Death In A Deck Chair

by Georgia Kains

Silas nodded knowingly and swore under his breath.

  “I’m sorry,” he said immediately. “That language was uncalled for.”

  “Trust me.” My heart raced like a derby champion. “If you don’t know where my luggage is, that was very much called for.”

  “Oh, I know where it is.”

  “You do?” A glimmer of hope.

  “Yes, and unfortunately, it’s long gone. Its contents sold or pawned, most likely. This Ed guy? I don’t know his real name. We’ve never been able to catch him. You’re not the first person he’s scammed, though. He swoops in right when we’re at our busiest with other tasks or when the area is deserted, and he always has a different racket going, dressed as different people. This porter thing is new, but he’s pretended to be a maintenance worker, a cargo inspector, a taxi driver—the list goes on.”

  “I packed almost every piece of summer wear I own. That’s … that’s half my wardrobe. Gone.” I grabbed my hair by the root. Ugh. This couldn’t be happening. “And all my books.”

  “I’m very sorry. I can’t get your clothes back, but we can help you file a police report when we return. They might be able to get the ball rolling on an insurance claim, but I don’t know how much they’ll investigate a case of missing luggage.”

  “But … but … my pink strappy sandals.” They were Jimmy Choos. This season. Too cute for words, and one of my frou-frou bridal clients had given them to me for nothing after she wore them to one engagement party. A tear climbed over my lid.

  Wow. Shoes, I’m heartbroken over losing. But not Lance. And then, a most unexpected sound erupted into my throat. A giggle.

  It morphed into a guffaw.

  I was on a cruise that was supposed to be my honeymoon, situated directly across the hall from my cheating almost-husband and man-pilfering cousin. I didn’t have any clothes. And now, I couldn’t stop laughing.

  “Are you okay?” Silas stared at me as if I were crazy, which was probably appropriate as I wondered if I was. His voice was deep and warm, with a hint of bemused disapproval.

  “Y’know what?” I wiped away a tear. “I think I’m going to be.”

  But then, reality sank in.

  I’d lost all my clothes. All my shoes. A whole stack of really good beach reads. I shook my head. And swayed. And watched the waves rock and rumble and …

  I was going to be sick again.

  I gagged and fought back a retch.

  “Whoa, there.” Silas caught me by the shoulders and lowered me into the lounge chair.

  “Here.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a plastic baggie. Inside was what looked like a gnarled piece of fungus.

  “What is that?”

  He took out a large pocket knife and flicked open a manly-sized blade. Then he hacked a piece of the gnarly lump off and handed it to me.

  “Chew on this,” he said.

  “Is this a drug? Are you giving me drugs? Like a ‘shroom or quaaludes or something?”

  “What? No.” A dimple appeared in his left cheek as he bit away a smile. “It’s ginger. It will help the nausea and motion sickness until we can get you some Dramamine.”

  “I have some already. In my suitca—” Oh. I plastered my face into my hands. One more casualty of Ed the con artist. “Thank you. I’ll take whatever you can give me.”

  He shaved off a slice, and I popped it into my mouth. And y’know what? It really … didn’t do anything. But chewing it was a nice distraction from my otherwise absurd situation.

  “Well”—Silas clasped his hands behind him—“if you’re ready for dinner, I look forward to introducing you to my mother.”

  Bits of ginger flung out of my mouth as I choked and coughed in shock.

  “Oh, Silas. I appreciate your help, I really do. You seem like a nice guy. And, obviously, you’re attractive. I mean, look at you. You make Lance look like a garden gnome. But I hardly think that meeting your mom is an appropriate or even sane next step in—”

  “My mother.” He unclasped his hands and opened the door to the dining room. “The captain.”

  “Ohhhhh.”

  So apparently I could kiss that last smidgen of dignity goodbye along with my pink strappy Jimmy Choos.

  Chapter Eight

  When I’d run into the dining hall earlier looking for someone to help me disembark, it had been a large room with stark white walls and white tablecloths. Kind of looked like a Rotary Club luncheon decorated for ghosts.

  But now … oh my. The dining hall had been transformed into nothing less than a fairy tale. The tablecloths had been switched out to a soft, grassy green. At the center of each stood a vase of fresh, fat ranunculus blooms in varying shades of pink. In the gentle flicker of mirrored tea lights surrounding the vase, with white fairy lights draped above, the tables looked like floating lily pads.

  Or maybe that was the ginger talking.

  A live string quartet played in the corner, furthering the magical feeling. Silas offered me his arm, and guided me toward the head table, where several guests had already sat down.

  True to their word, the crew had seated Lance and Tammi as far as humanly possible from me without tossing them overboard. Ahh, tossing them overboard. Tempting thought. I gave Tammi one passing glance as I was ushered past. Only a small drop of bile climbed into my throat.

  I was about to plop my heinie into one of the seats when Silas swooped over and stopped me.

  “Sorry. That seat’s taken.” His face flushed as I scooted a few seats down without looking at my tablemates. Which was how I found myself elbow to elbow with none other than Mr. Touchy McFeelyhands … Bebe’s boy-toy, Tony.

  No, thank you. I moved to the other side of the table, next to a man who looked to be in his early fifties. The first hints of salt blended into his thinning pepper black hair. As I sat next to him, he rose unsteadily to his feet and reached out a hand. His grip was like a lump of wet kelp.

  “Preston Bosley,” he said.

  “Nice to meet you. Piper Monroe. You’re related to, umm, Mrs. Bosley?” I’d never seen him on Bebe’s reality show.

  “Bebe’s my grandmother.”

  I coughed so hard I almost spit out the mouthful of water I’d just sipped. Ol’ Preston here had to be older than Bebe by at least a decade or two.

  “Step-grandmother,” he added.

  “So you’re Winston Bosley’s grandson?” Ahh, yes. There had been some scandal with blood relatives in the Bosley family, but I couldn’t remember the details. All of Bebe’s exploits had taken center stage.

  He nodded and took a swig of his drink.

  “I’m sorry for your loss,” I said. “Although it seemed like your grandfather lived a full life.”

  He snorted.

  “You can say that again.”

  “It’s so nice of you to vacation with your, umm, grandmother even after your grandfather passed away,” I said.

  He snorted again.

  “Not like I have much choice,” he said with a distinct grumble.

  “Oh?” I waited for him to elaborate, but we were interrupted by a growing drama in the background.

  Bebe had swooped into the dining hall and begun reaming out the bartender for some perceived slight. Silas jumped up and rushed over to defuse the situation. I looked over at Preston, who rolled his eyes.

  “Oh, Peggy,” he called out in a sing-song voice to their family lawyer, who was sitting on the other side of him. “Time for you to go mop up Bebe.”

  Peg sighed and put down the canapé she was about to put in her mouth. She got up and grabbed her clipboard while Preston let out a wry chuckle. As Peg approached the bar area, Bebe slammed a glass on the counter in front of the bartender and screamed something about using her special glass and learning to make a dirty martini properly.

  “Is she okay?” I asked.

  “Who, Bebe?” Preston slouched into his chair. “Other than the fact that her definition of a dirty-enough martini involves rubbing alcohol, she’s fine.”


  “Wouldn’t rubbing alcohol kill you?”

  “It was a joke. But she’s probably burned off half her taste buds by this point.”

  “Oh,” I said, uncomfortable with the subject and ready to change it. “It’s too bad. Dinner smells scrumptious.”

  I only hoped I could keep it down with the seasickness.

  “And it’s almost ready.” Jenna sat next to me and smiled brightly. “My mom’s welcoming the other tables, and then we can eat.”

  “Your mom?” I gazed over at Silas. How many mothers were on this ship?

  “Oh, my mother is the captain. I’m sorry. It didn’t come up before, did it?”

  “But … if your mom’s the captain, and Silas’s mom is the captain, that would make you … ”

  “His sister, yeah,” said Jenna.

  “You’re a regular Miss Marple, aren’t you?” mutteredTony.

  This cruise line was apparently quite the family affair. I could be forgiven for my ignorance, though. They looked nothing alike. Jenna was much shorter than Silas, plus younger, and, well, not of Asian heritage.

  “It’s okay. People don’t realize we’re related unless we mention it. He’s fourteen years older than me. Dad was stationed in South Korea in the Navy, and he and Mom fell in love with the country and the culture. When they decided to adopt, they knew that was where they were meant to adopt from. They didn’t think they could get pregnant, but fourteen years later … here I am.”

  “Then you were never in danger of being fired. When you were checking me in?” His exasperation had been nothing more than sibling sniping.

  “You thought Silas was going to fire me?” Jenna had an odd wistful expression that didn’t match the proposition of getting fired.

  “Who’s getting fired? Not Jenna, I hope?” A petite woman with graying brown hair and a wide, toothy smile came up behind us. Fancy regalia adorned her crisp white uniform. Her voice was a hearty boom amongst the twitterings of the other tables.

  “Did Silas threaten to make you walk the plank, sweetie?” She gave Jenna a firm but affectionate smack on the shoulder. “Ha, ha. No, this girl’s not going anywhere.”

  Jenna took an unusual amount of time smoothing her napkin across her lap as her mother sat next to her. If they were the same age, they could have been twins.

  “Captain Lisa Goode-Tripp.” She grasped my hand so hard that I had to shake out my wrist when she let go. “Everyone calls me Cappy.”

  I introduced myself and was relieved to see that Silas and Peg had averted Bebe’s martini emergency. The bartender had made her a fresh drink in a special pink martini glass the size of a fish bowl with two big B’s on the side of it, emblazoned in crystals. They made their way to the table, and I surveyed our motley dinner party— the captain, Silas, Jenna, Bebe Bosley, her boy toy Tony, Peg Halloway, Preston Bosley, and me.

  Wait. Who was that last chair for? The one where I had almost sat.

  The answer came with a “yap” as Bebe’s fluffy puffball Mimsy tried to attack my ankle.

  I had been reseated for a dog.

  Dinner was a delicious affair. If the cruise line was short on staff, they’d spared no talent from the kitchen. The salad was so crisp it might have been picked straight from a garden. The tender beef fell apart in my mouth with a single chew. And the chocolate soufflé to top it all off … drool. Everything was simply magnificent.

  The table conversation, not so much.

  “So what’s your deal?” Bebe pointed her fork at me during a lull in the already forced banter.

  “Me? Oh, umm, I’m just … enjoying my vacation.”

  “Alone?” She glanced sideways at Tony as if my singleness were contagious.

  “Alone.”

  “Who goes on a cruise alone? And why would you decide to go on this crappy cruise line?” She took a sip of her fourth or fifth martini (I’d lost count). Her liver must have been working harder than a herd of Clydesdales at the Super Bowl.

  Cappy clenched her fork in a death grip. Jenna let out a squeak. Silas pursed his lips but said nothing.

  “Now, Bebe.” Peg reached absentmindedly for her clipboard as if muscle memory had taken over. “You know that your beloved late husband simply loved this cruise line. And the family who owns it,” she added with a marked warning note in her tone.

  Bebe slumped in her seat and muttered something that sounded like, “controlling meanie.”

  I wasn’t sure if Bebe was talking about her dead husband or her lawyer, but either way, I was ready for this dinner to end. I was also ready to knock this queasiness out. I stood to head to the infirmary for the promised Dramamine when Bebe slurped the last of her latest martini and made a choking sound. Instinctively, I reached over and whacked her on the back. Something small and metal flew out of her mouth and landed on her soufflé plate.

  She picked it up and examined it at the same time that her boyfriend Tony dropped to his knee beside her.

  “Bebe Bosley, you’re the love of my life. Will you marry me?” he said. Whoa. Not twenty minutes ago, the guy was putting the moves on me, and now he was sliding a ring on Bebe’s finger.

  “Oh, sweetykins!” Bebe bounced in her seat, her ample, artificial bosoms bobbing up and down like fishing buoys. “Did you hear that, everyone? We’re engaged!”

  “Congratulations,” said Silas and his mother stiffly.

  “A million happy returns.” Preston’s facial expression was about as flat as a road kill opossum.

  “How nice for you,” murmured Peg and turned back to her clipboard. She passed it over to me, a liability release in case I’d hurt my hand while saving Bebe’s life. I rolled my eyes and signed it.

  Jenna was the only one at the table who seemed genuine in her congratulations. But I got the feeling she’d be equally enthusiastic over a Hallmark movie on its fifth rerun.

  Still, I was the last person who needed to dole out relationship advice right now. I wished the couple well and headed off to the ship’s tiny infirmary. The room contained nothing but a bed, a desk, two chairs, and a privacy curtain. A tall, stocky woman in a powder blue lab coat had her feet propped up on a desk as she scribbled on a piece of paper.

  I knocked.

  “Am I interrupting?” I asked.

  “Nope. Come on in.” Her white hair was pulled back into a loose bun of curls. She tucked her pencil into it, and I couldn’t help but notice that it was accompanied by no less than three other writing implements. “Just finishing my Sudoku and waiting for first-day seasickies to trickle in.”

  She lowered her chin and peered at me over her reading glasses. “Speaking of which, looks like you’re my first. Feeling a bit green about the gills?”

  “If by green about the gills, you mean that my stomach is trying to crawl out of my throat and strangle me, then yes.”

  She laughed and pulled a package of Dramamine out of a drawer. “I’m ninety-nine percent sure it’s motion sickness, but I’ll give you a quick work-up to be certain. I’m Dr. Jo, by the way. Short for Joanna.”

  “Do you have a last name, Dr. Jo?” I asked as she listened to my lungs and heart.

  “Lyles. But Dr. Lyles retired a year ago.” She took off her reading glasses and tucked them into her coat. “I was an Associate Medical Examiner for twenty-seven years.”

  “Medical Examiner. Is that like a coroner?”

  “Pretty much.”

  “That must have been hard.” I got grossed out every time I spotted a dead worm on the sidewalk. I couldn’t imagine dealing with corpses all the time.

  “It wasn’t too bad. My patients didn’t complain.” She laughed, and I couldn’t help but groan.

  “Sorry.” She ran a thermometer across my forehead. “Autopsy humor. But it was high stress, and then my husband died five years ago. My daughter announced she has no intention of giving me grandbabies any time in the near future. I wanted a little adventure and wasn’t ready to retire, so here I am.”

  “So where are you from?” I asked. />
  “Atlanta.”

  “Me, too.”

  “Which area?”

  “Little Five Points,” I said before I remembered that I’d given up my lease. “What about you?”

  “Right around the corner. Decatur,” she said. “It was a good commute, but it got too expensive to retire there.”

  “I understand.” I said a silent prayer that Addie was working her real estate magic even now. Dr. Jo finished taking my vitals, then declared me good to go.

  I popped the little white pill into my mouth and thanked her. By the time I reached my cabin, my eyelids were droopy. The Dramamine hit me hard and quick, in a good way, and my stomach felt more settled within a few minutes.

  I didn’t have any pajamas to get into, but someone had left a nice toiletry basket and robe for me. After a hot shower, I settled onto the bed and opened my laptop.

  All right. For real, this time. I needed to finish that client email before the gossip circuit got too tangled. I typed out something pretty bland that would hopefully keep my jittery brides calm until I had a chance to explain one-on-one to each of them.

  A user agreement for the wireless Internet let me know it was twelve bucks for five minutes since I hadn’t opted for the unlimited plan.

  Yikes.

  But it was only to send out the one email. I would be done within the five minutes.

  While I waited for my messages to download, Addie popped online.

  Aww, what the heck? A few more minutes of WiFi wouldn’t be that big a splurge.

  I sent her a request to video chat. Two seconds later, her face popped up.

  “Is everything okay?” She didn’t even bother with hi.

  “Everything’s fine.” The lie popped out like a spring-loaded Silas-in-the-box before my tongue had a chance to consult my brain. I paused for a second, then said, “That’s not true. Lance is on the ship. With Tammi. They’re married. All my luggage was stolen. Everything’s a complete nightmare.”

  “No!” Addie’s lips formed a perfect O, and she looked like she wanted to jump straight through the screen to strangle Lance on my behalf.

  Just hearing Addie’s outrage made me feel better. She got it. It made me feel sane again. My shoulders relaxed for the first time since finding out Lance and Tammi were aboard … or maybe that was the Dramamine.