The Caribbean Cruise Caper (7 page)

Puzzled, Frank asked, “A clock chimed? From a building near you, you mean?”

“No, no, I heard the sound over the telephone,” the woman explained.

Frank glanced around. A few feet away, hanging on the wall, was an old-fashioned chiming clock. The hands indicated four forty-four. The second hand was just passing the halfway point.

Quickly, Frank said into the phone, “Please listen.” He pointed the handset at the clock.

Bing bang bing bong . . .

The sound died away. He put the receiver to his ear. “Well?” he asked.

“That is exactly the same sound,” the woman said. “But another clock might sound the same, too.
My auntie has one with chimes like that. I'm sorry. I wish I could help more.”

“You've helped a lot,” Frank assured her. “Thank you.”

He hung up and told Joe what he had learned.

Joe stared at him. “But, Frank . . . you see what that means? If she heard this clock, then whoever made the call had to be on the boat at three-thirty.”

“Right,” Frank said.

Joe frowned. “I couldn't keep everyone in sight the whole time,” he admitted. “But I don't see how anyone could have made it back here, placed the call, and got back up the hill without me noticing.”

“And I was with Elizabeth the whole time,” Frank said. “I think I deserve a bonus for that, by the way. Talk about a hardship assignment. So in other words, we can eliminate everyone . . . except David, Bettina, and the crew.”

“And Evan,” Joe pointed out. “Joke. Wait a minute, though. Kenneth
did
come back to the boat. He needed to get more film. Do you suppose he . . . ?”

“He's the most unlikely suspect,” Frank pointed out. “But it's only in books that the most unlikely suspect is always the one who did it. In real life, it's usually the most
likely
suspect who's guilty. Still, maybe Kenneth saw something while he was here. We should ask him.”

“Sure,” Joe said. “But I think we should focus more on motive. Somebody wants to mess up this
voyage. That's pretty clear. But why? How much do we really know about any of these people?”

“Not enough, obviously,” Frank replied. “Let's go mingle and find out more.”

The others were still on the afterdeck, enjoying the late afternoon sun and the fresh breeze from the sea. Lisa was seated near the rail with a can of soda in her hand. She saw Joe arrive and waved. He hesitated, then went over to join her. As a writer, she might have noticed something useful.

“Hey, Joe. Have you unmasked the pizza maniac?” Lisa asked.

Joe dragged over a chair and sat down. “Not yet. Any helpful hints?”

Lisa looked thoughtful. “Boris ate three slices with mushrooms,” she said. “I'd call that a clue, wouldn't you?”

“A clue to his appetite, sure,” Joe replied with a grin. “No, seriously—any idea why somebody would want to wreck the contest?”

Lisa stared out over the water. “It's a mystery,” she said at last. “This contest means a lot to them. Not just getting to spend a few days living like a millionaire. Though I'm not putting that down. I like it. I could get used to it.”

“Me, too,” Joe assured her.

“Take Cesar,” Lisa continued. “His grandparents immigrated from Mexico. His dad is an auto mechanic and his mom works in a dry cleaner's. He's got an older sister and two younger brothers. Winning this contest is his one big chance to be able to
go away to a really good college. Do you think he's going to ruin that with some dumb stunts?”

“I see your point,” Joe said. “How do you know so much about Cesar?”

Lisa smiled. “I asked. Most people love to talk about themselves. I love to listen to them. It's a perfect match.”

It's different with me, Joe thought ruefully. When people know they're talking to a detective, they always watch what they say, even the ones who don't have anything to hide.

“Boris, too,” Lisa said. “Back in Russia, his mother was a doctor and his father was an engineer. Now they run a little grocery store in Brooklyn. Boris will do okay whatever happens, but winning the
Teenway
scholarship would give him a big head start. Why would he want to blow that?”

“What about Elizabeth?” Joe asked. “She doesn't act as if she needs a college scholarship.”

Lisa rolled her eyes. “Elizabeth's really not so bad when she forgets she's one of the Virginia Wheelwrights,” she said. “The problem is, that doesn't happen very often.”

Joe chuckled. “So who's left? Jason and Sylvie.”

“I can't figure Jason,” Lisa said, shaking her head. “One minute I think he's really sharp. The next minute I can't believe there's anything in his mind more complicated than deciding which side of his nose to pierce next. As for Sylvie, don't get me started. Either she's exactly the bubblehead she appears to be, or she is so deep it's scary.”

“Whatever, it's hard to see what their motives might be,” Joe said.

“Maybe we're looking too hard,” Lisa suggested. “What if these stunts are just pure malicious mischief? What if somebody simply likes to watch the rest of us scurrying around, eyeing each other suspiciously?”

“Sort of like stirring an anthill with a stick?” Joe replied. “Could be. The trouble is, sooner or later one of the stunts may go too far. And when that happens, somebody could get hurt.”

• • •

The yacht sailed from Fort William just after six. By sunset, only the peak of Mount Orange still showed above the horizon. As darkness fell, the sea became rougher. The boat rose and fell like a restless elevator. At the same time, it rolled noticeably from side to side.

The dinner gong sounded while Frank and Joe were on the afterdeck, talking over the day's events. When they stood up to go inside, the unexpected motion of the deck made Frank stumble.

“Oops,” he said, grabbing the rail for support. “We're going to need our sea legs tonight.”

Joe grinned. “Not to mention strong stomachs,” he said. “I wonder who'll show up for dinner.”

“After all that pizza, who needs dinner anyway?” Frank replied.

As it turned out, everyone showed up. Sylvie even changed for the occasion. She walked in wearing a navy skirt and gauzy white blouse, with a
deep blue scarf loosely knotted at her neck. The gesture earned her a smile of appreciation from Bettina and a carefully composed portrait by Kenneth.

The main course was a delicate, very fresh poached fish in caper sauce, accompanied by tiny new potatoes decorated with sprigs of parsley. Frank thought it was sensationally good and polished his plate. However, whether because of that afternoon's pizzafest or the motion of the boat, most everyone else picked at the food without much interest.

The table was cleared. Arnie carried in the dessert. It was a big glass bowl filled with slices of colorful tropical fruit, topped with scoops of lemon, lime, and orange sorbet. There was a chorus of ooohs and ahs.

“I think I just found more room in my stomach,” Boris announced.

“Me, too,” Lisa said.

“It looks wonderful,” David said. “But I'm going to have to pass.”

Several more people said yes to dessert. Arnie had barely finished serving them when Boris clapped a hand over his mouth and jumped to his feet.

“What is it?” Bettina asked in an alarmed voice. “Do you feel ill?”

Boris didn't answer. He ran for the door to the deck.

“I—I don't . . .” Jason started to say. His face
suddenly went pale. He, too, jumped up and ran outside to lean over the rail, Lisa close behind.

Elizabeth sprang to her feet. Her chair clattered to the floor.

“You fools!” she screamed. “Don't you see? We've all been poisoned!”

At Elizabeth's alarmed cry, everyone jumped up from the table.

“Please stay calm,” Bettina said, in a voice that cut through the hubbub. “There's no cause for panic.”

“Bettina's right,” David said. “Some people get seasick more easily, that's all. It's nothing to be nervous about.”

“It's poison, I tell you!” Elizabeth wailed, clutching her middle.

Joe was on her left. He took her arm and said in a soothing voice, “Hey, it's okay. Calm down. We'll take care of it.”

Elizabeth blinked a few times. She looked at Joe as if she had never seen him before. Then she
turned to Bettina. “Please excuse me,” she said. “I think I need to rest.”

“Do that, dear,” Bettina replied.

“You want me to come with you?” Joe asked.

Elizabeth straightened up and returned her nose to its usual airborne position. “Certainly not!” she said. “I am quite in control of myself . . . unlike some people I could name.”

She left, taking the door that led upstairs.

“Did you notice something?” Frank murmured to Joe. “For all her talk about poison, she didn't leave in much of a hurry. I don't think she was actually nauseated.”

“Daddy?” Evan said, tugging at David's shirt. “I don't feel so good. I think I'm going to be sick.”

“Okay, take it easy, son,” David said. “You'll be all right. Take deep breaths.” He hurried the boy out of the salon. Just then Boris came back in, his face white and drawn.

“Oof!” he said, dropping onto his chair. “Whatever I ate, I hope never to eat it again!”

Arnie was still standing by the buffet, horrified. “Ms. Dunn,” he said. “There was nothing wrong with the food, I swear it. All the ingredients were bought fresh this afternoon, from the most reliable sources.”

“No one's accusing you or your food,” Bettina said.

This diplomatic lie seemed to serve its purpose. Arnie calmed down.

Joe studied the table. It was just as he thought.
“Frank,” he said in an undertone. “Everybody who got sick ate dessert. And nobody who skipped dessert got sick.”

Frank, too, scanned the table. “You're right,” he replied. Aloud, he said, “Arnie? Would you mind if we take a closer look at the fruit compote?”

Arnie's hysteria started to mount again. “There is
nothing
wrong with it!” he declared.

“Then it doesn't matter if we check it out,” Joe said. “If we want to waste our time, so what?”

Bettina caught Arnie's eye and nodded. He gave the Hardys an irate look, but he stepped aside.

Joe leaned over the bowl and sniffed deeply. Then he moved back to give Frank room. Frank, too, sniffed the dessert.

“There's something,” Frank said.

“Sort of like cough syrup?” Joe replied. “That's what I thought.”

Arnie was listening. “This dish is perfectly fine,” he said. “I had a portion myself. It was delicious.”

“Smell,” Joe suggested.

Arnie looked at him suspiciously before lowering his head over the bowl. When he raised it, his expression had changed to one of fury.

“Okay, what clown messed with my
coupe royale des fruits tropicales?”
he shouted, glaring around the table. “Come on, admit it!”

There was an awkward silence. During it, Jason and Lisa came back inside, both pale. Joe hid a smile. Even attacked by nausea, Lisa had kept her miniature tape recorder in her hand.

“Arnie—when did you last taste the fruit cup?” asked Frank.

“Why . . . this afternoon, not long after I made it,” the chef told him. “I remember I had just rinsed my bowl when those pizzas arrived.”

“And there was nothing wrong with it then?” Frank pursued.

“Nothing!” Arnie declared.

“What then?” Joe asked.

“Then I put it in the galley fridge to chill,” Arnie said. “I took it out a little while ago to top it with the sorbets.”

“But you didn't try it then?” Cesar asked.

Arnie shook his head. “No. If I had, I would have known something was wrong. I certainly wouldn't have served it. I would have fed it to the fishes.”

“I have the feeling anybody can go into the fridge,” Frank said. “Right?”

“Sure,” Arnie replied. “We keep a shelf loaded with juices, bottled waters, and sodas just for the passengers.”

“So if somebody wanted to put something in the fruit, it wouldn't have been hard to do without getting caught,” Joe said.

“I guess not,” Arnie admitted. “Put that way, we come out sounding pretty careless. Maybe we should change the way we do things. But we're not used to having poisoners as passengers.”

“Look, everybody!” Boris shouted from the doorway. “I found it!”

He rushed into the room. In his right hand, held high, was a small brown bottle.

“What
did you find?” Bettina demanded.

“And where?” Jason added.

Boris handed the bottle to Joe. As soon as Joe saw the label, he understood. “It's ipecacuanha—syrup of ipecac,” he said to Frank. “Remember? From that first-aid course?”

Frank snapped his fingers. “I should have guessed!” To the others, he said, “Syrup of ipecac is a powerful emetic. In other words, it makes you throw up. It's used when somebody's swallowed a noncaustic poison and you need to get it out of their system fast.”

“You mean somebody put a powerful medication in our food?” Sylvie said. “How could they dare? What if one of us died from it? That would be murder!”

Joe studied the label. “The usual adult dose is a tablespoonful,” he reported. “And this whole bottle holds only two tablespoonfuls. Spread across a dozen portions of fruit, there wasn't much chance that anybody would even come close to a normal dose. It must have worked so well because people were already feeling queasy from the rough seas.”

“Boris, good job finding this,” Frank said. “Where was it?”

Boris beamed. “There is a wastebasket in the rest room next to the galley,” he explained. “I found it under some paper towels.”