Page 21 of Hearts Aweigh
A STEADY STREAM OF PASSENGERS dressed in everything from raggedy cutoffs to feather boas traversed the marble-tiled floor of the luxurious lobby. Emily and Gerry stood at the front desk, talking to yet another Monarch employee. The receptionist was their third interview.
“Please tell me you’re joking,” Emily groused. It had been a frustrating morning following a fruitless trail from the waiter to the bartender to the receptionist. “You found a padded envelope at your station when you returned from the restroom?”
“Yes,” Malaya said. “It was sitting on my desk with a sticky note telling me to deliver it to the lido deck bartender. He and I have been”—she simpered—“shall we say, becoming better acquainted? I spend all my breaks with him. I admit I was curious and peeked when he opened it.” Her eyes took on a sharp glint.
“I wanted to be sure no one was stealing my man. But there was only a smaller envelope inside with another sticky note saying give it to the waiter who works the splash pad.”
“It’s like a twisted chain letter,” Gerry muttered as she scribbled in her notebook.
“Were you there when your boyfriend passed it on?” Emily leaned on the desk.
Malaya giggled. “Boyfriend? It’s not official yet. But if you want to slip him a hint, I don’t mind.”
“Focus, Malaya.” Emily tapped the shiny wood. “We can talk about your love life later. What did the waiter find when he opened the message?”
“A black envelope with another sticky note that said deliver it to the man wearing an orange ball cap at the splash pad.”
“It doesn’t make sense.” Emily moaned. “How could the writer be sure he’d still be there? Anyway. Thanks, Malaya.”
They moved away from the desk.
Gerry snapped her notebook shut. “Dead end.”
“Hello, hello.” Barney Bosko scooted to their side, hands in his pockets. “What are you ladies up to today? Making more trouble?”
“Always,” said Emily.
“Well, don’t leave me out of the fun.” He bumped her. “This round of cruisers is calmer than a Sunday afternoon at the public library.”
“The library’s closed on Sundays,” Gerry said.
“Exactly,” he grumbled. “I’m about to die of boredom. Be sure and tell me if you find anything interesting.”
The familiar form of Mr. May–December approached, his youthful girlfriend nowhere in sight. He swerved around them and charged to the front desk. Gone was the cavalier lecher from earlier. The man placed a shaky hand on the counter. “What will it take to get me off this boat?”
“Excuse me?” Malaya squinted. “We’re in the middle of the ocean, sir.”
“I’m not blind.” He slapped the wood. “I mean, how soon will we dock at a town with an airport? I need to get home. It’s”—he glanced over his shoulder—“it’s an emergency.”
Emily nudged Gerry with her elbow. Her lanky friend opened her notebook once again.
Barney noted the direction they were looking, and his voice rose. “Who’s he?”
“Shhh!” Emily whacked him on the arm.
Malaya typed into her computer. “I’m sorry you have to leave us.” She explained the customer’s options, wrote the information on a sheet of paper, and passed it to him. “Can I help you book a flight?”
“Now you’re talking.” He eyed Emily and lowered his voice. His words were lost in the drone of lobby conversations.
But no one had warned Malaya to do the same. She responded in her usual vivacious tone. “Will your wife be leaving with you?”
“My wife!” His head jerked as he scanned the lobby.
“Yes, sir.” She pointed at her computer screen. “Your reservation is for Mr. and Mrs. Meyers.”
“Oh, her.” He relaxed. “Nah. She’s gonna stay and finish the cruise. She’ll probably find a new boyfriend before you sail home.”
“Um”—Malaya blinked—“yes, sir.”
Emily frittered in her purse so as not to appear interested. After fixing her makeup, eating a butterscotch candy, and studying a wrinkled tourist brochure, she was running out of excuses when Malaya’s printer finally buzzed.
The receptionist handed the man his itinerary. “Here you are, sir. Booked on the first flight for Galveston tomorrow morning. You can catch a taxi at the dock. I hope you enjoy your remaining night with us.”
He snorted. “Not likely. Any chance you’ll give me a refund for the rest of the cruise?”
The tiniest quirk pulled at the corner of Malaya’s mouth. “Not likely, sir.”
“Figures.” He stomped away without a word of gratitude.
Barney turned to watch the man and rubbed his freckled bald spot. “Am I missing something?”
“Sorry, Barney,” Emily said. “We’ll have to fill you in later.”
She and Gerry left without explanation. They tailed the sullen customer through the lobby, careful to keep a healthy distance.
When he stopped, Emily slipped a pair of aviator sunglasses on and pointed her face at the ground.
The mirrored lenses hid the fact her gaze was still fixed on Mr. May–December.
He approached a trash can on the periphery, looked around, and withdrew the black envelope from his pocket.
After ripping it into small pieces, he wadded them into a ball, hurled it into the receptacle, and stormed away.
“Gerry.” Emily pointed at his retreating figure.
“On it.” Gerry tucked away her notebook and followed him.
Emily zipped to the trash can. It was almost empty, and the crumpled remains of the note were easy to pick out. She placed the pieces in her purse and headed for her stateroom.
She always did love puzzles.