The Caribbean Cruise Caper Page 5

  “Huh,” Frank replied. “You’d probably spend your four years lying on the beach waiting for a nice ripe guava to plop into your mouth.”

  Joe smiled. “You could do worse. But I like mangoes better.” He lowered his voice and added, “We should try to keep an eye on everyone while we’re ashore this afternoon. Why don’t I concentrate on Sylvie? That was her perfume in our room last night.”

  “Good idea,” Frank said. “And I’ll watch Elizabeth. There’s something I don’t get about her attitude.”

  “Attitude’s the word,” Joe said, rolling his eyes. “That girl is nothing but attitude!”

  As the teens left the boat, David warned them to be back by four o’clock. “Have a great time,” he added. “If you need to get in touch, you have the telephone number here. Bettina and I will both be on board.”

  The group stayed together just long enough to reach the first corner. Sylvie eyed the narrow cobbled street that twisted its way uphill under lines hung with brightly colored wash.

  “Let’s go this way,” she eagerly urged. “I bet we’ll find some awesome views up the hill.”

  Elizabeth sniffed. “A slum’s a slum,” she said. “Even in the Caribbean. I’d rather find the square and check out the shops.”

  “Okay. Have fun,” Sylvie said with a touch of sarcasm in her tone. She started up the little street. After a moment’s hesitation the others followed. Only Frank stayed behind. Elizabeth bit her lower lip as she watched the group walk away. Then she tossed her blond hair in a way that was meant to say, “Why should I care about them?”

  “I detest sight-seeing,” Elizabeth told Frank. “It’s so boring. Our place in Virginia is just a mile from a Civil War battleground. One of my daddy’s relatives commanded a battalion there. But I’ve never visited. I can’t stand all those noisy, smelly charter buses. And the people with their camcorders! Sometimes they walk right up to our house and take each other’s pictures on our front porch. Can you imagine?”

  Frank started to say, “Maybe you should charge admission.” He thought better of it.

  Elizabeth didn’t notice. “I really thought there would be more people like me on this cruise. After all, a yacht in the Caribbean . . . I didn’t stop to think that a magazine like Teenway has to appeal to a pretty mixed bag. I do wish the others didn’t resent me for my advantages, though. I can’t help who I am or who my ancestors were, can I?”

  Frank was tempted to say that she might try not acting so stuck-up. He decided to keep his mouth shut. After all, he was a detective, not an advice columnist.

  • • •

  By three-thirty Joe was ready to bang his head against a wall. While sticking close to Sylvie, he was also trying to keep track of everyone else in his group. But how could he? All afternoon they kept wandering off, hanging back, dawdling in shops, hurrying ahead. It was as if they had all secretly decided to drive him bonkers!

  Now he was in a tiny square where five alleys—they were too narrow to be called streets—met. Against one of the house walls, a stone fountain burbled. Cesar held his cupped hands under the stream of water.

  “Don’t drink that,” Sylvie warned. “You might catch something.”

  Instead of drinking, Cesar poured the water over his head. “Ah! That’s better,” he said. He looked around. “Where is everybody?”

  “Off,” Sylvie replied with a vague wave of the hand. “It’s late. We should get back to the yacht.”

  “How? Jason’s the only one who can find his way around this place,” Cesar said. “He’s amazing.”

  As if summoned, Jason appeared. “We’re late,” he said. He pointed down one of the alleys. To Joe it looked no different from the others. “That should be the shortest way back.”

  As they walked downhill, the others joined them. Soon they emerged from the clustered houses at the seafront boulevard, just across from where the yacht was moored. At that moment Frank and Elizabeth came along. Elizabeth was carrying a shopping bag with the linked initials of a famous French designer. Joe caught Frank’s eye. Frank shrugged.

  The group started across the boulevard. Suddenly four motorbikes sped out of a side street and cut right in front of them. Each motorbike had a big metal box on the back, emblazoned with the words “All-Island Pizza. We D-liver, You D-light.” The riders halted next to the gangplank of the Colombe d’Or.

  “Hey, hey, hey,” Boris said. “Looks like we eat pizza tonight. That’s a nice surprise.”

  The four riders took stacks of cardboard boxes from the carriers and started toward the boat. A man in a double-breasted white chef’s jacket met them and kept them from going aboard.

  “NO!” he shouted as the teens drew closer. “No one ordered pizzas. If we want pizza, I make pizza!”

  “Somebody ordered fifteen pies,” one of the riders insisted. He held out a slip of paper. “Here, see? The name of the boat, fifteen pies, plain, mushrooms, extra cheese . . . it’s all here.”

  “It must be a joke,” the chef said. “I tell you, we did not order pizza.”

  “Some joke! What do we do with fifteen pies?” the deliveryman demanded.

  From the upper deck, Bettina said, “It’s all right. We’ll accept them. Arnie, pay him—and be sure to include a generous tip.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” the chef said in a grumpy tone.

  “The prankster strikes again,” Joe murmured to Frank. “We’d better—”

  Nearby, voices were suddenly raised. “Come on, admit it!” Jason said to Boris. “I saw you sneak into that shop and make a phone call. And I overheard you say the name of the yacht.”

  “Big deal,” Boris said. “That proves nothing.”

  Jason stuck out his chin. “You want proof? I heard more than that. I heard you when you said mushrooms and cheese!”

  7 A Telltale Chime

  * * *

  Everyone clustered around Boris and Jason. From her position on the boat, Bettina heard Jason’s accusation and came ashore to join the group.

  “What about it, Boris?” Cesar asked. “Did you really call in that order for pizza?”

  “It is not a very funny joke,” Sylvie said.

  Frank studied Boris’s expression. He did not look flustered by the pressure. If anything, there was a hint of secret amusement. What was the joke—if not the pizzas themselves?

  “Yes, I made a phone call,” Boris announced.

  “Really, Boris, this sort of prank—” Bettina started to say.

  Boris interrupted her. “But I did not call a pizzeria. I called a friend back home. Her name is Christina. If you want to check with her, I will give you her number.”

  “I heard you say the Colombe d’Or,” Jason repeated.

  Boris shrugged. “I was bragging about being on a fancy yacht. I told her the name of the yacht.”

  “Okay, but what about the mushrooms and cheese?” Joe asked.

  “I told Christina that tensions were mushrooming among us,” Boris replied. He smiled. “And—please excuse it, Bettina—I think I called you the Big Cheese.”

  “I don’t mind,” Bettina said. “As an editor, I’ve been called a lot worse.”

  Boris turned to Jason. “Satisfied?” he demanded belligerently. “Or did you maybe also hear me say something about anchovies?”

  Everybody cracked up, except Jason, who turned away with a resentful expression.

  “Hey, everybody, let’s get with it,” Cesar said. “All those pizzas are getting cold!”

  The group boarded the yacht. Arnie, the chef and steward, had already set up a table on the afterdeck with plates, napkins, and cold drinks. As they filed back, he and Chuck, the crew member who had slipped on Evan’s marbles that morning, appeared with four steaming pizzas, two plain and two with mushrooms. No anchovies, as Boris pointed out.

  Frank and Joe each took a slice of pizza. Frank chose plain and Joe chose mushroom. They went to a corner of the deck where they couldn’t be overheard.

  “Our prankster seems to be getti
ng more ambitious,” Frank said. “First it’s plastic spiders in the cake, now a lifetime supply of pizzas.”

  “Don’t forget David’s runaway laptop,” Joe replied. “Not to mention entering our room and rifling the contest entries.”

  Frank nodded. “The thing is, we had no real leads until now. This is different. There’s a good chance the trickster left a trail. Let’s check it out. What was the name of that pizzeria?”

  “All-Island, I think,” Joe told him. “Anyway, how many can there be in a town this size?”

  When the boat was at sea, the telephone for passengers worked via a satellite dish, but when the boat docked, the phone was hooked up to a landline.

  Frank got the number of the pizzeria and dialed. A man answered. When Frank explained what he wanted, the man passed the phone to a woman with a Caribbean lilt in her voice.

  “Oh, yes, I remember,” she said. “I will not so easily forget an order for fifteen pies, and that a false one, too!”

  “What can you tell me about the person who called?” Frank asked.

  “Not so very much,” she replied. “The voice was muffled. It was high for a man but low for a woman. A Yankee accent, I think. Like yours.”

  “Didn’t it surprise you, getting such a big order from a stranger? Weren’t you suspicious?” Frank wondered.

  “From now on I will be,” the woman said with a musical laugh. “But we are used to orders from yachts for delivery to dockside. This is the first time we have a problem.”

  “I see,” Frank said. “Do you happen to know what time the call came in?”

  “Oh, yes, just before three-thirty,” the woman told him.

  “How sure are you?” Frank probed. “Did you write down the time?”

  “No, but the caller asked us to deliver at precisely four,” she replied. “I checked my watch to see if we could do it. Just then I heard a clock chime the half hour.”

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

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

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

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

  Bing bang bing bong . . .

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

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

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

  He hung up and told Joe what he had learned.

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

  “Right,” Frank said.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

  “Me, too,” Joe assured her.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

  • • •

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

  “Me, too,” Lisa said.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

  8 Throwing Up Clues

  * * *

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

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

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