In memory of my mother and father

Luke and Nora Higgins

and my brothers

Joseph and John

With love

2

Instead of going to her cabin, Celia Kilbride stood by the railing of the cruise ship and watched as she sailed past the Statue of Liberty. Her time on the ship would be less than a week, but it was long enough to get away from the glaring media coverage of Steven getting arrested on the night of their rehearsal dinner, twenty-four hours before their wedding. Was it really only four weeks ago?

They had been toasting each other when the FBI agents walked into the private dining room of 21 Club. The photographer who had been taking pictures had snapped one of them together, and another focusing on the five-carat engagement ring she was wearing.

Handsome, witty, charming, Steven Thorne had cheated her friends into investing in a hedge fund that was created only to benefit him and his lavish lifestyle. Thank God he was arrested before we were married, Celia thought, as the ship sailed into the Atlantic. At least I was spared that.

So much of life is chance, she thought. It was shortly after her father died two years ago that she had been in London for a gemology seminar. When Carruthers Jewelers provided a business-class airline ticket, it was the first time she had flown other than in coach.

She was in her seat for the flight back to New York, sipping a complimentary glass of wine, when an impeccably dressed man put his briefcase in the overhead compartment and slid into the seat next to hers. “I’m Steven Thorne,” he said with a warm smile as he extended his hand to her. He explained that he was returning from a financial conference. By the time they landed, she had agreed to meet him for dinner.

Celia shook her head. How could she, a gemologist who could find a flaw in any gemstone, so misjudge a human being? She inhaled deeply and the wonderful scent of the ocean seeped into her lungs. I’m going to stop thinking about Steven, she promised herself. But it was hard to forget how many of her friends had invested money they couldn’t afford to lose because she had introduced them to Steven. She had been forced to sit for an interview with the FBI. She wondered if they believed that she was involved in the theft, despite the fact that she had invested her own money in the scheme.

She had hoped not to know any fellow passengers, but it had been widely publicized that Lady Emily Haywood would be on the ship. She regularly brought pieces from her vast collection of jewelry to Carruthers on Fifth Avenue to be cleaned or repaired, and insisted that Celia check each one for any chips or scratches. Her assistant, Brenda Martin, was always with her. And Willy Meehan, the man who had come in to buy a forty-fifth wedding anniversary gift for his wife, Alvirah, had told her all about the fact that they had won forty million dollars in the lottery. She’d liked him immediately.

But with so many people on the ship, it would be easy to have plenty of private time, aside from the two lectures and one Q&A session she would be giving. She had been a guest speaker several times on Castle Line ships. Each time, the agent in charge of entertainment events told her that the passengers had voted her the most interesting lecturer. He had phoned her only last week to invite her to fill in for a lecturer who had become ill at the last minute.

It had been manna from Heaven to get away from the sympathy of some friends and the resentment of the others who had lost money. I’m so glad to be here, she thought, as she turned and went down to her cabin.

Like every square inch of Queen Charlotte, the exquisitely furnished suite had been designed with meticulous attention to detail. It was a sitting room, bedroom and bath. It had roomy closets, unlike the older ships she had traveled on where the concierge suites were half this size. The door opened onto a balcony where she could sit outside when she wanted to feel the ocean breezes without being in the company of others.

She was tempted to go out on the balcony now, but decided to unpack and get settled instead. Her first lecture would be tomorrow afternoon and she wanted to go over her notes. The subject matter was the history of rare gems, beginning with ancient civilizations.

Her phone rang. She picked it up and heard a familiar voice on the other end of the line. It was Steven. He was out on bail before his trial. “Celia, I can explain,” he began. She pressed End and slammed down the phone. Just hearing his voice made a wave of shame wash over her. I can detect the smallest flaw in any gem, she thought again bitterly.

She swallowed against the lump in her throat and impatiently brushed tears from her eyes.

6

Raymond Broad, the butler appointed to Lady Em’s suite, came in with a tray to remove the remnants of the afternoon tea. He had seen her leave, with her assistant trailing behind her, probably heading to the Queen’s cocktail lounge on the seventh floor.

Only those with the fattest wallets can afford to be up there, he thought. The kind of people I really like. Expertly he placed the tea service and the leftover sandwiches and assorted sweets on the tray.

Next he went into the bedroom and looked around. He opened the drawers of the night tables on either side of the bed. So often rich people just dropped jewelry there instead of going to the safe in the closet. He watched for that.

And people can be careless about money too. If at the end of the trip someone left a bulging wallet in one of their drawers, they’d never miss a couple of hundred dollars that they didn’t bother to count.

Raymond was very careful about what he stole, which was why no one had ever suspected him in the ten years he had been working for the Castle Line. And where was the harm in his making a little extra money feeding juicy tidbits to the tabloids about the antics of celebrities on board? He knew he was considered an excellent butler.

He went back into the great room, picked up the tray and left the suite. The smile of satisfaction that was always on his face after he had cased an area disappeared when he opened the door. Solemn-faced, trim in his uniform, his thinning black hair neatly combed over his bald spot, his expression became subservient, in case he met a guest in the hallway.

8

Ted Cavanaugh took a fleeting glance around his suite and then dismissed it. As the son of an ambassador, he was accustomed to luxurious surroundings. And even though these accommodations struck him as remarkably expensive, he was not going to waste any time enjoying them. Thirty-four years old, Ted had lived abroad with his parents until his college years, attending the international school in whichever country his father was posted. He was fluent in French, Spanish, and Egyptian Arabic. A legacy graduate of Harvard University, then Stanford Law School, his passion for antiquities traced back to his youthful years in Egypt.

Eight months ago, he had read that Lady Emily Haywood had signed on to the maiden voyage of the Queen Charlotte. He recognized the opportunity he would have as a fellow guest to find an occasion to plead his case to Lady Haywood. Cavanaugh intended to make clear to her that even though her father-in-law, Richard Haywood, had bought the necklace one hundred years ago, the evidence was overwhelming that it was a stolen artifact. If she gave it to the Smithsonian Institution and his law firm sued to recover it, it would generate unpleasant publicity for Lady Haywood and both her late husband and his father. The men were famed explorers, but his research indicated that they were guilty on several occasions of raiding ancient tombs.

That would be his pitch. It was well known that Lady Haywood took passionate pride in her husband’s legacy. She might possibly listen to reason rather than have his reputation and that of his father sullied by a nasty lawsuit.

With this thought in mind, Ted decided that until cocktail time he would give himself the brief luxury of settling down with a book he had been wanting to read for months.

12

Devon Michaelson was pleased to see that there was no available table in the Queen’s Lounge and went down to the Lido Bar for a gin martini. He saw two well-appointed couples at the bar who fortunately were deep in conversation. When the chimes sounded, he went down to the dining room.

As on the Titanic, the first-class passengers dined in ultimate style. It was a smaller version of the most exclusive dining room on the Titanic. Decorated in Jacobean style, painted in peanut-white, the furniture, chairs and tables were oak and designed to add luxury and comfort at all times. Specially mounted chandeliers gave a regal look to the room. Candle-style lamps adorned each table. Silk curtains framed the large bay windows. An orchestra was quietly playing from a raised platform. Fine linen tablecloths set the tone for Limoges china and sterling silver utensils.

Michaelson would soon be followed into the dining room by a couple he judged to be in their sixties. As the three of them sat down, he extended his hand and said, “Devon Michaelson.”

“Willy and Alvirah Meehan.” The name struck a chord in Devon’s memory. Where had he seen or heard of them? he asked himself. As they spoke, a second man came to the table. Tall, with dark hair, warm brown eyes and an easy smile, he took his place and introduced himself, “Ted Cavanaugh.” A moment later a fourth guest arrived. “Anna DeMille,” she announced in a loud voice. Devon judged her to be about fifty. She was very thin, with jet-black hair tapered to her chin, and fiercely black eyebrows, her smile wide and toothy.

“This is such an adventure,” she exclaimed. “I have never been on a fancy cruise like this before.”

Wide-eyed, Alvirah was looking around the dining room. “This is so beautiful,” she said. “We’ve been on cruises, but I’ve never seen anything this spectacular. To think that people traveled like this. It takes your breath away.”

“Honey, on the Titanic their breath was taken away. Most of the passengers drowned,” Willy commented.

“Well, that’s not going to happen to us,” Alvirah said firmly.

She turned to Ted Cavanaugh. “In the reception area I heard you say that your father is the retired ambassador to Egypt. I’ve always wanted to go there. Willy and I were at King Tut’s exhibit when it was in New York.”

“It is quite a remarkable sight, isn’t it?” Ted observed.

“I have always thought it a shame that so many of the tombs were looted,” Alvirah said.

“I absolutely could not agree more,” Ted replied emphatically.

“Did you see all the celebrities who are right here in this very room?” Anna DeMille asked. “I mean it’s like being on the red carpet ourselves. Isn’t it?”

No one answered as the first course was placed on the table. A generous heaping of Beluga caviar with sour cream on small triangles of toasted bread was served accompanied by tiny glasses of super-cold vodka.

After she dove into it, Anna turned her attention to Devon. “And what do you do?” she asked.

Devon’s cover identity was that he was a retired engineer living in Montreal. That was not enough for Anna.

“Are you traveling alone?” she asked inquisitively.

“Yes, I lost my wife to cancer.”

“Oh, I’m sorry. When did it happen?”

“A year ago. We were planning to take this trip together. I have brought the urn with her ashes to scatter into the Atlantic. It was her final request.”

That should block off any more cross-examination, he thought. But Anna was not yet satisfied.

“Oh, are you going to have a burial ceremony?” she asked. “I’ve read that people do that. If you want company, I’ll be happy to attend.”

“No, I want to do it myself,” he said as he moved his index finger under his eye to wipe away the beginning of a tear.

Oh, my God, he thought. There may be no getting rid of this woman.

Alvirah seemed to sense that he didn’t want any more personal questions.

“Oh, Anna, tell me all about winning the trip,” she said. “We won the jackpot in a lottery. That’s why we’re able to be here.”

With Alvirah diverting Anna’s attention away from him, Devon gratefully focused on the table to his right. He closely studied Lady Emily Haywood’s pearls. Magnificent, he thought. But tinsel compared with her emeralds. A worthy challenge for the international jewel thief known as the “Man with One Thousand Faces.” No expense had been spared to ensure he could stay close to Lady Em and the precious Cleopatra necklace.

He suddenly remembered what he had heard about Alvirah Meehan. She had been instrumental in solving a number of crimes. But it would be better if she didn’t get involved this time. Between Alvirah and Anna, they could make my job harder, he thought grimly.

After the caviar, a small bowl of soup, a salad and a serving of fish, the main course choices were served. A suitable wine was offered with each course. After dessert, a small bowl, half-filled with water, was placed in front of each diner.

Willy looked at Alvirah pleadingly. Alvirah looked at Ted Cavanaugh and watched as he dipped his fingers in the bowl and dried them with the napkin in his lap, then moved the bowl and saucer to the left of his plate. Alvirah followed his example, and Willy followed hers.

“Is this what they call a finger bowl?” Anna asked.

I wonder what else we’re supposed to call it, Devon thought to himself dryly.

“More dinners like this and I’ll be big as a house,” Anna sighed.

“You’ve got a long way to go.” Willy smiled.

Anna turned her attention to Devon. As dinner was ending, she said, “I know there’s entertainment in the ballroom tonight. Would you like to accompany me?”

“Thank you. But I don’t think so.”

“Well then, would you consider a nightcap?”

Devon stood up. “No,” he said firmly.

He had intended to follow Lady Haywood’s group if they went to watch the entertainment or into one of the ship’s bars for a cocktail. He wanted to try to insinuate himself into her company. But that wouldn’t happen with a type like Anna DeMille hanging on him.

“I’m afraid I have some phone calls to return. Good night, everyone.”

14

Yvonne and her friends enjoyed an after-dinner drink together in the Prince George Lounge. It was late when she returned to her suite, and Roger was not there. He probably couldn’t wait to get to the casino, she thought. She was sure he had rushed down there as soon as Lady Em left for her room. He had always been a gambler, but now it was getting worrisome. She didn’t care what he did with his time, just as long as he continued to support their lifestyle.

She was already in bed, but not yet asleep, when the door opened and he came in, smelling heavily of liquor.

“ ’Yvonne,” he said, his voice unsteady.

“Keep your voice down. You’ll wake up the dead,” she said sharply, then added, “Did you lose again tonight? I know you were dying to get down there.”

“None of your business,” he snapped.

On that cordial note, Roger and Yvonne Pearson finished their first evening aboard Queen Charlotte.

15

At Willy’s suggestion he and Alvirah decided to skip the entertainment this evening. Instead he wanted to give Alvirah the ring he had bought her for their forty-fifth anniversary.

Back in their suite, he opened the bottle of champagne that had been their “Welcome Aboard” gift. He poured two glasses and handed one to Alvirah. “To the happiest forty-five years of my life,” he toasted. “I could never live a day without you, honey.”

Alvirah’s eyes misted. “No more than I could live a day without you, Willy,” she said fervently, then watched as he reached in his pocket for a small wrapped box. Now, don’t tell him that he shouldn’t have done it, and it was too much money, she warned herself.

When he handed the box to her, she unwrapped it slowly, then opened the lid to see an oval-shaped sapphire surrounded by small diamonds.

“Oh, Willy,” she sighed.

“It’s going to fit,” Willy said proudly. “I brought along one of your other rings to be absolutely sure. You saw the gemologist who helped me select it at the next table tonight. She was that very pretty girl with the black hair. Her name is Celia Kilbride.”

“Oh, I did notice her,” Alvirah breathed. “How could you miss her? Wait a minute, isn’t she the one whose boyfriend cheated everyone with his hedge fund?”

“Yes, she is.”

“Oh, that poor girl,” Alvirah exclaimed as she took a sip of champagne. “I’ve got to get to know her.”

She slipped on the ring. “Oh, Willy, it’s perfect, and I love it.”

Willy let out a sigh of relief. She didn’t ask me how much it cost, he thought. But it wasn’t that bad at all. Ten thousand dollars. Celia told me it was one that a woman sold after her mother died. It would be worth much more, except that it has a scratch you can only see under a microscope.

Alvirah had a new thought. “Willy, that poor Devon Michaelson. I predict that Anna DeMille is going to try his soul. She heard that he has his wife’s ashes to scatter into the ocean. My guess is that she’d love to toss them over for him. She’s going to haunt him every day,” Alvirah continued. “Of course, I can understand why she might want to get married again, and he’s an attractive man. But she’s going about it the wrong way.”

“Honey, I beg you, don’t start giving her advice. Stay out of it.”

“I’d like to help, but you’re right. However, I do intend to get friendly with Lady Emily. I’ve read so much about her.”

Willy did not try to dissuade Alvirah this time. He knew perfectly well that by the end of the trip, Alvirah would be Lady Emily’s new best friend.

17

Captain Ronald Fairfax had sailed with the Castle Lines for twenty years. Every one of his ships had been top-of-the-line, but Queen Charlotte surpassed them all. Instead of following the lead of other cruise lines, like Carnival, building many supersized vessels that held more than three thousand passengers, on Charlotte the number had been limited to one hundred, far smaller than the old first-class ships had been.

That, of course, was why so many celebrities were on board, anxious to be counted as exclusive guests on the maiden voyage.

Captain Fairfax had gone to sea the day after he finished college in London. Tall, broad-shouldered, with a full head of pure white hair and a somewhat weather-beaten face, he was an impressive man. He was widely regarded as a superb captain and a marvelous host who walked easily among the most exalted guests.

Anyone in the know eagerly awaited an invitation to be a guest at his dinner table, or to be at one of his private cocktail parties in his beautiful and roomy suite. The invitations were kept for the crème-de-la-crème guests. Handwritten by the purser, they were slipped under the door of the recipients fortunate enough to make the cut.

None of this was on Captain Fairfax’s mind as he stood on the bridge.

It was no secret that the expense of building and outfitting this extraordinary ship had ended up being nearly double the original projection. For that reason, it had been made clear to him by Gregory Morrison, the owner of Castle Lines, that absolutely no hitch was permissible. The tabloids and social media sites would be hungry for stories about anything that might go wrong on this all-important maiden voyage. They had already seized on the reference to the amenities of the Titanic. In retrospect, it had not been advisable to publicize the ship that way.

He frowned. There was already one indication that they might be sailing into a storm a day and a half out of Southampton.

He looked at his watch. He had an extremely confidential appointment in his quarters. The Interpol agent known to the other passengers as Devon Michaelson had requested a secret meeting.

What could Michaelson possibly want to speak to him about? He had already been told that the so-called “Man with One Thousand Faces” might well be on board.

He turned from the bridge and made his way to his suite. A few moments later there was a tap on the door. He opened it. He had identified Devon Michaelson by knowing he was at the same table as the ambassador’s son, Ted Cavanaugh.

Fairfax extended his hand. “Mr. Michaelson, I cannot tell you how pleased I am that you are with us on this ship.”

“I’m glad I am here as well,” Michaelson said courteously. “As I’m sure you know, over the past several weeks the so-called ‘Man with One Thousand Faces’ has been dropping hints on various social media sites suggesting that he would be on this voyage. An hour ago he sent a message that he is on board, enjoying the luxurious surroundings, and stating that he was looking forward to adding to his jewelry collection.”

Fairfax felt his body go rigid. “Is there any chance that someone may be putting out these messages as a joke?” he asked.

“I’m afraid not, sir. They have the ring of truth to them. And it is consistent with his track record. For him it is not enough to just steal what he wants. He derives extra pleasure from dropping hints about what he plans to do, and then poking his finger in the eye of law enforcement as he carries out his plan.”

Fairfax said, “It is worse than I imagined. Mr. Michaelson, I think you can understand how important it is that this voyage must have no hint of scandal. Is there anything that I or my staff can do to help prevent a calamity?”

“I would say only be alert, as I shall be alert,” Michaelson answered.

“Very good advice. Thank you, Mr. Michaelson,” the Captain said as he walked him to the door.

Alone with his thoughts, Fairfax took comfort knowing that an agent was on board. Security Chief John Saunders and his team were very good at their jobs. Saunders had a fine reputation in the business and had served with him on previous Castle Line voyages. The security chief could deal discreetly with unruly passengers. Fairfax was confident that the ship’s employees, from over fifteen countries, had been thoroughly vetted before they were hired. But the challenge posed by an international jewel thief was different.

The realization of what could go wrong weighed heavily on him as he made his way back to the bridge.

19

Yvonne had lunch with her friends Dana Terrace and Valerie Conrad in the small restaurant that was decorated as an English tearoom. They had mutually agreed that their husbands were welcome to make their own plans. The reason was that they wanted to gossip, and what they had to say would be boring to men.

“Hal is on the squash court,” Dana announced.

“So is Clyde,” Valerie said indifferently.

Yvonne did not say anything. There was no doubt Roger was in the casino. She was in secret awe of both Dana and Valerie. They both had the backgrounds that she longed for. Dana was a direct Mayflower descendant. And Valerie’s father was not only well bred, but a successful investor.

Since childhood, she had had one goal in mind: marry well, not just for money, but also for social standing.

Yvonne’s father and mother, both high school teachers, had thankfully retired to Florida after she graduated from her local state college. When she spoke of them, she promoted them to having been full-time college professors. Using her excellent command of French, she had taken one semester her junior year at the Sorbonne, and now referred to that as where she went to college.

Dana and Valerie had gone to the exclusive Deerfield Academy prep school and had been classmates at Vassar. Like Yvonne, they were in their early forties and very attractive. The difference was that they had always had a secure background, while she had to plan her way to the top.

Yvonne had met Roger Pearson when she was twenty-six and he was thirty-two. And he had fit the bill. Good-looking enough, at least when she had met him. Like his father and grandfather, a graduate of Harvard, and he also had been a member of the university’s most exclusive clubs. Like them, he was a CPA. Unlike them it had turned out that he was not particularly ambitious. He liked to drink and was a gambler. Both of these traits he had kept carefully hidden. What he could not hide was the considerable paunch that he had developed over the almost twenty years they had been married.

It did not take long for Yvonne to see the real Roger, and that he was lazy. Five years ago, after his father’s death, he had become president of the family’s wealth management firm and had persuaded many of its clients, most importantly Lady Emily, to stay with him. She named him the new executor of her estate.

In Lady Em’s presence Roger was a different person, speaking with authority about global finances, politics and the arts.

Together he and Yvonne kept up the appearance of a happily married couple and attended the social affairs and charity galas that they both loved. Meanwhile Yvonne had been on the lookout for a newly divorced successful man or—even better—a widower, but neither had appeared on her horizon. Her two best friends, Valerie and Dana, had both successfully remarried divorcés. She longed to join them.

Now over Prosecco and salads, they discussed the amenities of the ship and the people on it. Valerie and Dana knew Lady Haywood and, like everyone else, were in awe of her. The fact that Yvonne found her boring was fascinating to both of them.

“I’ve heard her twice-told tales, make that twenty-times-told tales, about her late great Sir Richard, more than I can possibly tell you,” Yvonne confided, as she daintily removed a tomato from her salad. Why can’t I remember to tell the waiter that I don’t like tomatoes? she asked herself.

Valerie had a copy of the daily activities. “We can listen to a former diplomat who will dissect the history of troubled relations between the West and the Middle East.”

“I could not think of anything more boring,” Dana said as she took a large sip of her wine.

“Okay, we’ll skip that one,” Valerie agreed. “How about this? A master chef will demonstrate his quick and easy technique to add a gourmet touch to even the simplest meal.”

“That might be interesting,” Yvonne suggested.

“Valerie and I have live-in chefs,” Dana explained. “We leave the cooking to them.”

Yvonne tried again. “Here’s one that might be fun: ‘Emily Post’s Classic Book About Etiquette: The manners of the nineteenth and early twentieth century.’ Why don’t we go? I’d love to hear about the way they did things in those days.”

Valerie smiled. “My grandmother told me that my great-grandmother lived by the society rules of that time. Her first home after she was married was a brownstone on Fifth Avenue. At that time, people left calling cards with the butler. I understand that when my great-grandfather died, they draped the home with mourning cloth. The butler in his day clothes would answer the bell with the parlor maid standing close behind him until a footman secured black livery for the staff.”

“My grandfather was one of the first to collect modern art,” Dana said. “Emily Post referred to it as ‘frightful things in vogue today with flamboyant colors, grotesque triangular figures and designs, that aside from novelty, are in bad taste.’ My grandmother tried to make him throw them out. Thank God he didn’t. They’re worth millions today.”

Yvonne added, “Well, if we’re going to spruce up on our manners, let’s start with that lecture. Maybe there’ll be a section on the proper way to exit one marriage and enter another.”

They all laughed. Valerie signaled the waiter and pointed to their almost empty glasses. They were quickly refilled.

“Okay,” Dana said. “What other ones are they doing today?”

“There’s the Shakespeare lecture,” Yvonne volunteered.

“I saw that Professor Longworth was at dinner with you,” Valerie said. “What is he like?”

“No barrel of laughs,” Yvonne told her. “He has a habit of raising his eyebrows. I guess that’s why his forehead is so wrinkled.”

“How about Celia Kilbride?” Dana asked. “She’s the one who is accused of being part of that hedge fund swindle. I’m surprised they invited her on this ship. I mean the way the Captain went on about everything being the best of the best. Why would they invite a crook to be here?”

“I read she claimed she was a victim too,” Yvonne said. “And I know she’s considered to be a very knowledgeable gemologist.”

“I should have had her look at my engagement ring from Herb,” Valerie laughed. “It had been his grandmother’s. If you squinted, you might get a glimpse of the diamond. When I got the divorce, I gave it back to him. I said, ‘I wouldn’t want to deprive some lucky woman of the chance to be adorned with this.’ ”

As they laughed, Yvonne thought both of them had married classy guys the first time, and they married big money the second time. I’ve got to keep my eyes open. Or better than that . . .

After they each took long sips from their glasses, Yvonne said, “I’ve got a mission for you two.”

They looked at her expectantly. “Both of you dropped the guys you started with,” she said. “Did you have another lined up?”

“I did,” Valerie confirmed.

“So did I,” Dana agreed.

“Well frankly, whatever existed between Roger and me is long since over. So keep your eyes open.”

“Now, back to the lectures. So what’s our schedule?” Valerie asked.

Dana answered. “I’m in the mood to be entertained. Let’s go to all three: Emily Post, Shakespeare, and Celia Kilbride.”

“To entertainment,” Valerie said, as they clinked their glasses together.

20

Anna DeMille did not like to remember that she had started to drink the water in her finger bowl before she saw Ted Cavanaugh dip his fingers into his. She was pretty sure that no one had noticed, but the fact that someone might have continued to annoy her. That was why she opted to go to the lecture on etiquette. Maybe I can pick up some tips, she thought, no harm in that. And I can see that a lot of the people on this ship are pretty ritzy.

There was also the hope that Devon Michaelson might just happen to be there.

She waited to take a seat until the last moment before the lecture began, just in case he walked in and they could sit together.

That didn’t happen. She did notice that Ted Cavanaugh, Professor Longworth and the Meehans were seated near the front.

I can understand why the Meehans might be here, she thought. But why would Cavanaugh and Longworth show up? she wondered.

Anna settled in next to an elderly gentleman who seemed to be alone. She was about to introduce herself and tell him her Cecil B. DeMille story, when the lecturer walked to the podium.

Julia Witherspoon was a severe-looking woman of about seventy. After introducing herself, she explained that she usually only spoke about dining etiquette. But on this voyage, it seemed appropriate to review the quintessential good taste of a century ago.

As Witherspoon began to speak, she had no way of knowing that Ted Cavanaugh was one of her most interested listeners. From the time he was a boy and had developed his love for Egyptian antiquities, he had also been interested in what constituted good manners in ancient times. He knew it would be a distraction to hear about the mores of society one hundred years ago, and he needed that distraction.

“Since what was known as etiquette a century ago is so disgracefully lacking today, you may be interested to hear about the beautiful customs that prevailed in the late nineteenth and early twentieth century.

“Let’s start with wedding etiquette. When a young man gives his intended an engagement ring, he follows a tradition that began more than eighty years ago. The proper engagement ring is a solitaire diamond because it is the conventional example of, and I quote, ‘the singleness and endurity of the one love in the groom-to-be’s life.’

“At the first family dinner after an engagement, the girl’s father would raise his glass and address the assembly by saying, ‘I propose that we drink a toast to the health of my daughter Mary and the young man she has decided to add permanently to our family, James Manlington.’

“The young man should respond by saying, ‘I, er . . . , we thank you all indeed for your good wishes. I don’t think I have to tell you, the thing for me is to prove, if I can, that Mary has not made the mistake of her life by choosing me, and I hope that it won’t be very long before we see all of you again at our own table with Mary at the head of it and I, where I belong, at the foot.’ ”

Witherspoon sighed. “What a shame that life is so rude today.”

She cleared her throat. “And now to the wedding. The bride’s gown should be white. Satin and/or lace are most appropriate.

“As for the bridal party, Emily Post put it this way: ‘A distinguished uncle was asked, “Don’t you think the wedding was too lovely? Weren’t the bridesmaids beautiful?” ’

“ ‘His answer was, “I did not think it was beautiful at all. Every one of the bridesmaids was so powdered and painted there was not a sweet face among them. I can see a procession just like them any evening on the musical comedy stage.” ’ ”

Witherspoon went on to talk about the proper furnishings of a bride’s home, including the necessary number of servants, the butler, two footmen, a cook with two kitchen helpers, a housekeeper and two maids.

She then proceeded to tell about how to garb a house for mourning.

By the time her lecture was over, there was no one in the audience who did not feel guilty of somehow making many a faux pas along the way.

•  •  •

As Witherspoon spoke, Ted Cavanaugh found himself only half-listening as his mind immediately returned to the challenge in front of him. Lady Haywood had finally told the truth, that she had the Cleopatra necklace that her husband had given to her. Whether she likes it or not, besides being famous explorers, Sir Richard and his father were tomb raiders, Ted thought. That necklace should have been on display all these years at the Museum of Cairo. She has no right to give it to the Smithsonian. If she does so, that will probably mean a protracted lawsuit to get it back. I could make a lot of money suing the Smithsonian, but I don’t want that to happen.

I’m going to point out to her that if she doesn’t want her husband and his father to be known as grave robbers, she should agree to turn the necklace over to the Cairo museum. Maybe I can convince her, he hoped. I’ll certainly give it my best effort.

Ted Cavanaugh was not the only member of the audience who was not giving Witherspoon his full attention. Professor Henry Longworth made it a habit to attend the presentation that preceded his. It gave him a chance to size up the audience reaction, to see the type of material they responded to.

Longworth did not want to admit how eager he was to attend Witherspoon’s lecture. He had never been able to lose the bitter memories of those poverty-stricken years in Liverpool, but even more so, of the ridicule he encountered when he first arrived in Cambridge. He had poured tea into his saucer at the first university dinner, raised it to his lips and slurped. Then he had caught the snickers and glances from the other students at the long table. The snickers broke into laughter when the student next to him poured his tea into his saucer and began slurping it too. Then the other students at the long table followed his example.

Henry could still hear their laughter pound in his ears. That was why he had studied etiquette as an avocation. And it had served him well. He knew his slightly aloof manner, as well as his compelling lectures, added to the air of mystery he had created for himself.

What others did not know was that he owned a home in Mayfair that he had bought long ago when prices were affordable. He had carefully studied magazines that showed society homes, and little by little, he had turned his home into a paragon of good taste. Year by year he had furnished it with beautiful objects collected while speaking on tours. Only his cleaning woman knew it existed. Even his mail was sent to a post office box. The house and the furnishings were his. In his smoking jacket he would sit in the library, and as his eyes moved about the room, one by one he would enjoy and relish a beautiful painting or a fine piece of sculpture. In that room he truly became himself, “Lord” Henry Longworth. It was the fantasy world that had become his reality. And after a trip he was always happy to return there.

He listened as Anthony Breidenbach, the entertainment director, announced that his Shakespeare lecture would begin after a fifteen-minute recess. At three-thirty, gemologist Celia Kilbride would present.

23

Celia did not go down to dinner. She spent the rest of the afternoon reading in a lounge chair on her private balcony.

On the one hand it was a good way to unwind after her lecture; on the other it was hard to get into a book. Her concentration was constantly interrupted by the same thought. Suppose the U.S. Attorney’s Office decides to indict me after all? I don’t have any money to keep paying a lawyer.

The management at Carruthers had been sympathetic until now, but when the article in People comes out, it is likely that they will fire her, or at least ask her to take an unpaid leave of absence.

At six o’clock she ordered dinner, a salad and salmon. Simple as it was, she could not finish it. When she had come back to the suite, she had changed into slacks and a shirt, but now she decided to put on pajamas and go to bed. Suddenly very tired, she remembered that she had not slept at all the previous night.

Before the butler came in to turn down the bed, she put a QUIET PLEASE sign on the doorknob. I guess that sounds friendlier than DO NOT DISTURB, she thought wryly.

She fell asleep immediately.

26

Yvonne went straight to their suite as Roger escorted Lady Em to hers. When he entered, Yvonne was in a miserable mood. Dana and Valerie had left with other friends and had not invited her to join them.

She sailed into Roger. “I can’t stand listening to that insufferable old witch for five more minutes. She doesn’t own you. Tell her you work for her Monday through Friday. Period.”

Roger let her finish her tirade and then began shouting back. “You think I like having to kiss that old bag’s feet? I have to inflate every bill to keep you in the lifestyle you’ve managed to become accustomed to. You know that as well as I do.”

Yvonne glared at him. “Will you please keep your voice down. They can hear you on the bridge.”

“And you don’t think they can hear you?” Roger shot back, but he did lower his voice.

“Roger, will you please tell me why you—” Then she noticed that he was sweating profusely and his complexion was a grayish pallor. “You look sick. What’s wrong with you?”

“What’s wrong is that Lady Em wants to see me tomorrow morning alone in her suite.”

“So what?”

“I think she suspects something.”

“Suspects what?”

“That I’ve been cooking her books for years.”

“You what?”

“You heard me.”

Yvonne stared at him. “You’re serious?”

“Oh, I am, my dear, I am.”

“And if she does suspect, what would she do about it?”

“Probably when she gets back to New York, hire another accounting firm to go over them.”

“And what would that mean?”

“Try twenty years in federal prison.”

“You’re serious!”

“Dead serious.”

“Then what are you going to do about it?”

“What are you suggesting, that I throw her overboard?”

“If you don’t, I will.”

They stared at each other, then Roger, his voice shaking, said, “It may come to that.”

27

Alvirah and Willy were passing Roger and Yvonne’s suite and could not help but hear that they were shouting at each other. Alvirah immediately stopped to catch every word. The last words she caught were “federal prison,” before another couple came down the hallway and she was forced to keep moving.

The minute Willy closed the door of their suite she turned to him, “Willy, did you hear all that? They hate that poor old woman.”

“I heard more than that. I think he’s stealing from her. The last words I heard were ‘twenty years in a federal prison.’ ”

“Willy, I’m telling you, I think that they’re desperate. And I think that she’s even more desperate than he is. Do you think it is possible that either of them would try to hurt Lady Em?”

32

After the ceremony with Devon Michaelson, Celia half-willingly agreed to join Alvirah and Willy for lunch in the buffet dining room. “I read that you can get everything from sushi to Chinese food to Central European,” Alvirah told her.

They would meet at one o’clock in the restaurant, and beforehand she took a long walk around the promenade deck.

When she returned to her stateroom, she showered, dressed in blue slacks and a blue-and-white top, ordered breakfast and went over her notes for her lectures. Today she would talk about other fabled jewels through the ages and the histories of individual pieces of jewelry that had been given in love, appeasement or as a bribe.

One of the stories was about the elegant wife of William Randolph Hearst, who discovered that her husband had built San Simeon castle for his mistress, the actress Marion Davies. Celia went over what she would say in her head.

“ ‘When he was beginning the newspaper business, I was there, and I gave him five sons,’ ” Ms. Hearst was reported to have said to a friend. Then she went to Tiffany’s and ordered a magnificent long pearl necklace and told the saleswoman to send the bill to her husband. The story goes that when he got it, he never even mentioned it to her.

“And then a Hearst heiress and her husband were invited to a formal dinner on the Britannia when Queen Elizabeth II sailed on her to Los Angeles. Ms. Hearst was wearing the family emeralds.

“When she boarded the Britannia, the Queen was wearing her own magnificent emeralds. Ms. Hearst confided to a friend, ‘Compared to hers, mine looked as if they came out of a Cracker Jack box!’ ”

The final personal story would be about the King of Saudi Arabia who was accompanied by his daughter to a White House state dinner. The twenty-two-year-old princess kept the President waiting twenty minutes, an unpardonable breach of etiquette. But that fact was forgotten by the media, whose focus was on her three-strand necklace, a stunning mixture of priceless gemstones from diamonds and rubies to emeralds and sapphires.

It’s human to enjoy the gossipy stories, Celia thought, and telling just a few never failed to spice up a lecture.

Satisfied that she was prepared for the presentation, Celia looked at her watch. It was quarter of one and time to join Alvirah and Willy in the buffet dining room for lunch. It’s hardly self-service, she thought, remembering other luxurious ocean liners she had been on that had the same kind of service. When a passenger had finished making a selection, a waiter was always there to carry the tray to a table and serve whatever beverage was requested.

She looked at her watch again and decided she had enough time to call her lawyer. She wanted to see if he had heard anything about whether they might be viewing her differently after the People magazine article. Randolph Knowles was not in his office. His secretary promised he would return the call. Celia could not help asking, “Any word from the US Attorney’s Office?”

“No, nothing. Oh, wait a minute. Mr. Knowles just walked in.” Celia heard her say, “Ms. Kilbride is on the phone.” Then, when Randolph said, “Hello, Celia,” she knew she was not going to hear good news. She did not go through the formality of greeting him. “What’s going on, Randolph?” she asked.

“Celia, it’s not good,” Randolph told her. “Your ex-fiancé is such a convincing liar that the US Attorney’s Office just called me to say that they may ask the FBI to interview you again when you get home.”

Celia thought numbly, I’m flying back from London the day we dock in Southampton. That’s only a few days from now. She remembered the stony faces of the FBI agents who had interrogated her.

Randolph was talking. “Celia, they put you through the mill already and they believed you. This is simply another hurdle.” But it was obvious from his tone that he was not convinced.

“I hope it is.” Celia pressed the red button on her cell phone. If only I hadn’t promised the Meehans I would join them, she thought passionately. But she had, and a few minutes later a waiter was pulling out a chair for her at the table where they were sitting.

They both smiled and Alvirah greeted her warmly. “Celia, as I said before, we’re so happy to be able to have a chance to chat with you. Willy told me he was initially sorry he went into Carruthers to ask about the prices of some of the rings he saw in the display cases, but then you came along and made him feel so comfortable.”

What she did not add was that she was dying to talk to Celia about her crooked ex-boyfriend. She was sure that when his trial came up she would be asked to cover it in her column in the Globe.

Of course she would not just plunge into that right away. “Why don’t we all make our selections,” she suggested. “And then we can chat.”

But a few minutes later, when Willy was happily enjoying a plate of sushi and she was halfway through a bowl of linguini with clam sauce, she noticed that Celia had eaten only a few bites of her chicken salad.

“Celia, if you don’t like the salad, you can get something else,” Alvirah said.

Celia felt a sudden lump in her throat and knew her eyes were filling with tears. Quickly she reached in her bag for her sunglasses. But Alvirah had noticed. “Celia,” she said in a voice rich with concern, “we know the stress you’re under.”

“I guess everybody knows. And if they didn’t know before, they’ll find out today.”

“Celia, sadly, what your fiancé did is all too common, but everyone is sorry for you being caught in that mess.”

“Everyone except my closest friends, who lost money they couldn’t afford to lose and blame me for having introduced Steven to them.”

“You lost money too,” Willy said.

“Two hundred fifty thousand dollars! In other words, every cent I had,” Celia said. Unwillingly, she realized that it was somehow comforting to unburden herself to people who were virtual strangers. But then she remembered that Willy had told her so much about them when she was helping him select the ring. He had explained to her how Alvirah had formed a support group for people who had won the lottery, so they wouldn’t be taken in by con men. She knew that she had liked Willy on sight and liked Alvirah the minute Willy described her.

And it was a relief to be able to share her anxiety with people who were looking at her with kind and sympathetic expressions.

The words came tumbling out. “Steven gave an interview to People magazine, and in it he said that I was part of the scheme to build up his fund by introducing him to my friends. It’s going to be all over the media today. Now, because of the article, it looks like the FBI is going to question me again when I get back to New York.”

“You did tell the truth,” Alvirah said. It was not a question.

“Of course I did.”

“And Steven What’s-his-name has lied to you and everyone else?”

“Yes.”

“Then why wouldn’t he lie to People magazine as well?”

Celia could feel Alvirah’s reassurance begin to lift some of the crushing worry from her shoulders. Not completely. She wasn’t going to talk now about the fact that her job at Carruthers was in jeopardy. She knew the chief executive had been upset that one of their employees had been linked to a scam. Now, the more she thought about it, the more certain she was that when she got back to New York she would at the least be put on an unpaid leave of absence. I can’t keep up with the rent on my apartment and all the other overhead expenses like insurance and utilities for more than three months, not to mention ongoing legal bills, she thought. And then what? Would any jewelry firm want to hire me?

All this flashed through her mind in an instant, but then she blinked away the tears that had not fallen and forced a smile. “I feel as though I’ve been to confession.”

“Just keep this in mind, Celia.” Now Alvirah’s voice was firm. “You have absolutely no need of absolution in any way, shape or form. Now, eat your salad. Things will work out fine. I can feel it in my bones.”

33

Brenda’s suite was on the floor below Lady Em’s. It was smaller, but had valet service. When Lady Em decided to have her lunch served in her suite and rest for an hour, Brenda went to the buffet restaurant. Even though she was almost desperate with worry, she still had a hearty appetite. She went to the section that served Chinese food and helped herself to wonton soup, pork fried rice and a dumpling. Then on impulse, she grabbed a fortune cookie. As a waiter carried her tray to a small table by the window, she looked around the dining room. About six tables from the one where she was heading to, she saw Celia with Alvirah and her husband. They seemed to be engrossed in conversation. No idle chatter for them, she thought sarcastically.

Her eyes filled with hatred as she looked at Celia. She’s the one who could put me in prison, she thought bitterly.

“Here you are, ma’am,” the waiter, a handsome Asian man, said as he removed dishes from the tray and placed them on the table.

Brenda did not thank him. He asked if she cared for a beverage. “Regular coffee with cream and sugar.” Her tone was dismissive.

What was she going to do? she asked herself. And why now does Lady Em all of a sudden get the idea that her jewelry doesn’t look right? For years she’s ignored all but the best pieces in her collection. And for years she has been adding to it, buying a ten-thousand-dollar ring or a forty-thousand-dollar bracelet she saw in a store window, as she did on St. Thomas. She wears her new pieces a few times, then tosses them into the master safe in the apartment.

Brenda began sipping the wonton soup and thought of Ralphie. She had met him five years ago, and they had been together ever since. She had not told Lady Em about him, of course. Ralph was a sixty-seven-year-old insurance salesman whom she happily supported in the three-room apartment Lady Em had purchased for her to use, and where Brenda spent her free weekends. Not that there were many of them, she thought resentfully. But after she’s in bed and with the sleep-in housekeeper in her apartment, I can escape there.

After she told Ralph about Lady Em’s incredible jewelry collection, he had asked her how frequently she wore all those pieces. She had told him that Lady Em would often buy a necklace or earrings or a ring or a bracelet that had caught her eye, wear it a few times and then forget all about it or simply not bother to put it on again.

Ralph’s next question had been, “Is everything insured?”

The answer was that Lady Em only insured the pieces that were worth over one hundred thousand dollars.

And that’s how it began. Ralph had a jeweler friend who worked with them to substitute fake gems for the ones in Lady Em’s safe. It was so easy. Brenda had the code to the safe. She would take a piece out and give it to Ralphie. He would bring it to the jeweler, who would create a similar-looking piece. When it was ready, she would put it in the safe. The one piece of jewelry that wasn’t in the safe and that she had never seen was the Cleopatra necklace.

Now as she pushed aside the empty soup bowl and began to eat the pork fried rice, Brenda cursed herself for being stupid enough to have fooled with the “picnic” bracelet that Sir Richard had bought for Lady Em when they were strolling down Fifth Avenue. Lady Em cherished it. God knows I heard the story often enough to realize that I should have left it alone, Brenda thought bitterly.

She and Ralphie had over two million dollars thanks to selling Lady Em’s jewelry, but what good would it do them if Lady Em had that bracelet checked by Celia Kilbride, let alone all the others that had been switched? She would prosecute them, that was for sure. She had once done it to a chef who had been padding the food bills. “I pay you very well,” she told him. “Now you will pay for your greed.”

Brenda finished everything on her plate and went to the dessert section. She selected a generous slice of chocolate layer cake and returned to the table. It had already been cleared except for the coffee cup, which had been refilled.

I like traveling like this, she thought. At least I did until I met Ralphie and fell in love. I have to say these twenty years with Lady Em have been interesting, the trips all around the world, the Broadway plays, the people I’ve met.

When they got back to New York next Thursday, it would be the beginning of the end—and fast. But if something happened to Lady Em before then, there would be no worries, and the three hundred thousand Lady Em planned to leave her in her will would be hers.

Brenda opened her fortune cookie. Big changes in your life are coming. Be ready. Well, that could be really good or really bad, she thought, as she crumpled the slip of paper and dropped it.

She glanced at the table where Celia Kilbride and the Meehans were pushing back their chairs. A sudden thought hit her. Would Lady Em be troubled enough about the bracelet to give it to Celia to examine before they were back in New York? If she did, would Celia be able to tell that it would never have been displayed in the window of Harry Winston? Of course, she would.

It was another frightening possibility.

35

Celia’s second lecture was even more widely attended than the first one. She smiled when she saw Lady Em sitting next to Alvirah and Willy in the first row. Alvirah was chatting away with Lady Em, and Celia was sure that by the time she began speaking Alvirah would be Lady Em’s new friend. As she walked to the lectern, everyone fell silent, but before she spoke, she glanced at Alvirah, who gave her an encouraging smile.

My new best friend, she thought.

After thanking everyone for attending, Celia began. “Emeralds came into usage as jewelry not long after gold. Emerald derives its name from the Ancient Greek word for green. The first known emerald mines were in Egypt. Researchers have dated these mines from 330 B.C. and they were still being worked as late as the 1700s. Cleopatra was reported to have favored emeralds above all other stones.”

She spoke about the emerald’s curative powers and the use of emeralds by early physicians who believed that the best method for restoring the eyes was by looking at an emerald. Its soft green comfort would remove weariness and strain. Truth be told, they were onto something. Even today the color green is recognized to reduce stress and be soothing to the eye.

Wearing an emerald was believed to reveal the truth, or lack of it, in a lover’s oath. It was also purported to make one an eloquent speaker. Placing her hand on her pendant and pushing it forward from her blouse, Celia said, “I don’t own one, so I can’t put that theory to the test today.” Wide laughter from the audience followed.

She then talked about other jewels that had belonged to pharaohs and kings and had been used as ransom, or to pay debts, and other precious stones that were rumored to have curative powers.

When she was finished with the question-and-answer session, one of the guests observed, “Ms. Kilbride, you made us all want to have more jewelry, or wear what we do have every day.”

“Sadly, many people keep lovely jewelry in a safe deposit box and never wear it,” Celia replied. “Of course you have to be careful with it, but why not enjoy it?”

The luncheon with Alvirah and Willy, and the obvious success of the lecture, which was roundly applauded, gave Celia a temporary lift. She returned to her suite. Her long walk on the deck and early morning awakening had left her feeling tired, so she decided to nap before she prepared for the Captain’s cocktail party and the dinner following it.

And that, of course, was another reminder. The expensive gown that she would be wearing she had bought for the honeymoon which, thankfully, never happened.

I might as well take my own advice and enjoy it, she thought. It will be a long, cold day before I spend money like that again.

37

The Captain’s cocktail party was held in his large, beautifully decorated suite. Soft blues and pale greens on the walls and furnishings were the color scheme. Smiling waiters offered drinks and hors d’oeuvres. Celia had fastened back her dark hair with a gold clip and let it cascade down on her shoulders. Her moss-green gown was shimmering chiffon. The earrings that had been her mother’s were her only jewelry.

She did not realize it, but the eyes of the Captain, as well as most of the other men present, lingered on her as she chatted with other guests. Lady Em arrived shortly after her. She was wearing a simple black gown which set off the breathtaking three-strand emerald necklace that had once adorned Cleopatra, Queen of Egypt, and had not been seen in public in one hundred years. Startling in its beauty, each emerald sparkled in unblemished clarity. Lady Em’s white hair was piled softly on her head; her wide hazel eyes and long lashes gave hints of the beauty she had been, and her straight carriage combined to present a regal, commanding image. Her earrings were pear-shaped diamonds, and other than that she wore only her diamond wedding band, to ensure that nothing would distract from the awe-inspiring necklace.

Like Celia, she had decided to put aside her concerns for the evening. She wanted to enjoy the sensation that she knew she was causing. It reminded her of those faraway days when she bowed to the thunderous applause of packed theaters as a prima ballerina.

And although he was always present in her subconscious mind, it so vividly brought back memories of Richard, including when he was waiting at the stage door that wonderful night in London when they first met. Handsome, courtly Richard, who had stepped forward from the crowd of admirers, reached for her hand and kissed it.

And never let it go, she thought wistfully, as she accepted a glass of wine.

Alvirah was wearing the beige gown and matching jacket that Willy liked best. In the late afternoon she had had her hair done at the beauty salon and even allowed herself to be persuaded to have light makeup applied to her face.

As always, Captain Fairfax was an impeccable host. The intense worry he was harboring did not show in his face or manner. He had three concerns: the Man with One Thousand Faces might be in this room right now salivating for Lady Haywood’s emeralds, the sea was already beginning to show a trace of the heavy storm they were sailing into, and the engine problem had already put them behind schedule.

Ted Cavanaugh, the partner in a law firm, was the next guest to come over to him. Fairfax had been made aware of his background. Son of the former ambassador to Egypt and the Court of Saint James, celebrated for seeking to reclaim stolen antiquities. The Captain had a twenty-three-year-old daughter. This is the kind of chap I wish Lisa would bring home, he thought. Good-looking, successful, impeccable family background, instead of that long-haired musician, a harmonica player.

He extended his hand to Ted. “Welcome, Mr. Cavanaugh. I hope you have been enjoying your cruise.”

“Indeed I have been,” Ted replied while returning the Captain’s firm handshake.

Fairfax smiled.

His attention was diverted by the arrival of Devon Michaelson, the Interpol agent whose cover was a retired engineer. The Captain moved across the room to greet him but was blocked by Anna DeMille’s swift rush to Michaelson’s side. Instead he turned to the couple on his left. He had been briefed on them. The Meehans had won forty million dollars in the lottery about five years ago, and Mrs. Meehan had gained prominence as a newspaper columnist who also managed to solve crimes.

“Mr. and Mrs. Meehan,” he said with the pleasant smile that always masked his true concerns.

“Alvirah and Willy,” Alvirah said promptly. “Captain, it’s such a privilege to be on the maiden voyage of this beautiful ship. It will always be a wonderful memory for us.”

At that moment the door was pushed open and Yvonne Pearson burst in. “My husband fell overboard!” she shrieked. “My husband fell overboard!”

40

Lady Em, Brenda and Celia sat together offering silent prayers that Roger would be saved, even while they realized there was almost no hope that if he had gone overboard, he had managed to stay afloat in the treacherous waters.

Fairfax’s voice came over the ship’s public address system. “This is your captain. We are trying to locate a Mr. Roger Pearson. Mr. Pearson, if you can hear this message, would you please contact the bridge. If any passenger has seen Mr. Pearson in the last twenty minutes, would you please call the bridge. That is all. Thank you.”

Celia spoke first. “I wonder if that’s standard procedure, to first search the ship for somebody they think might have gone overboard.”

Lady Em turned to Brenda. “Go to Yvonne,” she said. “She should have someone she knows with her.”

“I’m afraid I wouldn’t do her much good,” she confided to Celia when Brenda had left. Lady Em was wracked with regret and anger. She knew that her announcement that she was having another accounting firm go over her finances may have caused Roger to deliberately go over the railing. She had not seen him at lunch, but had run into him when she took a brief walk on the deck at five o’clock. With nervous energy, he had launched into explaining why she should not waste money on such an unnecessary expense. She had finally stopped him by saying, “I don’t want to discuss it. I hope I have made my decision perfectly clear. And frankly, it concerns me that you are so adamantly against it.”

They were the last words she had uttered to Roger. Did he fall, or did I drive him to suicide? she wondered.

Twenty minutes later, as a member of the crew went from one group of passengers to the other urging them to please enjoy dinner, she reluctantly picked up the menu.

“I would suggest that we all need a strong drink,” Professor Longworth volunteered.

“I think that’s a very good idea,” Celia said fervently, as she noted how very ill Lady Em suddenly looked. And very old, she thought. She’s so commanding and energetic that we forget her age. And, of course, Roger has been a close friend as well as working for her all these years.

They were silent at dinner, each busy with his or her own thoughts.

43

It had been necessary to stop Roger from being arrested. After a late afternoon walk on the deck, he had come back to the suite pale and sweaty. “It’s no use,” he had said. “I’ve tried to talk her out of doing an outside audit of her finances, but all I did was make her more suspicious.”

Now that it was done, Yvonne was filled with dread. Roger had sat on the rail for only a few minutes, then said, “Too choppy for this perch.” Just as he tried to move forward, he almost lost his balance. That was when she lunged forward and pushed him with all her might.

Before he fell, his look had been one of surprise. Then as his body began to go down, he screamed, “No, no, no . . .” Her last sight of him was watching his legs and feet go over the rail.

She knew she should have waited longer before telling anyone that he had fallen overboard. It seemed like only minutes before the Captain and other personnel began to search the ship looking for him.

It was only then that she remembered that Roger was a strong swimmer and that he had been on the swim team in college. Suppose they found him alive? There was no way that she could make him believe that she had accidentally pushed him when she meant to help him down off the railing.

The consequences for her of Roger being rescued were so overpowering that she was trembling and shaking when the doctor gave her a tranquilizer. Brenda offered to wrap a blanket around her as she sat on the sofa in the living room of the suite.

It was time to get rid of Brenda, who with uncharacteristic sympathy had also offered to sleep on the couch.

As Brenda was holding the blanket, they could hear a loud knock on the door across the hall. A young crewmember yelled through the door. “Excuse me. We are looking for a Mr. Roger Pearson. Is he in this room?”

They heard a faint “no” from the room’s occupant. “Thank you,” the crewmember said as he moved to the next door.

Brenda turned to Yvonne. “Am I helping you by being with you or would you rather be alone?”

“Oh, thank you, I guess I’ll be all right alone. I may have to get used to being on my own. But thank you again, and I will be all right.”

When Brenda was finally gone, Yvonne got up and poured a stiff scotch on the rocks. She tilted the glass in a silent tribute to Roger. You’d have committed suicide before you faced twenty years in prison, she thought. She wondered how soon she would be getting the five million dollars in insurance money. Probably within a week after she was back in New York. If Roger did siphon off a lot of money from Lady Em, where was it? Did he have secret bank accounts he hadn’t told her about? Well, one thing for sure. If she were ever questioned by the FBI, she was sure that she could convince them that she knew nothing about Roger’s finances.

With that comforting thought the self-made widow decided to treat herself to a second, generous serving of Chivas Regal scotch.

45

It seemed as though nobody wanted to go to bed. Although the evening entertainment, a duo performing songs from prominent operas, had been canceled, the bars with tables and chairs were nearly filled. The casino was even more crowded than usual.

Trying to escape her thoughts, Lady Em had invited her tablemates to have a nightcap with her. That was where Brenda found them after Yvonne told her to leave. Everyone asked how Yvonne was faring.

As Brenda was answering, word began to circulate around the room that the search for Roger had not been successful. The Captain and Chaplain Baker had gone to Yvonne’s room to tell her that because Roger was almost certainly dead, the ship was not going to undertake a search and rescue effort.

Walking ahead of his group, Ted Cavanaugh had selected a table for four. Alvirah and Willy were with him, and Alvirah did not miss the fact that Ted had rushed to grab a nearby table as soon as he spotted where Lady Em was seated. Nor did she miss the fact that Lady Em caught his eye and abruptly turned away. Devon Michaelson had again declined to join them. Anna DeMille had grabbed a chair at the bar next to a man her age who appeared to be alone.

Then Lady Em stood up abruptly. “Brenda will sign the check for me,” she said. It was an effort to keep her voice level. “I am very tired. I will say good night to all of you.”

Brenda sprang to her feet. “I will accompany you.”

God forbid, you thief, Lady Em thought, but her answer was simple and final. “No, that won’t be necessary.”

There was a nagging pain from her left shoulder going down her arm. She needed to get to her room and take a nitroglycerine pill now.

As she left, she passed by Ted Cavanaugh’s chair, hesitated, then continued on.

Alvirah quickly noticed the grim expression on Lady Em’s face. She seems upset at him. I wonder why.

A few minutes later, when everyone began to leave, she managed to get in a word with Celia. “I never did get a chance at the Captain’s party to tell you that you look so beautiful tonight. How are you doing?”

“About the same,” Celia admitted, then added, “Keep feeling in your bones that it will all work out.”

Ted Cavanaugh had caught the exchange, puzzled for a minute, then realized why she seemed familiar. Celia Kilbride was the girlfriend of Steven Thorne, the hedge fund swindler. A lot of people think she was in on it, he thought. I wonder if she was. God knows, he thought, she has the face of an angel.

49

After she got rid of Brenda, Yvonne enjoyed her two scotches, then ordered room service. If her butler was surprised by the three-course dinner and the bottle of Pinot Noir the supposedly grieving widow ordered, he did not show it. With an appropriately subdued manner as he served, he reminded her that if she wanted anything at all he would be at her service throughout the night.

She was thankful that the butler had removed the meal cart minutes before the Captain and Chaplain Baker came to speak to her. As she listened to the Captain explain why they would not go back and search for Roger, she was concerned that the scotches might have made her eyes red. But then she relaxed. I’m a grieving widow. My eyes should be red. And if having a few scotches is helping me cope with my tragedy, who would criticize me?

After they left, as she took a last sip, Yvonne started to think of the future. Granted, she would have the five-million-dollar insurance policy, but how long would that last? The Park Avenue apartment and the house in East Hampton were mortgage-free, but they would surely be seized if Roger’s theft was discovered. And given the luxurious lifestyle she enjoyed, five million dollars wouldn’t go very far.

As she sipped the velvety smooth wine, Yvonne began to considortgage-free, but they would surely be seized if Roger’s theft was discovered. And given the luxurious lifestyle she enjoyed, five million dollars wouldn’t go very far.

As she sipped the velvety smooth wine, Yvonne began to considortgage-free, but they would surely be seized if Roger’s theft was discovered. And given the luxurious lifestyle she enjoyed, five million dollars wouldn’t go very far.

As she sipped the velvety smooth wine, Yvonne began to considortgage-free, but they would

53

Security Chief Saunders, Dr. Blake and Captain Fairfax arrived together at the suite. Before removing the body to the ship’s morgue, extensive pictures were taken of Lady Em’s face, the position of her right arm and the smear of blood on the pillow.

Their immediate suspicion was that the motive for the murder was robbery. The others watched as Saunders went over to the open safe and looked in it. In addition to the several rings and a bracelet scattered on the floor, he saw that jewelry had been dumped on the shelf. Jewelry pouches were also on the floor, partially hidden by the long evening gowns.

“Is the emerald necklace there?” the Captain asked quietly.

Saunders had seen it on Lady Em’s neck at dinner in the dining room. “No sir, it is not. I am even more certain that we are dealing with a robbery, which led to a murder.”

55

Professor Longworth was sitting alone at the breakfast table when he was joined by Brenda Martin. A woman I find particularly dull, he thought, as he stood up courteously and greeted her with a smile.

“And how is Lady Em this morning?” he asked. “I was concerned for her last evening. She looked very pale.”

“When I didn’t hear from her by nine o’clock, it meant that she was having breakfast in her suite,” Brenda replied. The waiter was at her side. She ordered her usual generous breakfast of orange juice, cantaloupe, poached eggs hollandaise, sausage and coffee.

It was then that Yvonne Pearson arrived at the table. “I couldn’t bear to be alone any longer,” she explained, her voice breaking. “I wanted to be with friends.” She had worn almost no makeup to accentuate her supposedly grief-stricken appearance. Not having carried any black clothes in her wardrobe, she’d done the next best thing. She was wearing a gray running suit. Her only jewelry was her diamond wedding band. She had slept soundly and knew that she did not portray the exhausted look that would have been most suitable. But as the waiter held her chair for her, she sighed. “I cried all night. All I could think of was my darling Roger falling. If only he had listened to me. I begged him often not to sit on the railing.” She brushed away an imaginary tear as she sat down and picked up the menu.

Brenda nodded sympathetically, but Professor Longworth, a keen student of human nature, saw through the façade. She’s a good actress, he thought. I don’t think those two were happy with each other. It was clear there was tension between them. Roger was always fawning over Lady Em, and Yvonne didn’t hide the fact that she was bored with both of them.

At that moment the Captain’s somber announcement that Lady Em had passed away in her sleep was heard throughout the ship.

Brenda gasped, “Oh no,” stood up and ran from the dining room. “Why didn’t they tell me? Why didn’t they tell me?”

Henry Longworth and Yvonne Pearson exchanged shocked glances and then stared numbly at their plates.

At their table Alvirah, Willy, Anna DeMille and Devon Michaelson reacted to the announcement with disbelief. It was Anna who spoke first. “Two people dead in two days,” she gasped, “and my mother had a saying, ‘Death comes in threes.’ ”

Alvirah was the one who responded. “I’ve heard that too, but I’m sure it’s just an old wives’ tale.”

At least I pray it is, she thought to herself.

56

It had been virtually impossible for Celia to fall asleep. The responsibility of holding the Cleopatra necklace for even a few overnight hours was overwhelming. The fact that Lady Em’s assistant, Brenda Martin, and her financial advisor, Roger Pearson, had probably been stealing from her was sickening. How miserable it must be to be eighty-six years old and realize that people you felt to be both close friends and well-paid employees could treat you like that. It’s such a shame that Lady Em doesn’t have any close relatives, Celia thought.

And neither do I was her next dismal thought. Since the terrible situation had begun, she had started to miss her father more and more. In a crazy way she was resentful that he had never remarried and that she might have had siblings. Half-siblings, she corrected herself, but that would be good enough for me. She knew that only a few of the friends who had invested in Steven’s hedge fund believed that she had been part of his scheme. Nevertheless, almost all of them had been visibly cool to her. The money they had been saving for the new house or condo or to start a family had vanished. Guilt by association, she thought bitterly, as her eyes finally began to close.

The sleep that finally did come had resulted in five hours of deep, heavy slumber. It was nine-thirty when she was finally awakened by the voice of Captain Fairfax. “It is with great regret that we announce the passing of Lady Emily Haywood some time during the night. . . .”

Lady Em is dead! That’s impossible, Celia thought. She sat up and got out of bed, her thoughts racing. Do they know that the Cleopatra necklace is missing? Would they have immediately opened her safe to look for it? What will they think if I just go right to the Captain now, give him the necklace, and explain the circumstances under which Lady Em gave it to me?

As she was thinking the problem through, she began to calm down. By giving the necklace to the Captain, she would show that she is not a thief. What thief would go to the trouble of stealing something and then hours later give it back?

Stop being so paranoid, she told herself. Everything will be fine.

Her thoughts were interrupted by the sound of the phone ringing. It was her lawyer, Randolph Knowles. “Celia, I’m sorry to tell you this. I just spoke to the FBI. They definitely want to interview you as soon as you get back to New York.”

She had barely hung up when the phone rang again. It was Alvirah. “Celia, I didn’t want you to be blindsided. I’ve been watching the morning news. The story in People is being reported already.” She paused. “And you must have heard the Captain’s announcement that Lady Em had passed away.”

“Yes, I did.”

“Of course the Captain didn’t admit it, but it’s all over the news that she was murdered and the priceless Cleopatra necklace is missing.”

When the call ended, Celia drifted to the couch and sat down in stunned silence. Lady Em murdered? she thought. And the necklace missing? She tried to remain calm even as the stunning implications of what that meant for her exploded in her consciousness.

I have the necklace, she thought frantically. I was in Lady Em’s room hours before she died, before she was murdered. Will anyone believe Lady Em gave it to me? With that story in People coming out today with Steven swearing I was in on the hedge fund fraud with him, who would believe that I wouldn’t steal if given the opportunity? Any crooked antiquities dealer would pay a fortune for the necklace, then sell it to one of those private collectors who want a treasure like that for their own satisfaction. Or those incredible emeralds could be sold one by one to jewelers. And who would have the connections to arrange a private sale? As a gemologist who travels the world, I would.

She went to her safe, removed the necklace and gazed at the flawless emeralds. It was hard for her to fathom that she was actively considering whether she should go out on the balcony and toss it into the ocean below.

62

Celia ran for an hour, then showered, dressed and sent for coffee and a muffin. The words “what shall I do?” were swirling through her mind. Suppose I go to the Captain and give him the necklace, she asked herself, will he believe me? And if he doesn’t, will he lock me in the brig? Can I wipe my fingerprints off it and leave it someplace where it would be found? That’s one possibility. But suppose someone sees me or it is caught on camera? What then? Would they be allowed to search the cabins for it? No, if they had done that, they would have already found the necklace in my safe.

Panicked at that thought, Celia looked around the room frantically. She went to the safe, opened it and took out the Cleopatra necklace. She had dressed for her lecture and was wearing a jacket and slacks. The jacket was the flowing style with one wide button at the neck. The slacks had deep pockets. Could she possibly keep the necklace on her person? Her hands trembled as she shoved the bulky piece into the left-hand pocket and ran to the mirror.

There was no bulge showing.

It’s the best I can do, she thought despairingly.

64

Captain Fairfax and John Saunders had answered Morrison’s shouted commands to come to his suite at once. “How did that story leak out?” an apoplectic Morrison demanded. “Who told them what happened?”

“I can only assume that the Man with One Thousand Faces was the source,” Saunders answered.

“How about Dr. Blake? How about the butler?”

Captain Fairfax stiffened but tried not to let his anger show.

“If my life depended on it, I would say that Dr. Blake would never reveal that information. As for Raymond Broad, as I told you, I am not even sure he was aware of the fact that Lady Haywood was the victim of foul play. If I were to make a guess, I would agree with what Mr. Saunders just said. This is likely another example of the Man with One Thousand Faces bragging to the media.”

“Wait a minute. What about that guy, the detective from Interpol? What’s his name?” Morrison said, the creases in his forehead deepening.

“It’s Devon Michaelson, sir,” Captain Fairfax replied.

“Tell him I want him to get up here now. And I mean right now,” Morrison thundered.

Without answering, Fairfax reached for the phone. “Ring me Devon Michaelson’s suite,” he said. Three rings later he picked up. “Mr. Michaelson, this is Captain Fairfax. I’m in Mr. Morrison’s suite. He wants you to come up immediately and meet with him.”

“Of course. I know where it is. I’ll be right there.”

For a long three minutes there was an uncomfortable silence. It was broken when Devon Michaelson tapped on the door and opened it.

Morrison wasted no time on pleasantries. “I hear you’re with Interpol,” he said abruptly. “We’ve had a murder and a piece of priceless jewelry stolen. Weren’t you supposed to prevent that?”

Michaelson did not attempt to hide the anger in his face. “Mr. Morrison,” he said, his tone icy, “I assume you will provide me with the security tapes from the dining area and the hallways leading to where Lady Haywood’s suite is located.”

Captain Fairfax answered, “Mr. Michaelson, you are probably not aware of the situation on most cruise liners. Because we value the privacy of our guests, we do not place cameras in the hallways.”

“Well, that means you are also protecting the privacy of a thief and a murderer. Did it occur to you that with the valuables your guests have in their very expensive suites, it might have been appropriate to have a security guard present at all times?”

“Don’t you tell me how to run my ship,” Morrison snapped. “Guards everywhere! I’m running a luxury liner, not a prison. Now, I’m sure that you are a very fine detective and by now you have solved this case. Why don’t you tell us all what happened?”

Michaelson’s tone was equally icy. “I can tell you that I am taking a very close look at several people.”

“I want to know who they are,” Morrison demanded.

“Experience has taught me to first focus on the individual who found the body. Very often that person is not saying as much as he knows. I am probing further into the background of your butler, Raymond Broad.”

“I assure you that every employee on this ship was thoroughly investigated before being hired,” Saunders insisted.

“I’m sure they were,” Michaelson said. “But I assure you that Interpol’s investigative resources vastly surpass those available to you.”

“Who else?” Morrison asked.

“There are several other passengers whose backgrounds are of interest to me. For now I will share the name of only one. Mr. Edward Cavanaugh.”

“The ambassador’s son?” Fairfax asked with dismay.

“Ted, as he calls himself, Cavanaugh, travels extensively in Europe and the Middle East. I have reviewed his flight records, passport stamps and hotel records. By coincidence or otherwise, he has been in close proximity to the scenes of the Man with One Thousand Faces thefts over the past seven years. And he has openly indicated his interest in the so-called Cleopatra necklace.

“And now having answered your questions, I will take my leave.”

As the door closed behind Michaelson, Captain Fairfax said, “Mr. Morrison, another matter. I have been inundated with calls and emails from the press seeking comment on how Lady Em died and if the Cleopatra necklace has been stolen. How do you want me to reply?”

“We stick to our story that Lady Em died of natural causes, period,” Morrison shot back.

Fairfax asked, “We do know that the Cleopatra necklace is missing. Should we not warn the passengers to be careful with their valuables?”

“Not one word about missing or stolen jewelry,” Morrison snapped. “That’s all.”

The two men took that as a dismissal and left the suite.

Even though it was only ten o’clock in the morning, Gregory Morrison went to the suite bar and poured himself a generous glass of vodka. He was not given to praying, but he was thinking, Dear God, don’t let it be an employee who killed her.

Ten minutes later Morrison received a call from his firm’s public relations office. He was told that in addition to the rumor that Lady Em was murdered and her necklace was stolen, there were news reports saying that because of the story in People, Celia Kilbride was going to be questioned by the FBI again over her involvement in a hedge fund fraud. Since she was a guest lecturer on Queen Charlotte, he and the Captain should be ready to respond to questions from passengers.

“I certainly ought to know,” Morrison barked. He hung up the phone and called for his chief of security to come back to his suite.

When Saunders arrived, in a deadly calm voice, Morrison asked, “Were you aware that one of our lecturers, Celia Kilbride, is under suspicion for being involved in a fraud?”

“No, I was not. The lecturers are booked by the entertainment director. Most of my focus, naturally, is on the passengers and Castle Line employees.”

“When is Kilbride due to lecture again?”

Saunders took out his iPhone, tapped it several times, and replied, “This afternoon in the theater. But it’s not another lecture; it’s a conversation with Mr. Breidenbach, the entertainment director, and she’ll also answer questions from the audience.”

“Well, tell her to forget it. That’s all I need is for people to know that I hired a thief to give a talk on my ship!”

Saunders replied carefully, “Mr. Morrison, I believe it is in our best interests to keep things as normal as possible for the balance of the voyage. Do you realize that if we cancel Ms. Kilbride’s appearance, in addition to disappointing the passengers who are planning to attend, we would be announcing that we suspect her of the theft and murder in Lady Haywood’s suite? Is this what we want to do?”

“She’s a gemologist, isn’t she?”

“Yes, she is.”

“So that means the talk will be about jewelry, right? Has it occurred to you that most of the passengers at the talk will know that Kilbride is being investigated for participating in a swindle?”

“I would say, yes, they’ll know. However, in essence, since we know there was a homicide on board, and the Interpol agent did not mention her, you would also by default be saying that you think she was involved. There could be very unpleasant repercussions. If it turns out she is not guilty, she might come after you for defamation of character. I strongly, strongly suggest that you do not cancel her scheduled presentation.”

Morrison considered. “Okay, if she’s up onstage for an hour, at least I’ll know she’s not in some other old lady’s suite killing her and stealing more jewelry. Leave it as scheduled. I will make it my business to be there to hear her.”

66

Yvonne, Valerie Conrad and Dana Terrace had attended Celia’s lecture. Afterward they went down to the Edwardian Bar for a cocktail. Yvonne had explained to her friends that she simply could not bear to be alone in her suite. “Every moment that I’m in there,” she said, her voice trembling and sad, “I see Roger. And I live again that terrible moment when he leaned back, then raised his arms as he fell. I was at the door of the balcony and I warned him, ‘Roger, please don’t sit on the railing. You’ll fall overboard.’

“He laughed and said, ‘Don’t worry, I’m a good swimmer.’ ” She managed to squeeze a tear out of her right eye.

Valerie and Dana cooed in sympathy. “It must have been so awful for you,” Valerie said. “I can’t imagine anything so horrible,” Dana joined in.

“I’ll have to live with that memory every day of my life,” Yvonne lamented.

“Have you thought about funeral arrangements or a memorial service?” Dana asked.

“I’ve barely been able to think straight,” Yvonne said. “But of course I’ll have a memorial service. I think two weeks from now would be appropriate under the circumstances.” And by then I should have the insurance money, Yvonne thought.

“I heard about the ceremony where the man scattered his wife’s ashes,” Dana said.

“At least he had her ashes to throw over,” Yvonne replied.

“Yvonne, we hope you’re going to be okay,” Valerie said as she patted Yvonne’s hand. “Did Roger have life insurance?”

“Yes, he did, thank God. He had a five-million-dollar policy. But, of course, we have other assets, stocks and bonds.”

“Well, that’s good because I’m pretty sure the insurance company won’t pay right away unless the body is recovered.”

Yvonne hadn’t thought of that potential delay. She made a silent prayer of thanksgiving that Lady Em had been murdered before she was able to order an outside review of her finances.

“Yvonne, it’s much too early to say this, but try to look ahead,” Valerie said. “You’re attractive. You’re young. You don’t have children or other baggage. You’ll be a wealthy widow. I’m sorry about poor Roger, but there is a bright side to all this. If you had been divorced, you would have had to split everything with Roger. This way you get it all.”

“Oh, I never thought of it like that,” Yvonne murmured, as she shook her head.

“We’ll be on the lookout for a suitable guy for you,” Dana promised.

Having settled Yvonne’s future over a second cocktail, they turned their attention to Celia Kilbride.

“That lecture was actually very interesting,” Yvonne said.

“She certainly doesn’t look like anyone who would suffocate an old woman,” Valerie observed. “You were sitting with her, Yvonne. What was your impression of her when you met her with the other people at the table?”

“Pretty quiet, but I guess she has a lot on her mind. I wouldn’t want to be interrogated by the FBI.” And I would be if Lady Em were still alive, she thought. For all I know Roger might have included my name on some of the documents he used to cover the theft. If Celia is the one who killed Lady Em, I say, “God bless her.”

“If Celia has the necklace, what is she going to do with it?” Dana asked. “I mean it’s priceless. But unless she sells it to a Saudi prince, I don’t know who would buy it.”

“My guess is that she’d break it up into individual emeralds,” Valerie chimed in. “She’d get a fortune for every one of them. Don’t forget, she’s in the business. She must know plenty of buyers who wouldn’t question the source.”

The three turned their attention to Ted Cavanaugh. “Beyond handsome,” they agreed.

“And did you notice how he was trying to get close to Lady Em? The first night when Lady Em took a seat at a table, he rushed to get the table next to hers,” Yvonne said. “I was sitting next to Lady Em and I could see that he almost knocked over people to grab the table to our left. He sat with the lottery winners, Devon Michaelson, the bereaved widower who probably had a girlfriend even before his wife’s death, and the church lady from the Midwest . . .” Her voice trailed off.

“What about the Shakespeare guy?” Dana asked.

“The one whose eyebrows keep going up and down,” Valerie suggested as she imitated him with her own eyebrows.

“Exactly,” Dana verified. “I would say he doesn’t look like the type of person who would kill anyone.”

“No, but he sure enjoys talking about murder,” Yvonne insisted. Her voice deepened, “ ‘Out, damn spot! Out, I say! Will all the waters in the ocean wash this blood from my hands?’ Or something like that.”

Dana and Valerie went into gales of laughter. “You do a great Lady Macbeth,” Dana said. “Now, what’s wrong with having another Manhattan cocktail?”

“Absolutely nothing,” Valerie agreed as she signaled for the waiter.

67

Ted Cavanaugh attended the jewelry discussion and was impressed by Celia’s speaking skills as she answered all the questions that were tossed at her. He was also once again aware of the fact that she was a beautiful woman. And he admired her poise as she handled a question about Lady Em’s death.

Everyone in the audience had to have been aware of the People article and its allegation from her former fiancé that she conspired with him on the theft, Ted thought.

After it was over, a number of people in the audience waited to speak with her. As the last one left, Ted got up and stopped Celia near the door. They had exchanged greetings at the cocktail party, but that was all.

He said, “Celia, I hope you remember me from the Captain’s cocktail party. Ted Cavanaugh,” he said, extending his hand. “After all that talking, your throat must be dry. Why don’t we have a glass of wine or a cocktail?”

Celia’s first instinct was to refuse, but she hesitated. She definitely did not look forward to being alone with the constant weight of her thoughts. And the weight of the necklace, she added silently.

“That would be nice,” she answered.

“The Regency Bar is nearest. Why don’t we try it?”

“Sounds fine to me.”

A few minutes later the waiter was placing their drinks on the table. Chardonnay for Celia, vodka on the rocks for Ted.

Ted followed his plan to stay away from raising the topic of Lady Em’s death or the Cleopatra necklace. Instead he asked, “Celia, you must have done a lot of studying to become such a knowledgeable gemologist. Is there a special kind of school that you attended?”

It was an easy question on a safe topic. “I went to England after college and became a fellow at the Gemological Institute of Great Britain. But as one of the professors said, ‘It takes a lifetime to become a master gemologist.’ ”

“How did you become interested in that as a career?”

Ted did not miss the troubled expression on Celia’s face. Celia was recalling that she had had a similar conversation with Professor Longworth only a few days ago, about how she got started in the jewelry business. Was it only a few days? She recalled being uncomfortable then, but for whatever reason she felt comfortable talking to Ted Cavanaugh.

“My father was a gemologist. When I was little, I loved to put jewelry, fake of course, on my dolls. He began to teach me the difference between the fakes and the really good stuff, and how to use a loupe.” Then she added, “He died two years ago. He left me two hundred fifty thousand dollars, which I lost in a scam.”

She looked directly at him. “I read about what happened to you,” Ted admitted.

“Then you know that a lot of people think I was in on the fraud and I helped cheat them out of their hard-earned money.”

“I read the account your ex-fiancé gave to People magazine—”

“It’s a total lie!” Celia said heatedly.

Ted considered, then responded. “If it’s any consolation, I simply can’t envision you as a thief. Or a murderer.” Why am I making a statement like that? he asked himself. Because it’s true, he thought.

“Why would he do this to me?”

“I think the obvious first reason is revenge that you didn’t stick by him. The second obvious reason is that he’s looking for a better plea deal from the U.S. Attorney’s Office. He basically confessed in the article, but he knows they already have the evidence to convict him. He’s telling them that you were involved and he’ll cooperate with them against you. I really think that’s what’s going on.”

“But I was a victim too,” Celia protested.

“I know that, Celia, I know that.”

He went back to a safe subject. “You said that your father was a gemologist and that he died two years ago. How about your mother?”

“She died when I was a baby.”

“Brothers? Sisters?”

“None. My father never remarried. And can you believe I’m angry at him that he didn’t? I would love to have brothers and sisters.”

Ted thought of his own background. His mother and father were still in great shape, and they and his two brothers were a frequent presence in his life. “I’m sure you have a lot of good friends?”

Celia shook her head. “I used to. I’m afraid I lost some very good friends, the ones who invested in Steven’s fund.”

“Surely they don’t blame you?”

“I introduced them to Steven and he has a golden tongue. That doesn’t make me very popular with them. My friends weren’t wealthy. It really hurt them when they lost their money.”

I’ll bet that it hurt you too, Ted thought, but didn’t voice the opinion. Instead he leaned back, took a sip of his drink, looked at Celia. He was sure to his very soul that she was innocent of Lady Em’s murder and that she was not a thief. Her eyes are so sad, he thought. She’s been through so much.

69

Devon Michaelson attended the session with Celia and the entertainment director but only half listened to both the questions and responses. He was still seething from his meeting with Gregory Morrison and the ship owner’s obnoxious follow-up phone call minutes later.

“You’re from Interpol, right?” Morrison had asked.

“Yes, I am.”

“And you’re on this ship specifically to safeguard the Cleopatra necklace?”

“That is true.”

“Well, I must say you’ve done a lousy job. Our most prominent passenger has been murdered and the necklace has been stolen. And it’s obvious you’ve made no progress finding the Man with One Thousand Faces. All this time you were busy throwing ashes over the side of my ship. If you were my employee, I’d fire you.”

“Fortunately, I am not your employee, Mr. Morrison. I work for the best international detective agency in the world. And I might add that under no circumstances would I ever consider working for you.”

When the jewelry presentation was finished, Devon lingered near the door long enough to see Celia leave with Ted Cavanaugh. A romance in the making? he wondered. I don’t care one way or the other. There are less than two days left on the cruise. Before we reach Southampton, I intend to find that necklace. And I’d love to shove it down Morrison’s throat, he thought.

71

When she left Ted Cavanaugh, Celia went straight to her room. She admitted to herself that she had really enjoyed sharing a cocktail with him, but did not want to dwell on it. Instead she was desperate to know what people really thought of her.

She had spotted Yvonne and her two friends in the audience. She could only imagine how Yvonne was feeling. I hope my presentation took her mind off things for a while, Celia thought. She had barely reached the suite when the phone rang. She hoped it was Alvirah, and she was pleased to hear her voice.

“Celia, your presentation was simply wonderful,” Alvirah said. “I thought you were terrific the other day, but you were even better today.”

Take refuge my heart, Celia thought to herself. But she had to admit Alvirah’s compliment made her feel much better.

“I’ve been giving a lot of thought to your situation,” Alvirah continued. “I’d like to come see you in your room.”

“I could use a friend. Come on over.”

She was so used to seeing Alvirah and Willy together that it was a surprise to see Alvirah alone at her door. When she let her in, Alvirah anxiously asked, “Are you sure this isn’t an intrusion? I know you might be tired after your presentation.”

“Frankly, I’m glad to have your company, Alvirah. When I’m alone, I have too much time to think.”

“Well, that makes me feel better,” Alvirah said, as she sat on the couch.

“Celia, Willy and I know perfectly well that there is no way on God’s earth that you ever would or could have harmed Lady Emily or stolen her necklace.”

“Thank you,” Celia murmured. Should I? she asked herself. She decided the answer was yes.

She reached into her pocket and took out the Cleopatra necklace. Seeing the shocked expression on Alvirah’s face, she said, “I didn’t steal it. Lady Em gave it to me. Let me explain what happened.

“Right after I got back to my suite last night, Lady Em phoned and asked me to come to her suite. She told me to bring my loupe, the eyepiece I use to examine jewelry. When I got to her suite, she handed me a bracelet and asked for my opinion regarding how valuable it was. It was easy to see that it was composed of inferior diamonds. It was virtually worthless. When I told Lady Em, she looked terribly sad. She told me that she believed her assistant Brenda had been switching her good jewelry for cheap imitations.

“ ‘But Brenda has been with you for twenty years,’ I said. Lady Em told me that she was very sure of what she was saying, and that Brenda looked extremely uncomfortable when Lady Em told her the jewelry didn’t look right.

“Then she said that she felt so disappointed because she had always been so kind to Brenda and very generous.”

“How sad,” Alvirah sighed.

“That isn’t all,” Celia continued. “Lady Em also told me that she was convinced that Roger Pearson was cheating her. Apparently she told him yesterday that she was planning to have an outside accountant go over all of her affairs, and he looked very distressed.”

“I can understand that,” Alvirah said. “Willy and I heard him shouting at Yvonne the other night when we walked past their suite. He was saying that he could go to prison for twenty years.”

“Alvirah, what do I do about the necklace? Lady Em told me she had decided to do what Ted Cavanaugh asked. When she returned to New York, she would give the necklace to her lawyers and they would turn it over to Ted. Apparently at the cocktail party, the Captain had suggested to Lady Em that she give it to him to keep in his private safe. Last night Lady Em gave it to me and asked me to bring it to the Captain this morning.” Celia shook her head. “I’ve been so afraid to tell anyone that I have it. I’m sure there are plenty of people who already think I’m a thief because of the hedge fund. It will be easy for them to believe that I killed Lady Em and stole the necklace.”

“You’re right,” Alvirah agreed. “But you can’t be walking around with it in your pocket. And it will look terrible for you if someone finds it in your suite.”

“That’s my point,” Celia sighed. “I’m in trouble if I admit having it, and I’m in trouble if I hold on to it.”

“Celia, do you want me to hold it for you? I’ll give it to Willy. Let him be the one carrying it around. It will be safe with him. I can guarantee you that.”

“But what happens when we reach Southampton?” Celia asked. “What will you and Willy do with it then?”

“I have a little time to figure that out,” Alvirah said grimly. “I’m considered a pretty good detective. Let’s see if I can solve this case before we reach Southampton.”

With a sense of being unburdened, Celia picked up the necklace and handed it to Alvirah.

“It is so beautiful,” Alvirah commented, as she put it in her pocketbook.

“It is,” Celia agreed. “I think it is the most beautiful piece of jewelry I have ever seen.”

Alvirah paused, looked at Celia and asked with a smile, “Should I be worried about the Cleopatra curse?”

“No,” Celia said, smiling back at her. “The curse is that ‘whoever takes this necklace to sea, will never live to reach the shore.’ And if the curse was real, poor Lady Em was the victim.”

As she spoke, Celia’s mind was filled with the memory of Lady Em’s troubled, sad face when she told her that her two trusted confidants, Brenda and Roger, had been cheating her.

73

The Man with One Thousand Faces had narrowed down the number of suspects who might have taken the necklace to only one, Brenda Martin. He knew she had a key to Lady Em’s suite. What would be more natural than for her to go there, ostensibly to check on Lady Haywood? It had been obvious that Lady Em was not feeling well when she got up from her final dinner.

As he straightened his tie and started down to dinner, he wondered what he would say to Brenda if he saw her. He was tempted to say, “Brenda, have a good meal. It may very well be your last supper.”

74

Roger did not realize his arms had stopped flailing. He did not hear a voice shouting, “Grab him, he’s sinking!” He did not feel arms go under both his shoulders. He was not aware that he was being pulled up and lifted onto something.

He did not feel a blanket being thrown over him. He was unaware of the sound of an engine starting to roar or that he was being lifted up and hoisted over a railing. In his mind he was beginning to sink. The waves breaking over him were making it impossible to breathe.

He could barely hear the ship’s doctor say, “Take him down to the infirmary. We’ve got to warm him up.”

On those comforting words, Roger drifted off to sleep.

76

One by one, people gathered for a formal dinner. At one table were Professor Longworth, Yvonne, Celia and Brenda. At the table next to theirs Alvirah and Willy, Devon Michaelson, Ted Cavanaugh and Anna DeMille were seated. Conversation at both tables was limited and awkward.

“Acupuncture is wonderful,” Alvirah was telling Cavanaugh. “I don’t know what I’d do without it. Sometimes when I fall asleep, I dream I’m having those little needles stuck in me. And I always wake up feeling better.”

“I can understand that,” Ted told her. “My mother goes for acupuncture to her arthritic hip, and she says it does her a world of good.”

“Oh, your mother has arthritis?” Alvirah exclaimed. “Is she Irish?”

“Her maiden name was Maureen Byrnes. And my father is half-Irish.”

“The reason I ask,” Alvirah said, “is that arthritis is believed to be an Irish disease. My theory is that our Irish ancestors were out in the cold and the rain gathering peat for their fires. The dampness seeped into their DNA.”

Ted laughed. He acknowledged to himself that he found Alvirah both interesting and refreshing.

Anna DeMille did not like to be left out of a conversation for long. “I saw you had a drink with Celia Kilbride,” she told Ted, “and you attended her presentation. I think she’s a very good speaker, don’t you?”

“Yes, I do,” Ted said quietly.

Willy listened to the conversation as his hand went restlessly to his pocket where the Cleopatra necklace was being kept. He was glad not to get into the discussion about acupuncture. Alvirah was always urging him to get it for his back pain. And it was uncomfortable to hear that an obviously smart guy like Ted Cavanaugh had a relative who used it.

Devon Michaelson had been listening with little interest, but then he saw Gregory Morrison walking about, visiting from table to table. Probably telling everybody they have nothing to worry about, he thought.

His attention shifted to the table nearest them. There were only four people there now. He could see that the conversation was stilted. None of them looked happy to be there. Then he noticed that Morrison was on his way to Longworth’s table. He bristled at the sight of him, then acknowledged to himself that he did not easily accept criticism.

Devon strained to hear what was being said, but he could barely pick up a word. An additional diversion was the fact that Anna DeMille had placed her hand over his and was asking him in a tender voice, “Are you feeling better today, Devon dear?”

Gregory Morrison was fully aware that the chairs had been spaced farther apart to make it less obvious that two people were missing from the table he was approaching. Lady Haywood and Roger Pearson, the jerk who had fallen overboard. Neither was a great loss to the human race as far as he was concerned. It seemed appropriate, however, to offer his sympathy to Pearson’s widow, who hardly looked devastated by her loss. He knew crocodile tears when he saw them. He took comfort from the fact that his ship could not be held responsible for the loss of someone who had been stupid enough to sit on the railing. After a few words to Yvonne, he put his hand on Brenda’s shoulder. “I understand that you were Lady Haywood’s trusted companion of twenty years,” he said. And I wonder if you killed her, he added silently to himself.

Brenda’s eyes became moist. “They were the best twenty years of my life,” she said simply. “I’ll miss her forever.”

She must have been left some money by Lady Haywood, Morrison thought. I wonder how much.

“Mr. Morrison,” Brenda said, “in addition to the missing Cleopatra necklace, Lady Em brought a lot of expensive jewelry on this cruise. My understanding is that it was on the floor near her bed when they found her. Are you taking steps to assure that nothing happens to it?”

“I am sure that the Captain and our security chief are following all appropriate procedures.”

Morrison turned away from the table. He saw that Devon Michaelson, Interpol’s Dick Tracy, was at the next table, and steered around it. He spread his charm at other tables, then went back to his seat next to the Captain.

“They all appear to have gotten over the unfortunate incidents,” he told Fairfax, then turned his attention to the smoked salmon on the plate in front of him.

80

Alvirah and Willy, Devon Michaelson, Anna DeMille and Ted Cavanaugh gathered for a quiet breakfast, which turned out to be anything but.

A few minutes after they sat down, Brenda arrived at her table. Yvonne and Professor Longworth were already there. Brenda in her newfound glory, with a red mark from the choking around her neck, had originally planned to have breakfast in her suite. After confirming that she was not seriously injured, Dr. Blake urged her to spend the night in the infirmary. She refused, preferring the privacy of her cabin.

She decided it would be much more interesting to share her near death experience with her fellow passengers in the Queen’s Lounge. She made a point of stroking her neck as she sat down, and then made an audible groan as she swallowed a glass of fresh orange juice. At their exclamations of “What happened to you?” she was happy to tell her table mates the story without sparing a single detail.

“Are you sure you didn’t see the person who assaulted you?” Yvonne asked nervously.

“He must have been hiding in the closet. When I was turned the other way, he attacked me from behind,” Brenda said, holding her hand to her chest at the memory.

“Did you notice anything that might help them figure out who attacked you?” Yvonne asked.

Brenda shook her head. “Not really. Whoever it was, was very strong,” she said.

She doesn’t have a clue, Longworth thought. Very interesting.

Brenda continued. “Whatever he put around my neck, he was going to use it to strangle me. I began to black out. I remember being pushed into the closet. I was fortunate that I had managed to get a finger inside the noose before he started pulling. I struggled at first, but then I decided it would be better to pretend I was blacking out. I was right on the edge of losing consciousness when I felt his grip start to loosen.”

“Oh my God,” Yvonne said.

“Oh my God is right,” Brenda reiterated. “My life started to pass before my—”

Now it was Longworth’s turn to say, “Oh my God—when will this end? Are we all in danger?”

Brenda continued. “But I lay still, barely breathing. He was in my room for a time, doing who knows what. I listened until I heard the sound of the cabin door open and close and whoever did it left.”

By now Yvonne appeared as breathless as Brenda. “What a horrible experience,” she moaned. “Hearing about you struggling to breathe makes me realize how awful it must have been for my darling Roger.”

To Longworth Brenda looked clearly annoyed that the focus on her fifteen minutes of fame was momentarily shared by another person’s misfortune.

Brenda continued. “To make a long story short—”

Way too late for that, Longworth sighed to himself.

“I survived, and I am alive to tell the tale. And it wasn’t until this morning that on top of everything else, I realized my very valuable necklace is missing.”

Sensing she had lost her audience, Brenda finished eating quickly, walked over to the next table, sat down and began massaging the bruises on her neck.

She appeared delighted that Alvirah and Willy and Ted Cavanaugh were particularly concerned as she recounted her harrowing adventure. On the other hand Anna DeMille sighed, “In a way I’m jealous of you. I could just imagine being in that circumstance.” She turned to Devon and put her hand on his arm. “I would hope that you would be the one to rescue me,” she said sweetly.

Ted stayed only a few minutes before excusing himself. That was when he murmured to Alvirah, “I have to call a client in France, but then I want to check on Celia.”

“Good idea,” Alvirah confirmed.

A few minutes later Brenda glanced around and spotted Yvonne’s Hamptons friends. Massaging her neck and wincing as she walked, she headed directly for their table.

Alvirah swallowed her last gulp of coffee and said, “Willy, let’s take a walk on the deck.”

Willy looked out the window. “It’s pouring, honey,” he said.

Alvirah followed his glance. “Oh, it is. You’re right. Let’s go upstairs instead. I want to phone and check on Celia.”

82

Gregory Morrison watched as Captain Fairfax and his chief security officer entered his room. He looked at them and past them. “Where’s Inspector Clouseau from Interpol?” he demanded. “I said I wanted him here as well.”

“I asked Mr. Michaelson to join us,” Captain Fairfax said nervously. “But he told me he had absolutely no intention of coming here to be humiliated by you.”

“You weren’t supposed to ask him to come. I told you to tell him to come.” Morrison sighed. “Forget it, he’s useless anyhow.”

Morrison paced around his suite as he spoke. “That cow Brenda Martin is running all over the dining room showing her swollen neck to anyone who will give her the time of day. Don’t you people realize that all the passengers will be afraid of being in their rooms alone?”

He looked John Saunders squarely in the eye. “Can you give me any good reason why I should keep paying you? After a passenger is murdered and her jewelry stolen, why didn’t it occur to you to have someone in the hallway to stand guard?”

Saunders had taught himself to overlook Morrison’s constant jibes. “May I remind you, Mr. Morrison, we agreed to try to keep things on board as normal as possible. Armed guards in the hallways outside the passengers’ suites is not normal. I specifically recall your saying that we are not running a prison.”

“I suppose you’re right,” Morrison said grudgingly.

Captain Fairfax took over. “Frankly, Mr. Morrison,” he said firmly, “we should be focusing on how we are going to respond to this latest,” he paused, “incident. It had not been picked up by the news sites before I came up here, but—”

Morrison rummaged in his pocket and found his phone. He tapped in the name of the ship. “Just what I was afraid of,” he snarled. “The first headline is ‘Another Passenger Attacked on Queen Charlotte?’ ”

Morrison continued to read. “Can you believe this? They’re already referring to the ship as the twenty-first-century Titanic.”

No one spoke.

“My ship,” Morrison added, his voice breaking. “Now, you two get out of here and make sure nothing else happens before we reach port.”

Captain Fairfax and John Saunders nodded and left the room. Morrison settled down into a comfortable chair, tapped his phone and looked at the emails from his office. There was one from his chief financial officer ten minutes earlier saying that thirty passengers who were scheduled to board the ship in Southampton had canceled their reservations.

He got up immediately and went to the bar. This time he chose Johnny Walker Blue and filled his glass. As he sipped, his thought was, That was before what happened to Brenda Martin. I wonder how much I will have to pay for her sore throat.

83

Ten hours after he fell asleep, Roger Pearson opened his eyes. I’m alive, I’m alive, he thought. He was aware that he was breathing through a ventilator tube and that his forehead felt hot when he touched it. But I think I’m going to be okay.

He glanced to the side and saw that a man in a white doctor’s coat was asleep in the reclining chair next to his bed. He realized that was just as well. He wanted to give his name and say that he had gone overboard from Queen Charlotte. He had a very clear memory of the maniacal expression on Yvonne’s face as she charged at him and with all her strength shoved him backwards. He certainly intended to let her know that he was very aware of what she had done, but he was not ready to share what happened with whoever on this ship was going to ask him questions.

Roger closed his eyes and gave in to his sense of being blissfully warm and tucked into heavy blankets. As long as I live, I’ll never go swimming again, he thought, as the memory of being freezing cold, and trying to spit out the salty water, flooded his mind.

84

“Willy, we’ve got to put our heads together,” Alvirah said firmly, even as she grasped his arm to balance herself against the rolling ship.

“Steady, honey, I’ve got you,” Willy said calmly, while holding Alvirah’s arm with one hand and the railing with the other.

“Let’s go into one of the quiet rooms,” Alvirah suggested. “We need to talk.”

“I thought you wanted to walk.”

“No, I don’t. You never know if someone might be able to hear us.”

“I think we’re the only ones out here, but okay.”

They settled in the English Tea Room and ordered cups of coffee. When she was sure that the waiter was back in the kitchen with the door closed, Alvirah whispered, “Willy, we have to figure all this out now.”

Willy took a deep, satisfying sip. “Honey, I’m more worried about what to do with this darn necklace than I am about anything else.”

“Don’t worry. We’ll figure that out,” Alvirah said confidently. “But let’s consider what we know so far. Somebody killed poor Lady Em and tried to rob her. We know her killer didn’t get the Cleopatra necklace because she had given it to Celia. And we know that just before she died, Lady Em told Celia that Roger Pearson, God rest him, and Brenda Martin were cheating her.”

Willy nodded. “I believe every word of what Celia said, don’t you?”

“Of course. If Celia was guilty, why would she have given us the necklace?” Alvirah paused. “But that isn’t the point.”

“Then what is?”

“Oh Willy, it’s as plain as the nose on your face. Whoever killed Lady Em was going after the necklace. And when he or she didn’t get it, the killer decided that Brenda had it and went after her.”

“He or she?” Willy asked.

“Of course, it could be either one. And you know who my bet is?” It was a rhetorical question. “I put my money on Yvonne.”

“Yvonne?”

“Willy, let’s put aside for the moment this Man with One Thousand Faces. Nobody’s even sure if he’s on the ship. Let’s focus on Yvonne. Look at the way she’s been all over the ship since her husband fell—or was pushed—over.”

Willy’s brow creased. “You mean you think Yvonne pushed Roger overboard?”

“I don’t say I believe it, but it’s entirely possible. I mean, look at her. She didn’t miss a breakfast. She’s been hanging around with her two Hamptons friends. I’ve been keeping an eye on them, and I’ll tell you this, Yvonne is no brokenhearted widow. I mean, how would you feel if I fell overboard?”

“It never would have happened,” Willy said firmly. “First of all, I wouldn’t have let you sit on the railing. And second, I would have grabbed you as you started to fall. And if I couldn’t stop you from falling, I’d have gone over too so I could help you.”

Alvirah’s eyes softened. “I know you would, and that’s why I love you so much,” she said. “But I have to say that Yvonne isn’t the only one I have my eye on. Who else? Anna DeMille—”

Willy interrupted. “The one who tells the stupid joke about not being related to Cecil B. DeMille?”

“Exactly. I think she’s harmless.”

“I agree,” Willy said as he finished his coffee. “She’s too busy trying to land Devon Michaelson to get involved with killing somebody for a necklace.”

“Agreed. Scratch her off the list. Now let’s talk about the other people at our two tables. There’s Professor Longworth.”

“The Shakespeare scholar.” Willy shook his head. “I don’t know about him. He strikes me as a little odd, but not the killer type. But what about Ted Cavanaugh? He was certainly trying to cozy up to Lady Em.”

“Yes, he was,” Alvirah agreed. “But somehow I can’t picture him killing Lady Em. And why would he do it? Celia said that Lady Em was planning to give the Cleopatra necklace to the museum in Cairo.”

“That’s what Cavanaugh wanted, but did he know that at the time Lady Em was killed?”

Alvirah shook her head dismissively. “Celia probably didn’t tell him, because it would have meant admitting that she saw Lady Em the night before she died. I’m pretty sure we’re the only ones Celia trusted with that information. But I just don’t believe Cavanaugh would kill anyone. He’s from such a nice family. I mean his father was an ambassador twice.”

“A lot of people from nice families turn out to be killers,” Willy commented.

Alvirah ignored that possibility. “Let’s think about it. Who else has been at our tables?”

“Devon Michaelson?”

“Oh, of course, he could be the one, but somehow I don’t think so. I mean, he was on this ship to scatter his wife’s ashes, poor soul. He probably spends most of his time hiding from Anna DeMille. Let’s get back to Professor Longworth. He travels a lot. He’s a regular speaker on these cruises, just as Celia is.”

“Except that Longworth is retired. Celia has a full-time job at Carruthers.”

“She hopes she has a full-time job. She doesn’t know what’s going to happen because that miserable former fiancé of hers has been trying to portray her as a thief.”

“Well, he’ll have no luck, I’m sure of that.”

“He may have no luck tying her to his fraud, but that hasn’t stopped him from making Celia’s life miserable.”

“And honey, I’m getting worried. What are we going to do with this necklace when we get to Southampton or when we fly home?” As he spoke, Willy fumbled in his pants pocket but then was reassured when his fingers touched the emerald necklace.

“We get home, call Ted Cavanaugh and turn the necklace over to him.”

“And how do we explain that we have it?”

“I’m still working on that,” Alvirah said. “Giving the necklace to Ted is what Lady Em wanted. Ted is right. It belongs to the people of Egypt. Cleopatra was their queen.”

“A lot of luck it brought her.” Willy stared at his empty cup but knew Alvirah would not want him to signal the waiter back.

“I still have questions about Yvonne,” Alvirah reflected, “but think about it this way: someone will do anything, even kill, to get that necklace, agreed?”

“Agreed,” Willy echoed.

“That someone killed Lady Em and tried to kill Brenda, but still didn’t get the necklace.”

“That makes sense, at least as far as we can figure it so far.”

“The Captain could have announced that the necklace was secure in his safe, but he hasn’t done that. What does that tell the killer?”

“That somebody else, one of the passengers, has it.”

“So if you’re the killer, whether you’re somebody we know on the ship or this Man with One Thousand Faces, and you’re trying to figure out who has the necklace, and you know it wasn’t Lady Em or Roger or Brenda, who would you guess has it?”

“Celia Kilbride,” Willy said promptly.

“That’s the way my mind is going,” Alvirah confirmed. “There’s no question that with the killer still on the loose, Celia is in grave danger.”

She looked down and realized she had only swallowed a few sips of her coffee. Resisting the urge to grab it, she pushed it over to Willy. “I’ve been watching you staring at your empty cup. You could use a little more.”

“Thank you,” Willy said, as he eagerly reached for the cup.

“Willy, it’s up to you and me to make sure that nothing happens to Celia before we get to Southampton.”

“If we get to Southampton,” Willy said, as they felt a particularly dramatic roll of the ship.

Day Six

91

Ted and Celia had both gone back to their cabins to pack. Their luggage had to be outside their rooms by ten o’clock that evening. Ted had waited until he heard the metallic sound of her double lock being turned before he went to his room.

At 7 P.M. he escorted Celia to the dining room, but she turned down his suggestion that she join his table. “Oh Ted, you know how they discourage table hopping on these cruises. If I want to keep lecturing, I have to follow the rules. And besides, we’ll barely be six feet apart.”

Reluctantly Ted agreed, but as he sat down he realized he was viewing his fellow passengers at both tables as if with a different set of eyes. He glanced warmly at Alvirah and Willy, knowing that Celia trusted them. He knew now that Willy had the Cleopatra necklace, probably in his pocket, and it was surely safe with him. Willy was a big, strong man, with well-muscled forearms. Anyone who tried to steal something from him would have quite a fight on his hands.

He eliminated Anna DeMille from consideration. She certainly looked the part of someone who was going on her first cruise. She had won a church raffle. It was her first trip abroad. If the Man with One Thousand Faces was a woman, she was the last person on the ship he would suspect.

Devon Michaelson? Unlikely, he thought. I believe his story about being here to scatter his wife’s ashes. And the way he’s trying to resist Anna’s overtures is consistent with a grieving widower.

Having satisfied himself with his tablemates, he glanced at the next table. He knew immediately that he did not like Gregory Morrison. He may own the ship, he thought, but it must have cost a fortune to build. Lady Em’s necklace would be a big prize for him to get. Of course, nobody could risk trying to sell it. But every one of those three-strand emeralds would bring him a fortune on the jewelry market.

As he thought about it more, Ted wondered if for Morrison, having the Cleopatra necklace, just like having this ship, would be one more larger-than-life trophy. Even hidden from view, to Morrison the necklace would be an affirmation of his success in the world. He could indeed have anything he wanted, and would do anything to get it.

Morrison could definitely be a suspect. Also, Ted did not like the way the ship owner moved his chair nearer to Celia’s.

What about Yvonne? If Lady Em had threatened an outside review of Roger Pearson’s handling of her affairs, it was quite possible that she too would have been found complicit in his bilking of the estate.

She’s not brilliant, Ted decided, but she is smart enough and maybe vicious enough to protect herself any way she can.

Brenda Martin? No. She couldn’t have choked herself, and what would have been the point? Celia already had the Cleopatra necklace.

Professor Longworth? Of course, a possibility, but not much of a probability. Ted knew that he traveled widely, giving lectures at top universities as well as on cruise ships all over the world. Including Egypt. But he was definitely someone to keep in mind.

Ted’s eyes shifted to the Captain’s table. What about Fairfax? He moved easily all over the world, and he had been the one to urge Lady Em to turn the necklace over to him. Was he upset when she turned him down? Upset enough to kill her? On the other hand, if she had given it to him, he would have had no good way to refuse to give it back to her or her estate. So he wasn’t much of a bet to be the murderer and thief.

Dissatisfied with his own reckoning, Ted turned his attention back to the table. He noticed that, as usual, Anna DeMille was brushing her arm against Michaelson. Dear God, but she is a pest, Ted thought. Poor Michaelson. If Anna DeMille goes overboard, he will be on the short list of suspects.

In an attempt to contribute to the conversation Ted asked, “I am sure everyone is packed by now?”

“We are,” Alvirah announced.

“So am I,” Anna volunteered. “Although I have to say I had tears in my eyes when I closed the suitcase and thought that I may never see any of you again.” Her comment was clearly addressed to Devon Michaelson, who flushed an angry red.

Alvirah tried to break the tension. “We’d love to keep in touch with you, Anna.” Ignoring Willy’s look of dismay, she pulled out a sheet of paper from her purse and scribbled their email address on it. For a moment she hesitated, then decided to skip putting their home address and phone number. Willy is at the end of his patience with me, she thought.

The final evening meal was exquisite. They all agreed on that. Once again it was a caviar appetizer; fillet of sole or roast beef; a salad; cheesecake and ice cream with mixed berries in a liquor sauce; coffee, espresso, cappuccino or tea.

The wine flowed with each course. Ted found himself remembering fondly the grilled cheese, bacon and tomato sandwich at lunch. I don’t want any more gourmet food for at least a year, he thought.

Willy’s comment was along the same lines. “Back to the gym the minute we reach New York,” he said firmly.

“Me too,” Alvirah sighed. “I doubt if I’ll fit back into my fancy clothes for a while. And I was doing so good on my diet.”

Anna DeMille sighed. “I don’t get food anything like this in Kansas.” She glanced lovingly at Devon. “How’s the food in Montreal?”

Devon appeared increasingly frustrated that once again he was being put in a position of either appearing to be rude or having to participate in a conversation he had no interest in.

“Montreal is a very cosmopolitan city. You can find almost any type of food there.”

“I’m sure you can. I’ve always wanted to visit there. When I looked on my computer this morning, I was pleasantly surprised to see that there are direct flights from Kansas City to Montreal.”

At the next table the dinner was drawing to a close. Morrison had no intention of staying all evening, but he was becoming increasingly intrigued by Celia. He had figured out who she looked like. Jackie Kennedy, of course. One of the most beautiful and intelligent women who had ever set foot in the White House.

As they finished coffee, he said, “Celia, I go back and forth to my office in New York. As you can understand, I can’t stay on the ship for the entire three-month around-the-world sail. I do hope that I may have the pleasure of having you dine with me very soon in Manhattan or having you join me for vacations on my ship.”

Ted had overheard and in an instant was standing behind Celia’s chair. For the benefit of Morrison and all others within hearing distance, he asked, “Ready to go, dear?”

Her smile answered his question. As if a silent signal had been passed, everyone stood up and said good night. Since it was going to be a very early morning, there was no suggestion of having a final nightcap.

92

“That guy was trying to hit on you,” Ted said, his mouth in an angry, tight line.

“He sure was,” Willy chimed in as he pushed the button for the elevator. “Just because he owns this ship, what makes him think he has any right to start rubbing your arm?”

“He’s a disgrace,” Alvirah said firmly, but her mind was elsewhere.

As they started down the corridor to their rooms, she turned to Celia. “I have to say that I am very nervous about your being alone,” she began. “As we all know, someone managed to get into Lady Em’s room and Brenda’s room as well. And I bet my bottom dollar that whoever is looking for the Cleopatra necklace has figured out that Lady Em gave it to you.”

“I absolutely agree,” Ted said emphatically. “Now, what do we do about it?”

“I put my thinking cap on, and I have a great idea,” Alvirah volunteered. “Celia, you should come in with me, and Willy can sleep in your room. I can tell you this right now. Nobody is going to suffocate or strangle Willy.”

“I think that’s an excellent idea,” Ted agreed.

Celia shook her head. “No way. We’re all stressed out. I’m not going to have Willy lying awake most of the night and Alvirah worrying about him. I promise I’ll put the chain on my door. No one’s going to get in with it on.”

It was apparent to Alvirah, Willy and Ted that there would be no persuading Celia to change her mind. Alvirah and Willy were three doors down from Ted. Celia was three more down from Ted and across the hall. When Willy and Alvirah said good night, Ted walked Celia to her room.

“Celia, I’m so worried about you,” he said. “Would you let me curl up on the big chair in your sitting room?”

Celia shook her head. “Thank you, but no.”

“I thought that would be your answer,” Ted said. “But I insist on going in and making sure your room is safe. When you lock that door, I want to be one hundred percent certain that you are the only one inside.”

Celia nodded as she inserted the electronic key in the lock. Ted went in ahead of her. “Wait here, please,” he said as he walked quickly across the room and pulled open the closet doors. She watched as he entered the bedroom area, opened the doors of the armoire and got down on one knee and looked under the bed. He then slid open the glass door to the balcony, went outside and looked around.

“I’m glad I left the suite neat or this could have been really embarrassing,” Celia said.

“Celia, please. This is no time for jokes. I want to ask you one last time—”

Celia shook her head. “I really appreciate the offer, but no. We all have to get up early and then we’ll be herded off the ship. I promise if someone tries to come into my room, I’ll scream like a banshee.”

“That doesn’t make me feel any better,” Ted said. “In Irish folklore a banshee is a spirit in the form of a woman who appears to a family and wails when someone is about to die.”

“I thought I was the expert on legends,” Celia said with a smile. “I’ll be fine, Counselor.”

“You’re very stubborn,” Ted said as he put his arms around her. To his dismay he realized how thin and fragile she seemed. He was sure that the stress of her ex-fiancé’s arrest and the accusations against her had caused her to lose weight.

“Okay. You win,” Ted said. “I want to hear you double lock the door.”

“Right now, immediately,” Celia promised. With a quick kiss on her forehead, Ted pulled the door closed behind him and stood there until he heard the faint rattle of the chain sliding into place.

For a moment he stayed outside the door as every instinct told him not to leave. But then, with a sigh, he turned, went down the corridor to his room and stepped inside.

93

In his usual way Willy fell into a deep sleep the minute he shed his clothes and got into bed. His T-shirt and boxers were always his chosen night garments, despite Alvirah’s gifts of pajamas and robes. These gifts were promptly exchanged for shirts and chinos.

Alvirah’s nightwear was a comfortable long-sleeved nightgown. A cotton robe was always placed at the foot of the bed. Her glasses were always in one of the pockets as well as a bottle of Tylenol in case her increasing arthritis threatened her rest.

Like Willy, she fell asleep quickly. Unlike him, she awoke a few hours later. With a start, she realized that her usual secure and comfortable position, her shoulder wedged over Willy’s, was not working.

She was on edge, troubled, deeply worried about Celia. Why wouldn’t she come in here and stay with me? she fretted. Suppose someone got into her room? Brenda is a big strong woman, but she had been overpowered by whoever broke into her room. What chance would Celia have in a struggle?

And so it went. The first soft whistle of Willy’s snore, usually a source of comfort, did little to reassure her.

95

A few hours later Alvirah awakened with a start. She felt her heart racing as she tried to calm herself after dreaming about Celia. There’s no way I’m going to fall back to sleep, she thought, as she pulled on her robe and went into the outer room of her suite.

Not quite sure why, she opened the door to the hallway. The soft light made her eyes blink. I should go down to Celia’s room, knock on her door and make sure she’s okay, she thought. A glance at her watch made her feel foolish. All Celia needs to really scare her to death is my banging on her door at three-thirty in the morning. I should mind my own business and go back to bed.

She was in the process of closing her door when she heard it. A sound of metal snapping came down the hallway from the direction of Celia’s room. Were her ears playing tricks on her? A few moments later she heard a muffled scream. It was over almost as fast as it had begun, but she felt sure she knew what it was.

She was about to go wake up Willy when she changed her mind. Ted can get there faster, she thought, as she raced down the hall, and started banging on Ted’s door. “Ted, get up. Celia’s in trouble.”

Ted jumped at the first sound, raced to the door in his pajamas and threw it open. Alvirah was in the hallway looking terrified. “I heard a noise from Celia’s room.” Ted didn’t wait for her to finish her explanation. He sprinted down the hall in the direction of Celia’s suite.

Alvirah’s first instinct was to follow him. But then she stopped, hurried back into her room, went over to the bed and shook Willy. “Willy, Willy, wake up. Celia needs us. Come on, Willy, get up.” As a dazed Willy pulled on the pants he had laid out for the next morning, Alvirah breathlessly explained what she had heard. She then called security and asked them to send help.

In a heavy sleep, Celia had been vaguely aware of a sound coming from the hallway. The metallic click of wire cutters severing the chain lock on her door had integrated itself into a dream she was having about when she was a little girl in a playground with her father. By the time she recognized the sounds of footsteps growing closer, the intruder was already upon her. She managed a brief scream before a strong hand held a cloth over her mouth. Struggling to breathe, she looked up to see a stranger’s face hovering over her. In the stranger’s other hand a pistol was pointed at her forehead.

“Make another sound and you’ll join your friend Lady Em. Do you understand?” Although terrified, Celia nodded her head in agreement. She felt the pressure on the cloth over her mouth ease, only to be replaced by something cool and sticky over her lips and chin. It was some type of tape. Unlike when the cloth had covered her nose, she was now able to breathe freely. She had no idea who her attacker was, but she thought there was something vaguely familiar about his voice.

He started speaking again as he tied her hands in front of her, and then her feet. When he spoke, his voice was surprisingly calm and measured. “Celia, it’s up to you, whether or not you die tonight. Give me what I want and your friends will find you here safe in the morning. If you want to live, tell me where the Cleopatra necklace is. And I’m warning you, don’t lie to me. I know you have it.”

Celia nodded her head. She was desperate to buy time so that—so that what? Nobody even knew she was in trouble. I can’t tell him Willy has it. He’ll kill him and Alvirah.

She yelped in pain as he pulled off the masking tape. “Okay, Celia, where is the necklace?”

“I don’t know. I don’t have it. I’m sorry, I don’t know.”

“That’s really too bad, Celia. You know there’s an old expression. There’s nothing like fear to help the mind focus.”

The masking tape was slapped back down over her mouth. Strong arms yanked her out of her bed and dragged her toward the balcony door. Keeping one arm around her waist, he opened the door and pushed her out onto the balcony. It was cold and windy. She began to shiver. He hoisted her up into a sitting position on the railing and leaned her over the dark ocean some sixty feet below. His grip on the rope around her hands was the only thing that prevented her from falling.

“All right, Celia, I’m going to ask you one more time who has the necklace,” he said as he ripped the tape from her mouth. “If you still don’t know, I’ll believe you. But then there won’t be any point to my holding on to this rope.” He loosened his grip and allowed her to fall a little before pulling her back. Celia felt waves of nausea and terror wash over her.

“So what’ll it be, Celia? Who has the necklace?”

“She doesn’t have it,” Ted shouted as he plunged through the door and raced onto the balcony. “Get her down off that railing now!”

The intruder and Ted glared at each other, less than five feet separating them. One hand held the rope that kept Celia from falling; the other held the pistol which now was pointed at Ted’s chest.

“Okay, you want to be a hero, where is the necklace?”

“I don’t have it, but I can get it,” Ted said.

“You’re not going anywhere. Get down on your knees. Put your hands behind your head. NOW!”

Ted complied, never taking his eyes off Celia. Although Celia’s feet were tied together, he noticed that she had managed to hook her one foot behind the post beneath her.

“All right, Mr. Cavanaugh, tell me where the necklace is, or the little lady goes for a swim.”

“Wait,” Alvirah yelled as she opened the door and she and Willy raced onto the balcony. “He doesn’t have it. It’s in our room,” Alvirah said. “Free Celia, and we’ll take you to it.”

As Alvirah was speaking, Willy’s hand reached into his pants pocket. He felt the Cleopatra necklace he had hidden there the previous evening and slipped it out of his pocket.

“Is this what you’re looking for?” Willy shouted, as he dangled it in front of the intruder, whose eyes focused on the treasure. Willy briefly made eye contact with Ted, who nodded. It was a chance they had to take. “You must really want this a lot if you’re willing to kill people for it. Here, take it.”

Willy flipped the necklace high in the air toward the intruder, whose only chance to save it from going over the side of the ship was to use his hand that held the pistol. As he reached for it, he released his grip on the rope that held Celia atop the railing. She started to go over backwards, her foot hooking the post, momentarily slowing her fall.

Ted, Alvirah and Willy sprang into action. Ted leapt up, reached over the railing and grabbed Celia’s arms. The momentum of her fall started to drag him over the railing. Alvirah grabbed hold of Ted’s legs and held on for dear life.

Willy had moved immediately when the intruder’s attention was on catching the necklace. In the time it took for Willy to move across the balcony, the thief had caught the necklace and was bringing his arm with the pistol back in Willy’s direction. With a mighty swipe, Willy smacked the intruder’s hand. The pistol fired, narrowly missing Willy’s head. The pistol and the necklace clattered to the balcony floor. Willy grabbed the intruder’s arms.

Ted was straining every muscle in his body to hold on to Celia. His waist was on the balcony railing as he had broken the momentum of her fall. He had stopped her from falling, but didn’t have the strength to pull her back to the height of the railing. A moment later he felt Alvirah’s strong grip on his legs, holding him from toppling over.

“Ted, let go,” Celia screamed. “You’ll fall. You’ll fall.” Desperately she tried to free her hands from his grip.

Willy and the intruder were glaring at each other. Without his pistol, the intruder was no match for the burly ex-plumber. When Willy glanced at Alvirah and Ted struggling to save Celia, he released his hold on the intruder, who ran off the balcony and through the door.

Ted could feel his upper body slipping farther over the rail. Willy rushed to the railing, reached his long arms over and grabbed Ted’s elbows. “Pull her and I’ll pull you,” he said. With a final desperate effort he was able to pull Ted back toward the balcony. A moment later he and Ted hoisted Celia over the rail. The three of them fell along with Alvirah onto the floor of the balcony, exhausted and gasping for breath.

The intruder knew he needed to make it the short distance back to his room and he would be safe. He was confident that no one would be able to identify him. The wig, beard and jacket he had worn would quickly be tossed into the ocean below.

He pulled open the door to the hallway and froze. Chief of Security John Saunders was holding a pistol that was aimed at his forehead. He dragged him out into the hallway, where Captain Fairfax and Gregory Morrison, both in Queen Charlotte bathrobes, held his arms behind his back as Saunders snapped a pair of handcuffs around his wrists and pushed him back into the room.

Ted, his arm around Celia, and Willy, his arm around Alvirah, were staggering into the room.

“Is anyone hurt?” Saunders asked.

It was Ted who answered. “No, I think we’re all okay.”

“I’m sorry it took us a few extra minutes to get here,” Saunders said. Turning to Alvirah he added, “When you phoned security, we mistakenly believed the robbery was taking place in your room. We went there first.”

“Sorry,” Alvirah said. “It’s an old habit to give my room number first when I’m calling.”

Willy helped Alvirah into a chair and then moved menacingly across the room at the intruder. “I don’t take kindly to anyone pointing a gun at my wife,” he said, as his hand shot forward.

The intruder braced himself for the expected blow from Willy’s huge fist. But Willy’s hand stopped short, grabbed hold of the intruder’s beard and gave it a hard yank. A yelp of pain followed as the beard was detached from his face.

After throwing the beard to the floor, Willy grabbed a handful of the intruder’s hair and pulled. The wig became detached. Everyone in the room stared at the face of the unmasked assailant.

Willy spoke first. “Well, if it isn’t the poor widower who came to scatter his wife’s ashes. You’re damn lucky I don’t scatter you over the Atlantic Ocean.”

It was Morrison’s turn next, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “Why, it’s Inspector Clouseau from Interpol. I knew you were useless. My Queen Charlotte has a lovely brig. You will be its first guest.”

96

For a moment there was dead silence as Morrison, Saunders and Captain Fairfax shoved Devon Michaelson out of the room. Then as Willy closed the door, Alvirah went to the closet and pulled out a Queen Charlotte bathrobe. “Celia, you’re freezing. Let’s wrap you in this.”

Celia let her arms be pushed into it, then felt the sash being tied around her waist. She realized that she must still be in some level of shock. The memory of trying to hold on to the railing with her foot as she felt herself going backwards kept replaying in her mind. It was all over, she had thought, before Ted’s arms grabbed hers and saved her from falling. She recalled the feeling of the cold wind against her face and arms, and the ominous sense that she was going to die. Trying to shake the memory, she looked from Alvirah to Willy to Ted.

“I can thank the three of you that I’m not in the ocean,” she said. “It’s only because of you that I’m not trying to swim to Southampton.”

“We’d never let that happen,” Alvirah said firmly. “And now we all better get back to bed.” She and Willy headed for the door.

Ted closed it behind them.

“This time I’m not taking no for an answer. And something else.” He put his arms around Celia. “Will you please tell me why you were trying to get your hands out of mine?” he asked.

“Because I didn’t want you to fall. I couldn’t let you fall. I put all of you in danger and—”

Ted stopped her with a kiss. “We’ll finish this conversation later. Now, let’s get you into bed. You’re still trembling.” He guided her into the bedroom, and after she lay down, he tucked the blankets over her.

“I’m pushing the easy chair against the door and sleeping in it until it’s time for us to leave. I don’t trust them to hold on to that guy until you’re off the ship.”

Celia realized how glad she was to not be alone. “No objection, Counselor,” she murmured as her eyes began to close.

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This book is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real places are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, and events are products of the author's imagination, and any resemblance to actual events or places or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

Copyright © 2017 by Nora Durkin Enterprises, Inc.

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First Simon & Schuster hardcover edition April 2017

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Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data has been applied for.

ISBN 978-1-5011-3111-0

ISBN 978-1-5011-3113-4 (ebook)

Table of Contents

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