“Jerry? Jerry … I don’t think so. There was Gerald Kent-Jermyn, of course. We were just talking to his wife.”
“Contracta,” Skip said.
“Whatever. She sounded just like a wife. He won’t do?”
“No. We’ve eliminated him. Jerome?”
Vanessa’s eyebrows went up. “I thought you said Jerry.”
“Men named Jerome are often called Jerry, informally.”
“I didn’t know that. What about G-E-R-R-Y? I’ve known women with that name, and it’s pronounced like Jerry.”
“I don’t think it’s a woman, but I heard the name on the phone, so it could be that. Or Geri with an I. Were there any?”
Vanessa shook her head. “Not that I know of.”
“Jeremy? Gerard?”
“I don’t think so. John and James. Alan and Robert. There were lots of those.”
“Don Miles.”
She nodded. “Yes, I remember him. And Joe. There were several Joes. Josephs. Several Josephs and one Jake. But I can’t help you with Jerry, I’m afraid, if it isn’t Gerald Kent-Jermyn. I have something to tell you, though, and I wish you’d let me get it out. It’s important, and I’m about to burst.”
“There was someone at that party called Jerry,” Skip insisted.
“If you say so, then I’m sure there was. But I don’t know about him, and Amelia’s dead. She was at the party much more than I was.” Vanessa snapped her fingers. “Why don’t you ask Nan? She was there. Or her husband.”
“I will.”
“Now please don’t tell me why you have to know. Not until I tell you. Do you remember the restaurant? I saw the people eating, and the woman saw me?”
Skip nodded.
“Afterward I was stabbed. Not long afterward, either. Just a few minutes. Did I describe the woman to you?”
“Yes. Round-faced, heavy, nice-looking, light brown hair.”
“There’s a woman on this ship. The first time I saw her I knew I’d seen her before, but I couldn’t place her. She’s more of a blonde now, but that’s easy and it could be the sun. Then we had that meeting. You had me take off my little gun so everybody could see my arm. Remember?”
“I do.” Skip was staring. “There was only one other woman in that room.”
“Does she work for you? I got that impression.”
“She did. She was my secretary. You’re saying that Susan—Susan Clerkin, who worked for me for years—belonged to a suicide ring.”
Vanessa shook her head, earrings bouncing. “I’m not. I don’t know that. I’m just saying that the woman who was with you in that meeting is the one who saw me in Simone’s. She is. Could she have planted the bomb that killed Polly and Amelia?”
“Yes.”
“Just like that, Skip? Your secretary?”
Skip did not speak.
“My God, you look awful. Does it really hurt that much?”
“I hurt her very badly, Vanessa. I wounded her far more deeply than I realized at the time, and now she’s getting her own back with interest. She called me. That was when I was talking to the captain, after a couple of hundred of us had spent hours searching the ship for Chelle.” Skip paused, remembering. “She told me she had Chelle, and to prove it she let Chelle talk to me for a few seconds.”
Vanessa waited, large brown eyes wide, crimson mouth poised to moan.
“Chelle said they were in Jerry’s cabin. By that time I thought I knew who ‘Jerry’ was. I told the captain, and he came with us. You walked in on that.”
“So I could tell you what I just did.”
“I wish you’d told me earlier,” Skip said. “She was there. We could have held her.”
“Well, I couldn’t tell you without telling the others, could I? Not unless you’d been willing to go into a corner with me and whisper, and you wouldn’t have done that. You know you wouldn’t.”
“I suppose you’re right.” Skip closed his eyes. “Did I say that Susan had Chelle? I mean a moment ago.”
“You certainly did.”
“Then I misled you. Susan said ‘we.’ ‘We have Chelle.’ She talked about a man, apparently a lover.”
“That would be Jerry. I see.”
“Would it? That’s what I thought. I wish I weren’t so tired. It’s hard to think straight when you’re tired.”
“You need coffee. I can try to find you some if you like.”
He opened his eyes. “I need sleep, but I have to find Chelle, and find her quickly.”
“She said Jerry’s room?”
“Yes. Just that. Nothing more.”
“Then she expected you to know who Jerry was.”
“Correct. When she came back from that party, she mentioned a man called Jerry. So that’s the man, or I think it is. If she thought about it at all, she must have thought that it would be easy for me identify the Jerry she knew.”
“I can go through the list for you.” Vanessa sounded thoughtful. “My terminal’s gone, but I can find another. Richard would let me use his, I’m sure. There are bound to be more Geralds, perhaps some of those other names, too.”
Skip took off his sunglasses to rub his eyes. “The thing is, we’ve searched the ship. All the cabins. Even the crew’s quarters. They may have killed her already and disposed of the body. Only I don’t dare let myself assume that. What if they haven’t?”
“Well, I don’t believe it. Let’s get back to that little blonde who was at your meeting. You said she was your secretary?”
Resuming his sunglasses, Skip nodded.
“And it sounded as if the man with her was her lover?”
“She didn’t say so, only that she loved him. But yes, it did.”
“Only you think she was in a suicide ring.”
“Correct.”
“Well, she hasn’t committed suicide. I can promise you that. If there’s one kind of woman in the whole world who won’t kill herself, it’s a woman with a new lover. You’re fretting because you didn’t find Chelle. Did you find your secretary?”
Skip shook his head.
“You had the others looking for her? As well as Chelle?”
“Yes, certainly.”
“Then Chelle isn’t dead, and they’re still together. It’s just that nobody looked in the right place. She said she was in this Jerry’s cabin?”
“Let me think. Yes. She said Jerry’s room. ‘We’re in Jerry’s room.’ ”
“That might not be a cabin at all. We’ve an artist on board. Her name’s Cynthia Van Houten, and she’s teaching sketching and oil painting to anybody who wants to learn. She got half off on her ticket for that.”
“Are you sure this is germane?”
“I think so. She’s got a studio on D Deck, and just about everybody calls it Cynthia’s room. Suppose we go around the ship asking people where Jerry’s room is? If Chelle knew, other people are bound to know, too.”
They stopped an elderly man with a corncob pipe who had come up on deck to smoke. When Skip explained, the elderly man said, “Who’s Jerry?”
“Just someone I ran into a few days ago.” Skip paused, trying to place the man. “Young, nice-looking. We’d like to find his room. Do you know where it is?”
“ ’Fraid not.”
Ramón, the C Deck steward, knew no one of that name. Hoping against hope, Skip selected Susan’s number yet again. It was still out of service.
The muscular woman standing in the door of the spa said that there had been a woman called Jeri on the previous cruise. “Real nice lady, only she gone now.”
Skip said, “That won’t help, I’m afraid.”
“This important, Ms. Healy?”
Vanessa nodded. “Very important.”
“You wait jus’ one minute an’ I’ll help. I got to lock my place up.”
She returned a moment later. “Don’t anybody want no massage now anyhow, an’ three’s better’n two.”
“Let me have your number,” Skip said. “I’ve already got Virginia’s. We can search a lot faster if we split up. I’ll call you both if I find something; you call Virginia and me if you do. Ask for Jerry’s room. That’s all we know.”