As Jay put her hand on the doorknob I put the spike to a small knothole on the underside of the box and gave a short sharp jab. I grinned nastily and followed her out into the corridor.
CHAPTER TWELVE: WHO DO YOU VOODOO?
The party was waxing fast as we reentered the grand ballroom of the Caribbean Conch. Harry had secreted the little coffin in his capacious handbag, alongside some feminine necessities purloined from my vanity case. The lipstick and powder I could understand, given H's current Tootsie role, but a nail file, eyebrow tweezers and scissors seemed a bit over the top.
"What do you need those for, darling? You've got no nails to speak of and it'd take a lawnmower to tidy up your eyebrows!"
My glamorous husband merely blew me a kiss and smiled enigmatically. Then I knew.
"Oh, I get it. Not content with simply stabbing old Bony in the bum, you're going to torment him with my toilet articles. You'd better watch your karma, angel."
Harry sent a malevolent look in the Boner-Drippits direction. They had refilled their salad plates and were hovering like vultures near Mr. Deal, who was doing his best to ignore their presence as he chatted with an attractive aspiring authoress.
"Karma schmarma. No one sticks pins in Harry Neptune and lives to walk without a limp. Why did I throw those fetishes overboard? I have a feeling they would have made a potent ally."
I thought of the strange dark artifacts and shivered. There are some things that just cannot be rationally explained.
"I don't think so, Harry. The fetishes were free agents. We had no power over them – they controlled us as effortlessly as if we were mere marionettes. I'd like to find out where the Black Widow bought the damned things. Whoever sold them to her was downright irresponsible."
"Or very clever indeed. Don't worry, Jaybird. All will be revealed in due course. Incidentally, it might have escaped your attention but the wind is getting up. I think we're in for a bit of a squall."
"What are you talking about? It's almost flat calm."
My partner grinned wickedly and began to swing his handbag back and forth like a pendulum, his gaze fixed upon my ex lover. Boner began to look a little green.
"He'll think his sea-sickness is back with a vengeance but there ain't no anti-nausea pills on board that'll cure this bout."
"Oh, you are awful!"
"Subtlety is always the best offense, my dear."
I watched with fascination as Boner clutched his stomach and put down his salad. His complexion had changed from bilious green to grossed-out gray. With a satisfied smirk, Harry led me to the buffet table, where we heaped our plates with a delectable assortment of seafood. A ghastly Boner leaned against a pillar as we spooned up lobster, giant prawns and crab.
"That should do it for now. Just setting the scene for the delights to come. Let's chow down for a bit, then I'll go in with the emery board and abrade his balls."
"Ouchy! Did you make him a pair?"
Harry frowned.
"No, I believe that wax Bony is ball-less. We can soon fix that, "though."
I was quite getting into the spirit of things. Naughtily plucking a brace of capers from a platter of lox, I arranged them on the edge of my husband's plate.
"What about these?"
"Same color as his face, that's for sure!"
"And here's a little cane to chastise his bottom."
It was almost three decades since I'd last played with dollies but the urge to accessorize Harry's version of Action Man got the better of me. Giggling, I added a sharp wooden cocktail stick to my partner's plate. Harry snorted.
"You can have the honor of giving the old boy six of the best on the bum. I think we should pick our moment 'though. The next time we overhear him dishing out punishment would be good. Spank the spanker as he spanks the spankee. How's that for an alliteration?"
"I see that the bountiful badly-boobed Barbie has bobbed up with the big black bobby."
"You what?"
I inclined my head towards the dance-floor. It seemed that during our soiree in the Boner-Drippit cabin, Miss Swat had ditched her straitjacket in favor of a large shirt and tie. Parrott was squeezed into a very familiar black cocktail dress, his broad and hairy chest doing quite a good job of expanding the low-cut bodice. I looked around for Dunnett but the alcoholic medic was nowhere to be found. Harry whistled.
"Well, well, well. Is La Lush dishing the dirt on the dastardly doc or is she simply reggae for a little light interrogation?"
I recalled my all-too-brief spell in a small, darkened room with the quietly insistent Inspector Parrott. It was just as well I really did have nothing to hide, for I suspect he'd have gained a confession from me as swiftly as he could shuck an oyster. His dark, intense eyes sent tiny shivers down my spine. I watched the couple dancing and sensed a certain sensual connection between the pair.
"He's been in her knickers – or wants to be! Now, what's happening?"
The DJ turned down the music and grabbed a mike.
"Now, ladies and gentlemen, who's for karaoke? We have a special prize for the best performance! Step up now and don't be shy."
I looked up at Harry. My beautiful partner grinned broadly.
This was evidently the moment Mr. Deal of Signonthedotted had been waiting for. He was wearing an attractive long white dress with a high collar and sequins. His wig was black, with rather tomboyish licks at front and rear.
Mr. Deal hit the stage and struck a pose, one arm high and head bent. The DJ had seen this before and knew the form. He slipped a CD in the karaoke machine.
"Since my baby left me
I've found a new place to dwell…"
Mr Deal's head rose. The aspiring authoress looked on in amazement.
"He's not all that bad, Jaybird. Got the gestures and facials down pat, and not at all a bad voice."
I tapped my foot to the rhythm and absent-mindedly swung my handbag.
"Elvis in drag – now I've seen everything. And stop swinging that bag – give him time to get out on deck before he pukes."
Boner was clutching his stomach again. I grabbed the bag and abruptly stilled it. Boner dived to the ground as if over the handlebars of a bicycle striking an ambushing rock. Frippery helped him to his feet and they staggered in the direction of out.
"…I'm living at the corner of Lonely Street at – Heartbreak Hotel…"
I dropped the bag and heard a thump from out on deck.
"Harry Neptune, you're a nasty man! You're having all the fun – it's my turn next."
"Voodoo?"
"We do."
"You do?"
"Yes, voodoo."
That settled, I trapped the bag between my feet and applauded generously as Mr. Deal reached his big finale.
"…You know I'm so lonely I'm so lonely baby,
I'm so lonely I could die!"
Mr. Deal twitched a lip and bowed.
"Than' yuh verra much!"
He stepped off the low stage and was rewarded with a kiss on the cheek from the aspiring authoress. Maybe there was something in Elvis in drag after all.
"Go on, Harry! Give them a torch song!"
"Not without a few more Hermaphrodites. It's been a while since I waggled the tonsils in public. Definitely needs lubrication, and I'm talking about the audience."
The DJ put on some background reggae and shilled his crowd.
"Come on then, who's next! Who wants our extra special humungous magnificent great big prize! There's lots of talent here tonight – let's hear some of those classics!"
He was about to raise the stakes by actually telling us what the prize was when there was a movement in the doorway beside the stage. The DJ stopped in mid-spiel and forgot to close his mouth.
Dr. Dunnett half minced and half strode onto the stage. He wore a long blonde wig. And purple velvet hot pants and bib over a yellow silk blouse. And boots. Thigh boots. Black.