besides, you went
through my things that night, remember? Did you find anything incriminating?”

“Fine,” he sighs.
“You are right. Fighting is getting us nowhere. Let’s call a truce.”

“Fine.”

Silence hangs
between us. Where does a conversation go after we accuse each other of double
homicide? Luke finally thinks of something to say.

“Too bad there’s
no evidence to give us direction. A body would be convenient about now.”

“Well, do I have
some good news for you,” I say, pointing over his shoulder to the storage door.
He walks with me over there, and clicks on a small flashlight that he pulls
from his pocket. George’s body is immediately illuminated. A small, deep
puncture wound is clearly visible on the man’s neck. I didn’t notice it with
the dim glow of my cell phone earlier as the body was falling on me.

Luke’s flashlight
hand shakes
when he sees the wound. I can’t look away, for
the first time really getting a good view of the body. Deeper inside, in the
shadows, I also see the remains of Mario.

I realize whoever
murdered these men knew exactly what they were doing. The one from the art
gallery was executed with surgical precision. There’s so little mess. The
killer must also clean up efficiently, judging by the state of the gallery when
I saw it afterward. Even the platform room is eerily tidy.

That’s when it
hits me. This same person is after me. He is calculating and professional. I
don’t stand a chance. I feel nauseous.

Chapter 8

“We have to report
this,” Luke finally says, after I finish throwing up and calm down. He held my
hair out of my face the entire time and found a mint for me in his pocket.
Chomping on it, I walk back into the storage room and take photos on my phone.
He is right, and I don’t want to lose proof of these bodies again.

I finally answer
him when I am finished.

“What if whoever
we tell is working with the killer? Or, is the killer? No, these two have been
here for a day undisturbed. We have to leave them a little while longer until
we find someone safe we can report this to.”

Luke knows I’m
right. He nods his head and clicks the door latch back tight. He wipes away any
fingerprints with a handkerchief,
then
we start away.
Hopefully, the killer will never know we’ve been here.

“
Unnnh
!”

The groan behind
us stops us both.

Right.
Smith.
His eyes are still closed, but that won’t be
the case long.

“Maggie, we have
to do something with him!
Before he wakes up.
I don’t
want him remembering what just happened or that he might have seen me.”

He’s right. I run
to the edge of the platform and call down to Mike. It is apparent he and Rose
have been arguing. They both look happy that he has a reason to leave. This
time, he charges up the ladder without complaint.

“Thank God! That
old bat accused me of taking the diamond out of her wedding ring when I kissed
her hand,” he says after he scrambles up to my level.

He says it loud
enough that Rose can hear him. She shoots a hateful glare in his direction.

“Well, did you?” I
ask.

“I might have,”
Mike answers, quieter. “I might have also swallowed it, which means I can’t
exactly return it now. But, I’ll give it back, I promise!
Soon.”

“You really are a
terrible criminal, Mike. Promise me you will apologize profusely when you give
her that diamond back, or I’m not paying you the rest of your money. And, for
the love of Pete, sanitize that thing before you do!”

“Alright!
I promise.”

Just then, Luke
steps from the shadows.

“Nice
to see you, Mike.”

“Um, what is he
doing here? Aren’t we running from him, Maggie?”

Mike looks ready
to flee, so I grab his shirt.

“No! He’s safe. He
isn’t the murderer.”

Just then, there
is another groan from Smith, who is starting to rub his head where Luke hit him.

“That is why I
called you up, Mike. Take Smith over there down to the bar and buy him a drink
or two. Make him forget he was ever up here. That’s it. Don’t steal anything!
Can you do that for me?”

“Um,
sure.
Are you buying? And, is he the killer?”

I pass the cash
over. Then, on second thought, pull out a few extra bills.

“That is Smith. He
is a harmless federal agent that we don’t want poking around too closely. Got
it? You will need to take Rose with you. Here is some money for her, too. Luke
is coming with me.”

Mike shoots me a
pained look as he takes the cash, but doesn’t say anything, thank goodness.
Then, he and Luke heft the agent to his
groggy
feet
and down the platform. It takes both Rose and Mike to steady him at the bottom.

“Where am I?”
Smith slurs.

“How hard did you
hit him?” I whisper to Luke.

“Don’t worry,” he
says. “He’ll be fine once he gets moving. At least he didn’t ask who he was.”
He talks like he knows about these things, which makes me worry a bit about why
he sounds so confident.

“Honey, you’re
just out for the night with a pretty lady and her help,” says Rose, answering
Smith, who looks totally confused. She winks at me, and she and Mike help him
totter off towards the nearest bar.

Luke and I wander
into the belly of the ship in silence.
 
At first, I think it’s aimlessly, but then realize he has led us to the
doors of a show that is going on. He pulls me inside, where we press against
the back wall in the dark, pretending to watch a contortionist balance on one
hand while she spins plates on sticks with her other limbs.

“We need to
revisit the gallery,” I say, breaking the silence.

“I can’t. I’m
under suspicion by everyone but you. I swear that ukulele isn’t mine, Maggie.
Well, it was, but I didn’t do those things to it or plant it. Somebody must
have taken it.”

“I believe you.”

“Why?”

“Because, how will
you fight off the old ladies in elevators after concerts now? Besides, you
couldn’t have stabbed George with it and left it there. You had your case when
I saw you in the lounge afterwards, remember?”

He nods, and I
continue.

“Besides, even if
you could have killed George, no way you murdered Mario. You were snoring
underneath me the whole time.”

He grins at my
last statement and raises an eyebrow. I give him a shove before he can speak.

“Grow up, Luke!
You know what I mean. Ok, wait for me in the downstairs lounge again. It should
still be empty, right? I’ll meet you there after I’ve had a quick look around
the gallery.”

I head off without
a glance back or waiting for his answer. I figure if he’s going to run, I can’t
stop him and I don’t want to hear his excuses or lies beforehand. Also, I
figure he can’t go far. We are on a ship, after all. I just hope he will be
waiting for me. I really can use his help.

….

Before I was a
mall portrait photographer, I worked at a local daily newspaper. I was junior
enough that I mostly got fluff holiday pieces and corporate grand openings to
shoot, but sometimes I was handed meatier, hard news assignments.

Before I left for
my first one, a seasoned editor gave me some words of wisdom that have stuck
with me. He told me to always be prepared for the surprise shot, the one you
weren’t expecting to find. Often, that will end up being your best and make the
story.

Then, he said to
get as much blood as possible in the frame because that sells papers.

I guess his point
for both statements was the same. Details matter, so pay attention to them. It
is time to heed his advice again.

As I step into the
gallery, I am the only one on site besides the curator. He looks tired, as if
he is ready for the art to be someone else’s responsibility.

Although it’s
late, I expected a few bystanders, since the auction is tomorrow morning. But,
I can hear my footsteps echo on the tile floors as I stroll through the silence
to stand directly in front of
Blue
.
  

It still looks the
same. Thick sweeps of dark blue paint swirl around the girl with the pale
yellow hair and dark golden dress. She is still fishing in the river and she
still reminds me of a bear.

I circle around its
wide, ornate frame, but nothing seems out of place. The painting looks the same
as it did the first time I saw it with Rose. And yet, something is off. Some
detail. I can’t place what it is and that bothers me.

So, I move on. The
area’s floor looks unremarkable, spotless and clean. Past the wall of splatters
I can see the rusted hunk of junk still squatting by the door.

Wait.
The wall of splatters.
Wait! I remember the first day coming
through it only had three colors. There are four today.
The
deep red.
It looks suspiciously like dried blood, and isn’t uniformly
scattered around like the rest of the flecks. No, it has a definite spray shape
to it, about the height of a person. About the height of a neck wound, I
realize. So, our killer wasn’t so very careful after all. Now, how do I prove
it? I wish I knew more about these things.

I don’t notice
anything else out of place in the gallery after combing through the exhibits,
so I head down to meet Luke.

At first, I don’t
think he is there. The wooden paneled lounge is dark, save for a few small
lamps scattered around. As my eyes adjust, I can see him sitting in the corner.
He is facing the entry and is the only other person here. That fact doesn’t
surprise me. Although the ship is usually bustling until the early morning
hours, not many make it off the beaten path down here. This area of the ship
has no entertainment attractions, no beautiful views, no comfortable seating to
encourage long stays. It is perfect.

“What took you so
long?” says Luke.

“The
blood.”

I explain to him
what I saw in the gallery.

“I’ve been looking
at this all wrong,” I conclude. “I’ve been so concerned with my own safety and
how it all happened that I forgot to ask the right question. We should ask
why
he did it if we hope to figure out who it is.”

“Or maybe, make a
list of likely candidates and see who fits the profile. Such as, you saw a man,
right? Most occupants on a ship are female this weekend, so we’ve already
narrowed the list.”

“He moved
awkwardly and slower, like he was disabled or aged,” I offer.