“Simple paperwork,” Frank confirmed. “My ID on the body, and Colin’s ID in my pocket. I was devastated, of course. Sobbing as I identified ‘my best friend Frank Marcone.’ So grief-stricken that I insisted on handling all the arrangements immediately.” His expression turned smug. “I had the body cremated before anyone could look too closely. Do you know how simple it was?”
“And then you just stepped into Colin’s life,” Mary said.
“Colin’s parents were already dead. Diane hadn’t seen her nephew in years. When I showed up at the memorial service for her husband, claiming to be Colin reconnecting with family after this tragedy, she had no reason to doubt me.” Frank’s voice held bitter triumph. “We looked similar enough. I knew everything about Colin’s life since we’d been best friends and roommates. I could answer any question about his childhood, his parents, his history. And Diane was so grateful to reconnect with her only living relative.”
“Except you couldn’t wait for her to die naturally to inherit,” Mary said, pieces clicking together. “That’s why you’ve been drugging her. Why you’ve been controlling her finances.”
Frank’s smile vanished, replaced by cold calculation. “I could have waited, but Diane’s attorney has been a problem. Wanting to review the power of attorney documents, questioning the investment changes, suggesting Diane might benefit from an independent cognitive assessment.” His jaw tightened. “But I’ve handled it. A few more months and the money would have been moved to accounts Diane can’t access. The power of attorney would have been ironclad. And I could have disappeared with at least twenty million dollars.”
“Twenty million,” Mary repeated, trying to wrap her mind around someone murdering for money. “You’ve been playing devoted nephew for several years for the money.”
“I’ve earned every penny,” Frank snapped, genuine anger flashing across his face. “Do you know what it’s like to pretend to care about a woman who talks endlessly about her dead husband? To sit through bridge games and book clubs and opera performances that I have no interest in? To smile and nod and play the grateful nephew when all I wanted was to take the money and disappear?”
He pushed off the wall and took a step closer to Mary's wheelchair. She tensed, her hands tightening on her wheels, calculating whether she could ram him, using her chair as a weapon. But in this confined space, there was nowhere to build momentum, nowhere to go even if she did manage to knock him off balance.
“But you and your fiancé ruined everything,” he continued, his voice dropping to something dark and threatening. “I saw the way you watched me all week. The way you asked questions about Diane’s health. You were suspicious, and I knew you were too smart to let it go.”
“You’re a threat to Diane… to anyone who gets in your way.”
“Yes, I am,” Frank agreed. “Which is why I need insurance now. A way to get off this ship before your fiancé can interfere.”
He reached into his jacket pocket, and her blood turned to ice as he pulled out a syringe. The clear liquid inside caught the fluorescent light, and she could see his thumb positioned on the plunger, ready to inject.
“Benzodiazepine,” Frank said conversationally, holding the syringe up like he was discussing the weather. “High dose. The same medication I’ve been using to keep Diane compliant, but much more concentrated. You’ll be unconscious in minutes, unresponsive for hours. Perfect for what will look like a medical emergency.”
Mary’s mind struggled through defensive options, looking at angles and timing. She could grab his arm when he came close enough and try to knock the syringe away. But he had the advantage of standing height, of leg mobility, of leverage she simply didn’t have from her wheelchair.
If she missed and he managed to inject her anyway, she’d be unconscious and completely vulnerable. And Diane would have no one to protect her from a murderer.
“When security finally figures out where you are,” he continued, moving closer with predatory patience, “they’ll find you collapsed in your wheelchair. The stress of the evening, the storm, perhaps a pre-existing medical condition exacerbated by the cruise… oh, so tragic. Your fiancé will be devastated, focused entirely on getting you to the ship’s medical center.”
He crouched down so they were eye level, and Mary could see the cold calculation in his eyes. This was a predator who managed to take advantage of interruptions in his carefully thought-out plan.
“And in the chaos,” Frank said softly, “while everyone is focused on saving you, I will disappear. We’re close enough to shore for me to jump in and make it to safety before anyone realizes I’m missing. By the time you wake up—if you wake up—I’ll be long gone. I’ll have enough money from Diane, then start over. Different name, different identity again.”
“You’ll never get away with this,” she said, though her voice shook slightly despite her best efforts. “Bert knows I’m here. He’ll come looking for me.”
“And he’ll find you unconscious and in desperate need of medical attention.” His smile was cold and triumphant. “It’s actually perfect. You tried so hard to save Diane. But in the end, you’re just going to be another complication I’ve managed.”
He stood, the syringe held loosely in his hand, and took a step back as his gaze searched, probably looking for the best injection site he could get, knowing she wouldn’t make it easy. Mary’s defense training kicked in, determined to make it impossible, even in a wheelchair in the confined space.
She had one chance. One moment when he would lean in to inject her, when he’d be close enough and off balance enough for her to strike.
She met his gaze steadily, refusing to show the fear coursing through her veins like ice water. “Just one question. Do you really think you’re the only one who figured this out?”
Frank’s expression flickered with uncertainty. “What do you mean?”
“Bert and I work for a security company,” she said, keeping her voice calm and factual. “We’ve been building a case against you all week. The medications you’ve been giving Diane, the financial irregularities, and your background. We’ve documented everything. We even lifted your fingerprints and sent them to the Royal Canadian Mounted Police.”
Revealing how much they knew was a calculated risk. But she needed him distracted, even for a moment. She needed him to understand that the evidence already existed and the authorities already knew.
His expression registered surprise and anger, then settled into something cold and determined.
“Then I guess when the police come, it’ll be too late for you,” Frank said. “And by the time they board, I will be gone. Say goodbye, Mary.”
He lunged forward, the syringe aimed at her arm, and Mary moved.
She screamed, shoving hard on her right wheel while pulling back on the left, spinning her wheelchair in a tight arc that brought her crashing sideways into Frank’s legs. The impact wasn’t enough to knock him down since she hadn’t been able to build enough momentum in the confined space. But it threw him off balance, his weight shifting awkwardly as he tried to maintain his footing.