Ellery Queen’s Mystery Magazine. Vol. 151, Nos. 1 & 2. Whole Nos. 916 & 917, January/February 2018

Farewell Cruise by Martin Edwards

Martin Edwards is the author of two highly acclaimed series of mystery novels, sixty short stories, and some of the genre’s most distinguished critical writing, including The Golden Age of Murder, which won the Edgar, Agatha, H.R.F. Keating, and Macavity awards for best nonfiction book of 2015. He is also the current president of Britain’s prestigious Detection Club.

Wanda made her entrance into the Medusa Bar twenty minutes after the sailaway from I Havana. Most passengers (I can never quite get used to calling them guests) are exhausted long before the end of the first night on board, after a transatlantic flight, a compulsory safety drill, and a voluntary five-course meal washed down by wine. But Wanda seemed in the mood to party all night. Her flame-coloured hair was piled high, and her halter-neck dress left little to the imagination.

“You play beautifully,” she said, as I came to the end of “Strangers in the Night.”

I bowed my thanks and asked if I detected an Essex accent. She laughed loudly and said I was obviously a real sleuthhound, which rather pleased me. I told her I came from Deal. She said she was born in Southend, but had spent the past five years in Whitstable.

“But now the world’s my oyster,” she chortled. “This cruise is a treat, you see. I’m celebrating my divorce.”

“Congratulations.”

I asked if she had any requests from the sixties, and she wanted to know if I could play “Big Spender.” As I picked out the opening bars, a couple came into the lounge. He was about forty, and darkly handsome. She was a year or two younger, pretty but nondescript, with mousy hair and pale skin. The red-haired woman waved them over and said, “This is Justin Lemaitre, the best divorce lawyer in Thanet, and probably the world. And here’s his wife Millie. My special guests on the cruise of a lifetime. I’m Wanda Thomson.”

We chatted for a few minutes, and as I played “This Guy’s in Love With You,” Wanda and Justin danced. Millie watched them, seemingly untroubled, even when Justin’s hands started to go a-Wanda-ing.

“She’s very generous,” Millie murmured. “She was ecstatic about how much Justin screwed out of her ex. He even got Bruno to transfer his flat in Holland Park. Worth a fortune. So she insisted on bringing us with her on holiday as her guests.”

That night, in the cabin, Toby asked if any of the new passengers were interesting. To be frank, after ten months at sea, the passengers provide you with more entertainment than you supply them, especially if you’re as insatiably curious (nosey, Toby would say) as me. I told him about Wanda, her lawyer, and his wife, and Toby speculated cheekily about threesomes.

Toby was a member of the show team: five boys, five girls, each of them young and lithe. He likes to tell people that all three of his siblings went to university; his parents have the graduation photos on display in their front room at home in Margate, but were distraught when he left school at sixteen. “Then again, I’m the one sailing round the Caribbean!” This was the final cruise of our contract, and I knew he was likely to move on once we left the ship. He was much more ambitious than me, as well as twenty years younger. But I lived in hope.

We spent the next day at sea, and that evening, Wanda and the Lemaitres returned to the Medusa. Even with ten different bars on the ship, people get into habits. The Medusa was busier, but Wanda and I talked a little more, and I learned that Bruno, the ex, was a bastard. He was also a City trader, so the divorce had left her with money to burn. She spent twenty minutes dancing with Justin, and they both seemed to enjoy themselves. Millie spent the evening sipping our most expensive cocktails. Never once did I see either of the Lemaitres sign a tab.

Montego Bay came next on the itinerary, and in the evening, I asked Millie about her day, while Justin and Wanda jigged to the “One-Note Samba.” She told me they’d all taken the excursion to Rose Hall, a Georgian mansion on the edge of town.

“You heard about the legend of the White Witch?” I asked.

“Annie Palmer? Of course. A white witch with flaming red hair.” Millie shook her head. “They say she murdered three husbands, and was an expert in voodoo. The guide sang us a song about her. You’ll never guess who wrote it.”

“Johnny Cash,” I said, with Sherlockian flair. “Actually, I did that tour last time we docked in Jamaica. At least unhappy wives don’t need to resort to murder these days. They can always turn to folk like Justin.”

“You’re right,” she murmured. “Plenty of spouses have turned to him.”

Downing her rum punch, she signalled to her husband that she was ready for bed. He smiled as she left, but stayed on the floor for another ten minutes. As they left the Medusa, I noticed Wanda patting Justin’s bum.

“Trouble’s brewing,” I told Toby that night. “Wanda drinks too much and then misbehaves. She’s dangerous, if you ask me.”

“You should mind your own business. Better to keep out of a family argument.”

His attitude irritated me, but there were compensations. Dancing in ten shows a week made him very athletic.

Two days later we landed at Puerto Limon. That night, Wanda and the Lemaitres were back in the Medusa. Millie sipped at a piña colada while her husband and his client shimmied along with “Something Stupid.” She hadn’t caught the sun, and her eyes looked bleary. I suspected she’d been crying. Trying to cheer her up, I asked what she’d made of Costa Rica.

“We took the jungle river cruise,” she said. “The wildlife is wonderful. Parrots, monkeys — and I saw an alligator, close enough to stroke its head.”

“Just as well you didn’t. They are man-eaters.”

“Man-eaters, mmmm.” She cast a glance at Wanda, who was wrapped around her husband like a boa constrictor, and whispered, “At least I managed not to tip Justin into the alligator’s jaws.”

I segued into “Crocodile Rock,” a daring departure since my sessions are billed as Sounds of the Sixties, but I doubted if anyone realised that I’d snuck into the seventies. Millie gave a wan smile and drifted back to her seat. This time she stuck it out until Justin and Wanda stopped dancing. I sensed that she was determined to make sure he accompanied her back to their cabin, and wondered what time he’d returned the previous night.

Our next destination was Colon, where we stayed a couple of nights, long enough both to tour the Canal and drive to the Pacific Coast and soak up the atmosphere of Panama City. Each evening Wanda and her friends turned up at the Medusa. Each evening she and Justin became more ostentatious with their displays of affection. Each evening Millie’s quiet misery deepened.

“I don’t like it,” I told Toby that night. “Wanda’s stopped trying to hide her contempt for Millie. Justin’s equally scornful of her. One of the other passengers told me he saw the lovebirds canoodling in the ruined convent during the walking tour round old Panama City. Millie pretended to take no notice and climbed to the top of the old cathedral on her own. Thank goodness she didn’t throw herself off. The poor woman is humiliated. More than that, she’s obviously furious, but bottling up all her rage. It’s going to blow up before the end of the cruise, mark my words.”

“No outsider can know what goes on inside a marriage,” Toby said, taking off his shirt.

Toby’s young and self-centred. I’m more of a people person. It’s an asset in the job. Passengers like to talk to members of the crew, especially the entertainers. They think it gives them an insight into life at sea, but they don’t know the half of it. I love life on board ship, but occasionally I feel like a captive in a floating prison. How must it feel to be trapped inside a loveless marriage? Devotion can turn to hate. I wondered if Millie hated Justin, and how she might escape him. Poor thing, she’d have to find another hotshot lawyer to represent her in the alimony negotiations.

Next morning, I joined the passengers on the promenade deck as we sailed into Cartagena under a brilliant sun. I caught sight of Justin and Wanda, leaning over the railing and gazing across the bay. He was in his swimming trucks, she in a small pink bikini, and her hand was on his neat rump. They made a good-looking couple, I had to admit. Justin caught sight of me and winked. He never seemed in the least embarrassed. It was almost as if he enjoyed flaunting the fact that an attractive woman was infatuated with him.

“Lovely sight, isn’t it?” I said.

Deliberately misunderstanding, he peered down Wanda’s cleavage. “You never said a truer word.”

She giggled. “The guidebook says Cartagena is a walled city, very historic.”

“One of my favourite destinations,” I said. “Enjoy your day.”

“We will,” she said, and led Justin away by the hand.

That night, there was an incident in the Medusa Bar. Justin and Wanda had been dancing together as usual, and when they returned to the table, Millie said something that caused her husband to flush with anger. I kept my eyes fixed on them as I played “You Don’t Have to Say You Love Me.” I’m no lipreader, but it was clear that Wanda was trying to keep the peace, and equally apparent that she was failing. Finally Millie sprang to her feet and, pushing past her husband, ran out of the Medusa. Wanda and Justin exchanged a few words and I gained the impression that she was urging him to follow his wife and try to patch things up. At first he was having none of it, but in the end, he swallowed the rest of his gin and tonic and hurried off.

“Everything all right?” I asked, when Wanda came over to the piano.

“Millie has caught a touch of the sun. She’s not herself at the moment, I’m afraid.”

“And Justin?”

“He’s fine. I’ve always been fond of him.” She hiccupped loudly. “We’re cousins, you know, but for years I saw nothing of him. Now I owe him more than I can ever repay.”

When I told Toby about the quarrel, he asked if I still thought Wanda was dangerous. For me, the whole situation was a powder keg. Would Millie lose control? Would Justin’s temper snap? Might Wanda egg him on to doing something terrible?

Toby sniggered, and said I had a vivid imagination. For the next hour or so, I set about proving he was right.

Santa Marta was our next port, and I joined the excursion to La Quinta de San Pedro Alejandrino. Justin and Wanda were on the bus, but there was no sign of Millie. When we arrived at the hacienda, I asked if she was all right. Wanda made a face, and Justin groaned.

“She refused to come along, even though Wanda had paid for our tickets. At breakfast she made a real exhibition of herself. This pathetic jealousy, it’s getting me down.”

Wanda squeezed his hand. “We won’t let her spoil things.”

The guide took us round the little room where Bolivar breathed his last, and the passengers took photos of iguanas in the grounds. On the way back, the bus stopped halfway along the seafront. I jumped out and met up with Toby, as arranged, in a bar overlooking the marina. I’d never managed to interest him in taking part in the organised tours. His lack of curiosity about the cruise destinations baffled me. I always want to find out.

“Your eyes are shining,” he said after ordering me a Bacardi and Coke. “Another installment in the soap opera?”

I brought him up to date. “I’m guessing the Lemaitres will break up. I only hope nobody does anything... more drastic.”

He showed his sharp white teeth in a grin. “You think you’re a detective, but you’re really a drama queen. Why would anyone do something drastic?”

Stung, I said, “Passions run high when a relationship falls apart.”

“Why can’t people just part as friends?” He leaned back in his chair, giving me a chance to admire his rippling muscles. “It’s silly to make a big thing out of it. We all need to move on at some point in our lives.”

He was breaking the news to me gently. Luckily, I’d seen it coming. Perhaps that was why I’d absorbed myself in the tragicomedy of Justin’s betrayal of Millie. A displacement activity to occupy our farewell cruise.

“Not everyone is like you.”

“True,” he said. “Come on. I’ve to be back on board by one. My turn to take the punters on a backstage tour. And I don’t suppose you’ll want to miss the ice-carving demonstration, you little tourist, you.”

As we strolled along the shore towards the cruise terminal, I kicked around in my mind what was happening to the Lemaitres. Was this a passing fling, as far as Justin was concerned? Perhaps when they all got back to England, things would settle down. They might even live happily ever after. But I doubted it.

The three of them were in the Medusa Bar that evening. Millie looked as despondent as her husband was self-assured. Not for the first time, Wanda was the worse for wear. Our all-inclusive drinks packages have a lot to answer for.

As I played “Born Free,” Justin and Wanda smooched on the dance floor. Some passengers were nudging each other and casting pitying glances at Millie. As I shifted into a Beatles medley, Millie beckoned Justin over. He bent over her while she remained seated at their table, and when she spoke, he glanced to the heavens before shrugging his shoulders. It was as if she’d given him an ultimatum. When his wife headed off to the toilet, Justin gestured to Wanda and led her out through the far door. Neither of them was walking steadily. Whether they went out on to the deck or somewhere else, I couldn’t tell.

Millie was back two minutes later. She ordered another daiquiri and sat at her table, keeping her eyes on the exit, as if expecting Justin to reappear. I reckoned she’d have a long wait.

When my set came to an end, she made her way over to the piano, and I asked how she was.

“I’ve had better days.”

“You weren’t on the tour today.”

“Couldn’t face it. Do you think I’m weak?”

“I’m sorry if you’re not enjoying the cruise.” Time for a spot of corporate-speak. “We always want our guests to...”

“I was afraid this would happen.” She might have been talking to herself. “I’ve told Justin he has to decide. It’s her or me.”

Unable to think of anything helpful to say, I kept my mouth shut. It dropped open a few moments later when Justin walked back in. He strode over to the piano and took hold of Millie by the hand. He looked haggard, as if he’d aged ten years in the space of half an hour.

“I’ve told her.”

Millie closed her eyes and embraced him. Toby appeared in the doorway of the Medusa, indicating his watch. I’d forgotten that we’d agreed to meet for a drink in the Lagoon Bar. As I joined him, he was studying the Lemaitres.

“Kissing and making up?”

“I gather he’s dumped Wanda.”

“The happy ending you wanted?”

“I hope so.”

He smirked. “Only in storybooks, love.”

We headed off to the Lagoon, and I didn’t give Wanda and her friends a second thought until halfway through the next day. We were at sea, on our way back to Havana for the end of the cruise. Whilst Toby was rehearsing, I heard a loudspeaker announcement for crew members, giving an unfamiliar code word. When I checked our instructions, I found it meant a passenger was missing. Twenty minutes later, I bumped into Emilio, the hotel manager. He was distraught.

“A woman on deck thirteen has vanished. No sign of her since last night.”

I had a sick feeling in the pit of my stomach. “What’s her name?”

“Wanda Thomson. She has a suite to herself, but she’s travelling with friends. They became concerned when she didn’t show up as usual.”

The grapevine on board ship is unrivalled, and as the hours passed, I pieced together all the snippets of gossip. Justin said he’d come to his senses and taken Wanda to a quiet corner of the Lagoon bar, where he’d broken the news that he was staying with Millie. She’d burst into tears, but he’d been adamant, and in the end, he walked out. The barman in the Lagoon said that Wanda had tottered away by herself, looking dreadful. The door leading to the balcony from Wanda’s suite was open, and the only conclusion anyone could draw was that she’d thrown herself over the side in a fit of drunken misery. It had to be suicide. The railings are designed so that slipping overboard accidentally is impossible.

Captain Werner increased our speed, and we arrived ahead of schedule at Havana, where the local police took charge. One of those interviewed was Toby. He’d bumped into Justin on his way to the Lagoon and introduced himself. He told Justin that he shared a cabin with me, and that he’d heard about the divorce celebration. Justin, who’d had a skinful, confided that he’d upset Wanda by making it clear they didn’t have a future together. Such a sad story. Wanda’s happiness had proved so fragile.

To be honest with you, the demographic of cruise passengers means that it isn’t uncommon for people to die on board. But this was the first time I’d known of a passenger committing suicide. When I pointed out to Toby that I’d foreseen disaster, he nodded solemnly.

“You were spot on.”

A year passed, and I took another contract, this time on a ship whose home port was Dubai. I texted Toby a few times, but he seldom replied. All I knew was that he was living in central London and had a minor part in a West End show. I didn’t give poor Wanda or the Lemaitres much thought, but for some reason I couldn’t get Toby out of my mind. Silly, of course. No fool like an old fool, eh?

During my free time in London, I decided to look in at the Rickshaw. Toby had told me it was his favourite club, so it seemed worth a try. Just on the off chance. And, across a crowded room, I did spot him. He was with someone, of course, but that someone wasn’t a stranger. And this was no enchanted evening.

Toby’s eyes met mine at the moment Justin Lemaitre ambled away from the bar, following a sign marked Rest Rooms. I shoved my way through the dancers, my mind buzzing. The world was turning upside down.

“You knew him before the cruise, didn’t you?”

He smiled his winsome smile. “Got it in one. We met in some dive in Margate. He said he was... curious. I always like curiosity in a man, that’s what drew me to you. And he’s awfully smart.”

Which I wasn’t, I realised, as I stumbled away through the jostling mass of humanity on the dance floor. All those months when I thought the two of us had something, dared to hope... well, never mind. Worse things happen at sea, you might say. We all make mistakes.

Including Toby. Walking back to the Tube, I realised that he’d said something about a family argument before I learned that Wanda and Justin were cousins. The following day, I checked out the probate records.

It seemed Justin was Wanda’s only cousin. Once she’d divorced Bruno, it made sense for her to make a new will in favour of her closest relative. Her estate was valued at six million. To the Cuban police, I suppose he was simply Wanda’s solicitor, not her heir. Would Scotland Yard have delved deeper?

Millie, I’m betting, was in on it from the start. She knows exactly what her husband is like, and she’s spent her married life turning a blind eye. They are still together, but Toby seems to have the run of the Holland Park flat. Perhaps it was all Millie’s idea. What I wonder is: Did Toby simply provide Justin with an alibi — or was he the one who pushed that sad, loveless alcoholic over the side of the ship?

Or — was Toby right after all? Am I simply a drama queen who makes a lousy detective? That’s why I came here, for an expert opinion. What do you think, Sergeant?