by Rickie Blair
“You have no worry,” Dimitri said, chewing slowly, his eyes on hers. He had not moved back. Ruby twisted on her stool, pulling her sundress collar off her neck with one finger, and craned her head back with her mouth open. Was the air conditioning broken?
Dimitri balanced the tray of martinis on one hand and walked over to the women’s table. Ruby gave an admiring glance to his rear before turning her head away.
When he returned with the empty tray she pushed away her drained glass.
“So. Dimitri. What did you do in Moscow?”
“I trained to be Olympic gymnast.”
“Ah ha.” Ruby nodded. “I thought you must be an athlete, but you’re tall for a gymnast. Did you make the team?”
He shook his head. “Accident.” He pointed at his neck. “Cracked vertebrae. No more vaults.”
“That’s a shame. You must have worked hard to get that far.”
“For many years, yes. And then,” he frowned, “I was nothing.”
“They say when you give up on one dream, another takes its place.” She traced the swirling patterns in the bar’s polished wood with a finger. “I hope it’s true.”
Dimitri placed his hand on hers and their eyes met again.
Easing her hand out from under his, Ruby picked up her handbag and slid off the stool. Her legs buckled, and she grabbed the bar rail.
“Whoa. Did the ship just move?”
“Ship is moving, yes. But I don’t think that’s the problem.”
He came out from behind the bar and stood behind her, placing his hands under her arms. Ruby leaned back against his chest, turned her head and looked up into his eyes.
“How strong was that gin?”
“You should sit down. Unless you have important appointment.” He smiled. “At the casino, perhaps?”
Ruby giggled, pushed herself off his chest and smoothed her linen sundress with both hands. “When do you get off?”
“Staff may not fraternize with guests. Sorry.” Dimitri walked behind the bar, placed her bill and a pen in front of her and turned to put her empty glass in the sink.
Ruby winced. That was awkward.
“Sorry, I didn’t mean it that way. I thought you could give me some tips on the game. I didn’t mean to—”
He turned and smiled.
“Is no problem.”
Ruby scrawled her name on the bill. The last two letters ended up on the counter. Then the pen rolled off the bar and onto the floor.
“Oops,” she said, looking down.
She held up both hands to show she was fine and then ambled to the entrance, with one quick look over her shoulder to make certain Dimitri’s eyes were lingering on her butt. After all, she paid her personal trainer in Manhattan a small fortune. Ruby smiled as she turned the corner. After signing the bill, she had anchored it to the counter with her new lighter. The sterling silver dial on the front pointed to maybe.
Chapter Ten
Ruby awoke with the rumpled bedspread digging into her cheek. Red streaks from the setting sun mottled the far wall of the master bedroom, but the rest was in shadows. Lifting herself up on one elbow and rubbing her forehead, she checked the bedside clock. She had gained several hours of oblivion, but at the cost of a splitting headache. And now she was late.
In the bathroom she downed two headache tablets, staring blearily into the mirror. Then she slipped off her wrinkled sundress and stepped into the shower, gasping as cold water streamed over her head. Back in the bedroom, she pulled a pale blue gown from the closet, its silk skirt swirling as she slid it off the hanger. A vintage Halston, it was Antony’s favorite. She placed it on the bed, turned to the vanity for her sapphire earrings, and halted.
Her earrings were in the safe—along with the cash, the bonds and the fake passports. She pressed her lips together. Well, then, this was the perfect opportunity to ask Antony about the leather box.
After slipping on her dress, she stepped through the bedroom’s sliding doors and walked along the balcony. Outside the living room doors she turned to the sea, rested her hands on the polished wooden railing, and marveled at the purple, pink, and gold bands on the horizon. Silk straps crisscrossed her bare back and a cool breeze brushed tendrils of hair against her face.
“Nice dress.”
She turned. Antony leaned against the doorway, watching her, with a wine glass in his hand. He wore khaki shorts, a T-shirt, and battered leather moccasins.
Ruby gaped at him.
“You’re not ready. We’ll be late for dinner.”
“Not going.”
“Why not?”
“Boring.” He pushed off the doorframe and ambled into the living room.
Ruby turned back to the ocean and pressed her hands against the railing, her stomach sinking. So much for getting answers over dinner. Sighing, she turned and followed him.
“Antony, please tell me what’s going on.”
“Nothing. I don’t want to go to dinner, that’s all. We do enough of that in New York.” He flopped onto the sofa, put his feet up on the coffee table next to a half-empty wine bottle, and picked up the remote.
“Antony—”
The sudden blare of the television drowned out her words. She raised her voice.
“Can I at least get my earrings from the safe?”
“What earrings?” he said, his attention fixed on the television.
“My sapphire earrings. They’re in the safe, remember?”
He turned and gave her a quizzical look.
“I’d like to wear them to dinner.”
After placing the remote on the coffee table with a loud sigh, Antony stood up and strolled into the den. Ruby followed, watching as he tapped in the code and opened the safe. She stepped beside him and reached out a hand.
“They’re right there, next to—”
He grabbed her wrist.
“That’s far enough.”
Staring, she pulled her arm away.
“Sorry,” he said. “My papers are in a certain order and I don’t want them moved.” After handing her the jewelry box, he locked the safe and brushed past her into the living room.
Ruby stared at the safe, rubbing her wrist, and then trailed after him.
Antony slumped onto the sofa, reached for his wine glass and put his feet up, staring at the television. Ruby paused, considering her words, and then walked in front of the screen.
“How do you know that steward, Bogdan? The one with the creepy snake tattoo?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“I saw the way you looked at him the day we boarded. Like you’d seen a ghost.”
“Ridiculous.” He gestured with the remote. “Move.”
“Tell me what’s going on, Antony. Maybe I can help.”
He muted the television and gave her a cold stare.
“You can help by not indulging in juvenile antics that make us the center of attention.”
“I’m sorry, I—”
“And you can help by leaving me alone. I have a lot on my mind.” Tapping the remote on his thigh, he looked away and mumbled something under his breath.
Ruby dug her fingernails into her palms to ward off the sudden sting behind her eyes.
“Are you seeing someone, Antony?” Her voice cracked. “A blonde, perhaps?”
“Don’t be foolish.”
“That’s not an answer.”
He grimaced, still looking away. “That doesn’t require an answer.”
“Then tell me why you had the Capstone repainted. I saw the bills from the marina, they came after you left for Boston.”
“What does that have to do with anything?” He clicked the remote to turn up the sound.
“You renamed it,” Ruby said, raising her voice to be heard above the television. “Why would you change the name?”
Antony lifted his arm and heaved the remote across the room. It smacked into the wall with a loud crack and broke in two. Frowning, he leaned his head back and stared at the ceiling.
“Don’t get involved in things you don’t understand, Ruby. You might be sorry.”
Her stomach tightened as she stared at the broken remote.
“I’m going to dinner,” she said, turning to walk away. “You can do whatever you want.”
* * *
Heads turned as Ruby followed the maître d’ through the Apollonis’s main dining room. Fixing a smile on her face, she tried to ignore the whispers. Why had she come? She should have stayed in the suite and ordered room service and made Antony talk to her.
The maître d’ led her to a table beside the far windows, where two small lamps cast welcoming pools of light on the white tablecloth. Three couples were seated. The men put down their napkins and stood while she sat down. The maître d’ lifted an eyebrow at the empty chair beside her.
“My husband isn’t coming,” Ruby said.
The maître d’ nodded to a hovering waiter, who removed the place setting. Ruby picked up the menu card and handed it to another waiter without looking at it.
“Can I have the fish, please?”
She turned back to the table. The other six diners were staring at her. Showtime. Ruby raised her water glass.
“To calm seas.” She winked. “And stormy nights.” The others laughed, raised their wine glasses and murmured in unison, “To calm seas.”
On her left, a short man in a dinner jacket, his sunburned skin peeling around two-day stubble, held out his hand.
“Gareth Nesbitt,” he said, smiling. “Miss Delaney, allow me to present my wife, Tabitha.” The buxom blonde beside him, who had squeezed her considerable assets into a white Hervé Léger sheath, smiled and winked.
Gareth lowered his voice.
“I’m an investment banker, Miss Delaney, with Nash & Bros. Your husband’s probably heard of me.”
Before Ruby could reply, a young man sitting opposite her jumped to his feet and thrust out his hand. His pink ruffled shirt clashed with his flaming red hair, but matched the pink ruffled dress worn by the young woman seated beside him.
“We are thrilled to meet you,” he said, pumping Ruby’s hand so rapidly that his head bobbed. “I’m Ethan and this is my wife, Emily. Emily’s a huge fan. Tell her, Emily.”
The woman in the pink dress giggled and put a hand over her mouth.
“This is our honeymoon,” Ethan said. “We’ve never been on a cruise like this, but we saved up because, you know, it’s once in a lifetime, right? I mean, you want to do it right, don’t you?” he said, oblivious to Gareth’s glare.
Ruby pulled her hand free and forced a smile.
“What do you do, Ethan? Back home, I mean?”
“I’m a teacher. In Springfield. I teach high school math.” Ethan sat down and turned to Gareth. “In fact, I’d be happy to give you a hand with those algorithms you mentioned, if you need a little help. Tomorrow, maybe? Gosh,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck, “we never thought we’d be having dinner with a celebrity, did we Emily?”
Gareth groaned and signaled the steward for more wine.
Ruby struggled to keep up her smile. This was a mistake. She should have … done what? Stayed in her room, like a naughty child? Her hand trembled as she picked up her water glass and glanced at the older couple seated beside Ethan and Emily. Ruby put down her glass and held out a hand.
“Detective Osler. Forgive me for not recognizing you.”
“Pete, please. And this is my wife, Jillian.”
A statuesque woman in her late fifties, with curly salt-and-pepper hair, nodded her head and smiled. “Pleased to meet you.”
Pete reached out and filled Ruby’s glass with white wine before she could stop him. Picking up the glass with a polite smile, she took a sip before pushing it away and averting her eyes from the bottle.
“So, Pete, how are you enjoying the cruise?”
“Fanciest one we’ve been on yet. The guys at the office chipped in for it. A retirement present.” Pete picked up his fork and speared a chunk of prime rib. “Thirty-five years on the force. Good years, all of them.”
“Your colleagues must think a lot of you.”
Pete shrugged one shoulder. He looked embarrassed.
A flash went off in Ruby’s face and she blinked to clear her vision. Ethan lowered his cellphone and beamed at the image on its screen.
“Oh, look, Emily. That’s a good one.”
Ruby’s head throbbed and she looked longingly at the wine bottle. Gareth tapped his glass with a vacant stare. Tabitha took a bite of her entree and swallowed, staring into the distance. Cutlery clinking against china was the only sound at the table. Until a phone rang.
Pete dropped his fork and fumbled in his pocket for his cellphone. Checking the screen, he pushed his chair back and paced a few steps away. Walking to the exit with the phone against his ear, he looked over at Jillian and shook his head. She bit her lip and turned back to the table.
* * *
They were halfway through their entrees when Pete returned. Jillian put a hand on his arm and raised her eyebrows. He patted her hand and turned his attention to the prime rib on his plate.
Ruby tried not to stare. What was that about? She sipped her water, pretending indifference, and then put down her glass.
“So. Pete. I hear you’re keeping a tight rein on those grandkids.”
He looked up with a forkful of prime rib halfway to his mouth.
“What has Jillian been telling you?”
“She says you’ve got their cellphones bugged.”
Pete looked at Jillian, who raised her wine glass at him with a mischievous grin. He shook his head.
“It’s in case they get stolen, is all. I can find out who’s got the phone.”
“How does it work?”
“It’s a keylogger program. It tracks everything that’s typed into the phone.”
“And then?”
“Then it e-mails the keystrokes to me. I never look at it.”
“What about that device on the car that tracks how fast they’re driving?”
“Oh, come on.” Pete put down his fork. “That’s a safety measure. The boys know it’s there. I would never—”
“Pete, I’m kidding.”
“Sorry. Sorry, but Jillian is always ribbing me about it.”
“Well, it is a bit unusual,” Ruby said.
“Pete was a fraud investigator,” Jillian said. “He used a lot of unusual devices to track people.”
“Are you tracking someone now?” Ruby asked. “Is that what that call was about?”
“Oh no, my tracking days are over. That was a colleague, making sure I’m not bored.”
“Oh, c’mon, Pete. Tell us.”
“Can’t tell you anything. I mean, I couldn’t tell you if it was anything, which it’s not.”
“But you’ve had dealings with the Russian mob, right?”
“Not that much. Although a few years back we found one of their victims in an alley. He was stabbed through the eye and left to bleed out.”
There was a sharp intake of breath around the table and Jillian shook Pete’s arm.
“Hon, nobody wants to hear that at dinner.”
“Sorry, folks.” Pete shrugged. “But yes, I’ve come across them,” he said, looking intently at Ruby, “and it’s never a good idea to underestimate them.” He kept his eyes trained on her for several beats before returning to his food.
Ruby made a face and turned to Jillian.
“I bet you’re glad he’s retired.”
“You have no idea. Show Ruby your wallet, hon.”
Pete pushed his plate away, pulled a thick leather wallet from his pocket and placed it on the table. He flipped it open. A tiny pistol fit snugly into the molded interior.
“Is that a … real gun?” Ruby prodded it gently with her finger.
“Yep. These wallet holsters are useful if someone takes your backup weapon. I’ve never used this one. It was a retirement gift.” With a shrug, Pete closed the wallet and slid it
back into his pocket.
Ruby looked around the table. Everyone was staring at Pete. Time to change the subject.
“Let’s order that special dessert. The one they make at the table with liquid nitrogen.”
“Oh, let’s,” Jillian said. “That will be something to tell the grandkids, won’t it, Pete?”
But Pete wasn’t listening. He had swiveled his head to face the entrance, where someone was shouting.
“I think,” he said, turning to Ruby, “your husband has arrived.”
Chapter Eleven
Mila picked her way down the narrow metal stairs to Deck Two, her stomach rumbling. She hadn’t eaten since breakfast and had only minutes to grab dinner from the crew mess before she had to be back on duty. But when she entered the crowded smoky room, dozens of cabin stewards, waiters, and other staff were lined up at the buffet. The air hummed with their conversation amid the shouted orders and clang of pots from the kitchen. Mila sighed and trudged over to the beverage station. At least she could get a coffee.
“Mila, over here. Mila.” Isabel, a buxom and cheerful brunette, motioned to her from a table tucked against the wall. Mila filled a cup with coffee and topped it with a dollop of cream before joining her.
“Here,” Isabel said, pushing an extra plate piled high with rice, chicken and steamed vegetables in front of Mila. “I got you some food. I knew you wouldn’t have time to wait in that line.”
Mila slid into the plastic chair beside her and picked up a fork.
“Oh, thank you.” Spearing green beans with her fork, she dug into the chicken and chewed with her eyes closed. “I’m so tired, and I have fourteen more rooms to go. I feel as if I’ve been on this ship for years.”
“Tell me about it,” Isabel said. “I spent two hours on one table at lunch. They kept ordering extra entrees and extra shrimp, and they all wanted special desserts. At lunch, no less. The kitchen was trying to get ahead on that fancy carved stuff for the gala buffet and they were giving me hell about the extra orders. I had to go to three separate stations to get everything. Then the table complained about the wait and stiffed me on the tip. And I still had to clean up.” She groaned, pushed her half-eaten plate away and put a hand on her stomach.
