Ransom at Sea Page 4

  “If you’d like to begin down there,” Samantha said with a casual wave toward Hoke, “you can take a plate and help yourselves. We like to be very informal for lunch. Once you have your seats, David will be around to take your beverage requests.”

  A line quickly formed by the young steward, led by the Millers. Hoke handed the husband and wife their plates, and they made their way down the table, snatching up food like ravenous hawks. Claudia Trenton was next. She gave a slight sniff at the plain white dinner plate, then made a slow survey of the buffet with her nose tilted up and her eyes tilted down.

  Marcella Hemsley gazed uncertainly at the items on the table, unable to make a choice.

  “That’s turkey,” her niece said as she deftly forked a couple of slices onto her aunt’s plate. “You like turkey.”

  “Oh, yes!” Marcella replied.

  “And there are strawberries. You like them.” She made this a statement rather than a question as she scooped some of the fruit onto their plates.

  “I have a friend named Bonnie,” Muriel chattered to no one in particular as she followed the aunt and niece down the line, “who took one of those big ocean cruises. It was a singles cruise … at her age! You would think she would know better! But—what was I saying? Oh, yes! She went on one of those big liners and she said the food was incredible! Not just the quantity but the quality! Food, food, everywhere! Every time she turned around there was something else to eat. When the cruise was over, she’d gained ten pounds.”

  Samantha Farraday, who had remained behind the table as they helped themselves, nodded at Muriel with a vacant smile.

  Next in line was Lily DuPree, who hesitated from taking the plate that Hoke proffered, eyeing it doubtfully. When she finally accepted it, the muscles in her rail thin arms tightened, and she moved slowly toward the food. David Douglas appeared at her side, seemingly out of nowhere.

  “Can I be of any assistance, Miss DuPree?”

  She looked up at him with a grateful smile, then turned back to the buffet as her cheeks turned pink. “I … there are so many things here … I just don’t know which to choose.”

  He smoothly took the plate from her, to her evident relief. “I’ll tell you what you do. You let me decide for you. You go over and have yourself a seat, and I’ll get you a little bit of everything and bring it to you. How would that be?”

  “Oh, I couldn’t ask it,” she said, tilting shining eyes up at him. There was a peculiar note in her voice: not so much appreciative as a sort of girlish delight.

  “It’s what I’m here for, ma’am.”

  “Well … yes … that would be very nice. Thank you.”

  Lily faded out of the line and wandered away through the tables. Lynn thought she looked rather like a Ping-Pong ball that had been caught in a very slow eddy on the lake. Lily finally came to a table near the door, pulled out one of the heavy wooden chairs with some difficulty, then sat down.

  Emily and Lynn followed David.

  “That was very nice of you, young man,” said Emily. “And very observant.”

  “She was a little teetery when she came on board,” he replied with a smile that tried to be winning but to Emily looked more like pride. “I noticed that right off, so I made up my mind to keep an eye on her.”

  “Very astute. It makes me wonder if you’ve worked with the elderly before.”

  “Oh, yes, ma’am! I worked at the Hide-Away Nursing Home. That wasn’t its real name, you understand, it was just what we called it ’cause that’s what the residents’ relatives were using it for: to hide them away. Shameful, if you ask me. Most of the residents were sweethearts, and I couldn’t imagine them just getting dumped there the way they did, so I was extra nice to them.”

  “That was very considerate,” Emily said as she transferred a pickle onto the side of her plate. “And where was this?”

  David’s attention seemed to wander uncertainly over the contents of the table.

  “Mr. Douglas?”

  “Hmm?”

  “Where was this nursing home?”

  “Oh … in Wisconsin. Do you think Miss DuPree would like some macaroni salad?”

  “Perhaps,” Emily replied with an curious smile. “So you’re from Wisconsin?”

  “Uh, no, but I lived there for a while.” He appeared to be concentrating very intently on placing a spoonful of the salad on the plate.

  “And then you moved to Chicago?” Emily said, contriving to sound like an inquisitive old lady.

  “Yeah,” he said, staring down at the plate now piled with food. “I think I might’ve overdid it a little. What do you think?”

  “Just a little,” Emily replied without looking at the plate.

  “Well, I’ll just tell her she can pick at what she wants and leave the rest for the fish!”

  With this he headed for the table.

  “Emily,” Lynn said softly, “what are you up to?”

  “Hmm?” The old woman turned a twinkling eye at her. “Just making conversation.”

  The three single male passengers had waited in a gentlemanly fashion for the ladies to get their food before taking up their own plates and serving themselves. When Emily and Lynn were halfway down the table, the men started.

  Emily and Lynn finished their selections with a spoonful of cole slaw each, then turned away from the buffet and looked for a place to sit. There were more tables than necessary so that the passengers had managed to spread out. The Millers were at the table nearest the lounge, and Muriel Langstrom had buttonholed Lily at the one by the starboard door. Apparently Lily’s natural reticence made her destined to be Muriel’s sounding board for the length of the voyage.

  Claudia Trenton was seated alone at a table beneath a porthole, but Emily suspected she wouldn’t be for long: the three empty seats would prove most inviting if the single men decided to sit together.

  Marcella and Rebecca were seated at a table in the center of the room, and Emily and Lynn joined them.

  “I must say, everything looks very good,” Emily said as she unfolded a paper napkin and placed it on her lap.

  Marcella nodded and took a bite of the sandwich she held with both hands. “It is, except … I can’t figure out what this is … this meat. It tastes like turkey.”

  “It is turkey, Aunt Marci,” Rebecca said with a weary smile.

  David came over to their table carrying a pitcher of ice water, its exterior covered with condensation.

  “What would you beautiful ladies like to drink?” he asked as he filled their glasses.

  “Just water,” said Emily, which was echoed by the other women.

  “How about you, little lady?” he asked Rebecca rather suggestively. “Are you sure you wouldn’t like something special? I mean from the bar.”

  “No,” she said firmly.

  David scurried to the next table.

  “He’s a very personable young man,” Emily said. “And very attractive, don’t you think?”

  She had addressed this to Rebecca, whose eyes widened with surprise. “What? Oh, do you think so? I don’t know.”

  “He’s a tart,” Marcella said a little too loudly.

  Rebecca shot a guilty glance over her shoulder in David’s direction. He was busy talking to Muriel and Lily, and didn’t appear to have heard.

  “I’ve seen his type before,” Marcella continued.

  “Please, keep your voice down!” Rebecca said in an anxious whisper.

  Marcella shoved a forkful of potato salad into her mouth. “I know his type. I’ve seen ’em before!”

  Emily, who was seated across the table from Rebecca, saw David turn his head a fraction of an inch in their direction. Lily reached out and patted his hand.

  “Auntie, please!” Rebecca pleaded quickly.

  Marcella’s color deepened, and her niece braced herself for the expected explosion. But Marcella’s expression suddenly altered, as if a cloud was passing before her eyes, and try as she might she couldn’t penetrate it. When it
cleared, she continued eating. “Did you say this was turkey?”

  “Yes, Auntie,” Rebecca said, breathing a sigh of relief.

  The captain entered through the port door and made his way around the tables, stopping briefly at each one to greet the passengers. When he reached Emily’s, he said, “So, how is everyone doing?”

  “Just fine,” Marcella said happily, the momentary distress apparently now forgotten. “Very nice boat you got here.”

  “Thank you, miss,” he replied with a salute.

  “Yes, it is very nice,” Emily agreed. At close proximity she found the captain quite attractive. Aside from his piercing eyes, he had a smooth, flat forehead across which were three symmetrical, evenly spaced age lines that looked as if they’d been penciled in very faintly. Emily added, “And the rooms are quite comfortable.”

  “Don’t know about that,” said Marcella. “We haven’t made it downstairs yet.”

  “They are nice,” Lynn assured her.

  “Captain…,” Rebecca started, but let her voice trail off with an unsure glance at her aunt.

  “Yes, Miss … Bremmer, isn’t it?”

  “Yes. I was just wondering … what happens if there is an emergency?”

  The lines on his forehead deepened. “An emergency?”

  “Well, I mean, like if one of the passengers became ill, or something like that.”

  “You always worry too much!” her aunt said.

  The captain looked from the aunt back to the niece. “You don’t have to worry about anything like that, Miss. Bremmer. Throughout the trip, we’ll never be all that far from shore. We keep a list of all the hospitals along the way and the fastest way to them. There won’t be any problem. I hope that allays any fears you might have.” He touched his cap again and went on to the next table.

  “Honestly, Becky!” Marcella exclaimed, scooping up another forkful of potato salad. “You’re always worried about your health!”

  Rebecca looked down at her plate disconsolately, absently moving the food around with her fork.

  “Well, it’s reassuring to me,” Lynn said with unexpected vigor. “I mean, to know that we won’t be that far from help if we need it. Even though I don’t have any fears about being on the water, it’s still comforting to know that. Don’t you think so, Emily?”

  Lynn had turned to her friend, who had one brow upraised and an odd gleam in her eye.

  “Oh, yes!” said Emily. “I do agree.”

  Marcella dropped the fork on her plate. Her eyes glowed, and her mouth formed a broad grin.

  “Aunt Marci? What is it?” Rebecca asked.

  “I can’t wait! I just can’t wait to see the island again.”

  “The island? Which one?”

  Marcella blinked. “The island. It’s in Michigan.… It’s on the tour.…”

  “You’ve been to this island before?” Emily asked. She noticed the pained look that crossed Rebecca’s face.

  “Yes … I … don’t remember offhand who it was I went with, but I do remember what a beautiful place it was. We stayed in a lovely home off the lake. A bed-and-breakfast.”

  Marcella kept her head uptilted as she said this, as if picturing the scene somewhere above and behind Emily’s head. Emily had been watching Marcella’s eyes as she’d spoken: they were sparked with energy that seemed to flicker as if not properly connected to the source of their power. This continued through the rest of the meal, with Marcella getting more vague as time went on. Rebecca prompted her from time to time, always receiving an irritable rebuke for her efforts.

  When Marcella had finished eating, Rebecca turned to her, and said, “Maybe we should go down and see our cabins now.”

  “What?” Marcella said blankly.

  “Our cabins. Wouldn’t you like to lie down?”

  The aunt’s face turned red. “No! Why would I want to lie down?”

  “You usually do after lunch.”

  The redness drained from her aunt’s face, then suddenly surged back again. “Well, I don’t want to now! I’m not tired!”

  “That’s all right, that’s all right,” Rebecca said quickly, with an embarrassed glance at the other two women. “But we haven’t been down there yet, and we really should get unpacked or everything will get wrinkled.”

  “I’m too old to care about that sort of thing!” She turned to Emily. “Long time ago I started wearing this kind of stuff.” She pinched the side of her roomy peasant dress. “I wouldn’t travel with anything else. They look the same whether they’re wrinkled or not.”

  “Very wise,” said Emily with a single nod.

  “After all, I’ve got enough wrinkles of my own that I’m not going to get rid of. You know what I mean.”

  “Aunt Marci—”

  “All right, all right!” Marcella replied testily. She struggled to her feet with difficulty. Rebecca tried to help her but Marcella swatted her hand away. “I can do it!”

  Emily and Lynn watched as the two women, so different in temperament it hardly seemed they could be related, made their way past the tables to the port side door and left the dining room. Emily turned to her young friend. “You’re very quiet.”

  “Hmm.” Lynn resumed eating.

  * * *

  Marcella kept both hands on the railings going down the steep metal stairs to the blue deck. Rebecca followed one step at a time, as if she were a bride reluctantly descending a sharply slanting aisle on her way to the altar.

  Marcella paused at the foot of the stairs, blocking the way. Rebecca said, “To the right.” When her aunt didn’t immediately move, she gently dislodged one of the old woman’s hands and shifted around her. “This way.”

  Marcella followed her down the hallway to cabin number 8. Inside they found her suitcase lying on the bed.

  “Here,” Rebecca said with all the cheerfulness she could muster. “Why don’t you sit on the edge of the bed while I unpack.”

  “I can do that!” Marcella said, though she sat down immediately and made no move to help.

  Rebecca popped the latches on the case, flipped the top up, and took out the first garment.

  Marcella smiled. “I brought you up right, didn’t I?”

  “Hmm?”

  She lowered herself on the bed. “I used to like doing things, when I was younger. Remember? Baking bread. Whole wheat. Long, long before it was fashionable to do it, and they started selling those … those machines … the bread makers. Pies with crust made by hand, and fillings that had real fruit and were naturally sweetened. Remember?”

  “Yes,” Rebecca said as she continued working. As far as she was concerned, sugar was a natural substance. “I remember.”

  “And coconut cream pies—the ones that made their own crust?”

  Her niece smiled. She remembered them. They were dreadful. But at the time her aunt had been able to convince her they were ambrosia, and she’d been fascinated by the fact that you put a bowl full of a thick liquid mixture into a hot oven, and when it came out it had formed a crust along the bottom—albeit a gloppy, gummy crust.

  “And this!” Marcella said. Around her waist was a macramé belt wound from white cord, which she wore tied loosely. She lifted its dangling ends toward Rebecca. “This. Remember this? I taught you how to do this.…”

  “Macramé, yes, I remember.” She could also remember when she’d considered the art of knotting cord into a useful article to be magical. She could see her own childish face filled with wonder as her aunt showed her how to form the simple knots, and her aunt’s delight as Rebecca was able to do it for herself.

  Rebecca hung the dress in the closet, came back to the case and pulled out another, then registered surprise.

  “Aunt Marci, what is this?”

  Marcella craned her neck and peered into the suitcase. Nestled in the center of her underclothes was a brown paper parcel that looked the very much the worse for wear. Marcella’s eyes traveled up to her niece, who was staring down at her with a puzzled frown.


  After a moment, Marcella said, “It’s mine!”

  “I figured that,” Rebecca replied, inwardly rolling her eyes. “But what is it?”

  Marcella snatched the parcel up by the twine that bound it and shoved it under the bed.

  “It’s mine! It’s none of your business.”

  Rebecca sighed. “I just wondered.”

  * * *

  “I hazard to ask,” Lynn said with a sly smile, “but do you want to take a nap?”

  She and Emily had finished their lunch, and Emily folded her napkin and laid it beside her plate. “Not in my cabin. I’m going back up to the top deck to enjoy the view and the sunshine. Whether or not that ends in a nap is purely up to the laws of nature.”

  Lynn laughed. “Well, if you’ll excuse me, I think it’s about time I got my own things unpacked. Do you need any help getting upstairs?”

  “I’ll be fine.”

  They parted, Lynn going down one staircase while Emily went up the other at a much more measured pace. She paused at the top of the stairs. The white deck was empty except for Claudia Trenton, who was occupying one of the lounge chairs on the port side, the sunhat—which Emily found faintly ridiculous—once again perched on her head. Emily was not antisocial by nature, but she had no wish to have her quiet enjoyment of the afternoon punctuated by the inevitable sotto voce criticisms. After calling a cheerful greeting to Claudia, which was met with a slight nod of the hat, Emily went to a seat on the starboard side.

  After adjusting the back of the chair to a comfortable angle, she lay back and enjoyed the gentle movement of the boat and the purr of the engine. As the captain had promised, although they were a fair distance out in the lake they were not out of view of the shoreline, and it wasn’t long before it developed a dreamy sameness. That, along with the quiet of the nearly deserted deck, soon lulled Emily to sleep.

  She wasn’t sure how long it had been when something broke in on her sleep. Through half-opened eyes she looked out across the water at the shoreline, which seemed closer than it had been. She had the disquieting, illusory sense that the shoreline itself was moving slowly to the right while the boat sped to the left, as if they were not parallel, but rather turning on the same axis.