Shell Game

by Chris Keniston

  “Slots?” Sophia huffed softly. “I’ll be shooting craps.”

  Herbie’s brows rose with interest, and Mr. Snake Oil quickly added, “I prefer a sure thing.” Then the guy leaned back and motioned for a waiter.

  Smooth. Drop the hook and wait for the fish. Luke had to give Snake Oil Man credit for playing it cool.

  “I’ll have a scotch on the rocks,” Snake Oil ordered.

  “Make mine a Bud,” Herbie added.

  Might as well make it a triple play. “Bud for me too.”

  The waiter walked away, and Snake Oil leaned across the small round table between them, extending his hand to Luke. “George Bailey.”

  Seriously? Jimmy Stewart’s George Bailey? Years of hard-core training in life-threatening situations made it easy for Luke to keep a straight face. George Bailey, the sainted friend and neighbor from the beloved movie It’s a Wonderful Life. The man everyone trusted. The consummate big brother looking out for the little guy. Sadly the subliminal connection probably worked too well on his unsuspecting prey. “Luke Chapman.”

  For the next hour they talked sports, switching from the upcoming NBA championship games to MLB trades to NFL draft picks. Just a few guys hanging out over beer and pretzels. No oil for sale yet. The guy was biding his time. He had almost two weeks. Maybe Luke wasn’t the right demographic. Or maybe the guy was on the up-and-up and just had the misfortune to smell like a rat.

  Either way, for the next twelve days, Luke had nothing but time on his hands.

  * * *

  “You won how much?” Sharla’s hand froze midbrushstroke.

  Nana tightened the bathrobe belt, shrugged a shoulder and pulled a dress for dinner out of the closet. “Only two hundred.”

  Only? Sometimes Sharla worried her grandmother had too cavalier an attitude about money. Wasn’t the Depression-era generation supposed to be more frugal? Although, if she thought about it, most of today’s elderly seniors hadn’t come from a family of grifters either. Nana making her money the hard way at the crap tables was probably a hell of a lot safer than running a con. Not that Nana had been involved in the family business over the last few decades, but her determination to keep her skills sharp by playing with marks from time to time worried the heck out of Sharla.

  The times the police had brought Nana home for returning a mark’s wallet to their pocket or purse, after successfully picking her prize, were coming more frequently. How long would it be before she got caught doing the picking and not the returning? Yep, crap tables were definitely safer.

  “So what do you think about Herbie?”

  “He seems nice enough.”

  “He does, doesn’t he?” Nana slipped out of the robe and into the dress. “Just one teeny flaw.”

  “And what would that be?” Crossing her fingers, she hoped her grandmother wasn’t about to say something really awkward.

  “He’s a retired cop.”

  Sharla nearly choked on her own spit. Of all the “nice” men for her sticky-fingered grandmother to get friendly with. “Nana, a policeman?”

  “Retired, dear. It makes a difference. And he is very nice.”

  There was no arguing that. Sharla had just said so herself a few moments ago, and she did like the way Nana’s face glowed at the mention of Herbie. That wasn’t something Sharla was used to seeing.

  Grandpa Garibaldi had passed on before Sharla was born. After years of supporting his family by running some of the most complex, successful and probably dangerous long cons out there, the man had dropped dead from a brain hemorrhage when crossing a street.

  Sharla wasn’t sure which was worse. Having a life cut too short because of an act of nature or in the line of duty. Both sucked. Big time.

  At least Nana and Grandpa had had enough years together to raise a family. Sharla and Danny hadn’t reached the point of even discussing children. They’d thought time was on their side. She’d fought the tightening in her gut every time he’d walked out the door in uniform. She’d clung to the numbers. Odds were he’d live to retirement with an uneventful career. The odds had been wrong.

  And now there was Luke Chapman. Not since the first time she’d laid eyes on her future husband had Sharla been so intrigued by just the sight of a man. And that brief hug. She’d felt the warmth of Luke’s embrace all the way to her toes. And a few other places too. But it was more than that. She’d felt cared for. And safe. Only a five second hug from a stranger and he’d made her feel totally safe. She liked that.

  It was time to think ahead, instead of staying in the past. A nice life with a regular guy who didn’t put his life on the line every day.

  * * *

  If Luke was going to use his connections to gather info on Good Old George, he was going to need more than a first and last name along with a list of the guy’s favorite sports teams. Sophia hadn’t invited the couple to join the team for the evening’s entertainment, but, when George had stood to join his wife, he’d promised to see everyone here again the next day.

  Tonight after supper Luke would find a quiet corner and do a little digging. See what he could come up with. If the universe was kind, George would be a real idiot and an easy takedown. If he was sharper than he looked, Luke might not be getting that rest Conway wanted him to have after all.

  Chapter Seven

  Eating alone in the dining room had been pretty much what Luke had expected. Fast and boring. A few nearby passengers glanced his way, then quickly averted their gazes if he caught them staring. That didn’t bother him. Neither did eating alone. What did bother him was that it bothered them. Ludicrous logic but somehow he found himself feeling sorry for them wasting their nice dinners feeling sorry for him. Maybe tomorrow he’d try room service.

  Nodding a silent thank you to the waiter and his assistant—who seemed to have made an extra effort to get Luke his food more quickly than the surrounding passengers—Luke made his way through the maze of tables to the exit doors. Noticing an older woman blatantly staring, he winked, and then, when she blushed a schoolgirl grin, he flashed her his best appreciative smile. If there’s one thing he’d learned from having sisters, every woman, no matter how young or old, likes to feel pretty.

  The new question was where to now? At only 7:00 p.m., he was not ready to call it a night. Besides, Sophia was expecting him for the music trivia later. Taking his time across the ship, he paused at one of the smaller lounges where the Latin trio played tunes that reminded him of warm nights on leave in Cadiz. And the Spanish beauty he’d shared them with. Now that would have been an interesting place to have returned for a vacation. Good food, good sherry and beautiful women. Everything a man could ask for. Unbidden, his thoughts immediately shifted to this afternoon’s trivia game and the brief moments with Sharla in his arms. Maybe not everything a man could ask for.

  Using the casino for a shortcut across the ship, he paused at the crap tables, almost expecting to see Sophia tossing dice and squealing with delight. A brief stop at a blackjack table had him nearly sitting to play a few rounds, but the way things had been going since he had boarded the ship, he’d probably only succeed in dropping a wad of cash. Maybe another night.

  On the other side of the ship he found himself back at the Leeward Lounge and searching for signs of Sharla. When a couple stood up from one of the tables, he hurried to claim the spot. Ten minutes later another group stood to leave, and he commandeered one of the chairs adding a fourth seat to his table. Still unsure if George and his wife, Gloria, were joining them, Luke debated whether or not to pilfer two more chairs when Herbie came up beside him and took a seat.

  “Piano player’s pretty good.”

  Herbie was right. The guy was as good as any mainstream artist on the radio. Maybe better. “Affirmative.”

  “Navy?”

  “Not anymore.”

  Herbie’s brows formed a pensive V over the bridge of his nose. “I would have pegged you for career military.”

  “State Department.”

  �
�I see.” One side of Herbie’s mouth tipped up in a knowing smile.

  “And you?”

  “Marine Corps. Ten years. Decided I wasn’t up to moving around for another ten so I signed up with Philadelphia PD.”

  “Is that home?”

  “No. Military brat. Didn’t have a home. Philly offered me a contract first, so I took it. But after twenty years I’d had enough. One day I got in my car and started driving toward warm weather. Stopped at a gas station in the middle of Nowhere, Georgia, at the same time as a couple of cocky kids from Atlanta got the bright idea that robbing a backwoods gas station would be easy. Next thing I knew, I was the chief of police, and, for the most part, the only time I had to deal with senseless death was when I had a good catch on Lake Oconee. Retired now.”

  “Still in Georgia?”

  “Florida. A man can only take so many years of fishing.” Herbie flashed a brief smile that told Luke the old coot had probably been a catch himself in his better days.

  “So you gave up your fishing boat for a cruise ship.” Luke had meant the comment as a joke, but the way Herbie bristled had raised the hairs on the back of Luke’s neck. He’d felt the same way a few times earlier in the day.

  Before Luke could ask any more questions, Sophia came huffing through the growing crowd in the lounge and fell heavily into the chair beside Herbie.

  “I thought that crazy broad—er, lady—was never going to shut up and finish her dinner.” Sophia patted the curls at the back of her head and turned to Herbie. “I’ve asked the waiter for a new table starting tomorrow night. If we’re going to make it to the evening music trivia, we can’t be waiting for Ms. Chatterbox to stop gabbing long enough to eat her dinner so that the waiters will serve the rest of us our desserts.”

  “At least you have someone to talk with. One couple hasn’t shown up yet for any dinner, and the other one is so old I feel like a young boy in short pants. But they do smile a lot.” Herbie gave a short chuckle and placed the slightest of pats on Sophia’s hand.

  Sophia pretended not to notice the brief touch, but Luke didn’t miss the hint of a smile that crossed her lips before she spoke again. “Herbie, you should have dinner with us.”

  “Well, I don’t know that Sharla—”

  “Sharla will love having someone to talk to besides me.” Sophia whirled about to face Luke. “What about you? How are your tablemates?”

  “I, uh, don’t have any.”

  Sophia frowned. “Why not?”

  “Well…” My boss pulled a fast one didn’t seem like the right answer. “It just worked out that way.”

  “Then it’s settled. I’ll notify the maître d’ that we want a table for four.” Sophia turned to the crew member walking up to the piano.

  Luke and Herbie looked at each other, neither one ready to do battle with Sophia. Herbie shrugged first, and then Luke laughed to himself. If nothing else, he’d be willing to take bets that dinner for the rest of the cruise would prove to be quite entertaining. Besides, it would give him the opportunity to learn more about the woman who had made herself at home in the back of his mind.

  “I swear some people are so oblivious.” Sharla slid into the chair between him and Sophia. “I kept telling Lydia that I needed to catch up to you, but she’d have none of that until I heard all about her nephew.”

  “Bad enough the woman talked so much that we almost had to skip dessert to make it here on time. Which one of her kin is he?” Sophia asked, her forehead once again creased in thought.

  “The one in New Jersey. Her sister Delilah’s boy. Forty-two, never married.”

  “What does this nephew do?” Sophia asked.

  “He’s a corrections officer.”

  Sophia’s face lost all expression. The fire in her eyes turned to ice. “Oh.”

  “Besides”—Sharla sported the same cold expression, only her eyes held something more akin to pain—“I’m guessing single at forty-two means he has a boyfriend who he hasn’t introduced to his aunt Lydia yet.”

  Sophia hitched a shoulder in a casual shrug.

  Luke cast a sideways glance in Herbie’s direction. He’d caught the women’s strong reaction to the nephew’s job also. But Luke suspected Herbie didn’t know what to make of it any more than he did. All he knew was he very much wanted to take away Sharla’s pain.

  The volume on the PA system shot unexpectedly high, blaring some unrecognizable tune with a lot of electric guitar. The crew guy playing with the equipment threw a cheeky grin over his shoulder. “Sorry about that, Ladies and Gentlemen. But now that I have your attention…” He continued to explain the rules of the game. Essentially they were playing Name That Tune. The crew staff guy would play the beginning notes of a popular eighties’ tune twice before moving on.

  Sophia leaned forward in her seat, whispering the same sacred info about no talking and protecting the answer sheet that had applied during the afternoon trivia game.

  Sharla walked up to the piano for their score sheets and pencils.

  Earlier in the day Luke hadn’t noticed the way she walked. Her hips had just the right amount of swoosh to them. Not enough to advertise, but just enough to entice. And he was definitely enticed. And then some.

  Ready for the game to start, everyone waited for the first tune, except Herbie. His gaze was on the crowds moving along the hall outside the lounge.

  Luke didn’t have to ask why. Apparently he wasn’t the only one interested in George and Gloria Bailey.

  * * *

  The lone empty chair at the table had been between her grandmother and Luke. Sharla didn’t like the way her senses came alive whenever he was near. Until now she hadn’t had to deal with the path her life had taken. She still missed Danny, but the acrid ache that had made itself at home—from the minute her husband’s partner had showed up on her doorstep that miserable Thursday night—had dulled to a tepid twinge so vague that sometimes she’d actually forget it was there.

  But not until she’d hugged Luke had she wanted to do something about the emptiness that had settled in beside the hurt. And that had her shaking in her sandals. It was one thing for her head to tell her it was time to move on. To find someone new. To start living. But it was another to act on it. Especially with such a handsome man who probably wanted nothing more from her than a vacation fling.

  “Ooh. I know that one.” Her grandmother scribbled “Kokomo” by The Beach Boys on the first line.

  Luke agreed and smiled at Nana, and Sharla felt her stomach clench. Sexy and nice. Damn, what was she going to do about this guy? She’d never been the have-a-fling sort of girl. Not in school. Not when she’d moved out on her own. And certainly not now. So, where did that leave her?

  Luke scribbled “Don’t Worry, Be Happy” on a piece of paper, and, for a short second, she actually wondered if he could read her mind. Then when Nana copied the name onto the answer sheet, Sharla realized that was the name of song number two. Get a grip.

  Five tunes later, she finally recognized a song, and, pulling away the scratch paper from Luke, her hand brushed against his, and her stomach did that little rolling-surge thing that almost had her forgetting Whitney Houston’s “I Wanna Dance with Somebody.” When Luke smiled up at her, she came damn near close to forgetting everything, including that she didn’t do flings.

  By the time the few notes were played for the last song, she’d pretty much decided the best thing she could do was lock herself in her room for the rest of the cruise, toss out all her books by her favorite romance authors and catch up on nothing but hard-boiled mysteries. Preferably with lots of dead bodies.

  Since she and Luke were just little kids for most of the eighties, and Nana and Herbie were not likely to have been listening to the radio either, their team was missing five of the twenty song titles. Nana and Luke were meant for each other when it came to a competitive streak. The two listened intently as the crew member, Jose from Costa Rica, quickly ran through the songs one last time. At number sixteen Luke snapped hi
s fingers, scribbled “Maneater” directly on the answer sheet, and Sharla could feel the heat rising up her neck and filling her cheeks.

  Thankfully she was pretty sure no one noticed. Papers were exchanged, and Jose asked for the title of the first song. Just about everyone in the lounge shouted “Kokomo,” and, when Jose played the tune the crowd continued singing about Aruba and Jamaica. With every song the room got louder, and people sang longer. Everyone smiling and laughing.

  Except for Herbie. During the game he hadn’t made a single suggestion. From time to time he’d look at Nana and smile to himself. Usually when Nana guessed at a song and either Sharla or Luke had confirmed Nana’s guess. But for most of the time Herbie seemed to be more interested in people watching. A few times Sharla wondered if he had been looking for someone in particular, but, now that the game was over, his attention was all on her grandmother.

  Sharla wasn’t sure what she thought of that yet either. What she really needed was some air and a little distance from Luke “Brooklyn” Chapman to get her head on straight. “If you’ll excuse me, I think I’ll take a little walk outside.”

  “Sounds like a great idea.” Luke stood. “If you don’t mind, I’d like to join you.”

  Join her?

  Three pairs of eyes settled on her, and all she could manage to mutter was “Sure.”

  “Don’t forget.” Nana smiled. “The Gender Game is at ten.”

  “Gender Game?” Luke and Herbie echoed slowly.

  Nana’s smile spread a little wider. “In the Windward Lounge, one deck down.”

  Herbie flipped his wrist to check the time, then extended his arm to Nana. “It’s after nine. Shall we go save seats?”

  “Great minds think alike.” Nana slid her hand around his elbow, and Sharla would have sworn her grandmother looked ten years younger.

  “I don’t know what to make of that,” she said aloud to her grandmother’s back disappearing down the corridor.