"Get on with it, Neptune!"
"All right – who done it?"
That got a predictable response. The silent population of the room stared at me.
"Right, let's try again. If no one will own up we'll have to do it the hard way – or the harder way. Grab a seat, ladies and gentlemen, and I'll begin."
The company adjusted its collective clothing. It drew seats up into a semicircle with H. Neptune Esq. as its focal point.
I produced a crumpled envelope from my back pocket and held it aloft.
"With the benefit of my extensive experience of criminal investigation-" Miss Lawrence snorted in a most unbecoming fashion "-I have weighed the evidence, carried out some inspired detection, and documented the inevitable result on the sheet of Caribbean Conch note paper in this here envelope."
All eyes were glued on the envelope including, curiously, those of Inspector Parrott. For a man whose assigned and preeminent role in the investigation was being so comprehensively usurped, the policeman was remarkably silent.
"A choice is before us, shipmates. Confession – or listen to me explain the chain of deductive logic that leads to the long drop. Which is it to be?"
Miss Lawrence shuddered.
"Someone better confess or I'll volunteer them. Where are the thumbscrews?"
"Here," volunteered Boner, holding up a deluxe pair. He had obviously purloined them from the dungeon in the manner of a house guest stealing the silver. However, a thief was not necessarily a murderer – yet.
"There is no call for such crudity. I have a subtler and more foolproof method. Or rather, my unbeloved ex-wife has. Get 'em out, Frippery!"
Frippery opened and closed her mouth in a fish-like fashion.
"Come on. I know you saved them before they rolled overboard. Out with 'em."
I held Frippery's gaze but she didn't move.
"Okey doke. This is going to hurt you more than it hurts me…"
I pulled the wax doll out of my shorts pocket. A few strokes of finger nails on the head, a pinching at the waist, and a blobbing at the chest, and Boner's juju doll was transformed to Frippery's juju doll.
A sheen of sweat appeared on Frippery's brow. The rest of the suspects apart from Boner looked puzzled. He appeared to have an expression of sly anticipation on his prune-ish visage.
I cast around for a sharp implement or fire. Neither was to be found, but…
With three rapid strides I was at the buffet and thrust the doll's head into a dish of Judy's Extra Hot Antiguan Sauce. Frippery screamed and ran after me. She grabbed a large bowl of ice cold punch and tipped it over her head. The Hot Sauce bubbled.
"Here are the beathtly things!"
Frippery extracted an oilskin package from the depths of her catsuit and flung it at me. As I caught it I felt it throbbing. I gestured her back to her seat and held up the package triumphantly.
There was a sharp intake of breath from the circle of suspects. I lavished a rare but genuine expression of unbridled admiration upon Harry's triumphant form. I wasn't sure how he'd reached his conclusions but it probably had a lot to do with his passion for cryptic crossword puzzles and Angela Lansbury. Seldom passing up an opportunity to perform in a melodrama, I struck a glamorous bimbo assistant pose, all wide eyes and bright smile. My husband shot me a brief glare, then slowly began to unwrap the package. Two familiar objects emerged from the folds of the oilskin and Mrs. Goldfinkel cried out in dismay.
"Why, those are the fetishes I gave to Harry and Jay as a wedding gift! How could you, Mrs. Boner? Purloining a pair of valuable antiques – not to mention defiling the sanctity of matrimonial bliss!"
Frippery stamped her latex booted foot.
"I didn't purloin anything. They were on the deck outthide the Neptune's cabin. Pothethon is nine tenths of the law."
The Black Widow wagged a plump little forefinger at Harry and me.
"Now, really, my dears! That's no way to treat a nuptial gift! Get a little carried away in the heat of the moment, did we, so they popped out of your porthole?"
Harry frowned.
"You could say that, Mrs. Goldfinkel. Mrs. Neptune and I were remiss enough to leave our porthole ajar and fell foul of a stiff front from the Antilles. Rest assured that no disrespect was intended. Perhaps you would be kind enough to examine the fetishes carefully and ensure that no damage has been done."
Mrs. Goldfinkel shot Harry a rather sharp look then swiftly segued into simpering benefactress mode. She took the two pieces of finely carved and polished wood. There was a faint buzzing sound, not unlike an approaching swarm of honeybees, and her bleached blonde coiffure floated upwards. Miss Larry Swat giggled.
"Y'all need some serious styling gel, Mizz Goldfinkel! Oh my! Ah never did see…"
The Flyswat's amusement was rudely interrupted by a sudden rather violent outburst from Gigi Goldfinkel, who held the fetishes as tightly as a starlet on Oscar night.
"Dontcha Mizz Goldfinkel me, honey. Lily May Scroggins don't take no crapola from no one!"
There was another group intake of breath. Miss Swat gaped. The Black Widow's prim Happachappabunket tones had been replaced by pure Noo Joisy with more than a hint of the Bronx added for extra gritty texture. Knowingly, Harry stepped forwards and addressed the trembling figure in pink. The buzzing sound was intensifying, Mrs. Goldfinkel/Scroggin's hair swiftly unwound from its tightly permed curls and attained vertical status. Harry looked his victim in the eye. The tension was palpable.
"Tell me about Raoul, Lily May. The boy done you wrong – didn't he?"
The Black Widow screeched in a harpy-esque cackle.
"Done me wrong? Done me wrong! The little black-eyed, snake-hipped, two-timing blackmailing son of a bitch. He got what was comin' to him. No more. No less. No one tries to put one over on Lily May Scroggins, whose dear old daddy was One-Eye Olaf of the Greasegun Gang. Little squirt tried to blackmail me when he found out my Family connections, so I shot the fucker."
"Oh no, you didn't!"
There was a chorus of gasps and everyone turned to look at Captain Ahab. He smiled, a little apologetically.
"I'm afraid, dear lady, that you are very much mistaken. You may well have tried to plant a fatal bullet in the young man's chest but the winning shot was fired by none other than yours truly, Captain Herman Melville Ahab. I cannot allow you to take the blame for my action – or, if you'll pardon my immodesty, the credit for a damned good aim. I dispatched the Dago. He was blackmailing me in regard to some complex legal issues concerning my marital status."
"Ach, ah canna hold it in any longer! Ah killed the laddie too."
Everyone turned to stare at Dr. Dunnett, who shrugged and took a fortifying slug from his hip flask. Miss Swat kicked him on the shin but he continued regardless.
"The wee bugger found out that ah was struck off the medical register for malpractice in cosmetic surgery before ah took this job on board the Caribbean Conch. In fact, ah'm no a medical man at all, ah'm a plumber. The toe-rag was also blackmailing mah wee chum Loretta here, on accounts that she used to go by the name of Larry before she had some major reconstruction circa 1983. Alas, mah surgical craft was in its infancy and she willna forgive me. Loretta was counter-blackmailing me to pay off the slimy Latino. We bribed one of the other band members to shoot a wee poison dart in the back of the bugger's neck when he was shaking his maracas. Ah'm no sayin' which one did it. That'll stay a secret 'til the day ah die."