Cruise to Haunt: A Lucky & Led Cruise Ship Mystery

CHAPTER ONE

Brilliant, blazing streaks of red, dazzling hues of magenta, startling shades of white lightning bolts all morphing into a mix suggesting scampering caterpillars slithering up and down the twelve deck high arches of Grand Central as the electronic weevils execute head on crashes like the teenage daredevil drivers in Rebel Without a Cause. Not in the slightest being impressed, nor in a caring mood, the see through panoramic glass enclosed lifts monotonously maintain their ascending and descending like a duet of uncoordinated blinking eyelids.

The light show bombarded the glazed eyes of the awe struck cruise guests seated in the Grand Central lounge of the Aloha Star; bar customers sufficiently sedated by their exotic drinks. The alcohol infected semi-inebriated guests, having been cheerfully and efficiently served by the bar wait staff, all for an additional 20 per cent tip automatically added onto their ever growing tab infallibly remembered by the ship's computer, began making their way to the Waikiki dining room.

The luxurious Royal Danish cruise ship was logging Day 4 of the 12 night Hawaiian Islands voyage from its Canadian summer home port in Vancouver, BC. On course with the first leg of the itinerary heading southwest in the vast Pacific ocean to the intermediate stop in Honolulu, the Aloha Star would then continue its southwesterly path to the down under, Sydney, Australia and the southern hemisphere's summer sailing season.

Days 2 and 3 afloat had been amply filled with single all day port visits first to Seattle, Washington, nicknamed the Emerald City, and quaint Pretoria, Oregon, bobbing alongside the Columbia River, on the southern end of the expansive bridge, crossing the sometimes salmon filled river, which leads to the north and into Washington state. With the daylong excursions and the late departures from the port cities, evenings didn't offer enough hours for the Captain's welcome aboard champagne reception traditionally hosted on the second evening of a cruise, formal dress suggested.

Hidden by the elegantly draped colonnades throughout the dining rooms, the ever present, always intrusive ship photographers, waited to pounce at the most ill-timed moment invading a dinner table masked behind a beguiling retail smile, totally interrupting the conviviality of the table. No matter, the moment is instantly flash frozen forever on a digital chip with the diner shoveling in a mouth and a half of prime rib, medium rare, dripping with au jus. It will be printed and displayed for all to view in the photo gallery before the dinner is completed, all for $19.95.

The diners are the quarry and they are squarely imprisoned within the lens. Surprisingly, most of those at the formally set table appear nonchalant about the process. Most haven't been dressed in formal wear since their wedding, the couples embrace, put on their best smiles and endure the process.

As the early dinner seating let out, Grand Central floods with cummerbund busting, belching diners, many of whom are seeking the nearest bathroom facility. The Captain's champagne reception continues between the first and second seating for dinner. The champagne princesses are seated on their opulent thrones as they pour the proffered fluted glass for her Highness to liberally fill with bubbly champagne, all with a royal smile and for free. Photo, not included. That will be $19.95.

Carrie performed her duties, as one of the two ice princesses. Dripping in ersatz white mink reminiscent of a similar wardrobe worn by Julie Christie in the 1965 Doctor Zhivago film. No one noticed the worry lines embedded in her flawless face. They could have come from the tension she felt as her duties were ending and the ropes which were intended to raise the throne along with the princess became taunt. Enthroned upon her swing seat-like throne, Carrie began to be raised slowly above and over the heads of the admiring gaggle of onlookers.

Higher and higher the suspended throne with Carrie seemingly securely seated was elevated toward the stage crew members in charge of the operation waiting overhead. Jack, a newer crew member, was considered the rip cord expert. He was also the manager for the flying acrobats who thrilled the audience during one of the mid-cruise production shows. But now, Jack was solely in charge of this delicate manipulation of the safety lines.

As the throne suddenly and unexpectantly began to swing, Carrie thought it was because of the slight rocking of the ship. It was a ship underway, after all, and ships move; motion of the ocean, as the expression goes. She squeezed the swing ropes tighter and tighter. Her hands appeared bleach white from a lack of blood flowing to her fingers clutched to the security lines as if paralyzed in a death grip. She felt her stomach flip as the swing tipped forward. Was this for real or just her imagination playing tricks on her? As the swing seat see sawed a little more, she realized that it was not her imagination. She did have a bit of sea sickness at times, but was never afraid of heights. She was a bell ringer champ at the rock climbing wall with the pictures to prove it.

As Carrie plummeted to the dance floor, a moment from childhood flashed through her mind, an awful time in her life. She had been placed in an orphanage due to a family crisis. She was sneaking down to the basement to steal a bottle of root beer. The nuns made a root beer to sell which became very popular with the visitors to the sisters. The orphans were strictly forbidden to drink it.

The orphanage had two stories with a single staircase which led halfway up and then divided into two; right for the boys, left for the girls. Never the twain should meet. Carrie had met Tommy on the landing and they made their way down to the cellar and the prized root beer. Sister Margaret appeared out of the darkness wearing a full apron over her habit. Carrie and Tommy huddled together, terrified, holding their forbidden fruit, two bottles of root beer. The Sister reaches into the deep pocket of her apron and slowly draws out a bottle opener. This is a little surprise for you from Sister Margaret Jack….and then it all went terribly black for the temporary princess, Carrie Blanco.

The horrified roar of the screaming crowd covered up the sound of the thud as the young beauty made contact with the unforgiving rigidity of the Grand Central lounge floor. Not looking much like the picture of royalty now, she sprawled over the hardwood floor like a discarded mannequin with dollops of blood red strawberry syrup for make-up.

There was a flow of blood dangerously close to trickling beneath two pairs of shoes: black wingtips, worn by Father Lucky Harris, the chaplain for this Aloha Star Halloween cruise; the other, brown oxfords, worn by Led Dailey, volunteer fire fighter, EMT, handyman and wanna-be boyfriend to one particular and gorgeous on board guest, at the moment, not present. Both men's brown eyes were riveted to the spot like barn owls drawing a bead on a mouse. An image worthy of a National Geographic magazine front page cover.

CHAPTER TWO

Several weeks prior to the cruise, Led was over committed to projects, some more worthy than others. Saying yes was his default response to any request for help. He could easily have been diagnosed with an addiction due to his inability to say no. Though, in all honesty, it could easily be classified as a benign addiction. However, there was one addiction which Led excelled in practicing: the overwhelming pursuit of his lady; to put a fine point on it, the one lady who would become his wife.

Nevertheless, Led still found time to say yes to his friend, Father Lucky, when the call came about the possibility of going on an upcoming 12 night cruise to Hawaii over the ghoulish festival of Halloween. Not one of Led's favorite holidays.

Yeah, yeah, I am telling the truth, laughing heard along with Led's declaration. He was on his cell sitting in the driver seat of the hook and ladder on the way back to the fire station following the mandatory weekly Tuesday training. This week it was a middle of the night exercise to help train the firefighters familiarize themselves with the city streets with the night lighting.

Well, you know, I've heard some tall tales from your mouth before, Led, retorted Cassie, Led's latest femme fatale.

No tall tale; no ma'am; not this time, dearest Cassie. My friend, Father Lucky, just left a voice mail inviting me to join him on that very same Honolulu cruise…12 nights.

That's too weird! I mean, out of all the cruises in the world, you end up going on the exact cruise I'll be on. A coincidence? Hmmm, I wonder how that worked out since I'm no believer in coincidences. Cassie took a deep breath. Are you sure it's on the Aloha Star, the Royal Danish cruise ship?

None other than, Led crowed into his cell. No coincidence here. It was meant to be from the beginning of time. All the stars and planets are aligned forecasting this very event. Led really didn't take any of that astrology stuff very seriously, but it sounded good to reinforce the serendipitous development.

We might not be along, you know, Cassie continued after a few seconds pause. My parents are talking over going along. That would suck. If they go, we'd have adult supervision 24/7/12.

12? Huh? Led blurted out.

Hey, it's going to be a 12 night cruise, remember?. Those numbers equal 100% of our time together…unless we are good at disappearing into the woodwork…uh, bulkhead, Cassie teased.

Thinking about that, I'm pretty good at camouflage procedures. We learn a lot of helpful stuff on these Tuesday fire trainings. I've been known to use more than one technique on my dates, Led returned the tease. A commanding voice announced over the PA system that the fire team had arrived back to the station house. Looking out through the mostly slanted closed venetian blinds of his windowed office, Chief Frank bellowed, "Daley, get off your cell phone. This is no time for