Shell Game

by Chris Keniston

  Forcing her attention away from Luke, and who did or didn’t flirt with him, she caught a glimpse of Nana scoping out Gloria’s husband. And now here Sharla sat, only half listening to Gloria as Sharla checked out her grandmother only half listening to them while checking out the men’s conversation. What in the name of hell was happening to her?

  For the first time in years, Sharla had not only noticed a man but she was having one hell of a hard time resisting him. And now she was doing her best to look at the other men as potential marks, wondering what her grandmother found so interesting.

  Maybe all Sharla needed was to get off the damn ship for some fresh air and a new perspective. Or maybe she needed to watch her grandmother like a hawk before they all wound up in the slammer.

  Chapter Eleven

  After the group-rousing interruption from Red Hat Lady, the conversation never returned to real estate. And later that afternoon, Gloria showed up solo for trivia. She explained that her husband was on a conference call.

  Roaming rates on a cell phone from out in the middle of the ocean were not cheap, and reception was often iffy even in the biggest cities. That left Luke chewing on doubts about if this guy was legit or putting on a great show. Or, more likely, scouting for a better pigeon than Herbie.

  But it was Sharla’s absence from the team that took up most of Luke’s thoughts. Not wanting to look anxious, he was delighted when Gloria quickly asked if Sharla would be joining them. Already in Trivia Queen mode, Sophia offhandedly made a comment about hooked on a new book and soaking up the sun before she settled into her routine for another round of high-stakes cruise ship trivia.

  Winning again—not surprisingly—they were awarded the coveted cruise ship calendars…that expired in six months. So far Luke had amassed an impressive collection of ship brand junk.

  Now he found himself primping at the mirror like a pimply faced teen hoping to score a date with the head cheerleader. How big a fool was he really?

  Tossing down the comb, he ignored the impulse to take one last look and walked out the cabin door. Tonight would be his first night having dinner with Sophia and Sharla in the three-story dining room. And, as luck would have it, tonight was also the first formal dining night.

  When Conway had insisted Luke pack a tux, he’d come close to laughing in his boss’ face. But a man didn’t spend eleven years in Uncle Sam’s Navy without getting used to wearing monkey suits. Though deep inside Luke wished he wore dress whites instead of the black tux.

  Not that it mattered, but he’d yet to meet a lady who could resist a man in a dress uniform. Across the dining room he spotted his new table. Or more accurately he spotted Sharla. The red dress had a sheen to it, something like satin. Thin straps formed a square neckline that showed just enough cleavage to whet a man’s appetite and have him dreaming of possibilities. Not that it mattered.

  * * *

  Taking a sip as she glanced up from the table, Sharla almost breathed in her water. Damn, that man knew how to wear a tuxedo. “Herbie and Nana stopped to have their photos taken. They should be here any second.” Not that he’d asked, but she needed to say something besides hot, hot, hot.

  He pulled out the seat beside her. “You look lovely.”

  “Thank you. You look pretty good yourself.”

  “You think?” One side of his mouth lifted in that know-it-all smile that made her stomach do strange things.

  Rather than respond to his question, she buried her nose in the single-page menu. “The waiter recommends the chilled watermelon soup this evening.”

  “Anything else?”

  “Mmm. Rack of lamb and lemon meringue tart.”

  He bobbed his head but kept his eyes on the menu.

  The quiet lingered, and, when she’d finally made up her mind and set aside her menu, her gaze collided with his.

  “Did you enjoy the book?”

  She nodded. “Several of the books in my to-be-read pile are from my favorite authors. I’ve been anxious to start this one. It’s the first of a new series.” That answer was a lot easier to produce than she didn’t have the strength to sit across from him at trivia and talk herself out of jumping his bones.

  “Tell me about your job.” He brought the glass of water to his lips without ever taking his eyes off her.

  “Most of the time I love it. Ever since I volunteered in high school as a candy striper in the emergency room, I knew that’s where I wanted to be.”

  “So you’re a trauma nurse.”

  “Got the battle scars to prove it.” She turned her arm to show a two-inch line at the base of her elbow. “A frightened teen didn’t want anyone on staff touching him. I got too close.”

  “Didn’t realize you work in a tough neighborhood.”

  “Not anymore. But this was from my days in Chicago. Before I got the urge to fly south for the winter and never flew back.”

  “Everything’s sunny and bright in the Sunshine State.”

  She shook her head and stole a quick sip of water. “I’ve seen things no member of the human race should have to. Kids brought in with half their brains gone after a drive-by shooting. Entire families mangled and broken at the hands of a drunk driver. Women battered, beaten and broken, limping out the door with the men who promise it will never happen again.”

  A slow blink at her words might have been for things he didn’t want to imagine, or perhaps things he’d also seen. She didn’t know which. But she wasn’t surprised when his hands atop the table curled into fists at the mention of domestic abuse. There was so much more to this man than a pretty face, and she very much wanted to dig around and uncover all the interesting facets of Luke “Brooklyn” Chapman. “Interesting nickname, Brooklyn. Do you live in New York?”

  His head turned from side to side. “Nope. Live in Virginia now. Got the call sign from the navy. Only guy from New York out of a group of fifty. And even on a good day I still sounded like Joe Pesci in My Cousin Vinny.”

  “What’s a yewt?” Smiling she repeated the famous line from the popular movie.

  Luke dabbed the sides of his mouth with his cloth napkin, then cleared his throat. “Not for nothin’, but youse guys really know how to berl a good cuppa tea.”

  “Oh, my God.” She had to cover her mouth to stop from drawing attention to her laughter. From behind her hand she mumbled, “You did not really talk that way.”

  He laughed. “Oh, yes. Hence the nickname.”

  “But you don’t talk like that now.”

  “Every once in a while a word slips out. Anytime I’m around New Yorkers, I hear myself saying things like cawfey and chawclet and shua.”

  “Shua?”

  This time he chuckled. “Sure.”

  “Oh.” She tried not to laugh again. “Shua.”

  “You two look to be having a good time without us.” Sophia stepped toward the seat Herbie pulled out for her. The only table available had been for six, so the four of them sat across from each other leaving the end chairs empty.

  “Not possible, Sophia.” Luke hurriedly stood, only sitting down again after Sophia was comfortably seated.

  “Charmer. You remind me of my late husband. Benny could sweet-talk the shirt off your back, then turn around and sell it to you.”

  “Nana!”

  “Oh, Luke knows that’s a compliment. I married your grandfather, didn’t I?”

  Some days Sharla wondered if she and her grandmother were really blood relations or if perhaps, like in the gypsy fables, she’d been left on a doorstep somewhere and simply raised by a band of do-good grifters.

  For the next hour the conversation roamed from Luke growing up the youngest of four kids in a half-Irish, half-Italian household, to Sharla being an only child and loving the times when her archeologist father would let her join him for a project. Not that she was ever allowed near any of the important digs, but just listening to her father’s stories at bedtime had fascinated her about what day-to-day life had been like in the world he was unraveling.<
br />
  Once they were settled in at the Leeward Lounge, waiting for the Elvis music trivia contest, the stories shifted to Herbie and some of his craziest cases. Though he only shared the more amusing ones, like the burglars who had paused to sign in to their victim’s computer to check their own Facebook page and didn’t bother to sign out. Or the drunk idiots who drove into the DA’s house and fled the scene but left the car registered in their name sticking out of his basement.

  Nana had been a true master, always flawlessly redirecting the conversation whenever anyone asked what she and her husband had done in their day.

  Now that Sharla thought about it, all of Luke’s stories were from when he was growing up. He knew she was a nurse. And she knew he’d been in the navy but had no idea what he did now.

  The pretty brunette with the English accent stepped up to the piano bench with paper and pencils, and began warming up the crowd.

  With a larger crowd than last night, Sophia had been lucky to find an open table. Since George and Gloria had told them earlier they had reservations for a cozy supper at the Italian specialty restaurant, there’d been no need to procure extra seating. And frankly Sharla was relieved not to have to worry about what Nana was up to with Gloria’s husband. Even if Sharla had decided she was simply overreacting. But then again, all she had to do was think to the first day on the ship when Nana had taken a dive for a good seat, and those niggling doubts teased at the back of her mind again. Why couldn’t she have been born into a family of nice, boring Iowa corn farmers?

  * * *

  Elvis’ popularity through the generations created stiffer competition than the music trivia contest from the night before. Correctly guessing twenty out of twenty tunes, Sophia had to share the winning glory with two other teams. And the key chain prizes.

  “Well, if you ladies”—Herbie turned briefly to Luke—“and gent, will excuse me, I’d like to get out of this penguin costume.”

  “Oh, but you look so handsome.” Sophia actually batted her eyes at the man.

  “Hopefully I’ll be just as handsome in my shorts and sandals. Be right back.”

  Sophia’s gaze remained on Herbie’s back. Her smile easy, almost whimsical.

  Which meant she either didn’t remember that Herbie’s room was by the bow or didn’t care that the guy was walking toward the stern in the opposite direction of his cabin. Wherever he was going, he was definitely taking the long way around. “I think I’m going to follow the wise man’s advice, except I’m going to call it a night.” At least Luke hoped this time he’d get to call it a night before morning.

  Halfway through the casino he spotted Herbie. Just like last night, he was using the slot machines to hide from George’s view.

  Only this time George wasn’t talking up another man; he was sitting at the blackjack tables, and, judging by the decreasing pile of chips, paying more attention to the comings and goings of other players than to his cards.

  Resigned to spending a long while of everyone watching everyone, Luke hadn’t expected George to cash in so early.

  But rather than follow George to confirm he was turning in for the night, Herbie moved through the crowd to where George had been playing cards.

  Setting down his own drink, Herbie counted out a small stack of chips in front of him. He took a sip from his glass, then pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and sneezed into the old-fashioned cloth.

  How many men nowadays actually carried handkerchiefs with them? In a move that impressed even Luke, Herbie dumped what had been left of George’s drink into his own glass, enfolded the empty one inside the handkerchief and slipped the entombed glass into his jacket pocket. Finally things were getting interesting.

  Time for a face to face with Mr. Klein. Luke followed Herbie across the ship and watched as he rode the elevator up to his floor. Sure Herbie had stopped at the right floor for his cabin, Luke took his time climbing the stairs.

  Making his way down the narrow halls, he checked the cabin numbers, stopping in front of cabin 1011. Ten and eleven, both his lucky numbers. Had Herbie been in any other room, Luke might not have easily remembered where to find him. Lifting his hand, he gave the door a soft rap.

  “Just a minute.” Muffled footsteps grew louder. The handle dropped, and the door cracked open halfway. “I won’t be needing… Oh, Luke.”

  He didn’t bother waiting for a polite invitation, giving the door a slight nudge as he moved past Herbie. “You don’t mind if I join you, do you?”

  The quick smile that Herbie had plastered on for Luke’s benefit gave way to a curled brow and irritated glare. “Actually—”

  “Care to tell me what’s really going on?”

  “I don’t know what you’re—”

  “Talking about?” Luke pointed to the empty glass on the vanity surrounded by a dark container of eye shadow, a makeup brush and clear tape. “Why do you need George’s prints?”

  Herbie raked his fingers through his thick salt-and-pepper hair, turned to look at the array of makeshift equipment and, blowing out a deep sigh, pivoted to face Luke again. “You know as well as I do that his name is no more George Bailey than I’m Kris Kringle. There were only two George Baileys born and raised in the Boston area in this crook’s age group.”

  So Luke was right about where Good Old George had come from.

  “One died at age ten, probably of an asthma attack, and the other is a retired Marine. This guy’s no Marine.”

  “No, he’s not. What’s this all about?”

  “George Bailey met my brother-in-law, Sid, on a cruise, much like this one. Did a good talk and put on a good show. Sid is no idiot, so George had to make it work. Took him on a tour of some property on Barbados while they were docked in port.”

  “Not enough time to research the land.”

  “Exactly. Sid convinced George to let him in on the deal. Sid’s not a rich man, so he had to sell most of his portfolio. You don’t get much dividend income from oil and tech stock. The promise of tripling his money in a year when they sold the property to the developer was too much for Sid to ignore.”

  “I don’t get it. He doesn’t claim to be the developer.”

  “No. He’s the dealmaker. Sucks his investors into funding a bogus corporation which supposedly buys parcels of land in an as-yet-untouched area. Claims a developer is ready to pay triple for the land with permits etc. ready to build.”

  “But…”

  “The building doesn’t happen. Maybe the land is bought, maybe not. Who knows? Bottom line is, there’s some problem somewhere, and now they own very expensive shares of nothing.”

  “That does happen.”

  Herbie hefted a lazy shrug. “It does. Everyone makes a bad deal once in a while. But why is George still living like Midas?”

  “You think he’s done this before?”

  “And is doing it again. We’ve tried going through legal channels, but Bailey’s office is a dummy address. Vacant. And the phones got disconnected within days of the word going out about how the deal had gone sour. We couldn’t find the guy for shit.”

  “So how did you find him now?”

  A toothy smirk took over Herbie’s face. “Let’s just say, it pays to have friends in low places.”

  Luke burst out laughing. Heaven knows he’d spent a shitload of time in low places of late. If Herbie had been a cop in the Northeast for twenty years, he had to have made a connection here and there. From the sound of it, not the kind to list on a job resume.

  “I had to make sure it was the same guy.”

  “And it is?”

  “Yeah. I sent my brother-in-law a snapshot. He confirmed.”

  “So now what?”

  “In order to bring down this character, I need to know who I’m dealing with. Find his weak spot.”

  Luke lifted his chin, pointing in the direction of the glass. “You got someone to send those to?”

  “I got a couple of pals still on the force. They’ll—”

  “I’ve
got better. You any good at this?”

  Herbie nodded, his smile still in place.

  “Get me a good shot of the prints. I need to make a couple of calls. By morning we’ll know exactly who we’re dealing with.”

  Chapter Twelve

  Like a lazy kitty, Sharla stretched her legs and spread her toes. Then she lifted her arms to the ceiling and leaned from side to side. Not as sore as she’d been yesterday morning.

  She’d thought she was in good shape. On her feet every day for hours, lifting and turning patients. Pushing around crash carts and other heavy equipment. But working out the last two mornings with Kyle had shown her just how out of shape she was. At least Kyle had been right about one thing. Every day she stuck to it, the morning soreness would lessen.

  Her triceps or biceps or whatever they were still stung a bit but not nearly as much as the day before. She was actually looking forward to another workout. Even though she’d been a bit disappointed that she hadn’t run into Luke at the fitness center, in the end it had made it easier for her to lift and lunge and not be self-conscious.

  “You’re up early again.” Nana stepped out of the bathroom, dressed and ready to go. Even though she didn’t need to catch any worms, she was still an early riser.

  “Yeah. I think I’m going to join a gym when we get home. One of those places just for women.”

  “Or you could join one where you’ll meet men.”

  “Nana.” Sharla pushed to her feet and grabbed the towel draped over the desk chair.

  “What? You think Danny was the only man out there? You’re too young to spend the rest of your life alone. You should find a nice man, settle down—”

  “I know, Nana. Have a few children. Someone who will look after me when I’m old.”

  “That’s right.” Sophia slipped the day’s activity list into its designated slot on her lanyard. “What about Luke? He’s a nice boy. Seems to like you too.”

  “He’s a player. He’d like anything in a skirt. You saw him with those women yesterday. The cougar and the tiger. No thank you.”