by Rickie Blair
Antony frowned. Too much sun? Or too much alcohol?
“Honey,” he said, pointing to Pete but not rising from the sofa, “this is a police officer.”
Ruby turned to the newcomer with a surprised look.
“Just a friendly visit, I hope? We haven’t done anything wrong, have we?” Her face lit up in the beguiling smile that usually warmed Antony’s heart. It wasn’t working today. Leaning his head against the sofa, he stared at the ceiling.
“Of course not,” Pete said, grinning and extending his hand. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Miss Delaney. I’m Pete Osler. I was a detective with the NYPD, but I’m retired now. My wife is a big fan—”
Antony interrupted. “Mrs. Carver.” He lifted his head and glared at the detective. Insolent bastard.
“Of course, sorry. It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Carver,” Pete said, emphasizing the last two words.
Antony’s eyes narrowed. Was that a smirk?
Ruby dropped her large leather tote bag on the floor and settled in beside Antony, resting a warm hand on his thigh. Pete sat in the armchair.
“Have you had lunch, Detective Osler?” Ruby asked.
“Call me Pete, please. And yes, I have, although,” he patted his waistline, “I’m not sure if it was lunch number one or lunch number two. Food’s available here twenty-four seven.”
“It’s a challenge, isn’t it?” Ruby said, still smiling.
Antony cleared his throat. Was this chitchat necessary? Pete and Ruby looked at him. Clenching his jaw, he glanced at the door. Where the hell was that sandwich?
Pete turned back to Ruby and tapped a finger on the two manila envelopes on the coffee table.
“I asked your husband to scan a few mug shots.”
“Mug shots?” Ruby’s voice rose. “Of criminals?”
“Nothing to worry about, Mrs. Carver. A colleague asked me to check on some characters he heard might be on board. Organized crime, from Russia. They’d cut your heart out without missing a beat, and that’s not a cliché. They actually did that in one case.”
Antony checked his watch and puffed out a breath. For God’s sake, get on with it. Ruby squeezed his thigh. She was trying to manage him, but it still felt good.
“Can’t you ask the captain?” Ruby asked. “Or search the ship?”
“No, I can’t.” Pete held up both hands. “I’m retired. And even if I wasn’t, this isn’t my jurisdiction. I have no right to pester the crew with requests or search anybody’s quarters. This is a favor for a friend, that’s all.”
“But how would my husband recognize them?”
“I don’t,” Antony said coldly. “Our detective is on a fishing expedition.”
Pete opened the second envelope and slid out more photos.
“Let me show you these and then I’ll be out of your hair.” He spread them on the coffee table and looked up at Antony. “When I said these guys are hard core, this is what I meant.”
The first picture showed a dead man, sprawled on the ground, a knife plunged into his left eye and blood pooling on the ground around his head. The second was another corpse, his right arm a bloody stump. The third was a woman, slumped on the ground, her eyes closed. She wore a vivid red dress with a full skirt that spread out around her.
Ruby’s hand trembled on Antony’s thigh as she stared at the photos. Her mouth was open and her gaze riveted on the pictures. Antony leaned over, swept up the photos and thrust them at the detective.
“There was no reason for my wife to see those.”
“Vor v zakonye. That’s what they’re called,” Pete said, taking the photos and jiggling them in his hand. “Thieves-in-law. The Russian mafia. You don’t want to cross these guys.” He slipped the pictures back into the envelope.
“I’ll keep that in mind,” Antony said, glaring at Pete and inclining his head at the door.
Pete stood and bent to pick up the other envelope. As he leaned over the coffee table, he looked directly at Antony.
“Well, since you don’t know these men, Mr. Carver, it doesn’t matter, does it? Although, if you do come across any of them, I hope you won’t keep it to yourself.”
Antony stood up, stifling a yawn.
“Thanks for coming by, Detective Oliver.”
“Osler.”
Antony shrugged. Whatever.
“Perhaps we’ll meet again,” Pete said, turning to the door.
Antony stood in the open door and watched Pete Osler amble to the elevator. When the elevator door opened a steward emerged holding a linen-covered tray. He swerved around the detective and hurried to the Emperor Suite.
“Is that my sandwich? About time.” Antony grimaced, holding the door open.
* * *
Ruby caught up with Pete at the elevator.
“I apologize for my husband, Detective Osler. He has a lot on his mind.”
“Pete, remember?” He took a step closer. “I hope I didn’t upset you with those pictures, Mrs. Carver.”
“Of course not.” She smiled, a bit uncomfortable under his focused gaze. “And please, call me Ruby.”
“Does your husband always have a lot on his mind, Ruby?”
“Well, sure. Carvon is a big company. It’s complicated.” She glanced back at the door to the Emperor Suite and bit her lip. “You know, it’s odd, but you’re not the first person to mention the Russian mafia on this cruise.”
“Oh?” The elevator door opened behind Pete and he stepped in, extending an arm to keep the door from closing.
“There was a maid, from Russia, who cleaned our room this morning and she said they were … watching me.”
“She said the Russian mafia was watching you?”
“Yes. Should I be worried?”
“Did she say why they were watching you?”
“Not really. I mean, she wasn’t specific …” Ruby shrugged. “Listen, it’s silly. I’m sorry that I—”
Pete interrupted her.
“Did she say how she knew this?”
“Not exactly.”
“Did she mention your husband?”
“She saw Antony talking to a man in the suite across the hall. And she said he was … one of them. I saw him, too, but—”
“Describe him.”
“About mid-fifties, balding, and wearing a Hawaiian shirt.”
“And that’s significant because …?” Pete raised his eyebrows.
“You know, that graveyard where the mobsters are buried, in Russia? They have portraits on their tombstones and some are wearing Hawaiian shirts. You must have heard of it, it’s a tourist attraction.”
“There’s more than one, but I think you mean Yekaterinburg, where the Romanovs were executed.”
“That’s the one.” She nodded eagerly.
“So, this vor v zakonye member is the gentleman in the suite across the hall from you?”
“Yes.”
“I’ve met him.” Pete looked around and motioned her closer. Ruby leaned in and held her breath.
“He owns a medical supplies company in Philadelphia. Nice guy. And as far as I know, he’s never been to Russia.” Pete released the elevator door and as it closed, he added, “See you at dinner.”
Chapter Nine
Ruby tried to stroll casually along the promenade after her conversation with Pete Osler, but the urge to crack open a chilled bottle of Stoli and curl up in bed with it was almost overwhelming. The voices running through her head were relentless.
Mobsters, from Russia.
You should get off the ship.
You know how he gets.
She forced herself to focus on the window displays in the expensive shops lining the promenade. Beachwear. Handbags. Artwork. Did people really buy paintings on cruise ships? Pausing in front of a tiny gallery, she stared at an oil painting that depicted a woman floating on an endless sea. The woman’s eyes were closed and her hair fanned out around her head. As Ruby stared the woman in the painting blurred into the woman in the photo, the
one in the red dress.
Wincing, she closed her eyes. After viewing those grisly crime-scene photos, she had forgotten to ask Antony if she could leave the ship at Pintado Island. She opened her eyes. It was silly, anyway. Why should she get off the ship? They would be home in less than a week.
Her attention drifted to another painting. A young man in a striped jacket and straw hat offered flowers to a woman in a long dress seated on a vine-festooned swing. The couple stared adoringly at each other. Young Love, read a card below the painting. Next to the title, a red sticker dot showed it was sold. Of course it was. Who wouldn’t want to be reminded of those romantic first years? Ruby sighed as she recalled the look in Antony’s eyes in the Emperor Suite’s den before a rustling envelope had intervened.
She walked past more shops until a collection of antique diamond brooches caught her eye. Ruby tilted her head while she studied the display. The settings were intricate Art Deco designs, a style that Great-Aunt Dot loved. Perhaps a brooch would ease the sting of not seeing her only niece for over a year. Ruby frowned at a tiny sign in the window that said not for sale.
A clerk counting cash at the till looked up with a weary air that disappeared when she recognized Ruby.
“Can I help you, Miss Delaney?”
“I was wondering about those brooches in the window.”
The clerk shook her head with a pained expression.
“Aren’t they beautiful? But they’re only on loan, I’m afraid. Sorry.”
“Ah. Well, in that case, I’m just browsing.”
The clerk nodded and returned to her task.
Ruby ambled up and down, gazing at the exquisite objects and drawing a finger along the glass display cases. She stopped and leaned over the glass with a thrill of delight.
“Zippo lighters? I haven’t seen those for years.”
The clerk hurried over to unlock the cabinet. She slid out the tray and placed it on the counter.
“They’re popular gifts. Cigar smokers, mostly.”
Ruby picked up a lighter that had a tiny compass on its front. But instead of oscillating to north or south, the pointer could be set on three words, yes, no, or maybe. The lighter was solid silver and heavy in her hand and she curled her fingers around it. As a child she had been enthralled with her great-uncle’s ritual of cleaning and lighting his pipe. First the bristly pipe cleaners, then the pouch of fragrant tobacco, and finally, the battered lighter that ignited the aromatic leaves and sent smoke swirling above his head.
She looked up, holding the silver lighter.
“How much is this?”
While the clerk wrapped it, Ruby wandered over to another display. In the middle, on a black pedestal under a spotlight, a huge pale yellow diamond set in white gold hung from a silver chain.
“Isn’t that gorgeous?” the clerk asked, unlocking the cabinet and handing the pendant to Ruby. “I think that stone is even bigger than the one on your engagement ring.”
Ruby twirled the pendant, admiring the bursts of radiance as the diamond caught the light.
“I think you’re right,” she said, a smirk puckering her cheek. She handed the pendant to the clerk with a brisk nod. “Could you charge this to my husband’s account, please?”
“Certainly, Miss Delaney.”
After stowing both packages in her handbag, Ruby continued down the promenade until she came to a piano lounge. A handful of tables surrounded a baby grand at the front.
One drink. How could that hurt?
The only other customer was a middle-aged man, nursing a beer at the bar that stretched the length of one wood-paneled wall. The atmosphere in the lounge was murky compared to the blinding white Caribbean sunlight that flooded through the promenade’s ceiling-high windows. Ruby slid onto a leather stool near the back, where a tall blond man in a white polo shirt dried beer glasses with a white linen cloth. Tattoos on his sleek muscular arms glistened under the spotlights.
“G and T,” she said, “with diet tonic, please.”
Ruby reached for her drink without looking at the bartender and swiveled sideways to stare out at the promenade. She took a gulp and closed her eyes, savoring the warmth as the alcohol swirled down her throat. She took another gulp. Before long the glass was empty. Reaching a trembling hand behind her, she placed the glass on the bar. It would take more than one drink to dull the panic rising in her throat.
She glanced sidelong at the middle-aged man, who turned away. Ruby swiveled on her stool to order a second.
The bartender lined up the clean beer glasses in precise rows on a shelf behind the bar. His polo shirt bore the ship’s blue wavy logo and a nameplate, Dimitri. Ruby tapped a finger on her empty glass and caught his eye.
“Could I have another, please?”
“The same?” He reached for the bottle of London Dry. “Or would you prefer something else?”
“Any suggestions?”
He ran a finger along the bottles under the mirror, stopped at one with smoky turquoise contents and placed it on the bar with a flourish.
“Special edition for twenty-fifth anniversary of cruise line. Is very good.”
“And very expensive?”
“Well, yes, expensive.” He shrugged lightly and grinned. “But worth it.”
“Pour away.” Might as well try something new while she could still taste it.
Dimitri reached for a clean glass, filled it with ice and poured in a shot. He placed it in front of her.
“No tonic?” she asked.
“Try it.”
Ruby swirled the gin and sniffed. She had expected a woodsy aroma, heavy with juniper, but this gin smelled as if someone had bottled a whole forest. Taking a sip, she nodded at Dimitri.
“It’s lovely.”
She drank in silence, watching Dimitri place one glass after another on the shelf. Antony would enjoy this gin. Thoughts of her husband triggered other thoughts, of passports and blondes. She forced herself to focus on the bartender’s practiced movements while he lined up each glass.
Dimitri turned and nodded as Ruby raised her half-empty glass in a mock salute. She finished her drink, humming along to the music. The piano lounge was such a nice cozy place. The song changed from Michael Bublé crooning Home to Norah Jones’s Chasing Pirates.
Ruby looked up at the overhead speakers and chuckled.
“This is quite the cutting-edge stuff. You could get paper cuts from this playlist.”
Dimitri rubbed the back of his neck and shot her a sheepish grin.
“Is not my choice.”
“What would you choose?”
He looked thoughtful.
“Nautilus. And ddt.”
“I’ve never heard of those.”
“They are Russian groups. Very good.”
“Are you from Russia?”
“Moscow. Many years ago.”
“Ah, I thought so.” Leaning her elbows on the bar, Ruby rested her head on her hands with her fingers splayed through her hair. Dimitri picked up her empty glass, replaced her paper coaster with a new one, and inclined his head at the anniversary gin.
“Another?”
“Please.”
He filled her glass again. The middle-aged man set down his empty glass and signaled for a refill. Dimitri poured a draft and delivered the beer. When he returned, he stood staring into space.
Ruby leaned her elbows on the bar and ran a finger around the edge of her glass.
“So. Moscow. What’s that like?”
“It was a long time ago.” Dimitri rocked on his feet, not looking at her.
She turned away, sipping her gin. It wasn’t usually this difficult to strike up a conversation with a bartender. The middle-aged man drained his beer and rose to leave. Dimitri watched him, then turned and smiled at Ruby. She smiled back.
He bent over the bar, staring at her. She lifted her glass in another mock salute, but he didn’t move. Ruby leaned forward until her face was inches from his. His aftershave wafted past. Bay rum. N
ice.
“What are you staring at?” she whispered.
“Don’t men always stare at beautiful woman?” he asked in a low voice, grinning.
“Thank you,” she said, the corners of her mouth twitching. “But it’s making me a bit … uncomfortable.”
“Sorry. I do not mean to bother you, but you seem sad.” Dimitri shrugged, almost bashful.
“I appreciate it, but I am—” Ruby sat back and raised her left hand, letting the diamond sparkle in the light from an overhead spot, “—married.”
“That is hard to miss, yes.”
“It is a big diamond, isn’t it? Too big, really.” She held out her hand so Dimitri could get a better view.
Taking her hand in his, he leaned over the bar.
“It would make good stakes in a craps game,” he said, his voice low. But he looked into her eyes, not at her diamond. His own eyes were the steel blue of Arctic ice melting in the sun.
Ruby felt a sudden flush. Laughing, she tried to tug her hand back.
“I think I’ll keep it for now. But craps might be fun to watch. Do they play in the casino here?”
“It is late when the real players start. Past your bedtime.” Dimitri released her hand and stood up straight as two women entered the bar and sat at a table near the front. He walked over, took their orders and returned, picking up a martini shaker. He glanced at Ruby while he made the drinks.
“So? Will you go to the casino?”
“I don’t think so.” She raised her glass and gin sloshed over the edge and onto the bar. “Oops. Sorry.”
Dimitri wiped the counter under her glass and replaced her coaster. With a raised eyebrow, he set a bowl of mixed nuts in front of her. Ruby tipped the bowl onto the bar and lined up cashews on the polished wood.
“One for me.” She popped a cashew into her mouth.
“And one for you.” She placed a cashew on her outstretched palm and held it out, expecting him to pick it up. Instead he leaned in and opened his mouth.
“Fine for you,” she said, dropping in the cashew, “but I can’t eat these. They’re fattening.”
