Santa Cruise by Mary Higgins Clark

this Santa Cruise? This will turn meinto a confirmed landlubber. He began to hand out the suits. By the time four of the Santas had taken them, there were only four left on the rack.
    â€œI can’t understand it,” Dudley said, his voice alarmed. “We’re missing two suits. Mr. Grimes, unless I can track them down, you will be relieved of your obligation to spread good cheer on this cruise.”
    â€œWhat?” It was clear that Grimes was caught off guard. The truth was that he loved dressing up as Santa Claus.
    Ted Cannon sized up Grimes as the type who always complained no matter what. “Maybe we can rotate some of the suits. I’m in the cabin next to Pete. We’re about the same size. We can share one.”
    â€œMy therapist would be proud of you,” Pete Nelson said with a smile.
    â€œMr. Grimes, if you wish you may share a suit with Rudy. Or you won’t have to wear one at all, if you don’t want to,” Dudley sniffed.
    â€œWhatever. I’ll work it out with Rudy,” Grimes said begrudgingly.
    When the Santas left, eight of them carrying outfits, Dudley scoured the supply room. Not only had the two suits vanished into thin air, but the sandals, beards, and stocking caps to go with them were also definitely gone. Why would anyone elsewant them, and how am I going to explain having only eight Santa Clauses to the Commodore?
    Who could have gotten into this supply room? It was always kept locked, so it had to have been someone with a key.
    Dudley got nervous. I didn’t have that waiter checked out, he thought. As a matter of fact, I didn’t check anybody’s references. We all know that most references are given by people who are forced to do a favor for their unemployed friends and most résumés are a pack of lies.
    Someone on the ship was up to no good. Dudley didn’t know whether it was a passenger or a crew member.
    What Dudley did know was that if something else happened, it would be his fault.
    All of a sudden, walking off the ship didn’t seem like such a bad idea.

11
    O h, I sail the ocean blue, and my saucy ship’s a beauty,” the Commodore sang, as he looked in the mirror over the couch of his sitting room and smiled at his reflection. His new uniform, a resplendent midnight blue tuxedo with gold-braided epaulets on the shoulders to match the buttons on the jacket, struck exactly the note he was hoping to achieve. He wanted his guests to view him as both a commanding presence and a genial host.
    But it would be nice to have another opinion, he decided.
    â€œEric!” he called.
    The door to the guest room was closed and locked, a gesture the Commodore felt was a trifle unfriendly. After all, he reasoned, with this large living room between the bedrooms, it’s not as if we’re crowding each other. Closing the door was one thing, locking it another. Certainly Ericcouldn’t think I would barge in on him? When I tapped on the door a few minutes ago and got no response, I only wanted to peek in to see if Eric had been catching a cat nap. I simply wanted to warn him that it was getting late. But the door was locked, then Eric called out in a very cross voice that he was stepping out of the shower and what did I want?
    Maybe he should have taken a nap, the Commodore thought. He looked terribly tired today, and he certainly was cranky. Well, I know that he shares my concern that the voyage goes well from now on despite a few bumpy patches at the outset. . . .
    There was a knock on the outside door of the suite. The Commodore knew it would be Winston with his plate of fancy hors d’oeuvres. I much prefer enjoying them here in my suite with a glass of champagne than munching on them while I’m shaking hands and posing for pictures with the guests, he thought. Nothing worse than a crumb on the chin or a dab of mustard on one’s cheek when posing for a photo. People should feel free to point out