Haunted Destiny Read online

  Alexi didn’t particularly want to say hi to anyone at the moment; she wanted to lie down. She’d had lunch with her parents on shore, and much as she loved them, an hour or two in their company could be exhausting.

  “Just for a sec!” Clara encouraged.

  Alexi followed her into the crew lounge.

  They didn’t separate crew down here. It was a hallmark for most people who accepted employment with the Celtic American line. Entertainers and officers mingled with room stewards, even though the lounge space was small. But there was a television, a computer, lots of comfortable chairs, plenty of snacks, a refrigerator, coffeepot and a microwave.

  And right now the lounge was crowded, mostly with entertainers, those who didn’t play or perform as the passengers boarded. “Hey, new guys! This is Alexi Cromwell, for those who haven’t met her yet. She runs the piano bar and she loves it when we stop by.”

  “Hi, Alexi!” Ralph Martini was the first to hail her. She knew Ralph. He’d been on her first contract schedule.

  Ralph continued with, “I’m not new. I’m just saying hi first!” Ralph was a friendly, easygoing guy. She thought he was about fifty. He had a great tenor and often did a one-man show. Balding, a little stout—and totally charming. Women on board loved him.

  “Alexi. I’m Simon Green,” a man said, rising and offering her his hand. He was tall and lean, with a pleasant boy-next-door face. “In the cast, my first go at it. Just a chorus guy.”

  “No such thing as just a chorus guy,” Alexi said. “I’m sure you’re very talented. Good to meet you, and please, come by anytime.”

  Simon Green shrugged, giving her a smile. “I’m a happy guy. I’ve been on a few cruises with Celtic American as a passenger. So I’m thrilled to be on the Destiny and seeing how it all works from the other side!”

  She went on to meet Larry Hepburn, early twenties, blond, beach-boy type, out of LA, and Leanne Wilburn, from Des Moines. As they were all greeting one another, Bradley Wilcox, head of entertainment, who’d recently transferred over from the Dublin, stuck his head in.

  Alexi had met Bradley Wilcox before. He, too, had been on her first run with the ship.

  She stayed away from him as much as she could. He organized excellent shows, hired great bands for the various dining spots and bars—and was a complete jerk. He didn’t seem capable of compliments.

  “Guitar Hero Boys, you’re due on the promenade in fifteen minutes. You should be getting in place.”

  The foursome who made up the group rose and marched out. Alexi heard one mutter as he passed her. “Are you set up? Yes. Ready to go? Yes. Are you an asshole, Brad? Yes!”

  She tried not to smile. And when the band had gone by, she left, too, wishing them all well—those who were new and those who’d returned to the Destiny or had switched from other ships.

  In her cabin, Alexi sank down on the bed and closed her eyes, wishing she could sleep. She found herself thinking about Blake and Minnie.

  Their deaths had been tragic. Minnie, a star of stage and screen, had fallen in love with Blake when he’d played Romeo to her Juliet in a touring company in the thirties. The fact that she was taking the Destiny for a transatlantic voyage had been huge news at the time; reporters and fans alike had booked onto the voyage.

  The fans had included a deranged former lover, convinced that if he removed Blake from the picture, he would have his Minnie back.

  Minnie had been singing an impromptu number in the piano bar. Also known as the Algiers Saloon, it was located exactly where it was now. Her previous lover, Allan Snow, had leaped to his feet after one of her numbers and declared his devotion. Minnie had claimed her eternal devotion, as well—to Blake.

  So Allan Snow had pulled out a gun and shot Blake, who’d jumped in front of Minnie to be her protector. Then he’d shot Minnie and himself.

  The ghost of Allan Snow didn’t seem to be aboard. Minnie told Alexi that she’d never seen him and she’d figured that God had been good, allowing her and Blake a different way to be together. She’d smiled and said their love was eternal.

  Alexi figured it was natural that they’d haunt the piano bar.

  She turned and hugged her pillow. Since Zach had been in the service and deployed overseas, they’d talked about the possibility of his death. She’d promised that if it happened, she’d always remember him—and she’d go on with her life, be happy.

  She wasn’t suicidal, never had been. She was willing to find a new purpose, a new role, a new way of being. Just as she’d promised. Happy was more difficult.

  What worried her now was the fact that he was slipping away. She thought about him often, with love. Sometimes she was happy now. She laughed at the antics of passengers and enjoyed meeting them. She’d even roamed various ports with friends she made aboard. She knew she shouldn’t feel guilty, and yet she did.

  She reached into the gloomy air of her cabin, as if she could touch him.

  “I just wish I could’ve said goodbye,” she murmured aloud.

  Then she was startled out of her reflections when it seemed that something slammed against her door.

  She jumped up and hurried to open it.

  A man stood there, tall, dark-haired and...bizarre.

  He was wearing a gray sweatshirt and blue jeans and strange prosthetic makeup. The man who’d raced through the piano bar!

  He looked at her with beseeching eyes.

  “I must speak with you. I must!” he said.

  She frowned. Was he new in the entertainment department?

  There was a commotion at the aft end of the hallway, and Alexi peered in that direction.

  More men were coming along the hallway, men she’d never seen down in the entertainment area before, but they were accompanied by Nolan Perkins, one of the stewards.

  “Sir,” she began, turning back to the man who had knocked at her door.

  He was gone. She thought she saw him disappear around a corner that led to midship. She looked in the other direction.

  “Hey, Alexi,” Nolan said.

  “What’s going on?” she asked.

  “I’m just showing these gentlemen the ship,” Nolan said. He lowered his voice. “They’re bigwigs with Celtic American,” he told her, then cleared his throat. “Alexi Cromwell, meet Jackson Crow and Jude McCoy.”

  “How do you do?” the first man said, smiling as he reached for her hand. He was tall, good-looking and obviously had Native American ancestry. His dark hair and light eyes made for a striking contrast.

  “Ms. Cromwell,” said the other. He was equally tall, broad-shouldered, sandy-haired. His eyes were unusual—blue and green with flecks of brown. His features were clean-cut, his jaw hard and square. Very attractive, in a rugged, austere manner.

  He looked at her oddly.

  As if he knew her? Or thought he did?

  Or worse—thought she was guilty of something!

  Both men wore tailored shirts and pants, not the usual tourist apparel. But then, they weren’t tourists. They were bigwigs with Celtic American.

  “Nice to meet you,” Alexi said.

  “Have you seen a man?” Nolan asked her.

  That made her laugh. “A man? Nolan, I’ve seen hundreds of men. It’s a cruise ship.”

  She understood exactly what he meant. And yet, for some reason, she was loath to tell him that yes, a man—a strange-looking man—had just gone by. She wondered why company VIPs were so interested in him.

  “He’s tall, bizarre makeup of some kind, sweat shirt and jeans,” Jude McCoy said.

  She lifted her shoulders. “I believe I did see him earlier,” she admitted, “running through the piano bar when the passengers were boarding.”

  She had seen that same man again, just minutes ago. And she wasn’t telling these men. Why? Instinct?
Pity?

  But there’d been something even more peculiar about him than the prosthetic makeup or whatever it was he had on his face. A sense of anguish, perhaps.

  She hesitated. She shouldn’t lie to these people. But the young man had seemed so desperate. In her heart, she felt that he’d come to her for help.

  Still...

  “Actually,” she said, “I think he was in this hallway. He ran in that direction. But where he is right now, I couldn’t say.”

  That was mostly the truth. She didn’t know where he was. He’d run.

  “Well, thank you, Ms. Cromwell. If you should see him again, can you report him to us, please? We’re in staterooms 312 and 314,” Jackson Crow said. “It’s imperative that we find him,” he added quietly. “But I’m not at liberty to discuss the details.”

  “Of course,” she murmured.

  As they walked down the hall, she was more suspicious than ever.

  Why were company bigwigs staying down in the bowels of the ship with the crew? The larger rooms—staterooms with balconies, the suites—were on the upper decks.

  She was about to return to her cabin when Clara came running down the hallway, leaning against the wall, gasping for breath. “Alexi! Did you have the news on?”

  “The news? No, why?”

  “Thank God we’re leaving! That guy, that horrible killer!” She gasped for more breath. “The Archangel—he murdered a woman in New Orleans!”

  2

  It wasn’t until the Destiny was far out into the Gulf of Mexico that Jackson Crow and Jude had a chance to meet with Captain Xavier Thorne and his head of security, David Beach. Their first business on board after walking every deck, including the holds and areas passengers never saw, was to go through the ship’s passenger and crew screening. There was a page for every passenger and crew member on board, including a photograph and information regarding citizenship and means of identification. A ship-issued ID was required anytime anyone, passenger or employee, boarded or left the Destiny.

  In other words, no one, including crew, could get on or off the ship without that ID.

  Jude and Jackson hadn’t seen their man in the thousands of passenger screening documents—but then, even if they’d seen him, they might not have known him.

  This suspect could have ditched his makeup anytime after he’d boarded. Or certainly, after he’d been seen by Alexi Cromwell.

  It was time to explain to Thorne and Beach just what they were doing there.

  Xavier Thorne was fifty-five, according to the information they had, a veteran of many sailings. He’d served in the United States Navy before becoming a civilian employee in the pleasure business; he’d worked as a captain for smaller yachts doing private charters and for a number of the major lines before he’d settled in at Celtic American fifteen years ago. He was a serious man, but still capable of smiling.

  Jude had wanted to stop the ship from going out, which had proved to be impossible. Not even the powers that existed behind Jackson Crow had been able to make that happen. Neither he nor Crow knew for sure if the man they’d chased was a killer. And, despite Ms. Cromwell’s sighting, they couldn’t verify that he was on the ship. At least his new partner/supervisor seemed to believe him. He’d not only put Jude on the ship, he’d also accompanied him. So now, at five that afternoon, they met with the captain and Beach.

  David Beach was an ox of a man, almost six and a half feet tall. Jude, at six-three, felt dwarfed by him. Beach also had stellar credentials, having served with the NYPD and Homeland Security before retiring at fifty to enter the civilian sector and take the job with the Celtic American line.

  They knew all this because they’d accessed Jackson Crow’s home office to receive dossiers on every member of the crew.

  Now they sat in the captain’s office to speak and while the space was large enough, it felt small. David Beach, Jude thought, could make just about anyone—short of Shaquille O’Neal, no pun intended—seem small and any space seem close and crowded.

  Beach remained quiet after Jackson had spoken, and Captain Thorne frowned as he weighed his response.

  “You believe you’ve chased a serial killer onto my ship?” he finally asked.

  “Yes, Captain,” Jude replied. “We believe that the killer’s been using cruise ports and ships to track and murder his victims—and that we followed him onto the Destiny.”

  The captain shook his head. “I don’t see how you could know this. I heard about that terrible business at the church in the Treme district and I don’t think anyone, anywhere in the world, has missed the news about the fear this man is creating, but...this was the killer’s first strike in New Orleans.”

  “You don’t really even know if the man you followed onto the ship was responsible for the heinous act at the church,” David Beach added.

  “Captain, we followed a man who behaved suspiciously at the crime scene. I’m aware of both your backgrounds,” Crow told them. “Mr. Beach, you’ve certainly been through seminars on the psychology of killers like this. The man’s behavior was the kind we consider exceptionally suspicious.”

  “So they sent the troops out on a ship because of a man behaving suspiciously at a crime scene?” Captain Thorne asked. “Seems to me it would’ve made more sense to prowl the streets of New Orleans, tracing hard evidence.”

  “Trust me, Captain, there are many law enforcement officers doing just that,” Jude said.

  “Of course. I assume every law enforcement officer in the States is on the lookout, but—”

  “We don’t intend to be intrusive,” Crow assured him.

  “Frankly, whether you are or not, I have no real power over this.” Thorne glanced over at Beach. “Word’s come down from on high at Celtic American. We are to give you every assistance you require. However, I’d hate to put an entire ship full of people into a state of panic because you chased a man for behaving in a manner you describe as suspicious and you think he’s on this ship.”

  “We don’t want a panic, either,” Jude said. “What we do want is to advise you that this man may be on board and may be dangerous. I would imagine,” he went on, and he could hear his voice harden as he spoke, “that you’d be concerned. You have several thousand passengers, not to mention a large crew, any of whom could be in danger. Granted, most of the so-called Archangel’s victims have been women but he’s killed at least one man. We’d like you to make a speech warning everyone to take extreme care, to lock their cabins and watch out for their personal safety.”

  “Every cruise company in the world has guidelines warning passengers that while all precautions are taken, crime can still happen,” Beach told them.

  “I don’t usually make announcements like that,” Thorne murmured.

  “You can make it friendly,” Crow said. “As well as serious.”

  “And of course, you need to alert your crew, and, most important, Mr. Beach, every one of your security officers,” Jude put in. “I doubt this man is still dressed the same. He’d have his own clothing or he’d have stolen a change of clothing by now.”

  “Can you give me a description of his face?” Beach asked.

  “Tragedy,” Jude said, recalling the strange prosthetic makeup he’d seen on the man.

  “What?”

  “He was wearing theatrical makeup when we saw him,” Jude explained. “He’s probably gotten rid of it, cleaned up, by now.”

  Thorne raised his salt-and-pepper brows beneath his captain’s hat and looked over at Beach. Then he stared hard from Jackson Crow to Jude.

  “Gentlemen—”

  “Assistant Director Jackson Crow and Special Agent Jude McCoy,” Crow interrupted. He smiled, appearing polite, ready to be friendly and helpful, while ensuring that their purpose was noted.

  Captain Thorne nodded. “But you need to reali
ze that you’re asking me to put a security crew and every one of almost a thousand crew members on guard and warn over two thousand passengers—many on the vacation of a lifetime—that there may be a killer on board. ‘Enjoy the crystal beauty of the Caribbean! Ah, but be aware. The FBI believes there might be a homicidal maniac on board. Apparently, he was wearing makeup and God knows what he’s wearing now. Watch out for him, though!’” He rolled his eyes. “Sorry, Agents. But on this ship I’m like the president, the grand high master, the great pooh-bah, what have you. I can’t scare them all half to death.”

  “We haven’t asked you to do that,” Jude said flatly. “Captain, don’t you want this man caught? Don’t you want your passengers safe?”

  “Of course!” Thorne replied indignantly.

  “Just remind them of safety-precaution tips—and even mention the horror in NOLA without suggesting the killer could be on board,” Crow said. “Make sure your officers are advised. Make sure they patrol the bars and clubs and watch out for men who seem to be stalking women.”

  Beach muttered something under his breath. They all looked at him.

  He sighed. “I’d say at least some of the people on this ship are out for more than fun and sun—a chance to get lucky outside their real world. How can I watch everyone in the middle of that kind of behavior?”

  “You’ve been a cop. You know how to observe people, how to judge their moods, how to tell when something’s out of whack,” Jude said.

  Beach nodded grimly. Jude was glad that he’d brought up the man’s past; it seemed to remind him of his own sense of self-respect and ability.

  “We also have almost limitless resources working on this. Within a few hours, we’ll have cleared the majority of people on this vessel. Investigators in our main office will soon learn who has and who hasn’t been in the areas of the country where the murders were committed. That will eliminate the majority of people on the ship,” Jude said.

  Captain Thorne was obviously relieved. “The killer had to have traveled, right? Miami? Fort Lauderdale?”

  “And Mobile,” Crow said.