"How will we do that on our own? There's one bit I can recreate…"
Mrs. Goldfinkel licked her lips and moved toward me.
"Your seat, madam! Sit-t-t-t-t!"
Gigi covered her mouth with her hands and scuttled to her chair of the night before. She sat primly with her hands folded in her lap, a slightly dopey expression on her face.
"I shall take the place of the deceased. Here, on the dance floor. Now, Mrs. Neptune was dancing with her back to the Captain's table so Raoul was facing it. The bullet entered his chest squarely from the front, which means it must have come from…"
With a dramatic gesture I flung my arm out.
"…the Captain's table! The table is quite alone, as befits Ahab's majesty. There was no one standing near or behind the table. There is no window or porthole near. Therefore – the foul murderer is one of us!"
I surprised even myself at that.
"Yes – it must be. Well, I never…"
"But it couldn't be," squeaked Gigi, "I mean – we were all having such a nice time – and we are not the kind of – it must have been someone else!"
"But who, Mrs. Bla… Mrs. Goldfinkel? There is no other candidate. Eliminate the impossible and whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth."
I raised an invisible meerschaum to my lips and took a drag of best Turkish.
Mrs. Goldfinkel sat still and, I thought, rather pale under her caked make-up.
"But that's silly. I mean why? The opportunity was there, granted. But who had the motive? Who had the means? Where is the weapon?"
I stared through the rich tobacco smoke. This didn't sound like the silly woman who couldn't keep a thought in her head, never mind her hands to herself.
"What motive could any of us possibly have to off a nobody Latino troubadour? I mean to say, who would bother? There really must be another explanation. A ricochet, perhaps."
I expected fluttering and incoherent denials, not this cool analysis. There was more to Mrs. Goldfinkel than her trite exterior allowed.
"Let's examine the possible motives. There's greed, jealousy…"
"Harry! I'm free! It was a bum rap! I'm suing for wrongful wotsit! Celebrate with me!"
Miss Lawrence burst into the room and whipped off her wrap with a bullfighter's flourish.
"Toro! Toro! Have at it, Parrotface! I'll stick you full of bandilleros! Ole!"
An imaginary Toro charged and was whisked to one side with a cavalier flick of the cape. Quick as lightning Miss Lawrence sank her sword in his muscular neck.
I applauded politely.
"Ole! Both ears and the tail! His pistle to the stewpot!"
Miss Lawrence stalked imperiously round the ring, one arm raised high. She flung her arms about my neck and gave me a smacker.
"I'm innocent! Pure as a newborn babe! Off the hook!"
"Innocent? Shall we say unsullied in this particular case?"
"Fair enough. Who's guilty then? Who will swing from the yardarm?"
"Well, Mrs. Goldfinkel and I were just coming to some surprising conclusions on that very…"
I turned to bring the Black Widow into the conversation and stopped. She had done a bunk. Thoughtfully, I made a mental note to continue the conversation. I put the mental note somewhere not even a likely surfeit of ethanol would drown it. Mrs. Goldfinkel had another side to her, and Harry Neptune was going to find out what it was.
"She's buggered off, dear. Probably gone to look up some of the long words you must have been using. Come on, let's celebrate!"
Something hard pressed against my neck. I felt a thin trickle of blood descend to my shirt collar. I pulled Miss Lawrence's hand away and examined the dazzling lump of compressed carbon adorning her third finger.
I frowned and compressed my lips.
"Explanation time…"
"Ah. Oh dear, that's quite a scratch! Let's go ask Dunnett for a Band Aid, shall we? And there's blood on your nice new shirt. Gosh, I saw the prettiest stewardess this morning. I'm sure she'd be delighted to treat that stain."
No one would notice the spots of blood on Harry's shirt, a typically riotous multicolored creation, and it was a minor cut. However, prior experience and instinct indicated that I was in trouble with a capital T so I bluffed like crazy. Very slowly and meaningfully my husband began to unbuckle his heavy leather belt. I backed away until my progress was abruptly halted by the raised platform on which the Latin band had strutted their stuff and where the unfortunate Raoul had shaken his maracas for the very last time.
"Harry! Sweetheart!"
Menacingly, Harry towered over me, the stiff belt poised like a leathery Sword of Damocles above my trembling semi-recumbent form. I was wet as hell but my heart raced like an express train. The belt was not a laughing matter. With infinite care, my husband draped it over the microphone stand as a visual warning, before folding his arms and returning to the interrogation at hand. He looked down at my small, helpless form and raised one bushy eyebrow.
"I think we understand each other. Don't we, Mrs. Neptune?"
This was the most exciting moment we'd shared since I didn't know when. I was Harry's wife. I'd always longed for a masterful spouse, which was quite possibly one reason why I never took the matrimonial plunge. I couldn't respect a man who would let me push him around. I nodded, mute with awed obedience. There are some very dark corners in Harry Neptune.
"That's better. So, how much was the stone, Jaybird?"
Despite my genuine fear, a tiny titter burst from my lips like a renegade champagne bubble, although the source might well have been nerves as amusement. Frowning, Harry grasped a handful of my hair and pulled me up into a sitting position. He slapped me sharply on both cheeks. Not hard, but with enough emphasis to gain my undivided attention. My confession erupted with an unexpected shower of tears.
"Six dollars! It's glass!"
My assailant's face was a picture. Intense relief was obviously the predominant emotion but he was determined to play the role of brutish husband to the end. He crouched on the step beside me and took my face between his hands. I noticed that his palms were quite damp with sweat. He really had been prepared to punish me severely and he was nervous about it.
"If you ever give me a scare like that again, I promise you this. You won't be able to walk without a limp for six months. Do you understand?"
I parted my lips to make a murmur of assent and was suddenly overcome by an intense and completely unexpected orgasm. I looked up into my husband's eyes with blissful adoration. There was a loud clanking sound. Harry frowned.
"What is it, darling? Not your old trouble again, I hope?"
"Get up. Someone's coming."
"Indeed!"
It appeared to be table setting time. A small squad of smartly uniformed stewards had entered the dining room from the double swing doors that led to the galley. They pushed a large creaky trolley heavily laden with assorted items of crockery. Harry greeted the four men.
"What's on the menu tonight then, chaps? Last night's entree was murder!"
The stewards looked at one another with undisguised incomprehension. English did not appear to be their first language. Three were Chinese, the fourth from the Indian subcontinent. Finally, the Indian spoke, nodding gravely.
"Moor-dah! Oh dear. Belly up. Yes indeed."
The remaining stewards set to work with a near mechanical efficiency, swiftly creating an immaculate tableau. I thought I saw them exchanging warning glances but one can never be sure with inscrutable types. Perhaps the Captain had told them not to talk. The Indian lingered, as if troubled by something he could not express. Harry persisted.
"Did you see something, my friend?"
The man shifted from one foot to the other and looked furtively over his shoulder. When he finally spoke, it was in a whisper.