The Mystery Megapack

to the manifest, you must be Ms. Friedman and Mrs. Kennedy. I’m your Holiday USA host, Clive Weber. Welcome. Let me help you aboard the Shady Lady. ”
    Weber spoke with a gushing Texas accent, his hand clamped on Kate’s shoulder. She squirmed free, her instant dislike accompanied by an odd feeling of unease.
    A handsome, silver-haired Latino stood off to the side, observing. He caught her eye, glanced at Weber, turned back to Kate, and nodded. Had he read her mind?
    A couple in matching baby blue jogging suits, whom Clive Weber introduced as the Daltons, were boarding, climbing the rope ladder with great difficulty: the captain pulling, the host pushing.
    “Señor Martinez, your wife isn’t with you?” Weber checked his manifest.
    “Regretfully, no.” Martinez smiled at Kate and Marlene. “Please call me Juan,” he said, then scampered up the ladder like a teenage athlete.
    Clive Weber’s unnecessary boost to her rear landed Kate on deck.
    Despite her girth, Marlene, a former Olympic swimmer, navigated the ladder with ease.
    And, moments later, they were motoring toward the Deerfield Beach Inlet where they would enter the Atlantic Ocean and raise the Shady Lady’s sails.
    It occurred to Kate that all seven onboard, the captain, the host, and the five passengers, were over sixty. Ship of Old Fools? Maybe.
    * * * *
    Kate, Marlene, and Connie Dalton, a chatty gal with apple cheeks and a sunny smile, helped Clive Weber serve an excellent catered lunch. Everyone ate, except Juan, who mostly smiled and nodded, and made easy small talk.
    Connie’s husband, Bob, as plump and pleasant as his wife, cleaned up, stuffing used paper plates in big garbage bags, while the ladies stowed the leftovers in the tiny fridge.
    The smell of coffee drifting up from the galley made Kate again wonder why she, a confirmed tea drinker, so loved coffee’s aroma, but not its taste.
    Captain Mike—Clive Weber hadn’t mentioned his surname—seemingly over his snit about the diminished fuel in his tank, was pointing out the mansions lining the Intercoastal, regaling his passengers with stories about their famous and infamous past owners.
    As Connie applauded, Kate’s feeling of unease surfaced again.
    When the Shady Lady reached the inlet, the captain veered north, and Clive Weber stood in the bow and started his sales pitch. “As Holiday USA’s ’specially selected guests,’ y’all are entitled to a senior discount. How about that, folks? All the joys of boat ownership, but none of the worries.” Weber, his drawl thick as oil, pointed to the matching jogging suits. “Now, Bob and Connie, here, might reserve the Shady Lady for Tuesday mornings from 8 to 12, then we’d scrub down the deck and you lovely ladies,” he gestured to Kate and Marlene, “would come aboard that afternoon from 1 to 4. While we’re sailing, just think about owning a piece of this beautiful boat.”
    No mention of what a timeshare might cost. That would come at the close. Kate bet Clive Weber was a great closer and that he’d once worked as a telemarketer. Since the FCC’s ban on unsolicited calls, many telemarketers had moved on to other unsavory sales positions. Boat timeshares would have been a natural segue.
    The captain steered into the eye of the wind and Clive Weber raised the jib.
    Kate settled back on the port cushions and, while the Shady Lady rode the waves with style and grace, watched the navy blue sea seeming to kiss the muted terra cotta horizon.
    She did not spot the gun until Juan Martinez pulled it out of his breast pocket and pointed it at Clive Weber. Certainly the .25 caliber pistol had not made even the slightest bulge in his white nylon windbreaker.
    “Please change course, immediately,” the soft-spoken Martinez ordered the captain in his slightly accented English. Then he pressed the pistol against Weber’s right temple. “Head southeast to Cuba.”
    Connie Dalton screamed. Clive, shaking, dropped the jib line and the sheet flapped wildly in the wind, knocking Bob Dalton to his knees. Kate glanced at Marlene who rose from the cushioned seat on the port side, poised to move. Kate shook her head, warning her former sister-in-law not to try anything foolish.
    “No one will be hurt if you do as I say.” Juan Martinez’s voice, icy polite and soft, scared Kate more than the pistol. “We’re going to pick up my cousins. Now change course, Captain, or I will shoot Mr. Weber.” Martinez kicked Bob Dalton. “Get up,