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.
'Bonah. Bad black magic man. Yes indeed.'
'Boner, did you say? Will Boner, the horror writer?'
'Very bad man. Oh dear. Nasty stuff in cabin.'
'What kind of nasty stuff? Whips and paddles? A live recording of Oklahoma!?'
The Indian looked confused.
'No, sir. He make model out of wax. Stick pins in he.'
'Voodoo, eh? Well! No wonder my old trouble has been acting up. I'd better melt down a candle and mold my revenge.'
'No, sir. Model of belly up no good dead boy.'
'You're saying Boner made a wax image of Raoul?'
At that moment there was a loud clatter and the three of us jumped. It appeared that one of the Chinese stewards had dropped a container of flatware on the parquet floor. Our informant hurried off, with the furtive, sheepish look of one who feels he has already said too much. Harry and I exchanged perplexed glances. Thoughtfully, I retrieved Harry's belt from the microphone stand.
'Will certainly had some dark inclinations but dabbling in the black arts? Hmm. And what motive would he have for wishing the gigolo ill? '
Harry's face adopted its most intent, crossword puzzle solving expression.
'It seems Raoul had few friends on board the good ship Caribbean Conch. Come on, Jaybird. Let's retire to our cabin and dress for dinner. I've yet to debrief you from Parrot's inquisition.'
'Debrief me, darling? I'm not wearing any!'
'Silly bint.'
I think the belt had magical properties. I had only had to actually use it once on Jay, a matter of one 'thrrrrrpt!' too many, and the lesson had stuck. I guess the fact that I don't do things by half measures and put all my 230 pounds behind it on that occasion helped create a place for it in my paramour's memory. She came spontaneously that time as well, though neither of us could really separate the orgasm from the pain and tears.
