Perish By Pedicure

by Nancy J. Cohen

  “What’s wrong?” Vail asked, giving her a curious glance. He’d started hanging up his suit jackets.

  “Look at this note.” She thrust it at him.

  Scanning the words, he scowled. “Gotta be some sort of joke.”

  “Or it’s been sent to the wrong person.” Flushing with guilt, she grabbed the paper and tossed it into a drawer. Nothing would ruin her vacation. “Forget about it,” she said. “Let’s explore the ship. I’d like to make sure Brie is happy with her arrangements.”

  Vail opted for a snack, so they headed for the Outrigger Cafe on deck eleven. Unsure of where to go, Marla suggested they follow the trail of people holding drink cups. They found the dining room with several buffet lines, and Vail filled his plate with a juicy hamburger, French fries, pasta salad, and herb-roasted chicken, while Marla allowed herself coffee and fruit.

  “How can you eat so much? It’s nearly time for dinner,” she said, sipping the brew.

  “Don’t worry, I’ll be hungry again,” Vail answered, his mouth full. “How’s the coffee?”

  “Rich and robust, with no bitter aftertaste. I saw a notice alongside the dispenser that says the brand is Hair Raiser. They must have the concession throughout the ship.”

  His eyebrows lifted. “I hope that isn’t a portent since you do hair for a living.”

  You and me both, pal. This is one week when I want to lie out and catch the sun, not help you catch killers. “Maybe I should serve the stuff in my salon. I’ll look it up on the Internet when I get a chance.”

  After bolstering their energy, they strolled outside to preview the pool, Jacuzzis, and solarium. Then they went indoors to ride the glass elevator down and ended up by Hook’s Champagne Bar on deck five. Marla stared at the nine-story central atrium in confusion.

  “How did we miss the salon, spa, and fitness center?” she asked. “Weren’t they on the same deck as the pool?”

  “I don’t know. They could be at the other end. We need to look at a diagram.” A couple of long blasts on the ship’s horn sounded. “Forget it, we’re about to cast off. Let’s take the elevator back up.”

  Completely disoriented, Marla pointed to the carpet on their way aloft. “It’s a good thing the design tells you what day it is. I could easily lose track of time here.”

  “I wonder if they change the carpet at midnight.”

  “You can stay and watch. I’ll be too tired tonight.”

  As soon as she stepped outdoors into the afternoon July sun, she felt the vibration increase and realized the ship had begun moving. Jostling for a position by the rail, she felt a rush of excitement. She watched the pier recede before they entered the outlet leading to open sea.

  Strains of “Hot Hot Hot,” played from a steel band by the pool, where a costumed man on stilts led a line dance. Waiters hawked strawberry pina coladas as the drink of the day while the ship glided past Parrot Jungle Island, a fleet of anchored sailboats, cars racing by on the causeway, and mansions fronting the Intracoastal. A Jet Ski skipped along the water as the Tropical Sun neared the last strip of sand.

  Marla tilted her head back, enjoying the fresh air and the warm sun that kissed her skin. They were embarking on a grand adventure, and her final view of the shoreline came with the realization that they’d have more than a week free from phone calls, work hassles, and chores.

  Ding dong, ding dong.

  “Good afternoon, ladies and gentlemen,” boomed a male voice on the public address system. “This is Captain Rick Larsen speaking to you from the bridge. Our mandatory assembly drill begins shortly. When you hear the emergency signal, please proceed to your assembly stations with your life jackets. Staterooms and public areas will be checked to ensure that all guests have exited diese locations. Smoking, drinking, eating, and the use of cellular phones is prohibited during the drill. Thank you for your attention and cooperation.”

  “Come on,” Vail said, signaling. “We have to go below.”

  “Let’s take the stairs. I need to work off all the calories I’m going to consume.”

  She gave a last glance at the late sun reflecting off the tall buildings of the Miami skyline. Forced activities might be the only cloud on the horizon, but she could tolerate even those if they took away the decision-making process. She’d dreamed of lying on a tropical beach with no decisions to make except which rum drink to try. That being her only goal for the cruise, she could be flexible otherwise.

  Then again, she felt like a sailor at military inspection when they reported to their lifeboat assembly station. Upon their arrival on deck, a uniformed officer recorded the cabin number emblazoned on their vest fronts and directed them to join a group of passengers lined up in jagged rows. Squashed between an overweight fellow who sweated profusely and a mother of two whose youngest child wailed at loud decibels, she struggled to fasten her life vest. The bulky jacket forced her neck up at an uncomfortable angle.

  Vail cursed beside her. He’d gotten himself tangled in the straps and flailed helplessly while attempting to snag the buckle. Knocking into a muscular guy in the row behind, he mumbled an apology. The fellow must have been easily over six feet tall. He wore a bandanna and tattoos like a biker dude.

  “No problem, buddy,” the tattooed man said with a grin.

  “You have it on backward,” Marla said to Vail. She bit her lip to suppress a smile. It wasn’t often that she saw her fiancé at a disadvantage, and when she did, she just wanted to take care of him. She assisted him in putting the vest on correctly.

  A female staff member wearing all white—blouse, skirt, shoes, and visored cap—glared at her charges. “Listen up, people.” Everyone snapped to attention while she strode back and forth. “Make sure those straps are tight. Otherwise, if we have to pull you out of the water fast, we’ll yank on the vest and you’ll be left behind to sink like a stone. Come on, squeeze closer. This is how crowded it gets in the boat.” She pointed to the vessel suspended overhead.

  “Do we get to sit in the lifeboat?!” hollered one passenger.

  “Sit, stand, or lie, you’ll be crammed in there. Oh, and another thing, if you have to jump overboard, cross your arms in front like this. Otherwise, the jacket may hit your head upon impact.”

  “Oh joy. Something else to worry about,” Marla murmured.

  “Your automated light will flash when you enter the water,” the officer continued. “It serves as a beacon. You can use the whistle to draw attention to yourself. Now, are there any questions?”

  At Marla’s side, Vail blew the whistle attached to his vest.

  “Nice move,” Marla crooned, “especially when you don’t know whose mouth it touched last.” She shifted her feet as she heard the familiar ding dong, ding dong from the loudspeaker.

  “May I have your attention, please?” said a disembodied voice. ‘The general emergency signal that began the drill consists of seven short blasts followed by one long blast through the ship’s whistle and internal alarm system. If you are in your stateroom when you hear this signal, grab some warm clothing, gather any medications you may require along with your life jacket, and proceed to your muster station. If you are not in your stateroom, go directly to your station, where in a real emergency, a life jacket will be issued to you. Do not use the elevators, as they will not work in a power failure. Lighting along the floors and stairways will show the route to the assembly stations.”

  Marla tuned him out, preferring not to dwell on the unpleasant possibilities. Instead, she contemplated how many times during the day these announcements would disrupt them.

  Sweat dribbled between her breasts while she listened to the speaker repeat his message in several languages. “How long is this going to last?” she groused. “I’m dying from the heat.”

  Vail regarded her from under his thick brows. “You’ll build up a good appetite for dinner. I wonder where Brie and my folks are. You don’t see them, do you?” He stood on his toes to peer over the heads of taller figures.

  Marla�
�s gaze caught on a handsome older man who murmured something into his companion’s ear. The woman, a blonde who looked about half his age, shrugged away. Not that it was any of her business, but she wondered if that was his wife or his daughter. She caught another person staring at the couple, a fellow with tousled dark hair, a shifty expression, and a camera with which he shot a quick photo of their profiles.

  You’re imagining things, she told herself. He’s probably just snapping a picture of the lifeboat beyond. People are here to have fun, and so are you.

  As soon as the ship’s horn blasted the all-clear signal, she unstrapped her vest and yanked it over her head, mussing her hair. Jostled by other sweaty bodies, she proceeded indoors and followed the mob down the staircase to deck eight.

  With a sigh of relief, she opened the door to their cabin and bounded inside to air-cooled comfort. “Man, is that thing bulky,” she said to Vail, as they tossed their life jackets onto the bed. “We’ll let the cabin steward put them away.”

  “I need a shower, but it’s time for dinner already,” Vail replied, raking a hand through his hair. He gave her a rueful glance, as though he would have liked to linger.

  Hustling to the dining room, Marla despaired of having a minute free. She could end up being busier on this trip than in her salon at home. At least you don’t have to cook or wait on customers, she thought gleefully as they were ushered to their table by the restaurant manager. Elegant white linens, vases with fresh orchids, subdued jazz music, and scores of uniformed waiters soothed her nerves as she took a seat.

  “Typical of Brie to be late,” Vail said in an indulgent tone. He grabbed a bread stick from a basket on the table.

  “You’re just eager to stuff yourself. We’re the first ones here.” Marla nodded at the other empty chairs. “I’m glad we have a table for ten, so we’ll meet new people. Do you suppose the waiter will wait until everyone arrives to take our orders?” She glanced around the room, decorated with crystal chandeliers and floor-to-ceiling windows. “Some passengers may choose to eat in the cafe upstairs.”

  “Who knows? Can you pass the butter, please?”

  As Marla complied, some of their other table companions appeared. She was startled to recognize the older couple from the lifeboat drill. Even though the newsletter indicated this evening’s dress code was casual, they’d changed into fancier outfits than they’d worn on deck.

  “I’m Oliver Smernoff, and this is my wife, Irene,” the man said in a baritone voice. He wore a black suit that contrasted sharply with his graying temples. Most of the hair on top of his head had receded, leaving him partly bald, but his even features and tall stature made him attractive for a man in his fifties. His wife wasn’t as young as she’d seemed at a distance, judging from her hands more than her face. The veins stood out on her overly tanned skin, making Marla rub her own hands and wish for lotion.

  Irene attempted to smile, but her stiff facial muscles turned it into a grimace. She wore an elegant blue sheath dress and a necklace that shimmered with diamonds.

  The newest arrivals, on the other hand, boasted a distinct age difference. “Thurston Stark at your service, and this is my wife, Heidi,” the man boomed to Marla and Vail. He was a big guy with a confident smile, hazel eyes, and wheat-brown hair. With his broad shoulders, he might have been a football player in his earlier days. Heidi looked about thirty years younger, a typical blond trophy wife with a vapid expression. She wore a black dress so revealing that if the ship rocked, her boobs would risk tumbling out.

  While Thurston and Oliver exchanged hearty greetings, their wives acknowledged each other with tepid nods. It appeared they already knew one another. Before Marla could inquire as to the nature of their acquaintance, more of their tablemates arrived.

  “We’re out of seats,” Marla noted to Vail in an undertone. “What happened to Brie and your parents?”

  “You’re right.” Half rising, he scanned the dining room. “I don’t see them anywhere.”

  Marla’s stomach sank. “Great, and I figured nothing could go wrong this week.”

  Vail gave a snort of disbelief. “The way you’re a magnet for trouble, sweetcakes, we’ll be lucky to get off this ship alive.”