I showed her the flyers and told her about Ricky and his arrest.
Glory shuddered when I told her about the photographs of the murdered boatman. “A man was murdered?” she whispered.
“Major Cepeda insisted that Ricky did it.”
“Rosie, who is this boy?”
I took Glory’s hand, concerned that she was pale and there was fear in her eyes. “Ricky didn’t do it,” I insisted. “The captain and security chief believe he’s innocent too. I’ll tell you why.”
And I did, describing all that had taken place in the captain’s office.
By the time I finished the story, Glory’s face had regained its color, but she shook her head as if unwilling to believe that had happened. “Your mother was worried about a simple party that went bad. Now you’re involved in hiding a fugitive from murder?”
“I told you, Ricky didn’t murder that boatman,” I said.
“I know. You made that perfectly clear.” Glory scowled. “That was a stupid trick the Cuban officer pulled. He must be pretty arrogant to think he could get away with that.” She took one of the flyers from my hand and studied it. Finally, she said, “Don’t worry about this reward offered for Ricky’s return. Even if someone wants the money, he’s not likely to try to spirit Ricky off to Cuba to collect it. Can you imagine Dora Duncastle and Winnie Applebee wrestling Ricky away from the guard at his door, then carrying him off the ship and onto a plane waiting to fly him to Cuba?”
“No, I can’t,” I answered, but from what I’d overheard Tommy Jansen saying, there was at least one person on board who might try it.
“So don’t worry,” Glory said, looking selfsatisfied. “Fifty percent of the passengers on this ship are not in any kind of physical condition to attempt an abduction, and ninety-nine percent couldn’t care less about aiding the Cuban government.”
“But I heard the cruise director talking about getting the reward,” I said.
“Did he say how he was going to manage it?”
“He said he was working on an idea.”
Glory patted my shoulder. “As a stand-up comic, he’s mildly funny. As a cruise director, I suppose he’s okay. But beyond that—” She chuckled and said, “If I were Ricky, I wouldn’t worry. Now, if you want my legal advice . . .”
“I do.”
“According to what you told me, Ricky is underage and will be for the next two months. You said his grandmother had raised him?”
“It was really his great-aunt Ana.”
“Legally, it was his grandmother. Let’s not get sidetracked. She can demand that Ricky be sent back, since he is a minor in her care.”
“But what if he sets foot on United States soil—not as a prisoner of the INS, but as a political escapee?”
“Even so, it will be up to the INS to decide his future. Of course, the uncle could take their decision to court.” She thought for a moment, then said, “From what you told me, the captain of our ship has made the right decision.”
She walked to the door and peered through the peephole. Then she came back to where I was seated. “The guard is there,” she said. “I was going to offer him a chair, but he has one.”
I was still devastated by what she had told me. “Glory, Ricky needs help. This is no time to worry about getting somebody a chair.”
Glory rested a hand on my shoulder. “Stop worrying about that baseball player. He’ll be safe while he’s on the ship. And if you need my help for anything, I hope you know I’m here for you.”
“Thanks, Glory. But when we get back to Miami—”
“As the captain told you, everything will be handled by the INS.” She yawned and said, “Right now, it’s past time for bed, and tomorrow we’re signed up for an early trip to Dunn’s River Falls.”
“Oh!” I said. “I thought you’d be playing bridge, so I told Julieta I’d go with her.”
“No problem. She’s on the same list we are. So is Neil, who is really a very fine young man, if you’d just pay attention. I’m sure if you gave him even half a chance, you and he could hit it off.”
“Glory,” I said, wishing she didn’t have such a one-track mind, “Neil is a nice guy, but we have nothing in common.”
Glory pulled off her robe and turned out the lamp over her bed. “You have nothing in common with a baseball player from Cuba. Forget him,” she said as she climbed into bed. “Good night, Rosie.”
“Um, Glory, that’s another thing,” I said. “Rosie was a great name for me when I was little, with floppy ponytails, but I’ve grown up. Would you mind calling me Rose?”
As Glory rolled over in bed, pulling the blanket up to her chin, she snorted.
“What’s that all about?” I asked.
The blanket muffled what she said, but the words were clear enough. “Does this name change involve a blue diamond necklace?”
“You know it doesn’t.”
“Or an iceberg? I saw the movie too.”
“You’re not funny,” I said.
Glory gave a light snore, pretending to be asleep.
A few minutes later, I climbed into bed and turned out the light. I lay in the darkness thinking about Ricky, surprised that I was still shaken by his kisses.
As Becca had reminded me, in Titanic Rose Calvert had been only seventeen when she met Jack, the one true love of her life. I wouldn’t be seventeen for another two months. Was I old enough to fall in love for real?
I had no idea. All I knew was that I had never been kissed the way Ricky had kissed me.
I shivered and tingled as if I were cold, but at the same time I felt warm all over. Had I met my own one true love?
If I had, then what in the world was I going to do about it?
I was beginning to doze off into a warm, cozy dreamworld when a question popped into my mind with such urgency my eyes flew wide open. The security chief and his men had come directly to deck twelve to arrest Ricky. They’d been tipped off about where to find him. But by whom?
8
AT SEVEN A.M. THE SHIP, GILDED BY THE EARLY-MORNING sunlight, docked at the port of Ocho Rios, Jamaica. I leaned on our balcony railing and looked down at the long, wide, wooden pier, where seamen were busy securing a gangway leading to the boarding area on deck one. Beyond the pier was a port-of-entry building and a parking lot, where tour buses and taxis were already crowded into every available space.
On the other side of this official area I could see a paved road that apparently led up a hill into town. A crowd of people edged the road, with a steady stream of others joining them. Some carried what looked like homemade cardboard signs. Others unfolded bundles. Merchandise for sale? At this distance I couldn’t make it out.
As Glory walked out onto the balcony, I asked, “What are all those people doing?”
“Waiting for the tourists who will walk into town,” Glory answered. “Many of them have brought souvenirs to sell. The main industry on this island is tourism.” She looked at her watch. “Are you ready for a quick breakfast? Our bus leaves for the falls at nine.”
“Glory,” I said hesitantly, “Ricky is going to be awfully lonely shut up in his stateroom all day. I can stay on board and keep him company.”
Glory fixed me with a steely gaze. “That is not an option,” she said.
“Then could I just say hello to him before we go to breakfast?”
“A quick hello. That’s all.”
Glory stepped aside as we left our stateroom, waiting while I crossed the passageway and raised a hand to knock on the Urbinos’ door.
“I’m sorry, miss,” the guard said. He leaned from his chair and stretched out a hand to stop me. “The prisoner is not allowed to communicate with anyone while we are in port.”
I stared in surprise. “I wasn’t planning to go inside the stateroom. I just need to know that Ricky is all right.”
The guard leaned back in his chair, stretching, before he answered. “He’s fine. He and his uncle had a big breakfast. Room service brought it an hour ago.”
; Glory stepped forward, taking charge. “Thank you,” she said to the guard, and she took my hand as though I were a little kid, leading me toward the stairs.
“We’re going to stop off on deck five before breakfast so I can leave my watch and rings in the ship’s safe,” she said. “I don’t want to take any chance on losing them while I’m climbing the falls.”
“Glory! You can’t climb the falls,” I argued. “I’ve seen pictures of them. The rocks are big and slippery.”
“Climbing the falls is part of the tour.”
“But they’re just for young . . . um . . . well, people my age, not for . . . um . . . grandmothers.”
“You think I’m too old to climb the rocks? Just watch me,” Glory said. She left me near the end of the counter and walked to the security desk.
Nearby, at the door to the chief purser’s office I heard someone say, “There’s no sign of him, sir.”
Startled—was he talking about Ricky?—I turned to see one of the uniformed crew speaking to the purser.
“Did you check his assigned cabin?” the purser asked.
“Yes, sir.” The seaman gave a lower deck number. “And I asked the men who share the cabins next to his. No one heard him leave this morning, and his few things are still there.” He paused and added, “I even checked with the guard assigned to stateroom seventy-two-seventy-nine. He said no one had tried to make contact with Mr. Urbino except the girl in the stateroom across the passageway.”
My face grew hot with embarrassment, but at the same time I felt a welcome rush of relief. It wasn’t Ricky they’d been talking about. I listened even more intently.
“The captain ordered him to leave the ship as soon as possible after we docked,” the purser said. “Did you check the departure area on deck one?”
“I’ve been in phone contact. He hasn’t been seen there.”
They had to be talking about Major Cepeda, I decided. On a ship this large I could see why someone might be hard to find. If the major had left his belongings in his cabin, he was probably in one of the dining rooms or cafés eating breakfast. Had they thought of checking there? I hoped they’d find him soon. I didn’t trust him. I’d be glad when Major Carlos Cepeda left the ship.
Glory appeared, smiling broadly. “This is going to be a great day,” she said. “The weather’s perfect, Rosie. Come on. I’m starved for something magnificent and full of calories, like a cheese omelette and hash browns. Let’s eat!”
An hour later, Glory and I crossed the asphalt parking lot, heading for our tour bus. I glanced to each side of the lot, looking for Neil, but there was no sign of him. Glory had said he’d be with our excursion group. So where was he?
Not watching where I was going, I had to jump aside as someone hurried past. “Hey!” I started to say, but stopped in surprise as I saw it was Mr. Urbino.
He didn’t speak, and I was sure he hadn’t even seen me. He seemed too intent on where he was going. As I followed Glory to the tour bus, I kept watching Mr. Urbino. Dressed in a casual gray shirt, slacks, and jacket, he passed the rows of buses, going directly to a taxi dispatcher. It took only a moment before he was in a cab and the driver was swinging in a wide turn to head up the road into town.
To my surprise, I saw that I wasn’t the only one who had been watching Mr. Urbino. Stepping from the shade under the overhang of the port building, Anthony Bailey looked after the cab for a second, then turned and walked back into the building.
That’s strange, I thought. It seemed almost as though Mr. Bailey had expected Mr. Urbino to come this way and had been watching for him.
“Here’s our bus,” Glory said. “Give me a hand on that first step. It’s a high one.”
“I’ll be right back, Glory,” I said quickly. “I have to ask someone a question.”
Without waiting for an answer, I ran to the taxi dispatcher, who saw me coming and waved to the next cab in line.
“No thanks. I’m not taking a cab,” I said. “I want to ask you about that man who just got into a taxi a moment ago—where was he going?”
The dispatcher looked surprised. “Airport,” he said. “You want taxi to airport?”
“No thanks,” I said again. I backed away, suddenly embarrassed by having given in to my curiosity. “I—I’m traveling by ship.”
And so are you, Mr. Urbino, I thought. What business do you have at the airport? I ran back to join Glory, who was waiting for me next to the bus.
“What was all that about?” she asked.
“Mr. Urbino took a cab to the airport,” I answered. “I don’t know why.”
“My, aren’t you nosy? Maybe he was going to meet a friend. Or pick up a package. Does he need to give you a reason?”
Even more embarrassed, I shook my head. “I know. It isn’t any of my business what Mr. Urbino does.”
“Or other Cuban baseball players,” Glory said. She held out a hand so I could give her a boost up the first step onto the bus.
I didn’t agree that Ricky’s welfare wasn’t any of my business. I believed in his freedom, and I was standing up for what I believed in. Wasn’t that what Mom and Glory wanted of me?
As I followed her onto the bus, I tried to keep my mind on the day’s trip ahead. Ricky might not like being cooped up, but he would be safe. The captain was tough. The chief of security was tough. And I’d see Ricky that night, after we set sail.
Along with most of the members of our tour group, Neil and Julieta had already gotten on the bus by the time Glory and I climbed aboard. Julieta, perched in the window side of a double seat, snuggled closer to Neil and wiggled her fingers at me.
Neil, who was again covered by a brightly colored long-sleeved shirt and his straw hat with the wide, drooping brim, immediately slid across the cracked brown vinyl and jumped to his feet. Although there were plenty of available seats on the bus, including the two across the aisle, Neil graciously offered his seat to Glory.
Beaming at him, she accepted, but before she could sit down, Julieta scooted from the seat and plopped into the one across the aisle. “I’ll sit with Rosie,” she said.
Tucked in by the window, I glanced around Julieta, who was animatedly talking across the aisle to Neil. I wanted to giggle at the look on my grandmother’s face. Julieta one, Glory zero, I thought.
In a way I was glad that Julieta had been so skillful in deciding where each of us would sit. The bus carried us a short distance, past flowering shrubs and ferns interspersed with tall mahogany-and-blue trees our driver called mahoes. I took a few photographs through the windows. But soon my thoughts returned to the short, quiet time Ricky and I had had on the darkened deck the evening before.
The skin on my upper arms prickled, as if it still felt the grip of Ricky’s fingers, and for an instant it was hard to breathe. I had never felt this way about a boy. For the first time I understood how Rose Calvert could believe with all her heart that Jack Dawson was her true love. Rose Calvert and Jack. Would it be Rose Marstead and Ricky?
But Rose and Jack’s love had ended in a terrible tragedy. I shivered.
Julieta swiveled to look at me, raising one eyebrow. “You okay?” she asked.
I nodded. “I guess someone must have walked across my grave.”
“Your grave? Weird,” Julieta said.
“That’s an old expression people use when someone shivers,” I tried to explain, but Julieta had already turned her attention back to Neil.
The bus parked close to the rush of water that ran from the falls into the sea. Edged by thick, lush greenery, the river splashed and foamed over smoothed limestone rocks dotted with tourists. Clinging, grunting, squealing, they gripped each other in human chains led by guides who scrambled upward.
I turned away from the window. “Are you sure you want to do this?” I asked Glory.
Glory made a face but began to take off her shoes. “How can I possibly say I visited Dunn’s River Falls but didn’t climb them?” she answered.
“Stubborn,” I mumbled.
But Glory smiled and said, “Stubbornness runs in the family.”
I hurried to remove the T-shirt and shorts I’d put on over my bathing suit and followed Glory off the bus to join our own chain of climbers.
Here and there on the six-hundred-foot climb the going was difficult. Once a powerful gush of water undercut my footing on the slippery rocks, knocking me off balance, but Neil tugged me to my feet with such ease I was surprised at his strength. I had to admit I was having a good time.
Later, Glory somehow maneuvered to sit with Julieta both at the café where our group had lunch and on the bus during the rest of the sightseeing tour. I smiled as I thought, Julieta one, Glory two.
On the last part of the tour, as the bus headed back to Ocho Rios, Neil leaned across me to point to the top of a vine that had spread across a wall like splashed paint, its scarlet blossoms glowing in the deep afternoon sunlight. “Look!” he said with awe in his voice. “Hovering over the vine. There’s a Papilio homerus, the large swallowtail butterfly. They’re found nowhere in the world but Jamaica.”
“Oh,” I answered absentmindedly. We’d soon be back at the dock. Ricky had been confined alone in his stateroom all day . . . unless his uncle’s trip to the airport had been a short one. It wasn’t fair to treat Ricky as a prisoner.
“Their wingspan can grow to a width of thirty feet, and they’re often used to carry heavy packages.”
“Um,” I said. But Ricky could have the run of the ship after it sailed at six that evening. That was what the captain had promised. Surely he’d keep his promise.
“They’re easily trainable and can quickly pick up a vocabulary of forty to fifty words—in French, of course.”
I blinked and sat up straight as I suddenly realized what Neil had just said. “Wh-what?” I stammered.
“Don’t worry about Ricky,” Neil said. “He’s perfectly safe on the ship.”
I felt myself blushing again. Was I that obvious? “I’m sorry I wasn’t listening,” I said, fumbling for the right words to say. “I was thinking about what a good time we all had today while Ricky was stuck in his stateroom. I guess I felt a little guilty.”
Playing for Keeps Page 8
