might’ve been in any of those ports at the relevant times.”
“You have someone really good on this?” Jude asked.
Crow nodded, his smile growing. “The very best. Angela Hawkins. My wife.”
* * *
At seven Alexi joined Clara and some of the other performers and crew members in what they affectionately called “the bowels,” or the employee cafeteria area, far toward the stern on the second deck. They didn’t dine in any of the three main restaurants on the ship, but in a private space that didn’t sport linen napkins or elegant wineglasses. It was still fine; Alexi thought the food served belowdecks was just as good as that in the dining rooms and buffets above. She also liked the fact that the Celtic American line considered all “staff”—from prestigious guest performers to the catering and cleaning crews—to be equal. There were no elite employees. Bradley Wilcox was hard to take at times, but aside from that, they were all treated courteously and with respect.
Alexi scooped up tuna and chips and got a salad from the buffet. She saw that Clara was seated with Ralph Martini and Simon Green. Ralph was shaking his head as she sat down with them. “Can’t figure it. Can’t figure how the police haven’t got this guy yet.” He shuddered. “Sorry. I’m obsessing. It’s just...he’s in New Orleans!”
“He struck in New Orleans,” Simon said. “Doesn’t mean he’s still in New Orleans. He may be moving north now. Or to Texas.”
“How can the cops not catch this bastard?” Ralph asked.
“I’m sure they’re doing everything they can,” Clara said.
“Hey, there are fibers, fingerprints, blood... Forensic science has given the cops all kinds of tools for catching killers,” Ralph protested. “I watch all those crime-scene TV shows. This guy has to have left something behind.”
“The police use experts and technology and everything,” Alexi said, “but crimes aren’t always that easily solved. I mean, even if you do have a hair sample, you have to have a suspect to compare it with. And from what I’ve read, it sounds like the killer must watch all the shows, too—since he hasn’t left anything behind.”
“Not that they’re telling us about, anyway!” Ralph said.
Young, blond and sun-drenched handsome in shorts and a tank top, Larry Hepburn made an appearance with his tray, smiling and indicating that he’d like the seat next to Alexi. “You people are being morbid and depressing, and you need to stop,” he said as he took his chair. “It’s hot and humid, but we’re at sea and a breeze is coming in. We have to have faith and let the cops and agents and whoever else worry about it. Who knows? They may have him by the time we’re back to port.”
“Or he’ll have moved on. To Texas, probably,” Simon said, obviously still worried. He looked around the table. “I have a sister. And I’m from Galveston. If he does head for Texas, terrible as it may seem, I hope he goes to Houston.”
“They’ll get him,” Larry said. He turned to Alexi. “We have a rehearsal tonight. After that we’ll come by the piano bar. Or at least, I’ll come by the piano bar. They say you’re always packed. You must be good.”
“I’m good at getting people to sing,” Alexi said. “And that’s what they want to do at a piano bar.” She smiled at him, but suddenly wanted to escape. She was horrified by what had happened in New Orleans and disturbed by the men Nolan had introduced her to, the Celtic American line “bigwigs,” and the strange man she’d seen running by. Something was going on.
“And that’s why they love you!” someone announced. Jensen Hardy, the cruise director, was beaming down at them from the end of the table.
She’d sailed with Jensen before. He was a nice guy—but so perpetually cheerful that he actually got on her nerves. He was a great cruise director, precisely because he never seemed to tire. He had a crew of underlings who managed everything from kids’ activities to “naughty” trivia, poolside events and more. Jensen was determined that everyone on board have a good time.
She forced a smile. “Thanks, Jensen.”
“Squeeze in, can you?” he asked.
“I have to leave, anyway,” she said. “You can have my seat.”
“Aw, we have to switch you out for Jensen?” Larry teased.
“Yes, for now,” Jensen said, sounding stern. “But don’t leave right away. I want to remind you all that many of our passengers have saved for years to get on this ship. We’re on the pricier side, as you know. We’re here to see that they’re entertained. I overheard you talking—murders are happening in the States, not on this ship. Don’t go about discussing your fears or ideas, okay? We’re not going to ruin lifetime dreams for hundreds of people, are we?”
“Nope, we’re not!” Alexi agreed. She stood, a little too wedged in between Clara and Larry, and she smiled apologetically. “Jensen,” she told the cruise director, “I will be the embodiment of good cheer. You all have a great rehearsal. The show is the highlight of the cruise for many people. And yes,” she added, smiling at the performers, “I’m delighted when you come to the piano bar—especially since, every once in a while, no one wants to sing, so it’s great to have your voices.”
Larry moved aside but offered her a come-hither smile as he did. He was used to people liking him. He was definitely hot and studly; it was just that his kind of hot and studly was lost on her. She managed a polite smile. “See you later,” she said as she tried not to brush against him. She made her way around him, ready to take her tray to deposit at the receptacle.
“You’re the best, Alexi!” Jensen called out.
She widened her smile—and escaped them.
Set for the evening in a feminine tuxedo, she went up to the piano bar, passing through the casino, waving or saying hello to some of the hosts and hostesses she’d sailed with before. She crossed the Picture Gallery and one of the night clubs on her way to the piano bar and paused to browse through some of the pictures.
The gallery was always fun to see. Couples smiled and embraced as they were photographed boarding the ship. Large family groups, sometimes all wearing the same T-shirts, grinned and posed for the camera.
Frowning, Alexi went through the first round, the boarding photographs. It wasn’t that she really studied every one. But she was pretty sure that at least three travelers had not been captured by the camera.
She didn’t see either of the “bigwigs.”
Nor did she see the man who’d leaped through the piano bar and shown up at her door.
It was a mystery, but one she didn’t intend to pursue at the moment. She went to her piano; seated at the bench, she arranged her music, smiling and telling those who paused to ask that she started at nine.
Her first number would be “Somewhere Over the Rainbow” as she’d promised. That would make Minnie happy.
She actually began a few minutes before nine, welcoming the people already seated at the bar and at the cocktail tables scattered around the room. There were children among them. She idly played melodies while she talked to the guests, asked where they were from and made a point of involving them. Parents usually took
