Granny on Board Read online

  I needed to find out what she was going to say.

  Unfortunately, in my role as the jealous girlfriend trying to keep her from Octavian, I couldn’t have a private chat with her without her being on her guard.

  I’d have to get Octavian to do it.

  Poor man. I’m sure this wasn’t what he was thinking when he invited me on a cruise.

  Eleven

  It turned out Octavian had exceeded my expectations. He showed up at my cabin shortly after I got back.

  “So, what happened with you and Fiona?” I asked after I let him in, checking that no one else was in the hallway and saw him enter.

  Octavian reddened. “She’s just as bad as Lauren. She’s just as bad as all of them. Why in the world did these Gorgons decide to befriend us if all they wanted to do was split us apart?”

  “Because we were convenient targets and looked happy. If we hadn’t been in this wing, they would have found a different set of victims.”

  “Well, we’re not going to be victims,” he said with a frown. “We’re going to hunt down whoever murdered that poor woman and have her brought to justice. That should break up their little coven.”

  “My my, you’re acting like quite the crusader.”

  “They insulted me, Barbara, thinking their very dubious charms could pull me away from you. And they insulted you by trying.”

  “So, um, what happened?”

  Octavian stood a little straighter. “Nothing happened. I’m not that kind of guy.”

  I laughed. “You’re adorable. No, I mean what did she say?”

  “Oh, well that’s where it gets interesting. Besides trying to take you from me, she started giving me all sorts of dirt on Brenda. That surprised me. I figured she’d try to undercut Lauren since Lauren had made a play for me before Fiona did. But it’s a game for them, as you say. It’s not about getting me; it’s about hurting us. Well, there’s a rivalry between Fiona and Brenda. That sure isn’t any game.”

  “What kind of rivalry?” I asked, taking two cans of tomato juice out of the minibar. We both could use it after all the booze we’d been guzzling with our new fake friends.

  “A petty one, of course, but nasty all the same. Fiona and Brenda each claim to have come up with the name for their bowling team. I gather it was one of the few times one of Georgina’s followers came up with an idea that Georgina really liked.”

  “And whoever did would be second hen in the pecking order.”

  “She would indeed, but the problem is both make the claim, and nobody else in the group is coming down on one side or the other.”

  “Not even Georgina?”

  “Nope. Turns out one of them came up with the name while they were all having a late-night boozer, and everyone was too drunk to remember whose idea it was.”

  “Maybe Fiona and Brenda don’t remember either.”

  “That’s entirely likely. They’ve dug in, though, and each is trying to convince everyone else. Lauren told me the rest of them are sick of it and worry it’s going to tear the group apart. That’s why they’re all staying neutral.”

  “Too bad. That group deserves to be torn apart.”

  “I also had a little powwow with Lauren and learned what she was going to tell us at the bowling alley.”

  “I was just about to ask you to try and find that out.”

  “Great minds think alike, pretty lady. It turns out that Maggie fell for some guy named Wesley.”

  “He showed up on her Facebook feed.”

  “Did he? I’m not surprised. He was the one love of her life. They met in the library, where he was researching a book on moles.”

  “Moles? As in the animal?”

  “No, as in the skin blemish. He was finding examples of moles that looked like things. Texas, the first Apple computer, the starship Enterprise, the Teapot Dome Scandal …”

  “How can a mole look like the Teapot Dome Scandal?”

  “Do I look like a mole expert? I guess we’ll have to wait until the book comes out. It’s going to be a coffee table book. A conversation starter to break the ice at parties. He’s already got a publisher. Anyway, he was researching this in her library and noticed she had a mole that looked like Michelangelo’s David. He asked to photograph it, and love bloomed.”

  “These two people sound terribly desperate.”

  “I don’t judge. At least they aren’t psychic vampires like our cruise companions.”

  “True enough. But don’t ask to photograph my moles. I’m too old for that sort of thing.”

  He leaned forward, squinting at my shoulder. “You know …” He pointed at one of my moles. “That looks an awful lot like an ’82 Nissan Stanza.”

  “Go on with your story before I slap you.”

  Octavian sighed. “No sense of humor. So it wasn’t long before Maggie was showing off her new beau all around town. They were sloppy in love, holding hands in the park, sharing the same milkshake, even waltzing in the street.”

  “Waltzing in the street?”

  “They got arrested for it. Got a fine for blocking traffic.”

  “Remind me never to go to Schenectady.”

  “Why? Do you like to waltz in the street?” He took my hands and got them into position.

  “Do go on. We have a murder to solve.”

  He waltzed me around the cabin. “It turns out that Wesley was famous, or perhaps infamous, around Schenectady for seeing all sorts of strange things in people’s moles. People either loved him or hated him, thought he was a harmless loon or some strange variety of pervert. I’m undecided myself. Well, Georgina decided she wanted to be in the book and thought she had a mole on her thigh that looked like Excalibur stuck in the stone. She went to Wesley and raised her skirt to show off this dermatological wonder, and Wesley told her that her mole looked like a frog catching a fly with its tongue and that he didn’t want to photograph her mole because he had already found an editor of a UFO magazine in Cleveland who had a mole that looked much more like a frog catching a fly.”

  “UFOs were bound to come into this eventually,” I said, admiring Octavian’s ability as a dancer. “Georgina is just petty enough to be offended by losing out to a UFOlogist.”

  “She was more than offended. She was apoplectic with rage. Maggie was getting in the book, and she wasn’t, and that just wouldn’t do. So she decided to drive a wedge between them.”

  I stopped in my tracks. Suddenly I didn’t feel like dancing anymore.

  “Wesley looks positively sane by comparison,” I said.

  Octavian met my eye. “It gets worse. Brenda tried to woo him away from Maggie, but that didn’t work. Fiona tried too. No dice. Wesley was too devoted to his new girlfriend to be wooed.”

  I gave him a peck on the cheek. “Just like you. You’re unwooable.”

  “Don’t compare me to Wesley. I don’t collect moles.”

  “You have the honor of a Wesley and the class of an Octavian.”

  “That’s better. So once they realized they couldn’t break up that relationship like they usually did, they got nasty.”

  “They weren’t nasty before?”

  “You ain’t seen nothing yet. They had Alicia go to see Wesley, claiming she had an interesting mole, and then she claimed he made unwanted advances on her.”

  “No!”

  “She even tried to press charges, but Wesley’s attorney brought in dozens of character witnesses showing how awful these people were, and the case was dropped.”

  “Georgina is concerned about her reputation in Schenectady. It looks like she doesn’t realize her reputation is already terrible.”

  “That woman is a few plates short of a picnic. But anyway, Wesley was so crushed by the accusations, and by the whisperfest that surrounded the whole affair, that he left Schenectady, never to return.”

  “And so they got their way and ruined Wesley’s and Maggie’s love. I’m surprised one of them killed Maggie and not the other way around. But I’m curious about one thing.
Why would Lauren tell you all this?”

  “I don’t know. Do you think it’s all lies? Or is Lauren playing some sort of game?”

  “We’re going to find out.”

  “I’ll question her,” Octavian said, moving to the door.

  “Oh no, let me do it. I don’t want you to get falsely accused of anything. Besides, I have a little trick up my sleeve that I think will get Lauren to spill the truth.”

  I sent Octavian back to his cabin and brewed up a plan.

  It was time for a showdown.

  While I had never been on a cruise before, I had been to many fine hotels, and I’d learned a few things about how they operated. One of them was that the staff were overworked, underpaid, and generally willing to take bribes if you asked them the right way. Guests at big hotels were always asking for something “extra,” often illegal or at least immoral. And a cruise ship was basically a big hotel on water.

  So I rang the service bell and within five minutes had a young man named Phil standing at my door. He looked fresh out of college.

  “Hello, Phil, are you fresh out of college?”

  “Why yes I am, ma’am.”

  Isn’t it nice to have your perceptions confirmed?

  “What did you major in?”

  “Electrical engineering, ma’am.”

  “Times are tough, Phil. You have a useful degree that should get you a fine job, and here you are serving drinks.”

  Phil stiffened. “Oh, I’m very happy with my job, ma’am.”

  “No, you’re not, Phil. You deserve more. Would you like this?” I held out a hundred dollars.

  He stepped back. “I don’t give massages to passengers.”

  I blinked. That was not the reaction I had expected. After a moment, I realized I was a bit more innocent than I thought I was. Poor little Phil was quite handsome. He probably got offers like this from passengers all the time.

  “No, Phil. I don’t want a massage. What I want is for you to do a little something for me …”

  Twelve

  “Ready? One, two, three!”

  We knocked back our drinks. Lauren and I sat in my cabin, having our third round of piña coladas.

  Well, Lauren was having her third round of extra-strong piña coladas, while I was having my third virgin piña colada. Phil was serving them as fast as we could drink them, with special instructions to make sure the bartender brewed one strong one and one safe one and to make sure I got the safe one.

  I had gone to her door, pounded on it, and raged at her for trying to steal Octavian, who had made himself scarce on my instructions. I then told her that Octavian only liked strong women, and a weakling like her would never get his heart. She had snapped back that she could do anything I could do, only ten times better.

  So I challenged her to a drinking contest, saying that if I won, she would lay off, and if she won, I would step aside. Drinking was such a big part of these people’s lives that I knew she would take the bait.

  She did.

  “I’ve seen you drink, Barbara,” she sneered. “You’re like a high school nerd trying to act like a cheerleader.”

  I wasn’t quite sure what that meant, but if it meant she would take the challenge, that was good enough for me.

  So we sat in my cabin at the little table, nose to nose, glaring at one another as we traded insults and ordered another round. Phil looked intimidated. We made him stand watch as a judge to make sure we drank our drinks. He couldn’t believe two little old ladies could be so foulmouthed. I was learning all the things Lauren and her circle of friends had been saying behind my back to Octavian but he had been too polite to repeat.

  And I was giving it my all too.

  Oh yes, I can swear when I want to. I don’t do it often, but three decades in the service has given me a repertoire that would make your average longshoreman blush and send up several Hail Marys.

  But not Lauren. She wasn’t phased at all.

  “Shall we make this more interesting?” Lauren snapped. “Shall we add some tequila to the mix?”

  “Sure, assuming you don’t hate Mexicans as much as you hate gay people.”

  “You’re so ugly I’m surprised you haven’t turned Octavian gay.”

  “I’m more of a woman than you’ll ever be. If Octavian were gay, I’d straighten him out.”

  Oh my, did I say that? Phil looked ready to have a coronary. I should have checked the location of the nearest defibrillator.

  Lauren snapped her fingers. Or at least tried to. Somehow her fingers missed each other, and she ended up waggling them in the air.

  “Bill, er, Phil. Whatever your name is, bring us another round of piña coladas and a shot of tequila each.”

  “Right away, ma’am.”

  Phil looked glad to leave.

  Lauren leaned close to me, wafting her boozy breath in my face. Her glassy eyes glittered with hatred.

  “Octavian deserves someone better than you. You’re just a boring old fart. You’ve never done anything real in your whole life! I bet you’ve lived in Deerville or whatever it’s called your whole life. Probably never been out of the country before now. You’re just a boring old fart. That’s what you are.”

  I laughed in her face. “I know why Georgina didn’t send you to get Wesley away from Maggie. He would have never gone for you. Maggie had more class.”

  A crushed potato chip had more class than Lauren.

  She didn’t look surprised to hear those two names pass my lips.

  “Oh, Octavian told you about our chat, did he? I bet he didn’t mention what we were doing while we were chatting.”

  “Dancing around the cabin, I’m sure. Him running and you chasing.”

  Phil came back with the drinks. He was remarkably quick. I think he was as fascinated by this spectacle as he was repelled.

  He set down our piña coladas and two shot glasses of tequila. Phil had picked gold tequila, and as I put my shot down, I realized he had given me apple juice. Good man.

  I made a fake little shiver as if the alcohol was getting to me. Lauren gave me a look like a wolf gives when he sees a deer running slower than the rest of the herd.

  “Hey, Bill, bring us some more,” Lauren slurred. Despite her extensive experience in boozing, I could see she was beginning to flag.

  “His name is Phil.”

  “Who cares? He’s the help.” She paused and looked uncertain for a moment, as if realizing she had been rude. “Oh, Bill, here’s something for your trouble.”

  She pulled a five-dollar bill out of her purse and stuffed it down his trousers. I guess that was her idea of an apology. Phil looked like he was going to have a mental breakdown.

  “Bring us the bottle,” she ordered. “We have some real drinking to do.”

  Uh-oh.

  Phil glanced at me. I didn’t see a way out of it. I nodded.

  Once he was gone, she glared at me again. I cut her off before she could start leaking toxic waste from her mouth.

  “So why do you people go around poaching people’s boyfriends and husbands?”

  “Only boyfriends,” she slurred. “You can’t prove anything about the husbands.”

  “But why?”

  She gave me a lopsided smile. “Because it’s fun.”

  The tone didn’t match her attitude. It came out hesitant, uncertain, as if she were trying to convince herself. A long silence settled over the table. She twirled her empty glass, staring at it. I let the silence extend. I was getting close. The alcohol had worked its magic, and her facade was crumbling.

  Phil entered the room. “Sorry for being late, ladies. I got stopped in the hall.”

  “That’s all right, Jill—I mean Bill—hee hee. Set ’em up.” Lauren had rallied now that she had an audience again.

  On his tray, Phil had a bottle of tequila. He gave me an apologetic look as he poured us each a shot and placed the bottle on the table.

  “That will be all, Phil,” I told him.

  “Aw, come
on!” Lauren bawled, sending spit across the table. “He should stay and watch us. He’ll learn something about how real drinkers drink.”

  “That he would, but he’s on duty, and he has other customers to serve.”

  She gave me a nasty smirk. “Like Octavian and whoever he’s with.”

  Phil made his exit. Lauren raised her glass.

  “Back to it,” she ordered.

  “Back to it,” I said, trying to muster my courage.

  The tequila went down like acid. I’ve never been much for straight shots, and this one was powerful.

  Lauren immediately picked up the bottle, fumbled and nearly dropped it, and poured us another round.

  “Down the hatch,” she said.

  Down the hatch they went.

  And almost up the hatch again. My stomach, already aching from too much liquor the previous two days, rebelled. It took a conscious act of will to keep the tequila down.

  Lauren bared her teeth. “Beginning to feel it, eh? What an amateur. Let’s do another.”

  This time she did fumble the bottle, spilling tequila all over the table and on my dress. I grabbed the bottle before all of the contents were lost and poured the round myself. After stumbling to the bathroom and using a towel to mop up the mess, I fell back into my seat and picked up my drink. She did the same.

  I looked her in the eye. Hers were glassy and unfocused. We took the third shot.

  This time I was prepared for it and kept it down. I couldn’t stop the sick, wavering feeling that all but overcame me.

  Lauren almost dropped her shot glass.

  “I don’t get you people,” I said. “Stealing other people’s men is bad enough, but making false allegations against Wesley just because Georgina couldn’t get in some stupid book? That’s low. And it hurts other women who have real allegations.”

  I did not expect the reaction I got.

  Lauren burst into tears. The shot glass fell from her grasp and shattered on the table. She put her face in her hands and sobbed.

  “It’s terrible. Terrible! I can’t take this anymore! Everyone is just so nasty, and you have to play along, otherwise you’ll be next. And now Fiona and Brenda are sniping at one another about who made up the name for the team. Who cares? We’re supposed to be friends. We’re supposed to support each other. And now Alicia has had a heart attack. Will she ever recover? And to think that just the day before Georgina played a prank on her. Why, she could have had her heart attack there and then!”