Oliver Twisted (An Ivy Meadows Mystery Book 3) Page 13

“I’m not sure I’d name a seagoing vessel after a writer who drowned herself.”

  “It’s Get Lit!’s singles ship. Something about a room of your own? Anyway, this lady said a bunch of the theft victims traded info among themselves—I think they’re looking to sue the cruise line—and she said they’re nearly certain it’s a gang of Eastern Europeans working all the boats. They have operatives on each ship—”

  “Operatives. I love spy language.”

  My uncle wisely ignored me. “Who steal small stuff off people—mostly phones and jewelry—and also break into cabin safes where they—”

  “Did you see that YouTube video ‘How to Break into a Hotel Safe in Sixty Seconds’?”

  “Would ya let me finish?”

  “Wait, are you the Ghost of Christmas Cranky?”

  Uncle Bob rolled his eyes. “Where they take whatever’s in the safe, usually more jewelry, plus wallets, artwork, and passports, and hide them onboard until they get off in port, where they meet with their higher-ups.”

  I remembered Val’s meeting in Ensenada. But surely his crime boss wouldn’t hug him.

  I looked back at him, and he waved at me as he tossed back a big glass of punch.

  Uncle Bob continued, “The guys—or gals, we shouldn’t make any assumptions—they have fences for the goods in all the ports. And they have people who pay them for the information.”

  “What information?”

  “Are you asking the Ghost of Christmas Cranky?”

  I stuck my tongue out at him, in a good-natured way.

  “The information they get from the phones, wallets, and passports. They’re not just stealing money and jewelry. They’re stealing identities.”

  “That’s big stuff, but…do you think you can trust what this woman’s telling you? Maybe she’s part of the criminal ring and she’s trying to throw you off the scent.”

  “I’m gonna have her checked out, but I think she’s legit. She’s an old friend of Bette’s.”

  “Lord, my ears are burnin’.” Bette gave her loud attention-grabbing laugh. She must’ve been stalking Uncle Bob. “Why are you dancing with this wench when you could be dancing with me?” She was dressed just like me, but in green. Weird. Did she really think Uncle Bob had a thing for me?

  I held up my hand and stepped away. “I ain’t goin’ to fight you for him,” I said in Nancy’s voice, “seein’ as how I got my Bill. This fella’s all yours, Miss…Nancy, is it?”

  “Nah.” She took Uncle Bob’s arm. “It’s Bet.”

  Of course. Bet was Nancy’s fellow tart in Oliver Twist, a character so minor she was cut from Oliver! At Sea! and called Whore Number Two in Fagin’s Magic Handkerchief.

  And I thought Bette didn’t know anything about Dickens.

  “Just a second, hon.”

  Oh no. Uncle Bob called her hon.

  “I was just telling Nancy here a joke. Can’t leave without giving her the punch line.” Bette took the hint and gave us a bit of space, stepping away with a forced smile on her face. Uncle Bob leaned into me. “Watch that director of yours.”

  “Jonas?”

  He nodded. “Been decoding that background check all day. He’s one of the rotten apples.”

  CHAPTER 31

  A Very Bad Boy Indeed

  I needed to think. I found a corner of the ballroom that wasn’t crowded with people and let my eyes wash over the crowd while my mind ran over what Uncle Bob said. Jonas was a criminal. The new information didn’t just throw a wrench into my investigation, it put a stick in the spokes of my self-esteem. Was I really that bad at judging people? And if so, what kind of private investigator would I make?

  I stayed in my corner for several minutes, turning things over in my mind, and yes, trying not to worry about Cody, who was out there in the night. Though I made sure to look as if I was watching the dancers, my focus was internal, so I jumped when I felt a tug on my skirt.

  “Miss Nancy?” said the littlest of the orphan actors. “I lost my marble. Can you help me find it?”

  A marble? Maybe the kids were supposed to play Dickens-era games. No matter the reason, a marble underfoot at a dance spelled trouble.

  “Sure.” I bent down next to him and looked in the direction he pointed. “What color is it?”

  “Gu…green.” Something in his voice made me look up at him. At him and Oliver and several other orphans who stood next to him, looking down my top.

  “Buzzums!” said Oliver, then, “It’s Dickens.”

  I’d had enough for one night. I stomped out of the ballroom and down the stairs to the employee deck. I unlocked the door to my cabin, wrenched it open, and stopped dead.

  “Hello, baby!” Val was in my room—in my bed—buck-ass naked. His you-know-what stood up like the mast of a ship amongst a sea of sheets. He waggled it proudly. “I make you forget all about gay Jonas.”

  I slammed the door shut.

  “Baby?” he said, muffled by the closed door. “Come back. It’s okey-dokey.”

  I cracked open the door. Still naked. I shut it again. I couldn’t slam it, but I did try to make as much outraged noise as I could.

  “Ivy? Please. I put clothes on.” Not only did Val use my name and sound appropriately regretful, but several employees had come out of their cabins to watch the show. I went back in my cabin, closed the door behind me, and snuck a look at my bed.

  “Val,” I said, squeezing my eyes shut. “You said you put clothes on.”

  “I did,” he said. “Socks!”

  I left, trying again to slam the door. No luck. Maybe I’d go to the crew bar. Nah. Ada wasn’t at the dance, so I was pretty sure she was holding court from her regular barstool there. I headed back toward the ballroom. What the heck. Maybe I could get Uncle Bob away from Bette, just for a dance. I missed hanging out with the old fart.

  Though the ball was only supposed to last another half hour, the party was still in full swing when I stepped through the door. I watched the dancers, looking for Uncle Bob, when a Ghost of Christmas Future stumbled toward me. Oh no, really? Maybe I could sneak out of the room…Nope. The costumed ball-goer was definitely headed my direction. He even pointed a robed arm at me, like the Ghost showing Scrooge his grave.

  Great. I was going to have to dance with a drunk ghost. Might as well make the best of it. “Well, sir,” I said in a hearty Nancy voice, “I’ll give you a spin if you fancy one, but as you seem a wee bit in your cups, maybe you’d rather a nice sit-down. What do you say, sir?”

  He didn’t say anything.

  He just fell on top of me.

  CHAPTER 32

  The Mighty Fallen

  Two hundred pounds of dead weight is near impossible to move, especially when you’re stuck underneath those pounds and tangled up in yards of sweaty black fabric. Even worse was the smell of vomit that came from underneath the Ghost of Christmas Future’s black mask. I held my breath, trying not to barf myself, and squeaked, “Help.”

  I was pretty sure no one heard me, but someone must’ve seen what happened because two crew members pulled the man off me.

  “Get his mask off,” I managed to say. “I think he’s vomited. We don’t want him to aspirate.”

  The crew members grappled with the costume’s mask, which was a long hood sewn to stretchy fabric that fit over his face, sort of like a ski mask. They couldn’t seem to get it off, maybe because the unconscious man was lying on the bottom half of the hood.

  A ring of anxious women surrounded us.

  “Sidney?” said one.

  “Harold?” said another.

  “Edwin?” said yet another.

  “Who is it?” The women’s fear for “their” Ghosts of Christmas Future produced a miasma as thick as the strangely sweet stench that came from beneath the man’s
costume.

  A familiar figure pushed his way through the circle. “It’ll be okay,” I said to the women. As Uncle Bob knelt down beside the man, the women’s faces relaxed—his calm confidence often had that effect on people. He grasped the Ghost of Christmas Future’s hood and gave it a mighty pull. The mask and attached hood came off. He tossed them aside, then held his ear close to the man’s vomit-covered face.

  “I’m sure whoever it is will be able to sleep it off,” I said.

  “I’m afraid not.” My uncle placed two fingers on the man’s neck, then shook his head. “He’s dead.”

  “It’s Theo Pushwright!” said an onlooker.

  It was Theo, and he was definitely dead, his slightly sunburned face frozen in a grimace.

  “Oh my God!” Jonas skidded to a stop near me, staring openmouthed at his stepfather.

  “Help!” a man yelled from another part of the ballroom. “I’ve been robbed!”

  An hour later, Timothy and I finally made it out of the ballroom. “But no rehearsal?” I said. “We just have this one last rehearsal before the magic show tomorrow. I’ve never even rehearsed in costume.”

  “You’re kidding, right?” Timothy said. “After all this?”

  “All this” had been a nightmare. The scene at the ballroom had nearly turned into a riot after people discovered their jewels and phones had been stolen. Then ball-goers began getting sick to their stomachs. Rather than blaming the storm that had blown in during the dance, they were all sure they were sick with something serious and were going to die like Theo. A man was dead, the onboard hospital was full, dozens of people had been robbed, and I was worried about rehearsal. Pretty petty, Ivy.

  “You’re right,” I told Timothy. “I mean, my costume is a leotard and wig. No big deal.”

  “Speaking of costumes…” Timothy looked pointedly at mine, wrinkling his nose.

  “Yeah. I’ll go change into something less barfy.”

  “You know, a man just fell down dead on top of you. You’re taking this awfully well.”

  “I am, aren’t I? I guess it’s because I’ve dealt with a few murders in the last year or two.” Murders of nice people, I didn’t add. “A natural death like this is somehow easier.”

  “Natural?”

  I shrugged. “Guys Theo’s age die of heart attacks all the time.”

  CHAPTER 33

  Reluctant Admissions

  So I made an assumption. It was not an uneducated one. I knew that the number one cause of death in America was heart disease. I knew that men over fifty-five were especially at risk. I knew that vomiting during a heart attack was common.

  And yeah, though I still suspected Harley’s death wasn’t due to natural causes despite the coroner’s report, I didn’t think Theo’s death could be connected to hers.

  “Besides,” I told my uncle later that night in the library, “Theo was an ass, but not a bad enough guy for someone to murder him.” I sipped my glass of sherry. The stuff was growing on me.

  “How was he an ass?”

  I told Uncle Bob what Theo told Timothy about “moral weakness,” how he treated us all at the captain’s dinner, and how he believed that everyone’s problems were their own fault because they didn’t think positively enough. “He even said that about Cody.” The mention of my brother stopped me. “Have you heard anything else?”

  “I talked to Pink. Someone called the police station today, thought they saw him.”

  “God, I wish we could get off this boat.”

  “Me too.” Uncle Bob reached across the little table between us and patted my hand. “But you know, there’s really nothing more we could do.”

  “I know.” I sat back in my chair. “I wish we could do more here too. We’re halfway through the cruise and don’t have anything concrete.” That ten-thousand-dollar bonus hummed in the back of my mind like a rebuilt car engine. “Or maybe we do. You said you found out something about Jonas?”

  Uncle Bob blew out a breath. “Nothing we can take to the bank, but I did get some stuff from that background check.”

  Turned out the S.S. David Copperfield had eleven crew members with some sort of criminal record. None of them were murderers, thank heavens. There was an embezzler, a drunk driver, a bunch of people with drug possession, and several thieves. Including Jonas.

  “What did he steal?”

  “Not sure. My guy just turned up a juvie record. Gives only the bare bones of the case.”

  “Aren’t juvenile records sealed?”

  “That’s the thing. You have to apply to have them sealed. So either Jonas didn’t apply or he didn’t qualify. There are a bunch of reasons somebody might not qualify—like further criminal behavior.”

  “Wouldn’t that show up on the background check?”

  “Probably. I’m having my guy dig a little deeper on all the rotten apples we uncovered. Still, we know he was a thief at least once. Just keep your eye on him.”

  Jonas. I just didn’t get a criminal vibe off him. A hot-cold vibe, sure, but nothing more suspicious than that. Was I being naive? I sat and looked at the fire for a moment, its gas flames pretty but not quite real. Kind of like a certain blonde. Talk about someone being naive. “So was Bette upset about Theo?”

  “Sure. Everyone was.”

  “I thought maybe she’d be more upset since she knew him and all.”

  My uncle’s eyebrows drew together. “Bette didn’t know Theo.”

  I knew she did. I also knew I needed to tread carefully. “I thought since she asked that question at his signing…”

  “She read his book. Thought it was a load of horse manure.”

  “But—”

  “Olive, what is with you?”

  “I…” I didn’t think I should come right out and tell him about eavesdropping on her and Theo. Not yet, anyway. I needed more information first. “I…don’t trust her.”

  “What? Why?”

  “She’s…” What could I say that wouldn’t sound like I thought she was a lying opportunist? Mention her fake Western accent? No, then I’d have to go into the whole Theo thing. I remembered her big laugh. “She’s too jolly.”

  “Too jolly? You’re kidding, right? You don’t like someone because they’re happy?”

  “No one’s that happy. Especially after being recently widowed.” Hey, maybe I was on to something. Score one for the old subconscious.

  “You never like anyone’s girlfriend.”

  “Not true.”

  He looked at me, eyebrows raised.

  “I like Cody’s girlfriend now.” I admit it had taken me a while.

  “And my girlfriends? Like Echo?”

  “She was so woo-woo. I mean, vortexes?”

  “And Debbie?

  “Did you really want a surgically enhanced social climber?”

  “And Mary?”

  “Way too short for you.”

  “Olive.”

  “Yes.” I poured myself another glass of sherry. “I see your point.”

  “And I see your problem,” he said. “Olive, I am not your folks.”

  “Thank God for that.”

  “I’m being serious.”

  “So am I.” After Cody’s accident, my parents were basically non-parents. They did speak to me, usually to remind me who was to blame for what happened, or to tell me how Cody’s life (“such as it is,” they always said, which made me want to slug them) was so much worse since he moved into the group home, or sometimes to belittle my choice of career, just for a change of pace.

  “Just because I have a girlfriend—”

  Oh no. He called Bette his girlfriend.

  “—does not mean I’ll abandon you.”

  I stopped my internal whining and looked at m
y uncle. “That’s what Matt said when I was getting used to the idea of Cody and Sarah. He said that Cody wasn’t leaving me.”

  “He’s a wise man. And I’m an old tired one, so I’m going to bed. Tomorrow we both need to see what we can find out about the thefts at the ball. We’ve got nothing to show our clients so far.” Uncle Bob heaved himself out of his leather chair. “I’ll see you tomorrow. Same bat time.”

  “Same bat channel,” we said together.

  CHAPTER 34

  Talk of Books

  When I went back to my room, I caught sight of the books on my shelf and my face grew hot. After all, my parents did do a few things right. Like teaching me not to steal—especially from libraries. And there they were, Little Dorrit and A Tale of Two Cities, sitting on my shelf like I owned them. I felt especially bad since Uncle Bob and I were using the library as our private meeting room. I decided to go back and check the books out right then. Maybe the librarian hadn’t noticed them missing yet.

  I walked through the nighttime-quiet corridors of the ship to the library. I opened the heavy wooden doors, stepped inside, and stopped. Something rustled behind one of the standalone bookcases. A mouse? No. Too big. Someone was in the library. At one o’clock in the morning. Maybe other people had figured out the library was a good place for assignations. It would have been smart to come back later, but my natural nosiness got the better of me. I tiptoed around the stack. Bill Sikes’s back was to me. What was Val doing here and why was he still in costume?

  I must have made a noise because Val turned. When he saw it was me, his face lit up. “Ivy baby.” He seemed remarkably sober, considering how often he’d tipped his flask at the ball. “You followed me here? Maybe you want me now?”

  “Just checking out some books that I kind of forgot to check out the first time.”

  “You are a bad girl. Maybe I punish you?”

  “Maybe not.”

  “I like ‘maybe.’ Is good word.” He followed my eyes to the bookshelf in front of him and pulled out a book. “I get book too. To make me sleep.” He slid out a copy of Our Mutual Friend from the shelf.