He turned back to his drink, allowing her a moment to collect her thoughts. Holy crap! Was it possible Thomas’s newborn son was really Stefano’s? As much as she wanted to ask, she couldn’t make herself say the words. Even she wasn’t that heartless. But if what she suspected was true, Thomas Collingsworth had just confessed to having a gigantic reason for wanting to see Stefano dead.
And he had admitted his connection with Casey might be more than just a sexual fantasy thing. Could they really be co-conspirators in all of this, as she’d speculated earlier? That wasn’t something he would just blurt out and incriminate himself, even if he was drunk. But if Casey and Thomas were in cahoots, what was Marsha’s reason for being in the mix?
Whatever the case, she couldn’t help but feel sympathetic toward Thomas, and even Casey.
“I’m sorry,” she said finally, softly. What do you say to someone who had just admitted being betrayed not only by his wife but also by a man he’d considered a good friend. It put his dalliance with Casey in perspective.
And yes, she had been judging before.
She stood. “I have to go, Thomas. I’ll see you tomorrow when we dock in Puerto Rico.”
She couldn’t get away fast enough, deciding it was time for her and Rosie to have a little chat with Ray. Given the new information, she concluded it was highly possible that Thomas and the two lady chefs had conspired to harm Stefano. Regardless of Stefano’s gross failings as a friend, he didn’t deserve what happened to him. Maybe they’d only intended to take him out of the competition, but the fact remained he’d died in the process—and Jordan needed to tell someone who was qualified to investigate and would find out the truth.
When she reached the others, she did a quick scan. “Where’s Ray?”
Lola glanced up, clearly irritated that her conversation with George Christakis had been interrupted. “Beau asked him to help get his drunken wife back to the room. I think he was afraid the woman would kill him in the elevator or something. And Emily went to her room. Said she was exhausted and would see us all tomorrow.” Without waiting for Jordan’s response, she turned back to the chef.
“Jordan, what’s wrong?” Rosie was beside her in a flash, apparently noticing the intense frown on her face.
She could almost hear her mother’s voice warning her about girls who frowned all the time getting crow’s feet in their thirties. She forced her face muscles to relax, making a split-second decision not to tell her friend in front of the others.
“I’m fine. Just tired.”
If the whole gang heard the story, she and Rosie would have to admit to breaking into Marsha and Casey’s room, and she wasn’t ready to do that yet. Confessing to Ray would be bad enough. She’d fill Rosie in when they got back to their room, and together, they’d go to Ray in the morning with the new information. She prayed he wouldn’t blow a gasket.
As hard as she tried to join in the fun with her friends, Jordan couldn’t get her mind off what Thomas had just told her. Finally, a little after midnight, the party broke up, and everyone wandered back to their rooms. Since they had only ten hours on shore in Puerto Rico, no one wanted to miss out by oversleeping the next morning.
In the room, as she and Rosie settled into bed, Jordan recounted her conversation with Thomas.
“Holy cat lover!” the older woman exclaimed. “We have to go to Ray with this, Jordan. It’s gotten too big for us.”
“I know,” Jordan agreed. “I wanted to tell him tonight, but he never made it back.” She shook her head. “For the life of me, I still can’t figure out why Ray had to go with Goose in the first place. I thought he’d only signed on as head of security for Beau, not for the whole ship.”
“True,” Rosie said. “But when Goose asked him to go along, Ray jumped at the opportunity. Guess he misses actual police work more than we realized. That and he’s taken a shine to Goose.” She sighed. “Too bad the man’s married.”
“I’m sorry. I can see how attracted you are to him. I also know you would never knowingly go after another woman’s husband, even if the woman will probably never recognize him again.” She bent over and kissed her friend on the cheek. “Okay, let’s get on with the plan. The first opportunity we get to speak to Ray alone, let’s do it. The sooner he knows about this, the better, although I’m pretty sure both he and Goose are convinced this whole Stefano thing is only an unfortunate accident.”
“And they’re probably right,” Rosie insisted.
“I agree, but Ray still needs to hear about it. He’s a cop, and cops are naturally suspicious. He’ll know how to handle it. I don’t understand, though, why the security tapes from the kitchen didn’t show Casey and Marsha nosing around.” She yawned. “I wish Alex was here. He’d know what to do.”
Rosie crinkled her eyes mischievously. “Is that the only reason you wish he was here?”
“That and the fact that I miss him like crazy. It seems like he left Ranchero for El Paso so long ago.” She sighed. “Oh well, our sleuth days are over once we tell Ray. It will be up to him and Goose to figure it all out. Our only job tomorrow is to have as much fun as we can in Puerto Rico.”
“Victor said Goose arranged a private tour at the Bacardi factory for all of us. Apparently he knows the owner and worked it out so we’ll be treated like VIPs.”
“Cool. I’ve been dying to try a real mojito ever since we came on the ship. ’Night, Rosie.”
She turned off the light and pulled up the covers, but she couldn’t quit thinking about how Ray would react when they told him what she’d discovered earlier. Knowing him, he’d probably pooh-pooh her conversation with Thomas, seeing him as some unfortunate soul with a sob story. She wasn’t so sure.
What if that unfortunate soul had just managed to get away with extracting a deadly dose of revenge?
CHAPTER 12
Jordan and Rosie met up with Lola, Victor, and Michael on the third deck before going through security to exit the ship and begin their adventure in Puerto Rico.
“Where’s Ray?” Jordan asked, realizing he wasn’t with Lola.
Dressed in a flowing bright yellow caftan that Jordan had never seen before, Lola shrugged. “I was asleep when he got back last night, and he was already gone when I got up this morning. He left a note saying he and Goose needed to make sure nothing went wrong when they transferred Stefano’s body to the proper authorities and that Beau requested he stay on board for some reason. Said he’d catch up with us around three at Señor Frog’s in the main—”
“Oh great,” Victor blurted, a frown spreading across his face. “Goose was supposed to pull some strings and get us special treatment at the Bacardi distillery today. I was really looking forward to it.”
Lola cupped his face in her hand. “You didn’t let me finish, my impatient friend. Ray also said Goose had arranged a tour of the island followed by a visit to the distillery. The driver should be waiting for us on shore.”
“Hot damn!” Victor said, now all grins. “He’s my new favorite gringo.”
“I thought I was your favorite gringo,” Jordan said, pretending to pout. “You are such a pushover for freebies.”
“You, my dear, are my favorite chica. Get used to speaking Spanish here. We’re in beautiful Puerto Rico.”
“So, where’s Emily?” Rosie interrupted.
“Apparently, she’s with Ray and Goose,” Lola answered. “The note said she’d also see us at the bar later.”
“By the time they get there, I hope we’re well on our way to a good buzz,” Victor said. “I talked to a guy last night who’s been on the tour before, and he mentioned free drinks.” He kissed his fingers. “Mojito, here I come.”
“Strawberry daiquiri for me,” Rosie said, pushing him toward the doorway.
As soon as everyone had cleared security, they walked off the ship and through a building that opened up onto a blue cobblestone street laced with shops and stucco houses in various shades of brown and yellow, with teal and butterscotch thrown into the
mix.
“Over there,” Lola shouted. “That guy’s holding a sign that says ‘MICHAEL CAFFERTY.’”
“Pinch me,” Rosie said. “Is that a black Hummer limo behind him?”
“It sure is,” Victor said, nearly knocking her down to get there first.
The others were right behind him, and after verifying the limo was for them, they piled in. All talking at once, they got their first look at the luxurious white leather seats and the minibar to the side. When Goose had talked about making sure they had a great time ashore, Jordan had assumed he was merely trying to impress them. She’d expected a bus, maybe even a van, to take them to the distillery, but never in her wildest dreams had she pictured them in their own limo. The man obviously delivered.
The driver closed the back door and walked around to the other side and slid in. After starting the engine, he eased into traffic. “I’m Fernando,” he said, glancing over his shoulder. “Goose wanted me to remind you about the stocked bar back there. It also has some munchies, so feel free to indulge while I take you on a quick tour of this wonderful island. We’ll make a few stops to see some of the sites up close. I’ll explain everything as I drive, but be sure to stop me and ask questions when you have them. Are we ready?”
“Yes sir. Muchas gracias,” Victor said, already pulling out a beer. After unscrewing the cap, he took a long swig. “Icy cold. Just the way I like it.”
He quickly found the pretzels and salted peanuts, breaking them open and settling back in the seat while Fernando related the history of the island and its rich Hispanic culture, and they were treated to the beautiful sights of both old and new San Juan.
As Fernando drove he explained Puerto Rico’s relationship to the United States. “Although we’re not actually considered a state, we’ve been United States citizens since 1970.”
“And as such, you vote in our elections, right?” Rosie asked when they’d stopped to get a better look at a beautiful cemetery filled with amazing headstones, most topped with elaborate crosses or statues of saints
“We do now, but it wasn’t always that way,” he replied. “Puerto Rico was given to the United States in the Paris Treaty that ended the Spanish-American War in 1918. Initially, we were ruled by military governments and then a civilian government appointed by the president of the United States. It wasn’t until 1952 that we finally were able to hold our first democratic elections.”
“Wasn’t there a vote for independence a few years back?” Lola asked.
“That’s a good question,” Fernando said after they had all climbed back into the limo and were on the road again. “There was an election to let the people decide. You have to understand that forty-five percent of the population here are for statehood, while another forty-five percent prefer that we stay the way we are. The other ten percent are either for total independence or they just don’t care one way or the other. Anyway, the measure failed to get a majority, and for the time being Puerto Rico will remain a commonwealth of the United States.”
“Look at that huge—what is that anyway?” Victor asked, already bored with the conversation about Puerto Rican politics.
“Castillo de San Cristóbal, otherwise known as Saint Christopher’s Castle,” Fernando answered. “It’s the largest military fortification ever built by the Spanish and has been here since the seventh century. The first shot fired in the Spanish-American War was from here. It sits on twenty-seven acres of land and is one of our most popular tourist attractions.”
“Can we stop and look around?” Rosie asked, sipping her second wine cooler.
“Not if you want to grab a quick bite before we go to the Bacardi distillery. It’s after noon, and I’m supposed to have you back at Señor Frog’s by three o’clock.”
Victor snorted, juggling his hands up and down. “Let’s see—old Spanish fort or free rum. No contest, my man. Drive on. I can look this place up on the Internet and see the inside when I get back to Ranchero.” He clicked a picture of it with his cell phone. “Now where’s that food you promised?”
Fernando drove them to a small, out-of-the-way restaurant where they were treated like celebrities the minute they walked through the door.
“This is my wife, Carmen,” Fernando confessed when a pretty young Puerto Rican woman appeared. He bent down to kiss her on the forehead. “And they make the best lengua rellena on the island.”
Jordan narrowed her eyes. “Please tell me lengua rellena means a burrito with a lot of cheese.”
“It’s stuffed beef tongue, a delicacy on the island,” Fernando’s wife explained in broken English.
“Oh God! Even I won’t eat that,” Victor said. “Isn’t there a taco joint around here?”
“Lucky for you they also make the best carne guisada puertoriqueña in the area.” After Jordan scrunched her nose up, he added, “Puerto Rican beef stew with the best pan de agua swimming in melted butter,” he explained. “That’s just about the most delicious bread you’ll ever taste.”
“Stew and bread sounds great. I’m starving, too,” Jordan said, following Fernando and his wife to the table.
After they finished lunch, which was every bit as delicious as Fernando had promised, they piled back into the limo and soon were on their way to the Casa Bacardi Visitor Center. With her stomach full, Jordan leaned back into the soft white leather and thought about sneaking a power nap, but before she could even close her eyes, they hit a bump in the road, and Victor squealed.
“There’s the famous bat.”
“What famous bat?” she asked, craning her neck to see the huge white sculpture that showcased the entrance to the visitor center.
“It’s Bacardi’s logo,” Fernando explained. “As far back as the original rum-making days in Cuba, the old dark distilleries had hundreds of fruit bats hanging from the ceiling. They’d come out at night and feast on the discarded fruits and sugarcane. Because the company did so well, the bats were held in the highest regard and soon were looked on as bringing good luck. Even after Castro took over as dictator and Bacardi moved his operation to Puerto Rico, he kept the bat as the company logo. It’s become so well known that anyone who sees it automatically thinks ‘Bacardi rum.’”
“We won’t see any real bats, will we?” Rosie asked, touching her blondish hair, which was pulled into one long braid down her back. “Me and bats don’t get along.”
Fernando laughed. “No bats. In fact, the tour doesn’t even include the actual distillery. Something about security. Where you’re going is bright and cheery with lots of flavored rum for you to taste.”
“Now that’s what I like to hear,” Victor said.
“I wish Ray could’ve come with us,” Lola said, a touch of sadness in her voice. “He loves rum.”
“I hope everything went okay today,” Michael replied, unable to hide his concern.
“What could possibly go wrong? Aren’t they just making sure the body gets to the right place?” Victor asked.
Michael nodded, but the worry on his face remained. “Yeah, but I’m wondering why he and Emily had to be there with Goose. Do you think something’s up?”
“Quit worrying, Michael,” Victor said, reaching over to pat his partner’s back. “What could possibly happen to a dead guy that’s any worse than what’s already happened to him?”
It was a little after three when Fernando pulled up to a large white building with a huge upright frog in front. After piling out of the car, the group said good-bye to the driver and raced toward the door and the enticing sound of reggae music coming from inside the restaurant. Jordan was surprised when she peeked inside. The place was packed, and from the looks of it, most of the patrons were already feeling no pain. One girl was even dancing on the table to the lively music that was ten times louder once they were inside the building.
Hearing her name, Jordan spotted Ray and Goose at a large circular table in the corner. “There they are.”
She pointed before heading in their direction. The others followed, and
before she could ask why Emily wasn’t with them, she appeared with a waiter at her side.
“Meet Carlos,” she announced. “If you want anything to drink other than margaritas, you need to tell him now. I doubt we’ll see much of him after that with this crowd.” She smiled up at the scrawny waiter, and his adoring face left no doubt he would never be too busy to wait on her. Like all the other men in the room, he couldn’t keep his eyes off her.
“How about some chips and salsa, Carlos?” Goose asked. “And maybe queso.”
Carlos nodded. “Any other drinks?”
After everyone agreed that the margaritas were more than enough, he turned and left to get the appetizers.
“How was your tour?” Goose asked when they were all seated around the table. “Fernando is amazing, isn’t he?”
“I don’t know how you pulled that off, my friend, but it was fantastic,” Michael said, reaching for a pitcher and pouring drinks for everyone.
“Fernando and I go back a long way. I met him on one of my first trips here, and we’ve been friends ever since.”
“Fernando wouldn’t even let us tip him,” Rosie said. “It must’ve cost you a pretty penny.”
His eyes twinkled when he looked at her, obviously a little smitten. “You’re all worth it,” he said. “Actually, it didn’t cost a dime. Fernando and I have an arrangement. I recommend his limo tours to the passengers, and he helps me out every now and then. The man’s made a fortune off me.”
“All the more reason to celebrate.” Victor held up his glass. “Here’s to old friends, meeting new ones, and the best cruise ever.”
Everyone toasted. Jordan looked around the table, thinking she was the luckiest girl alive. She was in Puerto Rico with all her wonderful friends as well as a couple of new ones—Goose and Emily. How much better could it get than that? She was about to add to Victor’s toast when Carlos appeared with the food.
Murder for the Halibut Page 11
