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Authors: Nancy J. Cohen
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chart, and control functions,” he said, beaming with pride.
“What’s this?” a fellow in shorts bellowed, pointing to a unit off to the side.
“That’s one of our wing consoles. It has joystick controls to maneuver the ship in harbor. We keep tabs on the underwater equipment over here,” he said, drawing the passengers’ attention to the cockpit. “This ship has two main propellers, stern and bow thrusters, fin stabilizers, and rudders.”
At the navigational chart table, Marla leaned over, careful not to touch anything. “So are you having a good time?” she asked Martha, hoping to coax her into a conversation. “This must be like a busman’s holiday to you with all your colleagues here.”
Martha glowered at her, turning her neck at an angle so that Marla could see a couple of whiskers under her chin. The lady needed a wax treatment for facial hair. “I can’t imagine who sent us the cruise tickets or why certain people were included,” Martha said in her low contralto voice. “Kent Harwood isn’t a regular employee, although he did his mold inspection that day. And Helen hung around even though the museum was closed to the public. What was she doing there, instructing the other docents? I don’t recall anyone recruiting her to help with the party.”
“What day was this?”
“Why, the day of Alden’s accident.” Martha’s eyes grew round. “That’s what the cops are calling it, but I’m not convinced.”
“Follow me,” the officer droned. “This is where our watch officers sit. You’ll notice the captain’s chair centered behind their two stations. Make your way forward between the steering stand and radio console, folks.”
Seeing that Martha was about to join them, Marla stuck out a restraining hand. “You don’t think Alden’s fall was a tragic mistake? Everyone else seems to believe so.”
“How convenient for them.” Martha looked her squarely in the eyes. “Every one of the people from the museum on board this ship was present the day Alden died. Isn’t it peculiar that we’re gathered here at the same time as his completed triptych is for sale? Where was the missing middle piece all this time? If you ask me, I smell a rat.”
Marla shifted her handbag. “What do you mean?”
The other woman’s eyes lit, as though she were glad to confide in someone. “Well, I was in the gift shop doing inventory, and I heard music playing even though the sound system was turned off. I’m no musician, but it sounded like a flute. After a short refrain, I heard Alden cry out, and then the music stopped. It was horrible.”
Martha scraped a trembling hand through her hair, hair that was too limp by Marla’s standards. Besides a facial wax, she could add a decent cut and conditioning to her treatment list.
“Did anyone witness the artist’s fall?” Marla asked.
“No one admitted seeing anything, plus I’m the only one who heard music playing. Most of the others were outside on the patio, setting up for the event.”
“What did the cops determine?”
Martha twisted her chandelier earring. “They found a couple of screws loose on the balcony railing. Although it wasn’t his responsibility, the curator got blamed for sloppy maintenance, plus he was at fault for letting someone snatch Alden’s painting. That’s really the reason why he got fired. Now he’s on board with us as art auctioneer.”
Truly weird. And what about the note left on her cabin door at their arrival? Suspecting it was meant for her companion, Marla sought a diplomatic way to introduce the topic. I know what you did and I have what you want . What could Martha have done that she’d kept hidden from the others?
And what did it mean that everyone on board the Tropical Sun from the museum was present the day Alden Tusk died? Could the benefactor who had supplied their cruise tickets have donated them, not out of generosity, but for some nefarious purpose? Just how far-reaching was this wealthy
“What’s this?” a fellow in shorts bellowed, pointing to a unit off to the side.
“That’s one of our wing consoles. It has joystick controls to maneuver the ship in harbor. We keep tabs on the underwater equipment over here,” he said, drawing the passengers’ attention to the cockpit. “This ship has two main propellers, stern and bow thrusters, fin stabilizers, and rudders.”
At the navigational chart table, Marla leaned over, careful not to touch anything. “So are you having a good time?” she asked Martha, hoping to coax her into a conversation. “This must be like a busman’s holiday to you with all your colleagues here.”
Martha glowered at her, turning her neck at an angle so that Marla could see a couple of whiskers under her chin. The lady needed a wax treatment for facial hair. “I can’t imagine who sent us the cruise tickets or why certain people were included,” Martha said in her low contralto voice. “Kent Harwood isn’t a regular employee, although he did his mold inspection that day. And Helen hung around even though the museum was closed to the public. What was she doing there, instructing the other docents? I don’t recall anyone recruiting her to help with the party.”
“What day was this?”
“Why, the day of Alden’s accident.” Martha’s eyes grew round. “That’s what the cops are calling it, but I’m not convinced.”
“Follow me,” the officer droned. “This is where our watch officers sit. You’ll notice the captain’s chair centered behind their two stations. Make your way forward between the steering stand and radio console, folks.”
Seeing that Martha was about to join them, Marla stuck out a restraining hand. “You don’t think Alden’s fall was a tragic mistake? Everyone else seems to believe so.”
“How convenient for them.” Martha looked her squarely in the eyes. “Every one of the people from the museum on board this ship was present the day Alden died. Isn’t it peculiar that we’re gathered here at the same time as his completed triptych is for sale? Where was the missing middle piece all this time? If you ask me, I smell a rat.”
Marla shifted her handbag. “What do you mean?”
The other woman’s eyes lit, as though she were glad to confide in someone. “Well, I was in the gift shop doing inventory, and I heard music playing even though the sound system was turned off. I’m no musician, but it sounded like a flute. After a short refrain, I heard Alden cry out, and then the music stopped. It was horrible.”
Martha scraped a trembling hand through her hair, hair that was too limp by Marla’s standards. Besides a facial wax, she could add a decent cut and conditioning to her treatment list.
“Did anyone witness the artist’s fall?” Marla asked.
“No one admitted seeing anything, plus I’m the only one who heard music playing. Most of the others were outside on the patio, setting up for the event.”
“What did the cops determine?”
Martha twisted her chandelier earring. “They found a couple of screws loose on the balcony railing. Although it wasn’t his responsibility, the curator got blamed for sloppy maintenance, plus he was at fault for letting someone snatch Alden’s painting. That’s really the reason why he got fired. Now he’s on board with us as art auctioneer.”
Truly weird. And what about the note left on her cabin door at their arrival? Suspecting it was meant for her companion, Marla sought a diplomatic way to introduce the topic. I know what you did and I have what you want . What could Martha have done that she’d kept hidden from the others?
And what did it mean that everyone on board the Tropical Sun from the museum was present the day Alden Tusk died? Could the benefactor who had supplied their cruise tickets have donated them, not out of generosity, but for some nefarious purpose? Just how far-reaching was this wealthy
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