The Voluptuous Vixen (A Nick Williams Mystery Book 9)

by Frank W. Butterfield

  After breakfast, Ros and Carter made a date for Ukulele Class later that morning. I turned down the suggestion. I was feeling lazy and wanted to spend some time in the sun, for a change.

  Carter and I got set up with a couple of chaise lounge jobs near the swimming pool. We were both wearing swimming trunks and open shirts and nothing else.

  At one point, I walked over to the pool to test the water. It was chilly. And the pool was full of kids. I wasn't really in the mood for a dip, anyway.

  I turned around and walked back over to our chairs. Suddenly I stopped in my tracks, causing an impatient kid to say, "Hey, Mister! Move outta my way." I stepped to the side but stayed where I was. The sun was over my shoulder so it was highlighting the prone form of my husband. I was entranced and had that same feeling I'd had a few times, starting with when I first saw him leaning against the bar back in '47. Time seemed to stop. Everyone on the deck around us was gone. It was just Carter and me and the big blue ocean behind him.

  I noticed that he'd taken off his shirt and that he was wearing a pair of sunglasses he'd picked up in the ship's store. I looked at his handsome face and then let my eyes wander down his thick neck and broad shoulders. He wasn't pale, but he would look good with some of that ruddy color he could get from being in the sun.

  I looked at his thick arms and the way the muscles curved on his biceps and got long and pulled on his forearms. The mounds of his big chest, all covered in golden hair that got darker as it made its way south, were accentuated by the angle of the light. His black swim trunks were tight against his belly and highlighted the thickness of his thighs, which always had a funny effect on me. The golden hair continued down both his legs. The scar from the knee surgery he'd had in January of '53 shined bright pink against the rest of his skin. The hair stopped suddenly at his ankles, like it did at his wrists, and then suddenly sprouted again on the tops of his feet. I looked up and found myself caught in the act of stalking him, like he was a tasty morsel and I was a jungle cat.

  He pulled his glasses down to his nose and grinned at me for a long moment. Another kid bumped into me and said, "Sorry, Mister." That broke the spell and suddenly I could feel the wind on my face and the noise of people splashing in the pool and talking to each other.

  I walked over, sat down, and said, very quietly, "I love you, Carter Jones."

  He turned his head and smiled. "I love you, too, Nick Williams."

  . . .

  I had brought along some of Uncle Paul's journals and was nose-deep in the final one, trying to follow his tales about Shanghai, when Carter got up and said it was time to meet Ros. I just nodded. I was reading all about a communist rebellion in '27 and couldn't follow all of Uncle Paul's inside jokes and nicknames for various people, including a lot of White Russian refugees, a group he'd set his sights on sleeping through like the San Francisco firemen of the Gay Nineties. I was just about to get up and see if the ship's library had any history books about Shanghai when I looked up and saw a blonde woman standing over me.

  Shading my eyes, I realized it was Rosie. She was wearing a tightly fitted two-piece white bathing suit with a small rose embroidered on the left breast. She was holding a pair of red sunglasses in her hand and trying to play the role of a blonde bombshell. Her lips were covered in a deep red lipstick, painted on thick to exaggerate. Instead of being slicked back like a man's, her blonde hair had been set in curls and flounced around in the ocean breeze.

  "Good morning."

  She nodded and asked, "You mind?"

  I shook my head as she sat down on Carter's chair. I asked, "Something to drink?"

  "Champagne. Always."

  I waved at the waiter, Noel, who'd been taking care of Carter and me. He walked over and asked, "Yes, Mr. Williams?"

  "Can you bring us a couple of glasses of champagne?"

  Rosie put the tip of her sunglasses in her mouth, puckered up her lips, and purred up at the man, asking, "How about a bottle and a couple of glasses? 1952 Veuve Cliquot?"

  He looked at me and then at her for a couple of beats. I nodded. He smiled, replied, "Right away," and then headed to the bar.

  "He's wondering who, exactly, you're sleeping with. Is it me?" She rolled over on her side and looked at me with a lascivious gaze. "Or that big hunk of a man you're going around with? You know you're the talk of the ship. Everyone is dying to meet you, but no one dares talk to you. You're just not nice to know." I'd heard my Great Aunts, sisters of Uncle Paul, use the same phrase many times.

  She turned on her back and slipped on her sunglasses. I was waiting for the next part, but there didn't seem to be one.

  "How was your night last night?"

  Without turning, she said, "Boring, as usual. I think I'm going to have to drop Carmen. She's really bringing me down."

  "How so?"

  "Oh, Nick." There was a seductive whine in her voice. "I really don't want to talk about her. Let's talk about you. How was jail?"

  I laughed. "It was OK. I met some--"

  She turned over, pulled down her sunglasses, and asked, "I mean. How were the men?"

  Right then, Noel returned with an ice bucket and a green bottle with an orange label. We watched in silence as he popped the cork and poured a glass for Rosie and then one for me. The sound of the cork drew the attention of a number of fellow sunbathers.

  Once he was done, Noel bowed and walked away as Rosie clinked my glass and said, "Bottoms up!" With that, she guzzled her glass and then held it out. "Be a dear, Nick, and top me up, won't you?"

  I put down my glass, slipped Uncle Paul's journal in the bag we'd brought up on deck, stood up, and poured her another glass. She raised it in my direction, smiled lazily, and sipped.

  I sat down on the deck chair, folding one leg under the other, reached down for my glass, and took her in. "What's your scam, Rosie?"

  She smiled slowly and lifted up on one elbow. "Would you believe I'm auditioning for a movie?"

  I shook my head and took a drink. I'd never had champagne in the morning. It was nice.

  "Well, it's really none of your business."

  I shrugged and watched her. That's something I've always been very good at: watching and waiting. She looked away from me and up at the sky. "I just like to pretend I'm someone other than who I am."

  "This tub ain't cheap. Where'd you get the dough?"

  She laughed and said, "What is this, a Raymond Chandler novel?"

  I just sat there, wondering who she was and where she came from. I didn't really care, but my curiosity was up.

  "I'm just another of a million washed-up girls that the Hollywood machine chewed up and spit out."

  I shook my head. "Try again. Only, this time, be a little more creative."

  She sighed. "My parents died when I was fourteen, left me a big pile of loot, and I'm bored. I have no ambition, no desire, no nothing, really, other than all the money I can spend. Hell," she rolled over and held out her empty glass for me to fill again. As I took it and stood up, she said, "I can't even decide whether to fuck men or women. How about you? You ever do it with a gal?"

  I looked around and noticed that no one could hear us. The wind and the squealing laughter of the kids in the pool made for effective background noise. I poured more champagne and handed the glass back. Sitting down once more, I said, "Never have, never will."

  She brought her legs over the side of the chair for me to see. Turning them from left to right and back again, she asked, "This doesn't do anything for you?" I shook my head. She wiggled her cleavage. "Or this?"

  "Nope. It's pretty but it doesn't interest me."

  She drained her glass, handed it to me, stood up, and said to no one in particular, "Damn it."

  . . .

  I sat there for a long while after she left. Something was pricking at me from the inside and wanted to know more, so I picked up my things and walked back to the suite. Once there, I put on a pair of those tight-fitting trousers, another of the new short-sleeved shirts that Robert
had picked out, and some deck shoes.

  I closed the suite door behind me and stopped for a moment in the passageway. A couple with two kids were walking towards me from the aft foyer, so I stepped back into the small vestibule in front of the suite. As they continued down the hall, I heard the wife ask, "Is that him?"

  The husband replied, "That's the rich one. The other one is tall."

  "I saw him dancing last night with that movie star."

  Very faintly, I heard the husband say, "They shouldn't be allowed... You know."

  I shook my head as I tried to decide what to do next. Finally, I remembered that what I was looking for was probably on the highest deck, so I made my way to the stairwell and climbed the two flights to the Sun Deck. Coming out into the bright light of the late morning, I walked around the port side and headed aft. Sure enough, there was the Radio Office.

  I opened the door and a young man in a white uniform smiled. He was standing behind a counter and asked, "May I help you, sir?"

  "Do you have a ship-to-shore phone service?"

  The man asked, "Is this a family emergency?"

  I shook my head.

  "Then, the best we can offer is a radiogram. It's just as fast as Western Union."

  I nodded. I handed the man a folded-over twenty and said, "This needs to be confidential, OK?"

  Looking at the bill, the man smiled and said, "Of course, sir." He handed me a pencil and a pad.

  I wrote:

  CONSOLIDATED SECURITY INC 777 BUSH ST SF CAL PR-7777 ATTN MIKE ROBERTSON. NEED FULL BG ON ROSEANNE RUCKER & CARMEN THOMAS. TRY SF THEN LA. RUCKER PARENTS DIED CIRCA 1938. REPLY SOONEST. KISSES TO MARNIE. NICK.

  He read it over and looked up at me. "Is there a problem the captain needs to know about?"

  I shrugged. "If it's your job to share confidential radiograms with your captain, then I'd suggest you do your job. He knows where to find me."

  With that, I turned on my heel and walked back out into the sunshine and salt air.

  . . .

  I was leaning back on the sofa in the sitting room of the cabin reading more about Shanghai in the 20s when Carter walked into the room. As I stood up, he started strumming his ukulele. I didn't recognize the tune, but it wasn't bad. As he played, he swayed his hips just a little. It was magnetic.

  After a short roll around in the suite, we got cleaned up for lunch. We were meeting Ros and her husband at 12:30 back down in the Diamond Head Room.

  As I was pulling on my shirt, Carter stopped me. He pushed the sides away and regarded my bare chest. He looked at me for a long moment and said, "I've never said it before, but I like it when you're walking around shirtless." He rubbed my belly and said, "All that dark Welsh hair is nice to see. And when your skin turns brown, it looks even better."

  I smiled up at him. "I'll walk around without a shirt, but you have to do the same. Only thing is..." I began to button my shirt. "We're already scaring the tourists. Rosie informed me this morning that we're 'not nice to know.'"

  "Where have I heard that phrase before?"

  "I told you about it last summer in Ensenada when all the local worthies ignored me during the party that was supposedly in my honor."

  Running his thumb down my cheek, he said, "Oh, right." He took my chin by his hand and lifted it. Looking at me for a long moment, he said, "I would be just fine spending every moment in this room until we get to Honolulu. It's up to you."

  I stood up on my toes and gave him a lingering kiss. "No."

  He murmured, "No?"

  "No. I need to work on my tan for you."

  Carter laughed in a sort of rumble that always got my motor running and held me for a long while.

  . . .

  We were ten minutes late to lunch, but there was no sign of Ros or her husband. We sat down and both ordered a glass of Bergie.

  After about five more minutes, Ros swept in with her husband in tow. She was making quite an entrance, just as she had done at breakfast. She was a movie star, after all.

  We stood up, shook hands with Mr. Brisson, and received gracious kisses from Ros. The waiter, a middle-aged man by the name of Michael, walked over and took their drink orders.

  Surveying the room once again, Ros proclaimed, "I just love this ship, don't you?"

  Carter smiled and said, "And this ship loves you." Looking at Mr. Brisson, he said, "She had the whole ukulele crowd eating out of her hand."

  Ros laughed lightly and began to study the menu. It seemed to me she was embarrassed. I looked over at her husband and asked, "Mr. Brisson, did you have a productive morning?"

  "Please, call me Freddie."

  I nodded and said, "Thanks. I'm Nick and this is Carter."

  He smiled and nodded. "Yes. Modern technology is an amazing thing, isn't it? I sent several cables and got so much work done this morning. Now, I'm free for the day." Freddie had a slight accent. I wondered where he was from. His oval face was handsome. He kept his hair slicked back even when he was dressed informally like he was right then. He had a bit of a tan like most people from L.A. always seemed to. He was handsome and the perfect companion to Ros. They were obviously very much in love and it was sweet to be with them and to see it.

  Right then, Michael came up and took our lunch orders. It seemed to me that the sea air was already a little warmer than it had been in San Francisco, so I ordered a chicken salad sandwich on whole wheat. Carter asked for a steak sandwich, which wasn't on the menu, but Michael promised it wouldn't be a problem. Ros put in for a salad niçoise while Freddie ordered a consommé soup followed by a hearts of palm salad.

  As soon as Michael left to put in our orders, a man in a white uniform walked up to the table. Looking at me, he asked, "Mr. Williams?" I nodded. "The Captain would like a quick word." Glancing around the table apologetically, he said, "This won't take long."

  I stood and said, "Excuse me, everyone." I followed the man through the dining room and to the elevator in the foyer. We rode up in silence to the Sun Deck and then walked aft to the Radio Office. The man opened the door for me. I walked in and found the Captain standing on the customer side of the counter. He was looking at the radiogram I'd written out earlier.

  He said, "Gentlemen, please excuse us for a few minutes." His officers saluted and made their way out through the front door.

  Tapping the radiogram with his right index finger, the captain asked, "What's this about, Mr. Williams?"

  "I don't really know."

  He sighed and said, "I went ahead and authorized it. It's been sent. Are you working on a job?"

  I shook my head. "My curiosity got the best of me. And I try to follow my gut. I can't tell you what's off about those two, but something is."

  "Other than the obvious?"

  I smiled and nodded. "If by that, you mean they are two women openly traveling together, then yes."

  "No, I meant the costumes. When I asked the room steward, he said they have several trunks of clothes. They paid overage. We already allow three hundred and fifty pounds, so that's quite a bit. They also bought tickets on Sunday. Or Miss Rucker did."

  He narrowed his eyes at me. "I'm always suspicious of last-minute travel changes, so I ask my crew to keep an eye on that sort of thing. That's how I knew who you were. And, last night, I hoped to pair the four of you up so you wouldn't stand out too much. That was an obvious failure."

  I shook my head. "I wouldn't say that. It's more likely that you flushed out something. There's something wrong there. I can feel it. That's why I asked for their background. We have a crack team, and I can guarantee you, if there's something to be found, they'll find it."

  The Captain leaned over and put the radiogram behind the counter. "Fine. I'll ask my radio officer to bring me a copy of whatever replies you get from your office. If you're concerned, then I'm concerned."

  I nodded and said, "Fair enough."

  . . .

  Everyone was already eating by the time I made it to the table. As I sat down, Carter asked, "Well?"


  I shrugged. "I had a funny feeling about those gals last night. So, I asked Mike to look into it. The captain wanted to ask me about it."

  "Who's Mike?" asked Ros.

  "He's the president of our private investigation outfit. He used to be a San Francisco police lieutenant."

  "Is it true all the men who work for you were fired?" That was Freddie.

  I looked over at him and wasn't sure how to answer. Ros put her hand on my arm. "Hon, we're more theater people than Hollywood. We don't care who goes around with whom. You're among friends."

  I smiled and said, "Yes." I picked up my sandwich. "And, I got some of them fired."

  Carter spoke up. "Not really."

  Freddie said, "I wish I could have seen you telling Mr. Hearst off." He looked over at his wife. "Or is it telling off Mr. Hearst?"

  She smiled and said, "Telling off Mr. Hearst."

  "His father did the same thing a few weeks ago." That was Carter.

  Ros pushed on my arm. "I just loved the look on your face. When I saw the photo the next day in the New York paper, I burst out laughing, didn't I, Freddie?"

  He nodded. "She did. She kept saying, 'That kid! I gotta meet him.'"

  She roared with laughter. "And I did!"

  Everyone around us looked up and began to whisper. Ros waved her hand and said, "I hope you're not paying attention to any of this." She was referring to the gaping and whispers. "It's old hat for the two of us. You get used to it after a while."

  I nodded and looked over at Carter who winked.

  "The important thing is you have each other. Right, Freddie?"

  He smiled at her affectionately and said, "Right."

  . . .

  The four of us were sitting together in a quiet corner of the Sun Deck. The sun was hot and the air was definitely getting warmer.

  "So, Cary says, 'Ros, do me a favor and just say hello to the guy. He's driving me nuts.'"

  Freddie said, "And I was. I was pestering him every day to introduce me. I saw her in a movie and I knew she was the one."

  "So, I finally relented and, well, here we are." She smiled broadly and sat back in her chair.

  I sighed. It was a great story.