Murder for the Halibut

by Liz Lipperman

  Okay, maybe more laughter but less liquor for Rosie.

  As they started up the ramp into the ship, something caught Jordan’s eye, and she stopped to stare at the orange emergency boats mounted on the side of the Carnation Queen. Six of them were attached at each end with three smaller brown ones in the middle.

  Seeing them hanging from the ship reminded Jordan of the Titanic, and she began to do the math to calculate if the boats would accommodate all the passengers in case of an emergency. Once again, she caught a movement on the middle brown boat. Thinking her eyes might be playing a trick on her, she pressed against the rail for a better look.

  This time she was able to make out a strip of orange and blue plaid material flapping in the wind—a piece so small it would have been easily missed unless you were looking directly at the rescue boat.

  She closed her eyes, picturing Goose wearing the identical plaid shirt that had been a gift from his wife, and she caught her breath. “Oh no!”

  Alex was at her side immediately. “What?”

  She pointed. “That’s Goose’s shirt,” she said as the others circled her, then followed her gaze in the direction of the life boat.

  “Holy crap! What does that mean?” Victor asked, moving closer to the railing.

  “Jesus, Mary, and Joseph!” Ray said to no one in particular. “I have to get security down here right away.” He turned and ran up the ramp, showed his ID to the security officer, and was on the phone to Orlando within minutes.

  “I need access to the rescue boats,” he commanded after hanging up the phone.

  The security officer nodded to one of the stewards, who motioned for Ray to follow him. With the rest of the gang right behind them, the steward led Ray to the third deck. There they met Orlando, who was obviously out of breath from running, and they walked to the side where the boats were attached to the ship.

  “I’ll check it out,” the acting head of security said, reaching for the gloves his assistant handed him from what looked like a large tackle box.

  Cautiously, he made his way onto the small boat and pulled the fabric off. He held it up for everyone to see. “I’m pretty sure this is Goose’s shirt.” After slipping it into a small plastic bag that he pulled from his pocket, he turned back to take a better look.

  As they waited patiently to hear if it was just a bad coincidence, their hopes for a happy ending were dashed with Orlando’s next words.

  “It looks like there’s blood on the edge of the boat. Hand me the box, Ray.”

  After Ray handed it to him, Orlando knelt down to get a sample. Jordan held her breath while he tested it.

  “It’s definitely blood,” Orlando confirmed, a defeated look on his face.

  Jordan patted Rosie’s shoulder when she heard her gasp. Although they couldn’t be a hundred percent sure, it was looking pretty good that something terrible had happened to Goose here. But with no other evidence, all they could do was contact the Saint Kitts Coast Guard and notify the American authorities in Miami of a possible man overboard.

  Jordan’s gut told her that Goose was dead, but even though both Ray and Alex agreed with her, there was no way to prove it. She couldn’t help wondering who would pay for Mary Alice Goosman’s care now—if there even was a Mrs. Gooseman.

  Jordan walked into the theater with Alex and strode toward the front row where the others were waiting. With all that had happened, there had been no time to sneak in either a few minutes alone with Alex or a nap. Alex had gone with Ray and Orlando to the security office to notify the authorities, and he’d barely made it back in time for the competition. Apparently, they’d met with both Wayne Francis and Emily to discuss the fate of the cook-off. Uncertain if Goose had fallen overboard or simply walked off the ship in Saint Martin and disappeared, they’d decided the show must go on since twenty-five hundred people had paid good money to see it.

  Unable to think about anything else except Goose and his wife since she’d first spotted the torn shirt on the rescue boat, Jordan welcomed the distraction of tonight’s competition. With a heavy heart, she gave Alex a peck on the cheek, then walked onto the stage. All of the contestants were already there except Marsha Davenport.

  Since the chefs were cooking desserts, Jordan felt sure a trip to the Lido Deck afterward for fast food wouldn’t be necessary, particularly if the entries were made of chocolate.

  She could only hope.

  She surveyed the judges’ table, not surprised to see that Beau was missing, too. She suspected the two were off somewhere doing something inappropriate. As an image of the two of them rolling around in bed popped into her mind, she squeezed her eyes shut to erase it.

  “Are you okay?”

  She opened them to see George Christakis at her side, his face showing his concern.

  She nodded, linked arms with him, and then allowed him to lead her to the judges’ table where he pulled out the chair for her.

  “You’ll do fine tonight, Jordan,” he said, sitting down next to her. “It’s desserts. Even I’m looking forward to it. Did I ever tell you I have a mean sweet tooth?” He patted his slightly pudgy belly and winked.

  “Hope you’re right about that,” she said, returning his smile. “Otherwise I’ll be looking for—”

  She stopped talking when Marsha sauntered onto the stage and meandered over to her station. Her hair was slightly disheveled, and once again Jordan fought to get that rolling-in-the-hay image out of her head.

  As if on cue, Beau walked up the steps a minute later grinning like the proverbial cat that had just swallowed the canary. After he smiled seductively at Marsha, Jordan was positive she was right about what the two had been doing. Thoroughly disgusted, she stared as the canary patted her bed head before giving the cat another half smile.

  “Make you want to vomit?” George whispered into her ear.

  “Oh yeah,” Jordan replied, wondering where Charlese Lincoln was hiding while all this hanky-panky was playing out. The woman definitely loved the bottle, but surely she could see what was going on. Was Beau’s money so enticing that she put up with his antics?

  Sheesh! Nothing is worth that, Jordan thought as she made eye contact with Alex, who was sitting between Rosie and Victor in the front row. He winked.

  Okay, maybe Alex is.

  The crowd noise died down when Emily appeared on the stage in a bright pink sundress that showed off her slightly sunburned shoulders. Jordan was glad she had insisted her friend forget about work for at least a few hours earlier that day. From the way Emily was smiling, it appeared that even the short time playing had done wonders for whatever had been bothering her.

  “Good evening, ladies and gentlemen,” the hostess began. “Welcome to the semifinalist round of the Caribbean Cook-Off. After tonight’s competition, two contestants will be eliminated, and tomorrow’s event will feature the lucky remaining two going head-to-head with their presentation of main entrées. The winner of tomorrow’s competition will walk away with the grand prize of an advertising contract worth over half a million dollars.” She waited for the applause to die down. “Keeping that in mind, it is especially important that each contestant give us their best effort here tonight. So, chefs, are you ready?”

  After they all nodded, she walked over to Casey’s station and opened the basket. “Tonight each of you will have sixty-minutes to prepare your favorite dessert. As you can see, the table in the back is loaded with fresh fruits of all kinds and plenty of other delicious items to make a great dessert. The only requirement is that you find a way to incorporate these four ingredients.” She reached into the basket and pulled out the items. “We have triple sec, tapioca, ground cinnamon, and blueberries.” She placed the items back into the basket and returned to center stage. “And one other thing. Since Marsha won the appetizer round, she chose chocolate as the one ingredient that no other contestant can use tonight.”

  After introducing the contestants and the judges once again, she raised her arm. “Okay, chefs. Your hour begi
ns now.”

  The digital timer overhead began counting down as the chefs took off for the table at the back of the stage. Before long, wonderful aromas began to fill the air, and Jordan eased back into her chair and allowed her shoulder muscles to relax. Tonight would be her reward for making it through the competition so far. Tomorrow’s main entrées might be a whole different ball game, though. She might as well enjoy it while she could.

  She peered out into the audience and wondered if Thomas Collingsworth was out there somewhere. Now that he’d been eliminated, would he support Casey? Thinking about those two, Jordan spotted Rosie, glad they had found a few minutes to tell Ray everything they knew about the lady chefs and Thomas. As expected, Ray had gone ballistic when they’d confessed to entering Marsha’s room illegally, and he’d lectured them nonstop for fifteen minutes.

  But at least he hadn’t brushed them off and had promised to check it out. Acting on that and the information he’d tricked Casey into revealing on the snorkeling trip, he and Orlando questioned the Carnation Queen kitchen employees again, but this time they took Alex with them. It hadn’t taken long to find the man responsible for cutting out those ten minutes of the security tape before splicing it back together. After Alex threatened to have him arrested in Miami for tampering with evidence, the man confessed, saying he’d agreed to do it in return for a night with Marsha—a payback he had yet to collect on.

  Orlando had promptly fired him and had him escorted to his room where he would remain until the ship docked in Miami in two days. Then they’d kick him off the ship. As both Ray and Alex had pointed out, with no solid evidence that any crime had been committed, that was all they could do. The good news was he’d been able to verify Casey and Marsha’s story that the baskets had already been sealed when they’d snuck into the kitchen.

  The buzzer sounded, jarring Jordan from her thoughts, and she glanced up in time to see the contestants throw up their hands and step away from their stations. The hour had flown by, and Jordan was looking forward to tasting the heavenly smelling desserts.

  Once again Emily went to center stage to address the crowd. “Okay, folks, it looks like we’re ready to start the judging. The contestants have their entries plated and ready to go. Shall we start with Luis?”

  Luis walked over and stood in front of the judges’ table. “I call this Jumbleberry Delight,” he said as the stewards carried the plates to the judges and the twenty-five tasters.

  Jordan had no idea what a jumbleberry was, but the dessert looked yummy, overflowing with three different berries. She lifted her fork to her mouth and took the first bite. She didn’t recognize the flavor, but whatever it was, it tasted wonderful. In a flash she had finished hers, wishing she had more.

  As if he had read her mind, George stood. “Emily, is it possible for Jordan and I to have another sample? We want to be sure and get a good taste before we give you our opinion.” He sat back down and patted Jordan’s knee.

  Jordan decided she loved this man.

  The second helping went down as easily as the first, and she swiped at her mouth with the napkin. Luis’s entry reminded her of back home in Ranchero where Myrtle Malone served the best desserts in the county at her little diner. After tasting Luis’s jumbleberries, Jordan was confident the man could give Myrtle a run for her money. She scribbled a 5 on her card, reminding herself to find out later from George what a jumbleberry really was.

  “Okay, judges. Let’s start with Beau Lincoln.” Emily took her place beside Luis. “Tell us what you thought about this dessert, Beau.”

  Beau sniffed and wiped his mouth with his napkin before looking directly into Luis’s eyes. “I thought it was dry. I didn’t taste much of the orange liqueur, and the cinnamon overpowered the rest of the dessert. For that reason I gave it a 2.5.”

  The audience groaned as Luis glared at Beau, convincing Jordan there really was animosity between the two men. Did Luis have a thing going on with Marsha, too? Could this be the result of a little jealousy, or was Beau merely attempting to secure Marsha’s repeat win tonight by giving the other contestants a low score?

  “Jordan?”

  She jerked her head up. “Oh, sorry. I thought it was delicious, Luis. Unlike Beau, I found the cinnamon a delightful addition, and the drizzle completed the flavor.” She picked up the card from her lap. “I gave it a 5.”

  The crowd erupted in applause, and she heard Beau grunt beside her.

  After the crowd noise died down, Emily said, “With two votes in, Luis, you have a 7.5. Let’s see what George has to say.”

  George stared at Luis for a moment as if trying to decide which way to go. Finally, he exhaled and began. “I was a little nervous when you explained that the drizzle was made from the triple sec, since I normally wouldn’t think of mixing the berries with the strong orange flavor, but I have to admit I was pleasantly surprised.”

  The corners of Luis’s lips tipped in a half smile as he waited for the rest of the critique.

  “Like Jordan, I loved the way the cinnamon and the berries seemed to compliment the tapioca perfectly. Sometimes tapioca can be overcooked, but you did a nice job with yours. Because of that, I also gave your dessert a 5 and hope you’ll allow me to try out this recipe in my restaurant.”

  The smile on Luis’s face widened before he shot Beau a go-to-hell look.

  The crowd was on their feet as Luis walked back to his station. Jordan found herself smiling, not because the dessert had been so good—though it had been—but because she and George had thwarted Beau’s obvious attempt to sabotage Luis’s chances.

  Score one for the good guys.

  “Seems Luis has set the bar pretty high tonight,” Emily said, taking center stage again. “Let’s find out what Casey whipped up for us.” She waited while the stewards passed out the plated dessert.

  Casey walked around her station to stand in front of the judges. “I call this Baked Pineapple a l’Orange,” she explained as the dishes were set in front of the judges. “I crushed the blueberries and heated the triple sec to make a nice citrusy glaze.”

  Jordan took one look at hers and inhaled deeply. This one wouldn’t be as easy as the first one. She’d never been much of a pineapple eater, but it didn’t look too bad. At least it wasn’t a baked gland. She took a second peek to make sure of that before she took the first bite. Although it wasn’t something she would order in a restaurant or choose from a buffet table, it was edible. The blueberry drizzle might have had a little too much cinnamon, but the overall flavor was good.

  She giggled to herself, thinking she was beginning to think like a real judge.

  “Beau, tell us what you thought of Casey’s Baked Pineapple a l’Orange,” Emily said.

  “I thought it was almost perfect. I say almost because I think it could have used more cinnamon and a little less tapioca. Still, I thought it was good enough to give it a 4.” He held up his card.

  Jordan watched Casey’s reaction, expecting her to be a little miffed at not getting a 5, but the chef was smiling, making Jordan wonder if the three of them—Casey, Marsha, and Beau—had worked out an arrangement that would allow Marsha to win and share the money with Casey. Marsha would certainly make a better candidate for the ad campaign in a world where sex was key to selling products.

  “Jordan, what did you think about Casey’s dessert?” Emily asked, moving to her left to stand in front of Jordan.

  “Again, I have to disagree with Beau. I thought it had a little too much cinnamon for my taste. Still, it was evenly cooked with just the right amount of orange flavor.” Mentally, she high-fived herself. Maybe George was starting to rub off on her.

  She reached for the card and held it up. “But I gave Casey a 3.5 only because—”

  “Beau Lincoln, I’m going to kill your cheating ass.”

  A collective gasp went up in the audience about the same time Jordan heard Beau swear under his breath. She turned in time to see Charlese Lincoln running down the aisle toward the stage with a h
alf full glass in her hand, shouting obscenities at both her husband and Marsha.

  She was on the steps to the stage now, her face beet red with anger. When she got to the last step, she fell, sending the glass sailing through the air, its contents spilling out, before it hit the stage floor and shattered into pieces.

  “Dear God!” Emily said, rushing over to the fallen woman with George right behind her.

  George bent down to examine her as the crowd settled into an eerie silence, waiting to see if Charlese was hurt.

  “Get the doctor,” George hollered. “This woman’s not breathing.”

  CHAPTER 19

  As Armando Ferrari, the ship’s doctor, fired up the defibrillator one more time, Jordan had the sinking feeling that there was nothing the physician could do to help Charlese Lincoln. Along with the rest of the people in the packed theater, she couldn’t believe the scene playing out in front of her. Beau’s wife was only in her late twenties, and other than drinking too much, she hadn’t given any indication of an underlying medical problem. So how could a fall cause enough damage to stop her heart?

  The sound of the doctor’s voice shouting “Clear” and the thud that followed as he shocked Charlese’s heart one more time echoed across the theater. Eerie silence. An occasional murmur from the front row.

  Beau stood up but remained behind the judge’s table with a stunned look on his face, watching as if the emergency resuscitation was happening to a stranger rather than to his own wife.

  After listening to the woman’s chest with a stethoscope, the doctor turned to Emily and shook his head. “She’s gone,” he said simply, then bent down and sniffed her mouth before straightening back up. “But we have a much bigger problem here, I’m afraid. Can someone get the head of security down here immediately?”

  The ship’s executive chef, who had stayed in the background until now, was leaning over Charlese and already dialing his cell phone. One of the stewards bent down and reached for the defibrillator to repack it.