Mask on the Cruise Ship (6 page)

I covered the mike. “Hey, Lavinia, you got your glasses fixed!”

“There's an optician on board,” sniffled Lavinia.

“On a cruise ship, there's everything you could possibly need,” said another woman, and they all nodded.

Except for the oldest of them, who I saw now was actually a man. White-haired and spindly, he was hunched so far forward the tip of his nose was practically stirring the bowl of soup in front of him. “WHAT'S GOING ON?” he shouted peevishly. His tiny dark eyes blinked hard in the steam rising from the soup.

“IT'S ALL RIGHT, IRA.” Lavinia patted the frail old man on one of his tweed-jacketed shoulders. “WE'LL FILL YOU IN LATER.

“Deaf as a post,” she explained to me. “This is Ira Stone of Stone Construction. I've read about his financial empire in the newspapers. ” And, winking, Lavinia rubbed her thumb and fingers together to signify that Ira had pots of money.

Wow. Lavinia was after Ira. Or after his pots of money, at any rate. And quite open about it. What a gal!

I guessed the song was wrong. You
could
buy love — the love of someone else for your money, that is.

Evan was playing the intro to my next song, “As Long As He Needs Me.” Another belter-outer. A romantic one. It would certainly suit Lavinia's mood — too bad Ira wouldn't be able to hear it.

During one of the breaks, I went back to Lavinia's table. I wanted to ask her about Gooseberry Eyes. Could she give me a good description of him?

However, when I started to speak —

“STUFF AND NONSENSE!” shouted Ira. He'd been served another snack. This time the tip of his nose was almost touching a bowl of rice pudding.

“Later, dear,” Lavinia told me, a little curtly. “Ira needs help with his food.” Turning away, she picked up Ira's spoon, dipped it in the pudding and began to feed him.

At my next break I hung around Lavinia some more, but she ignored me. “Lavinia's determined to become the next Mrs. Ira Stone,” one of the other ladies twinkled. “Must be your wonderful singing, Dinah. You're a regular Cupid.”

Huh. I didn't know if I could agree with that. Granted, Cupid and I were both chubby. However, I was hardly into flying around naked and shooting arrows into people.

Julie Hébert slipped into the lounge when I was singing “Consider Yourself.” Her face grew sad when I reached the line “Consider yourself part of the family.” Doubtless she was thinking about her stepsister — oh well. Maybe if I blasted out the song, I could blast Elaine right out of her thoughts.

I planted my feet apart, tipped my head back, held the mike up and let the eardrum-splitting finale of the song rip. In my view, a good voice isn't something to be used sparingly, like the family silver.

“CONSIDER YOURSELF ONE OF U-U-U-U-U-S!”

Whoa. People were standing to applaud! On and on. Holy Toledo!

I turned and gestured for Evan to rise and get lots of applause too. It was inspiring to think that our performance had the power to make people happy.

Uh, not quite everyone.

Straight ahead of me, at the front-row table, Madge was throwing up into her purse.

Chapter 7
Lavinia, she went a-courtin'

W
ith careful planning I was able to fit four cheese blintzes on my plate. I made a second layer on top, of papaya wedges. Then, the crowning glory, a third layer of fat wedge fries.

“I wish Pantelli was here to see this,” I told Jack. “He's a champion food stacker as well.”

“I doubt Happy Escapes Cruise Lines could afford both of you,” Jack replied.

From the 130-item buffet, he'd selected eggs Benedict, toast and strawberries. In other words, only one layer! I shook my head at him.

“So how's Madge?” Jack demanded as we joined Mother and Julie at a table. “Seasick or not, she has to appear sometime.” He stole a wedge fry from my top layer.

Well, I'd put a stop to that. I emptied a large part of our table's ketchup bottle over the fries. I then gave him an evil, cunning smile.

“About Madge,” Jack reminded me. He couldn't ask Mother, because she was busy chatting with Julie.

“Oh, right. Madge.” I waved a wedge fry around airily; a splotch of ketchup flew off and landed on the otherwise snowy cloth of the next table. Luckily no one had sat down there yet. “Madge asked me to explain that she can't see you ever again,” I informed him. “Sorry.”

“What?!” Jack stared at me, half-amused, half-exasperated.

“Because you saw her barf.” I tackled one of the cheese blintzes with my fork. Num: nice and runny. My next words were somewhat indistinct. “I don't get it either. Pantelli threw up on the school bus last year, and he wasn't embarrassed.” I swallowed the mouthful of blintz and continued enthusiastically, “His aim was incredible. Right out the window,
splat!,
on a pedestrian.”

“DINAH.” Mother had homed in, the way grown-ups always do when you're telling an especially fun anecdote. “I think you can spare us the details.”

Shrugging, I speared a papaya slice and gestured grandly with it at Jack. “Anyhow, Madge is ultra-embarrassed. I mean, this is a girl who looks perfect at all times. You've now seen her at less than perfect. Therefore, your relationship with her is kaput. Finito! In ruins! But she did say she'd be considerate and set you up with a classmate of hers, so you wouldn't have to remain girlfriendless.”

“Ah yes?” Jack's gray eyes narrowed. They had a gleam in them that gave me the feeling Madge wasn't going to be able to dismiss him
quite
so easily. “And who might this classmate be?”

“Dora Hidzwill.”

“Isn't she the one with the, er, skin condition?”

I swallowed another nummy mouthful of cheese blintz and shook my fork at him. “I said Madge was being considerate. Not
kind
.”

At that moment, Lavinia and her friends, supporting the frail, bent Ira, appeared at the buffet entrance. I waved to indicate the free table next to us.

Lavinia barked out words of encouragement to Ira until, with a little shove, she plopped him into the chair directly to my right.

“I'll get you a nice plate of food. Of soft food,” Lavinia assured Ira. “I suspect those teeth aren't your own, duckie. Nothing to be ashamed of, mind!”

“That's Lavinia O'Herlihy,” I murmured to Julie. “She's the one who saw your thief yesterday.”

Then I pitched my voice over Ira's bent head to Lavinia: “Have you seen Gooseberry Eyes since yesterday?”

“Why, no, dear. I've been too busy with this cute fella here.”

Ira's dark eyes fairly snapped at her in annoyance. “STUFF AND NONSENSE!” the old man shouted.

“Oh, Ira!” Lavinia exclaimed. “C'mon, ladies, we'd better shift him over a seat.”

For Ira, hunched so far forward, had dunked the tip of his nose in the ketchup splotch.

Shrieks interrupted our
buffet breakfast just as I was reaching for a slice of chocolate pecan pie.

“LOOK!
They're closing in on us!
”

This sounded interesting. Mother, Jack, Julie and I went out on deck.

People were leaning over the railing, but this time not to watch for orcas. On both sides of the
Empress Marie
, gray masses of rock crept closer, closer …

Another scream. It was Lavinia. She'd scurried up beside me only to grow faint. “I have claustrophobia,” she moaned. “Ohhh …”

She swayed. Jack caught her on one side and I on the other. Julie raised her eyebrows at me. I knew what she was thinking about Lavinia.
Eccentric
.

“Lavinia, weren't you at orientation?” I demanded. I attend meetings of any sort — and ask tons of questions, as well as give helpful advice. At home, for instance, I never miss a Block Watch meeting. I'm just sorry that the neighbors are having fewer and fewer of them.

“This is the infamous Seymour Narrows,” I explained to Lavinia. “It's kind of a pun, right? Everywhere you look, you
see more Narrows
. Why, we're practically getting scrunched by the rock. Notice how the mighty
Empress
has slowed down. We're crawling through the Narrows.” I chuckled in enjoyment. “Will we make it?”

Lavinia let out a second, more plaintive moan. Weakly she scrabbled in her dress pocket, producing the Sinful Satin tester from the perfume boutique. “Must … revive … myself … ” Seconds later we were all getting doused.

Boy, if Madge thought Sinful Satin wasn't
my
style, she oughtta smell it on Jack.

“What is that, a pesticide?” he choked.

I was too busy coughing to continue with my Seymour Narrows explanation. I'd intended to say that the Narrows used to be lethal as well as cramped. Ships kept crashing into huge Ripple Rock, smack in the middle of the passage. Finally, in the 1950s, the British Columbia government hired an engineer to blow it up.
Ka-boom!

It's still tricky to get through. The tide builds to sixteen knots — translation, ultra-strong — so ships have to time their passage very carefully.

Lavinia cackled, “I was going to return this tester. Didn't mean to walk off with it! But,” she showed it to us, “now it's empty!” And she tossed it into the Narrows.

“A gift to Neptune, the god of the sea,” remarked Mother, literary as always.

“That stench is being sent to Neptune?” coughed Jack. “In that case, we're probably in for a few tidal waves.”

“Wait! There are 126 buffet
items left for me to try!” I protested as Jack and Mother forcibly led me away.

They had other plans for me. I'd thought it would be a lazy day, since the
Empress
wouldn't be putting into port until tomorrow: Juneau, our first stop.

Cruises, I soon learned, are packed with activities. Sure, there were lots of comfy-looking deck chairs where I could have stretched out with the latest Deathstalkers comic book —

“Don't even think about it,” warned Mother, who'd noticed me eyeing the chairs. She unfolded the ship's daily newsletter,
Hundreds of Happy Events
, filled with lists of what was going on.
Is there an event we don't have that
you'd like us to include?
the newsletter asked.
If so, pop
your idea into our Helpful Hints suggestion box, just
outside the Captain's cabin!

Mother browsed the newsletter. “There's a bridge tournament, bingo, swing and ballroom dance classes, volleyball, yoga … I think I'll check out the yoga.”

“Di and I will go for volleyball,” said Jack, with irritating enthusiasm.

“We can play volleyball anywhere,” I told him. “I mean, here we are, on an Alaska cruise! We should be taking in British Columbia's rugged scenery.” I started reading aloud from the back of the newsletter. “ ‘Her dark forests jutting out to the edges of her craggy cliffs … ' ”

“Dinah, we're
fogged in
.”

It was true. A mist had plumped itself over the ocean. A few optimists were leaning on the railing, binoculars propped on their noses to look for whales. But most passengers were either shopping or indulging in one of the hundreds of Happy Events.

“Volleyball it is,” I sighed.

POW!

I serve a mean volleyball, if I do say so myself. It sailed high over the net, beyond the eagerly reaching fingers of the other team, to the back row.

Where Jack punched it back over. Dang. That was the problem with having a natural athlete in your opposition.

But, in the front row of our team, Julie was ready. She sprang at the ball and
slammed!
it down on the other side of the net. Somehow Julie had lengthened herself in mid-jump, the way our cat Wilfred did when stretching to catch a fly.

I was used to Wilfred behaving like a Slinky — but Julie! Housecleaning must keep Julie in great shape, I thought.

Julie's fashionably untidy hair fell over her forehead, threatening to block her view. I loaned her a hairclip, shaped like a sleeping cat, that Madge had made for me. With smiled thanks, Julie used it to shove her hair back.

Jack grew extra cunning, and slammed my next serve well out of Julie's reach. When it was my team's turn to serve again, I shifted to the front row, ending up beside Julie.

“Is the Raven safe?” I asked her.

Julie laughed and pinched my cheek. Exercise and being outside — and not brooding about her sister, I thought — were good for Julie. Her brown eyes were sparkling; her complexion, rosy.

She replied, “The mask is locked in a formidable steel safe in my stateroom. The Raven himself wouldn't be clever enough to get out of that.”

Julie shot up, Slinky-like, to spike —
BONK!
— a fast, spinning ball Jack had punched over. Our side applauded.

I forgot about threats to the Raven. Jack whammed the ball over. It bounced neatly on the top of my head, soared up —

And would have landed on our side, a loss for us, except that Julie spiked it back.

Our cheers were interrupted, however. Somebody on the other team objected that my “head return” wasn't in the volleyball rulebook.

“What rulebook? Where?” said everyone else. We just wanted to play. But we all ended up in a huddle to argue about it. Julie and I rolled our eyes at each other.

I happened to roll mine in the direction of a set of stairs coming up from a stateroom level. Halfway up the stairs, staring open-mouthed, was Evan Brander.

Maybe the concept
of a volleyball court was a new and startling one to my pianist.

I didn't think so. Evan was surprised to see someone.

He was looking at —

Julie?

Turning, Evan hurried back down the stairs.

“Weird,” I muttered.

“Exactly,” said Jack, addressing the person who'd complained. “This isn't pro volleyball, buddy. It's for fun.”