by Lori Avocato
But there were those nasty things called bills that had invaded my life. And they required being paid.
I looked up to see Fabio tapping his cigar into the dirty ashtray. “Well?”
I snatched the folder. “When do I leave?”
“Friday.”
“Friday? It’s already Wednesday.”
“One of the staff nurses on board got sick. It’s perfect. Just perfect. Bon voyage, doll.”
I decided to ignore Fabio calling me doll again since my mind got stuck on Friday. April 13. Perfect. My new assignment would start on an unlucky day. I hurried out of his office and paused in the hallway for a breath of fresh air.
“Suga!”
I spun around to see my tied-for-best friend in the world rushing down the hall. My other roommate and other tied-for-best friend in the world and Goldie’s “honey” was Miles Scarpello. Fabio’s nephew.
Goldie dressed in Gucci, Prada and Armani. Sometimes from the ladies’ dept. Sometimes the men’s. But I still loved him, and he always looked like a movie star. Today he ushered in spring with a pink, black, white and orange spiral patterned sweater over black slacks and a pink camisole top. He wore a Sandra Dee blonde ponytail wig that didn’t look a bit fake. Looked very sixties. And very beachy. How fitting.
Maybe I could borrow them for my cruise.
“So, Suga—” he yanked me into his office, which looked like a cross between New Orleans, Goldie’s hometown, and the jungle. Gotta love him. “—what’s your new assignment?”
I held the folder out toward him as if it were a snake. “Here, you look. I don’t have the stomach for it so early in the morning.”
Goldie patted my head in a very Goldie-like sort of way. “Let’s take a looksee.” He ran a pink colored nail across the envelope and amid the tearing sound mumbled, “Shit.”
“Shit? What does shit mean?” I slumped down on the zebra couch, feeling a bit faint.
Goldie looked at me for a few seconds. I had the sudden thought that he was making up some kind of lie. That hurt, but if Goldie lied to me, it would have been for my own good.
“I … well, what I meant was … shit, you get to go on a cruise to some warm, sunny island, and I’ll be stuck in stupid Hope Valley, Connecticut, with temperatures in the 50s all month.”
I could only stare. Was Goldie really concerned with the temperature? Or had he seen something in the folder that I should be worried about? After several minutes of silence and him of fering me another latté over and over, I finally asked, “Gold, are you lying to me?”
“Yes!” flew out of his mouth on a breeze. He flopped onto his leopard chair and looked at me with a pitiable glare. “I’m sorry, Suga. But, Bermuda. Bermuda!”
“I guess I’ll give you credit for your honesty even though I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about. As a matter of fact, I will take a regular latté since I think I may need a dose of caffeine.”
Before he stood he said, “You don’t drink caffeine, Suga.”
“I do now. Seems as if I’m going to need it on this case. What is so wrong about cruising to Bermu … the triangle. You are worried I may get sucked into some paranormal triangle of ocean?”
Goldie screeched.
I jumped up and hurried over to him. “I’m sorry, Gold. I didn’t mean to … wait a minute. Why am I consoling you? I should be the one being comforted. I’m the one going on this fool assignment.”
He eased free and looked at me. “I’m so sorry. I never should have said anything. I mean, folks sail to Bermuda every day. Planes fly overhead. And, well, bon voyage, Suga!”
“Bon voyage!” my mother shouted as she served me a piece of the ocean blue cake she’d designed for my going away party. Inside was chocolate with a mousse filling.
All I could think when I heard that third “bon voyage” was, three strikes and you’re out.
“Thanks, Mother,” I mumbled as she set the dish in front of me. I loved cake. I loved sweets. I drank very little alcohol, not counting beer and wine to avoid calorie overdose so I could have the sweets. Nothing could top chocolate. But right now I had this inner feeling telling me I should eat sweets like there was no tomorrow and drink plenty of liquor—because I was going on a cruise to Bermuda.
My sister Mary, ex-nun, leaned forward. “You’re getting to be such a professional, Pauline. Imagine. A cruise.” She leaned back and shut her eyes. I figured Mary was saying a novena for my safety. She never did quite lose that “religious” persona.
Several nieces and nephews stabbed at the white waves, fashioned out of cream cheese and frosting. Everyone ate and laughed and chatted.
I turned to see Uncle Walt, my favorite uncle who had lived with us forever, smiling. He leaned near and tucked a white envelope into my hand. “Meet some nice young man and have a ball.”
“I’m going to be working, Uncle Walt.” I fingered the envelope. Had to be money. God bless Uncle Walt.
“Work. Ha!” He forked a piece of cake, ate it and said, “How sick can passengers get? Meet someone. Dance. Eat. Old Widow Kolinsky tells me that cruises are the best. She said she danced so much heading to St. Martin, that she wore out her shoes.” He chuckled.
I smiled, leaned over and kissed his cheek. “I’ll be sure to bring a spare pair. Thanks for the gift.” I winked at him just in time to catch Jagger in my view.
My face burned hotter than the candles on the cake my mother insisted on lighting even though I’d argued it wasn’t my birthday. I hoped Jagger didn’t think I was winking at him! I felt my cake rising in my throat at the thought.
He sat down opposite me and graciously smiled when my mother set a plate in front of him with half of the cake and a tidal wave of frosting on it.
“Here you go, Mr. Jagger,” she said.
Actually she gushed like a teenybopper, but no way was I going to admit to myself that my mother was flirting with “Mister” Jagger! Yuck! Even though he only had the one name—that we all knew about—she insisted on the title for him each time. I couldn’t help but cut her some slack because, well, Jagger had a way with women and obviously Stella Sokol was not immune. Guess I should be glad my mother was “normal.”
“So, Sherlock, any questions before you set sail?” He took a sip of his beer. Gotta admire a guy who drinks beer with his cake—and, damn, but I admired lots of things about Jagger.
I looked at him and realized—I was finally working on a case by myself. Jagger usually ended up involved. But not this time.
My heart skipped a few needed beats.
I was really going on my own.
Back in my condo, I flopped on my bed and looked into the dark little eyes of my joint-custody dog. Weighed in at seven pounds now after a doggie diet. “When’s the last time a cruise ship sank, Spanky?”
He looked at me, curled into a ball, and shut his eyes.
“Right. The Titanic. Ages ago. I know there have been fires onboard and epidemics of gastrointestinal problems, but in this day of modern—”
Spanky snored.
I had to smile while I petted his squirrel-sized head. “Modern technology. No problem. Where’s my grocery list?” I leaned over, grabbed my paper and pencil and added, bracelet thingie for motion sickness. God, I hoped the ship’s movement didn’t affect me, since admittedly I couldn’t sit in the backseat of a car without needing Dramamine. Damn.
Spanky snored on so I continued packing, making sure to grab my stethoscope, bandage scissors and several pens. Back to nursing. I knew it made sense that my skills would be best served for the medical fraud cases, but, hell, Jagger wasn’t a nurse and he did fabulously. At least I didn’t think he was a nurse. No one really knew who he worked for. I’d learned not to care.
After several hours, I stood back and looked at my luggage. Full to the brim. I used the extra strap that my mother had insisted on after seeing it advertised on television, which wrapped around the bag in case the zipper popped. I assured her it wasn’t going to get thrown around lik
e on an airplane, but, being Mother, she had convinced me I didn’t want the world to see my panties if, God forbid, the zipper gave way. Not that I expected that tragedy, but I’d learned from infancy that if Stella Sokol said something was going to happen—look out—because it always did.
As kids we used to cringe and fuss when she’d say, “Don’t go out in the rain because you’ll catch your death of a cold.”
Even at our young ages we knew you had to come in contact with someone with the cold virus, but inevitably we’d go out, and the next day (always a Saturday) we’d get sick and spend our day off in bed.
So, I yanked at the strap to make sure no passengers were exposed to my “essentials” and shoved the biggest suitcase with my foot until it was at the doorway.
Tomorrow Goldie and Miles were driving me to the dock in New York City to start my next case. That alone was reason to lose sleep tonight.
My night was not as sleepless and fitful as I had expected. It was worse. But once my roomies had the car packed—and they wouldn’t let me lift a finger to help—we were well on our way.
The traffic on Interstate 95 was at its usual standstill near Bridgeport so I snuggled up to Goldie’s shoulder while Miles drove. I shut my eyes.
“Suga. Suga?”
“Hmmm?”
Something nudged at my arm. I peeked out to see Goldie and realized the car had stopped. I yawned, stretched and screamed.
Goldie grabbed my arms and hugged me. “It just looks so big because we’re so close up.”
I looked out the window to see the “ship” I was going to be living on for the next few weeks or so—and strained my neck without being able to see the end of it. There had to be a million decks. “Don’t heavy objects sink like rocks in the water?” I mumbled.
They laughed, and Miles gave me a quick physics lesson and assured me that the Golden Dolphin, the mother ship of the Dolphin line out of the U.S. was quite safe. He’d done some Internet research about the private line and told us much more than I wanted to know.
I think even Goldie had dozed off.
We shook him back to reality and after Miles found a parking space, we all three got out—and stared at the ship.
The gigantic mass of white sat proudly at the dock, dwarfing the surrounding buildings. At least that’s how I saw it from this angle. Hundreds of passengers were waiting in lines for what I guessed was some kind of processing before embarkation. We asked one of the staff what was going on and found out they were checking passports and getting credit card info.
I looked at my friends. “Well, this is it.” After tearful goodbyes (mine) to Miles and Goldie, I turned to walk away then looked back. “I’m going to miss you guys.” I sniffled.
Both had dry eyes.
Now that hurt. And it really wasn’t like them. Nope. Inside they were both blubbering fools. “Well, I’ll keep in touch although I have no idea how—”
Goldie waved a hand. “I can’t stand it any longer!”
“About time. I thought you two weren’t going to even shed one tear to see me go.”
They glared at me with a collective grin.
“What the hell is wrong with you two? You’re acting … weird. Weirder than usual.” I chuckled.
Goldie grabbed my arm, spun me around and despite my shouts to stop, Miles joined in.
“What the hell? You’re going to make me seasick before I even get on the ship.” I yanked free.
Miles laughed. “You have your anti-nausea bracelet on. And,” he leaned near, “where’d you get that pink locket?”
“You like it?” I fingered it and smiled.
“It’s you. Not too pretentious. Not too much like real jewelry.”
“Jagger gave it to me. Inside is pepper spray. For self-defense.”
They looked at each other then back to me. “You won’t need it!” they shouted together.
Once again they wrapped the three of us together like a pretzel.
“You guys are driving me crazy. What is going on? How do you know I won’t need my locket?”
“Because we are coming along!” shouted Goldie.
After shouts and cheers, I left my friends to go get processed with the promise that I’d find them later.
After I was checked in within an inch of my life for security purposes, I headed up a slight incline of a gangplank. Once inside, I had to stop and take a breath. I wished I could experience this with Goldie and Miles.
The inside of the ship, like a lobby of sorts, was gold, purple, glass, chrome and decorated like a Las Vegas hotel. Glass elevators glided gracefully up the walls. Chatter filled the air, but in the background soft music from a string quartet gave the Golden Dolphin the class of what it must have been like climbing aboard the Titanic.
For a second I couldn’t believe I was actually still in New York City. No horns beeping. No sirens screaming. No “scents” of the city.
It smelled like a fresh ocean breeze in here.
After asking several of the crew for directions, I found my way to my quarters, which were located across from the infirmary. Very convenient. I opened the door to see twin beds along each wall, covered in white spreads, and sitting in a room no bigger than a closet. The walls, too, were white as the two stuffed chairs near each bed. I guessed ships had the market on white. Smelled freshly Lysol clean, but instead of windows, there were tiny portholes in the walls.
Oops. My elevator phobia came to mind.
I ignored it, telling myself this was a job. A job that I needed and could do.
I had to share the room with another nurse, Jacquelyn Arneau, who I’d learned was French. No kidding. Real French as in came from France for this job. Seems as if the entire crew was a mixture of nationalities.
Should be an interesting job.
About the Author
Photo by Sal Avocato
After serving in the Air Force as a registered nurse, LORI AVOCATO decided to give up nursing to write fiction. She lives in New England and is a member of Mystery Writers of America, PASIC, the Author’s Guild, and Sisters in Crime. She’s raising two teenage sons, one husband, and two dogs. Spanky (pictured above) has made his way into the Pauline Sokol mystery series as the joint-custody pup of Pauline, Miles, and Goldie. Lori is the author of two previous novels featuring Pauline Sokol, The Stiff and the Dead and A Dose of Murder. You can visit her website at www.loriavocato.com.
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Also by Lori Avocato
THE STIFF AND THE DEAD
A DOSE OF MURDER
DEEP SEA DEAD
Copyright
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
AVON BOOKS
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Excerpt from Deep Sea Dead copyright © 2006 by Lori Avocato
ISBN-13: 978-0-06-073167-0
ISBN-10: 0-06-073167-2
EPub Edition July 2013 ISBN 9780062310347
ONE DEAD UNDER THE CUCKOO’S NEST. Copyright © 2005 by Lori Avocato. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the nonexclusive, nontransferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, decompiled, reverse-engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books.
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