Santa Cruise by Mary Higgins Clark Page A

looking for us,” Highbridge said. “It’s his neck, too, if we’re found.”
    Suddenly the blades of a windmill on the ninth hole, which had been spinning wildly, came loose and went flying through the air. They landed inches from their sandaled feet.

22
    E ric knew that if he ran into Alvirah Meehan on an isolated deck, he’d toss her overboard. If it weren’t for her, Bull’s-Eye and Highbridge would still be safely in his stateroom, and he’d be that much closer to his big payoff. The way things were, they had told Eric they wouldn’t give him the second half of his money when their people picked them up off Fishbowl Island. And he’d be lucky if one or the other of them, once they were safely outside the United States, didn’t write a letter explaining to the authorities exactly how they fled the country.
    Eric had another thought. If he came across Dudley on an isolated deck, it would be an even greater pleasure to throw him in the drink. All this was coursing through his mind, as he was temporarily forced to abandon the search for his two charges and check on Crater. Grabbing on to the bannister, he hurried down flight after flight ofsteps to the medical facility in the bowels of the ship. With each descending flight, the rocking of the ship lessened somewhat, but even so he had to steady himself along the guardrail of the passageway outside the infirmary.
    Expecting to find an empty waiting room, Eric was disagreeably surprised to find it filled with queasy passengers demanding ear patches for their seasickness. Bobby Grimes, whose drunken outburst had been the talk of the cocktail party, was holding his head in his hands. When he spotted Eric, he barked, “I knew I should have stayed home.”
    I wish you had, too, Eric thought, as he crossed the small reception area and opened the door that led to Gephardt’s office and the treatment rooms. The nurse behind the desk was sorting medication. She had the aura of a guard dog. Looking at Eric, she frowned in disapproval.
    â€œMy uncle wants me to speak to Crater,” he told her. “Which room is he in?”
    â€œSecond on the right,” she answered crisply. “Dr. Gephardt is with him.”
    The door to Crater’s room was open. Gephardt was beside the bed. Eric heard him say, “This shot will definitely relieve those back spasms, Mr. Crater. It should also help you sleep.”
    â€œI want to go back to my room,” Crater protested, his voice drowsy.
    â€œNot tonight,” Gephardt said firmly. “Your back is bad, and we’re in a storm. The last thing we need is for you to fall again. Down here you’re in the calmest part of the ship, and we can keep an eye on you.”
    Crater tried to sit up but fell back immediately, moaning in pain.
    â€œSee what I mean!” Gephardt said triumphantly. “The medicine will start to work in a few minutes. Now just relax.”
    Eric tapped the door to announce his presence and walked over to the bed. “Mr. Crater, we’re so sorry about your accident. But you’re in good hands with Dr. Gephardt.”
    â€œThose miserable kids,” Crater moaned. “Who stuck me at that table?”
    â€œNever mind,” Eric said soothingly. “From now on you’ll be seated at the Commodore’s table. He’s wonderfully entertaining.”
    â€œThat’s right,” Gephardt agreed. “Mr. Crater, you said yourself these back spasms don’t last long. We hope to have you up and about as soon as possible. But you absolutely cannot move now. Of course, we can always summon your helicopter when the storm passes, if you feel you’d be more comfortable at home.”
    Crater’s face darkened. “Where’s my cell phone?” he asked as he drifted off to sleep.
    Gephardt nodded to Eric, indicating they should step outside. Eric followed him into his office. A lightbulb had gone off in