himself. “She’s on stage at the moment.”
“Could a woman have done this?”
“Sure. A young, physically fit woman? A dancer? Versus an over-the-hill car salesman who’d had at least five drinks?”
“It would be quite a coincidence, wouldn’t it? Rapist and victim meet on a ship halfway around the world from the crime?”
“The charge may have been false,” Marco said.
“In which case, the young woman would have no reason for revenge. It would be Mr. Gaskill who would harbor a grudge.” Bondurant glanced around at the other four, a deep furrow between his eyes. “Could either of them have known the other was on the ship?”
“You mean before the cruise started? Not likely. But they could have bumped into each other at any time after that,” Letsos said, taking the plastic bag containing the hairpiece back from Bondurant. He held it up and, by way of dismissal, said, “We’ll see if Mrs. Gaskill can identify this tomorrow morning. She’s probably asleep by now. And we’ll try to catch Miss Benson when she leaves the stage.”
Chapter Eleven
A note from Marco lay on the floor inside my door. I’d forgotten he said he would wait for me in the Zeus Deck bar. I was so absorbed in the book Dr. Girard had given me, I’d found a seat between the outside doors and the stairway and sat there looking through it for some unknown period of time, unaware I hadn’t actually gone to my room. When I finally did make it back to my room, it was well after eleven, and I was dead tired. Of course I was tired! I’d been up since three a.m., with less than two hours’ sleep.
I recognized Marco’s squared-off style of printing. I opened the note and read: “Dear Dotsy, Where are you? I am tired of drinking by myself. I am going back to the bar for a few more minutes, but I am going to leave at midnight. Marco”
I looked up the number for the Zeus Deck bar on the telephone info card, dialed it, and left a message for Marco saying I was crashing and I’d see him in the morning.
* * * * *
I slept the sleep of the righteous until seven the next morning, dressed, and scanned the day’s activities in the “Oracle,” the flyer the cabin steward shoved under my door each night. We were to visit the island of Patmos today. Patmos is the traditional site where St. John the Evangelist wrote the book of Revelation. Apparently, our ship would have to anchor outside the harbor and we would need to take a small launch to shore. It was too early to wake anyone else up, so I breakfasted alone and rode the elevator up to the Zeus Deck, the top level and one I hadn’t seen yet. Except for the bar/lounge on the bow, now closed, the Zeus Deck was dominated by a large gymnasium covered with bubble-shaped skylights. The ship’s smokestack rose above the forward end of the gym. I felt a twinge of guilt when I looked at the doors to the bar. That was where I’d have met Marco last night.
Aft of the gym, I found a small sun deck with chairs and tables scattered around. Two people sat at one table drinking coffee. With a small shock, I saw one of those people was Kathryn Gaskill and the other was the man I’d noticed in the debarkation line yesterday and pegged as “trying too hard to look casual.” I paused, turned to the rail and gazed across the water. It was blinding in the morning sun. Don’t be silly, Dotsy. Go over and talk to them , I told myself. I walked over.
“Dotsy, this is Nigel Endicott. He’s from Vermont.”
Nigel Endicott rose and shook my hand. A man of indeterminate age, his skin said “fifty-something,” but his hair, the gold ring in one ear, and the tattoo on one arm said “thirty-something.” He wore black-rimmed glasses and his hair, scrunched up with gel into the tousled style the young men all wore, had a sprinkling of gray mixed in with the dark.
“Are you traveling alone, Nigel?”
“Yes. I was just telling . . .”
“Kathryn,” Kathryn prompted.
“Kathryn, that since my
“Could a woman have done this?”
“Sure. A young, physically fit woman? A dancer? Versus an over-the-hill car salesman who’d had at least five drinks?”
“It would be quite a coincidence, wouldn’t it? Rapist and victim meet on a ship halfway around the world from the crime?”
“The charge may have been false,” Marco said.
“In which case, the young woman would have no reason for revenge. It would be Mr. Gaskill who would harbor a grudge.” Bondurant glanced around at the other four, a deep furrow between his eyes. “Could either of them have known the other was on the ship?”
“You mean before the cruise started? Not likely. But they could have bumped into each other at any time after that,” Letsos said, taking the plastic bag containing the hairpiece back from Bondurant. He held it up and, by way of dismissal, said, “We’ll see if Mrs. Gaskill can identify this tomorrow morning. She’s probably asleep by now. And we’ll try to catch Miss Benson when she leaves the stage.”
Chapter Eleven
A note from Marco lay on the floor inside my door. I’d forgotten he said he would wait for me in the Zeus Deck bar. I was so absorbed in the book Dr. Girard had given me, I’d found a seat between the outside doors and the stairway and sat there looking through it for some unknown period of time, unaware I hadn’t actually gone to my room. When I finally did make it back to my room, it was well after eleven, and I was dead tired. Of course I was tired! I’d been up since three a.m., with less than two hours’ sleep.
I recognized Marco’s squared-off style of printing. I opened the note and read: “Dear Dotsy, Where are you? I am tired of drinking by myself. I am going back to the bar for a few more minutes, but I am going to leave at midnight. Marco”
I looked up the number for the Zeus Deck bar on the telephone info card, dialed it, and left a message for Marco saying I was crashing and I’d see him in the morning.
* * * * *
I slept the sleep of the righteous until seven the next morning, dressed, and scanned the day’s activities in the “Oracle,” the flyer the cabin steward shoved under my door each night. We were to visit the island of Patmos today. Patmos is the traditional site where St. John the Evangelist wrote the book of Revelation. Apparently, our ship would have to anchor outside the harbor and we would need to take a small launch to shore. It was too early to wake anyone else up, so I breakfasted alone and rode the elevator up to the Zeus Deck, the top level and one I hadn’t seen yet. Except for the bar/lounge on the bow, now closed, the Zeus Deck was dominated by a large gymnasium covered with bubble-shaped skylights. The ship’s smokestack rose above the forward end of the gym. I felt a twinge of guilt when I looked at the doors to the bar. That was where I’d have met Marco last night.
Aft of the gym, I found a small sun deck with chairs and tables scattered around. Two people sat at one table drinking coffee. With a small shock, I saw one of those people was Kathryn Gaskill and the other was the man I’d noticed in the debarkation line yesterday and pegged as “trying too hard to look casual.” I paused, turned to the rail and gazed across the water. It was blinding in the morning sun. Don’t be silly, Dotsy. Go over and talk to them , I told myself. I walked over.
“Dotsy, this is Nigel Endicott. He’s from Vermont.”
Nigel Endicott rose and shook my hand. A man of indeterminate age, his skin said “fifty-something,” but his hair, the gold ring in one ear, and the tattoo on one arm said “thirty-something.” He wore black-rimmed glasses and his hair, scrunched up with gel into the tousled style the young men all wore, had a sprinkling of gray mixed in with the dark.
“Are you traveling alone, Nigel?”
“Yes. I was just telling . . .”
“Kathryn,” Kathryn prompted.
“Kathryn, that since my
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