Undercover Cruise (A Maggie McFarlin Mystery Book 2)

by Charisse Peeler

  Chapter 11

  Captain’s Table

  Dinnertime arrived. Maggie wore a long blue off-the-shoulder number that didn’t entirely hide the extra pounds in the middle, but the long slit on the side showed off her long legs and the neckline exposed just enough cleavage to be distracting. Mike had dressed in the guys’ room to give her space, so when she made her entrance all three men turned at once. They stared with open mouths like she was the first woman they had ever seen.

  Maggie’s face turned hot. “What?” she asked.

  “You look…incredible,” Mike said.

  John shook his head. “Wow. Maggie. A head-turner.”

  “You don’t look like the same person,” David added.

  Maggie rolled her eyes. “Thanks, that’s a compliment, I guess.”

  Just then the girls’ door opened, and Joanie and Kimberly walked into the living area. They both looked beautiful. Joanie was wearing a short red dress with matching red heels. Her dark hair piled on top of her head, with just a few curls hanging loose. She looked elegant. But Kimberly stole the show. She wore a light teal gown that accentuated every curve of her body. She looked like a contestant for a pageant. Her high cheekbones and full lips combined with the red hair she had pulled away from her face. She was stunning. Maggie was glad she had come out first, so she had attracted at least a little attention.

  Maggie watched Kimberly move across the floor. If she would just smile, she would be the most beautiful woman Maggie had ever seen, but her forced smile and her slumped shoulders showed some kind of insecurity. Could it be guilt weighing her down? Maggie knew this girl was going to be hard to crack.

  “You look amazing.” Mike took Maggie’s arm.

  “You already said that.”

  Maggie felt like she was at a homecoming dance, minus the corsage. Being so close to Mike, she could smell his cologne. A fresh spicy scent…not Old Spice. Maggie remembered the first time she had met him, and how disappointed she was that he was wearing a wedding ring…and how relieved she was to learn he wore it only as a distraction for his investigations. He told her it helped him do his job: people trusted a married man more than a single guy.

  “You look pretty dapper yourself,” Maggie told Mike, to take the edge off her earlier response. As she walked, she found herself measuring her steps. It had been a while since she had worn heels; she didn’t want to turn an ankle.

  Ralph appeared with a tray of champagne glasses, offering them to the group. “You all look fabulous,” he said. Each took their glass.

  “Thank you, Ralph,” Mike said as Ralph backed off, leaving the group gathered in a circle.

  “Well, cheers,” John said.

  “Cheers,” everyone repeated.

  John downed the entire glass in one go. By the time he finished, Ralph reappeared with an open bottle, ready to refill his glass.

  Maggie took a sip from her glass then set it on the counter behind her.

  “I sure miss happy hour with the girls,” she said to Mike. No one was near enough to hear her.

  “I’m not trying to be judgmental, but it seemed like you girls lives revolved around alcoholic beverages.”

  “Sounds a little judgmental to me, but I tell you this, I can’t wait to get back behind those gates and leave reality behind. It’s like an escape from a world of turbulence, stress, and responsibilities. I just need a game of golf and a happy hour with my friends.”

  “Does that satisfy you?” Mike asked.

  “Definitely.”

  “What about real companionship?”

  “I have my girls and my other friends at the club.”

  “I’m talking about real, meaningful relationships.”

  “Oh, you’re talking about those relationships that provide hurt, disappointment, and betrayal. I think I’ve had enough of those in my life. I’m good.”

  “Hmm, you sound more cynical than good.”

  “It’s called self-preservation, Mike. One thing about me is I am a survivor.”

  “I see.” Mike felt concerned, but he let it settle to consider later.

  “Let’s go have some fun.”

  Maggie put her arm through Mike’s. David took Kimberly’s arm. John escorted Joanie through the door and down the hall to the elevator.

  *

  Entering the formal dining room was an event in itself. The dining room encompassed several levels of seating. A crystal chandelier hung over the vast open space of the central area, spreading flickers of light like small fairies floating through the room. Classical music played softly in the background; the music combined with crystalline sounds of tinkling glassware, contributing to the magical feeling. Smiling passengers dressed in their finest were escorted graciously to their tables. Just as Maggie’s small group stepped in the doorway, they were greeted by Captain Dillard. He sported his most formal uniform, complete with gold braiding and tight creases.

  The captain escorted Maggie and the others to a platform suspended between the two lower levels. It was like a private dining area set among hundreds of other tables.

  Kimberly was the first to take her seat. Maggie quickly sat next to her.

  Kimberly turned to the steward. “I think we should sit boy-girl, don’t you?” It was more of a statement than a question.

  “Wherever you like, madam,” the steward replied.

  Maggie took the hint. She slid over to the next chair, leaving an open chair between herself and Kimberly. Kimberly signaled for David to sit next to her.

  “Welcome to the captain’s table,” Captain Dillard announced as the last two guests arrived. “Unfortunately, I will not be able to join you tonight, but you will find yourselves in good hands. May I introduce our head of security, Randolph Edwards, and our beautiful cruise director, Jules Gilbert.”

  Randolph and Mike took seats on opposite sides of Maggie. Joanie sat next to Mike. John held a chair for Jules to take her seat, and then he sat right next to her.

  The steward moved around the table, placing the napkins in the laps of each of the guests as the captain proceeded to address the table.

  “Tonight we have a special treat. I have invited Alfonzo Martin, one of only two hundred and two master sommeliers in the world, to your table this evening. As Chef Paul provides his culinary masterpieces, Alfonzo will pair each course with the perfect wine. I wish you all a fabulous evening and an unforgettable dining experience.”

  The Captain moved aside as both Chef Paul and a handsome Latin man appeared from a side door, as if on cue. The table followed the captain’s lead in lightly applauding their arrival. Chef Paul wore the same white executive chef’s clothing had had worn the day before. Alfonzo sported black pants, a white dress shirt with an open collar, and a buttoned-up black vest. He stood with a posture that would make any mother proud.

  “Again, welcome to my table. I know you will have a wonderful meal, bon appetite.” Captain Dillard bowed slightly then moved on to other tables as he made his way through the dining room.

  “Welcome to the captain’s table this evening,” Alfonzo began. “Tonight we try something a little different. We learn about wine and food and, most importantly, how the two come together for a wonderful experience.” He smiled at the group. “Are you ready for a great experience?”

  The group sat silently, nodding their heads.

  “Such a lively group,” Alfonzo said sarcastically. He pointed to the table. “You will each see five glasses sitting in front of you. With each course prepared by your very own Chef Paul, a sample of the perfect wine I have personally selected will be served..”

  “Awesome,” Maggie said.

  Picking up on the audience participation, Alfonzo pointed at Maggie. “Yes, awesome. So let’s get started, shall we?” He signaled to the server, who was standing by.

  While they were waiting for the first uncorking, Mike took the opportunity to start a conversation with John.

  “So, John, at the muster station drill, you were telling us you were a
marine…?”

  John sat straight as if he was ready for duty. “Yes, sir, MARSOC.”

  “A Raider?” Mike also sat up straight. “Impressive.”

  “ ‘MARSOC’?” Maggie asked.

  “Special Ops,” Mike answered. “I was also in the corps, military police.”

  “I spent over ten years until this.” John pointed to his leg. “I was forced out with early retirement.”

  “I’m sorry, man,” Mike said. “Honestly, you can hardly tell you have a limp.”

  “One thing I learned in Desert Storm, never take life for granted, you know,” John said.

  “I hear you, man, that life takes a toll.”

  “Well, Desert Storm was mild compared to what I found when I came back home. My wife had found another guy, sold my house, and emptied my bank accounts. I came home to nothing,” John said.

  “Jeez, man, why did she do that?”

  “I guess she thought I was dead,” he said, smiling. Then he leaned over to whisper a few words into Jules’ ear that made her laugh.

  The first course was presented by three servers, each holding two small plates that they set, in unison, before the seated guests. Maggie looked down at her plate. A small orange ball of cantaloupe was wrapped in prosciutto and drizzled with balsamic vinegar. The servers then poured each diner a fourth of a glass of light white wine.

  “A beautiful California sauvignon blanc,” Alfonzo explained, picking up a glass of wine he had poured himself. “I’m not sure who among you has extensive experience with wine; if you are a novice I hope the next few hours will allow you to discover a new passion for wine. The selection before you costs anywhere from twenty to twenty-five dollars a bottle. Does anyone know the difference between a twenty-five-dollar bottle of wine and a fifty-dollar bottle of wine?”

  Maggie raised her hand. Alfonzo pointed at her. “Young lady.”

  “The year?”

  “It could be the year…anyone else?”

  No one took the bait.

  “Often the difference between a twenty-five-dollar bottle of wine and a fifty-dollar bottle of wine is…twenty-five dollars. It’s not always the price that differentiates a great bottle of wine.”

  Mike shook his head and smiled at Maggie. She almost always ordered the house Cabernet, saying there just wasn’t enough difference.

  “The first thing we must do is address the wine,” Alfonzo continued. He held his glass by the stem. “Use your eyes to examine the color and texture of the liquid. Now, slowly bring it to your nose, tipping it approximately thirty degrees, placing the lip of the glass just above your top lip.”

  David picked up his glass “Well, how do you do?” he said.

  Some giggles floated around the table, but quickly the group followed Alfonzo’s lead. “Now move the glass away so that it is no longer touching your lip. Now, breathe in through both your nose and your mouth… The light, fruity, flowery aroma lives at the very top, so take care not to dip your nose below the rim of the glass. If your nose dips too deep, you will miss the fragrance.”

  “It’s a little citrusy,” Kimberly said.

  “Aw, good nose, my dear. The citrus undertones will bring out the fresh flavor of the melon combined with the salty prosciutto and the balsamic, which has also been aged in an oak barrel. It is perfect.”

  The group again followed Alfonzo’s actions, cutting the appetizer in half, taking a bite and then a sip of the wine.

  “Wow,” Joanie said, that’s amazing.”

  The servers quickly took the empty plates and glasses then replaced them with new ones. Again Maggie examined her plate: poached Maine lobster served with a cakebread Chardonnay.

  “I can taste the butter,” Maggie said.

  “Exactly,” Alfonzo said. “Cakebread also is a California wine and is about fifty dollars a bottle. It pairs splendidly with the lobster.”

  The group fell quiet, enjoying the taste of the lobster and the buttery Chardonnay. When the next plate had been set in front of each diner, Maggie looked at it suspiciously.

  “A sweet foie gras sitting on lovely spinach and topped with mustard seeds. A special treat! With this dish, we have a beautiful Chateau Bonnet Rose from the Bordeaux region of France.”

  Maggie pushed her plate away. “Don’t eat that,” she whispered to Mike.

  “Why?” he whispered back.

  “It’s goose liver. They force feed the poor animal for weeks just to get the liver to taste like that. It’s definably animal cruelty.”

  “Are you serious?”

  “One hundred percent. Don’t eat it.” This time she had whispered too loud. Randolph leaned into her.

  “Why?” he whispered back.

  “It’s goose liver. They torture the poor creature by force feeding it with a tube to fatten it up.”

  “Seriously?” But Randolph had spoken too loudly. Everyone at the table looked over curiously. He pushed his plate away from him in disgust. “I don’t like liver of any kind.”

  “I admit this is not a delicacy for an unsophisticated palette,” Alfonzo said.

  Maggie whispered to Randolph: “I think he just called us unsophisticated.”

  “You can call me anything you want, but hell if I’ll touch that mess,” Randolph said just as the server picked up his plate.

  Somehow the way Randolph had expressed his disgust struck Maggie as funny. She smiled, feeling some of the effects of the wine. Mike took a sip of each wine the servers had poured then handed Maggie the rest of his glass.

  The final course was filet mignon settled into a bed of golden mashed potatoes topped with a béarnaise sauce. One of the servers set the dish in front of both Maggie and Randolph simultaneously. Randolph leaned over and said, “Looks like someone shit on those mashed potatoes.”

  Maggie couldn’t contain herself. She covered her mouth until she couldn’t hold it in any longer. She let out a laugh, causing Randolph also to laugh. But Maggie couldn’t contain herself.

  “What is so funny?” Mike asked.

  “He said…he said…”

  Maggie couldn’t get any more words out. She held her stomach and covered her mouth, trying to squelch her laughter. Everyone else at the table stared at the two.

  “What is so funny?” Kimberly asked.

  “I can’t…”

  Tears were coming from Randolph’s eyes; he, too, was holding his stomach. Maggie tried to get a hold of herself, but every time she looked at her plate, she started laughing again. The rest of the table began laughing in sympathy but sincerely wanted to know what was so funny. Finally, Maggie left the table. She found the nearest restroom and splashed cold water on her face. Kimberly and Joanie walked in, just as Maggie finally gained her composure.

  “What was so funny?” Joanie asked.

  “It wasn’t just what he said; it was how he said it,” Maggie said.

  Kimberly looked impatient with her hands on her hips. “What did he say?”

  “He said”—Maggie wiped her face with a paper towel—“ ‘looks like someone shit on those mash potatoes.’ ”

  “Gross,” Joanie said.

  “It kind of did look like that,” Kimberly said, smiling.

  “I guess it’s even funnier because of who said it. Randolph seems like such a serious guy, and he just leaned over and said it so deadpan.” Maggie giggled a bit but quickly regained her composure. “Okay, I’m good. Let’s go eat our shit,” she said, shaking her head.

  When the three women returned to the table, the other members of the group were busy eating their filets. Maggie was super excited that her wine glass was full.

  “It’s a Camus Cabernet,” Mike said, “so I had them go ahead and fill it.”

  “That’s why I love you.” Maggie smiled—but then she panicked. “You know what I mean. I don’t love love you…you know, as a friend loves a—”

  “Maggie.” Mike stopped her. “It’s good. Drink your wine.”

  Maggie picked up her glass and didn’t both
er addressing the wine or breathing in the aroma. She just went for the magic of the soothing oaky taste of her favorite wine. She couldn’t look at Randolph, fearing the giggles would come back, but she pushed away from her steak.

  Alfonzo appeared again. “And the finale…” He raised his arms as though he was about to perform a magic trick. The finale was a baseball-sized chocolate-covered ice cream dessert accompanied by a small gravy boat of hot chocolate syrup.

  “Now, pour the syrup over the dish,” Chef Paul instructed.

  As each member of the group poured, the frozen chocolate mound on their plate melted away, exposing the vanilla ice cream sitting on a thick chocolate brownie. It was chocolate heaven.

  “The only thing that makes this dessert more perfect is the Portugal late bottled vintage port.” Alfonzo stood with a huge smile. His performance had come to an end. “I thank each of you for an unforgettable evening.”

  “Thank you,” each of the diners said as Alfonzo backed away. He disappeared through the side door.

  “That was incredible,” David said.

  “It was pretty cool,” Mike agreed, “even though I’m not much of a wine drinker.”

  Jules chimed in. “Your group was one of the best groups we’ve had the pleasure of having the captain’s dinner with.”

  “So, it’s the captain’s table dinner—but no captain?” David asked.

  “True,” Jules said. “But this captain never eats with the passengers, he eats with his crew. He assigns some of the executive staff to represent him.” The next moment she changed the topic. “You all should join our Newlyweds Game on Sea Day.”

  “We aren’t couples,” Joanie said.

  “Oh, my bad.” Jules smiled. “But that might be even more fun.”

  “I had a great time.” Randolph stood, placing a gentle hand on Maggie’s shoulder. “Sorry if I offended anyone.”

  “It’s all good,” Mike said. He stood to reach behind Maggie to shake Randolph’s hand. “It was fun.”

  “Anyone up for the casino?” John asked.