by Sara Rosett
“That’s Aldo’s son,” Jack said, lifting his chin in the direction of the disappearing boat. “He rents the paddleboat out during the day to tourists who want to explore the beaches and a little grotto not far from here.”
Their captain went forward and started the boat. By the light of the control panel Zoe could see he was completely bald, but had a neat black beard. A red bandana circled his throat above a loose white shirt and dark pants. The boat surged, the bow rising as he pushed the throttle forward. Zoe clasped the paintings, as the plastic around them flapped in the sudden breeze with one hand and held her hat firmly with the other. The captain shouted something over his shoulder to Jack, his bandana and shirt pulsing against his body in the wind.
“What did he say?”
“We’ll be there in a few minutes.”
“Where?”
“The Regent Renaissance.”
Chapter Eighteen
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THEY skimmed across the water toward Capri. Lights from the town ringed the semi-circle of the harbor and sprinkled up the hillside that cupped the inlet, but Zoe’s gaze was on the cruise ship that was anchored outside the harbor. “How did you manage to get us on the cruise ship?” she asked. “That must have cost a boatload.”
“I suppose I could have tried to bribe someone, but a trade seemed easier. Nice pun, by the way.”
“Couldn’t help it. What kind of trade?”
Jack handed Zoe a lanyard with an ID card. She flipped it over and saw Isobel’s picture and name.
Jack draped another lanyard with a dangling card over his neck. “I gave our rental car to Isobel and Paul.”
“What?”
“It’s perfectly logical. They don’t want to go back on the ship and we do. I went back to the hotel they’d asked us about. They’d checked in and were in the bar, so I explained that it was urgent you speak to your friend on the ship, that it was a rather delicate situation. You needed to see him face-to-face. They agreed to a swap. They’re meeting us at the Rome airport in two days. I told them we’d pack their belongings and bring them with us. In the meantime, while we’re on board, they’ll visit Pompeii.”
“I can’t believe you gave them the car. They could wreck it...or...I don’t know...steal it.”
Jack lowered his chin and gave her a long look. “Zoe, he’s a pharmacist, and she’s a history teacher. I don’t think they’ll go Grand Theft Auto on us. Besides, we have bigger things to worry about.” His gaze slid to the plastic-wrapped paintings in Zoe’s lap.
“That’s true. This is worth more rental cars than I can even figure up in my head.”
Jack nodded toward the towering cruise ship. “Okay. Here we go, Mrs....” he paused to check his lanyard, “Johnston. Keep that hat on, and we’ll sail through.”
“Hmm, I can see we may need a moratorium on the boating puns, Mr. Johnston.”
The motorboat had felt roomy after the paddleboat, but when they pulled along the cruise ship, Zoe felt as if their boat was a minnow swimming next to a whale.
The captain shouted to Jack over his shoulder.
“He says that the harbor isn’t deep enough here for the big ships. They anchor out here and boats ferry people to and from.” Jack reached for another plastic shopping bag that Zoe hadn’t noticed and opened it. “Clothes. I thought bringing a suitcase on board at this point in the cruise might look a tad suspicious.” Zoe’s messenger bag had been under the bag of clothes.
“How are we going to find Mort?” Zoe asked as she slipped her messenger bag over her shoulder.
“That’s your department. I got us here. You’ve got a plan, right?”
“Umm...no. Not off the top of my head. I’ve been thinking about the painting mostly. Is it too much to hope that Kathy will post a convenient status update about being on the Lido Deck or something? It’s a long shot, but it’s the only thing I can think of right now. There’s got to be a way to page someone, or get them a message.”
“Let’s get on the ship, first, then see what we can find out. It’s only ten. He and Kathy might still be up.”
“Ten? That can’t be right. I thought it was after midnight.” Jack hit the button to illuminate his watch and tilted it toward her. “That means I was only on that beach for a few hours. It felt like...I don’t know...about eight. I guess time drags when you’re not having fun.”
The captain of their now miniscule-feeling ship maneuvered close to a canopy-covered staircase that dropped down from a door in the ship’s hull to the water level. Embracing the painting, Zoe climbed out of the boat and up the staircase.
***
“I can see why Isobel wouldn’t want to come back here.”
After an uninterested cruise ship employee watched them scan their cards at the top of the stairs then ran their bags through a scanner, it had taken them thirty minutes to find Isobel and Paul’s room. “Just keep moving,” Jack had said. “Act like you know where you’re going.”
Which was hard to pull off when you had no clue about the layout of the ship, but after unintentionally touring the ship’s huge central shopping atrium and three different sets of staircases that took them the wrong way, they’d finally stumbled on Isobel and Paul’s room in the bowels of the ship.
Zoe stepped into the windowless room. “I think it’s actually smaller than our rooms in Paris.” A gap of a few inches separated the double bed from the walls. Towels folded into the shape of an elephant rested on the bed. There was a closet on one side of the bed, a narrow desk attached to the wall, and a door to a tiny bathroom on the other.
Jack closed the door. “You’re exaggerating.” Zoe had to step out of the way and squish down the narrow opening between the bed and the closet so that Jack could enter the room and close the door.
“Not much.” She pushed open one of the sliding closet doors.
“I think this is the only place big enough to hide the paintings.
“Would you like to go first?” Jack asked, waving to the bathroom.
“Yes. I feel positively gritty.”
“All right. I’ll take care of the paintings.”
They’d decided it wasn’t wise to tote the paintings around while they tried to locate Mort. Their game plan was to locate their temporary cabin, stash the paintings, and clean up because they were both kind of scruffy. Zoe’s rumpled, dusty shirt and jeans had drawn a few curious stares as they traipsed the passageways and staircases looking for the cabin. Most people were dressed up, with many of the women in cocktail dresses and the men in suits.
The shower was tiny and she bumped her elbows on the walls more times than she could count, but she didn’t care. It felt heavenly to get clean. She wielded the blow dryer until her hair was mostly dry, then slipped on the only dress she’d packed, the emerald green wrap dress with cap sleeves. It wasn’t as dressy as the clothes she’d seen earlier as they searched for the cabin, but it was all she had.
“Do you think I’ll do? Will I blend? It’s not very dressy...” Zoe broke off when she saw Jack’s face.
“You’ll more than do.”
Zoe swallowed and tried to fight off the blush she felt seeping into her face and neck. “Thanks. Your turn.” They sidled by each other. The room was so tight it was impossible not to brush against each other.
As soon as he shut the bathroom door, Zoe turned to the mirror mounted on the wall above a set of recessed drawers. She put her hands on her rosy cheeks. They could not stay in these close quarters long. She couldn’t deny the attraction between them. Rekindling things with Jack wasn’t what she wanted she told herself firmly, but a faint question wormed its way into her thoughts. Was it? Was that really what she wanted? “Not a good idea,” she lectured herself.
The bathroom door opened. “Did you say something?” Jack leaned out the door, his shirt unbuttoned.
With great effort, Zoe pulled her gaze away from that strip of taunt, tan chest and cleared her throat. “No. Nothing. Nothing at all.”
He closed the bathroom door, and she stared at her flushed face as his words came back to her. You’re afraid. Was he right? Did she push him away and fight to keep their relationship from going deeper because she was scared? But what was there to be scared of? Intimacy? A close, loving relationship? Jack had made it clear he wanted more than a fling. What would it be like to let herself trust him?
The sound of the shower coming on brought her out of her reverie. She yanked open the zipper on her makeup bag and set to work with mascara and lip-gloss. Now was not the time to figure out her love life.
It only took her a few minutes to finish her make-up then she checked the paintings. Jack had tucked them along the back wall of the closet behind Isobel and Paul’s suitcases and adjusted the clothes on hangers so that not even an inch of the plastic bag showed. The paintings were well hidden from anyone who gave the room or the closet a casual glance. While she was in the closet, she spotted a pair of gold open-toe, sling-back stilettos. She couldn’t resist slipping them on, and they were a perfect fit. She didn’t think Isobel would mind if she borrowed them. After all, Isobel was borrowing their rental car. What was a pair of shoes compared to a car?
She was trying to maneuver into a spot in front of the mirror where she could see how the shoes looked with the dress when a knock on the cabin door sounded. Zoe froze, one foot extended in the air in front of the mirror.
The rapping came again, louder this time. “Mr. Johnston, it is Raoul. I have your tea.”
Zoe inched to the door and spoke to the doorframe. “Thank you, but we didn’t order tea.”
“But Mr. Johnston always has tea in the evening. To settle his stomach.”
“He’s feeling better tonight and doesn’t need it.” Zoe bit her lip. They were busted. This had to be the cabin steward. He knew Isobel and Paul, and he wasn’t going away.
“Are you not feeling well either, Mrs. Johnston? You sound funny.”
Zoe blew out a breath and opened the door. “I’m not Mrs. Johnston.”
Raoul paused on the threshold, a tray held aloft. “We’re friends of Isobel and Paul. We’ve traded with them.” Her conscious pricked her as she remembered Jack’s words about lying by omission.
“Oh, you can’t do that.” Raoul looked to be in his early twenties with golden hair combed back from an angular face that if it wasn’t scowling, would have been very attractive.
She squashed down her misgivings. It was for a good cause—to keep her out of jail, and her friends and family from harm. She straightened her shoulders and smiled brightly. “A little joke.”
Raoul’s gaze dipped for an instant to the V of her neckline, and there was a flash of a question in his dark eyes.
“Come in, and I’ll tell you about it,” Zoe said in as flirty a tone as she could manage. She wasn’t used to playing the femme fatale, and wondered if she was overdoing it, but he stepped inside.
Zoe closed the door and reached for her messenger bag as he set the tray down. She removed several bills from her wallet and held them out. What was the going rate for a bribe? She had no idea, but decided it would be better to go high rather than low. He raised his hand to wave Zoe off, but then he saw the denomination of the notes in the little wad of cash. “You’ll help me keep my secret, won’t you?” Zoe asked.
He sent her a smile and plucked the bills from her hand. “My job is to make sure you are happy. Will there be anything else?” His look and his tone indicated that there was very little he wouldn’t be willing to do.
“Just one other small thing.”
***
JACK emerged from the bath wearing a pair of dark pants and a white dress shirt with a striped tie draped across his shoulders. He caught sight of the tray as he knotted his tie.
“Apparently, Paul has a cup of tea every evening to calm his stomach. I had to take the cabin steward into our confidence.”
Jack paused with his chin raised and his fingers stilled. “Was that wise?”
“We didn’t have a choice. He knows Isobel and Paul. He recognized my voice wasn’t Isobel’s, and if he gave us away, then the game would be up. So I convinced him to keep our secret. I said we were playing a joke.”
“And he agreed?” Jack worked the knot into place.
“With a little help from my cleavage and a wad of euros, yes.”
Jack’s eyes narrowed.
“You were the one who mentioned bribery.”
“No. You brought that up, and I would never involve you or...your cleavage...”
A faint knock cut off Jack’s sputtering. A white envelope slipped under the door.
Zoe snatched it up and read the paper inside. “He was able to do it! Mort used his drink card at the Mariner Bar ten minutes ago.”
Jack raised his eyebrows.
“I asked Raoul if there was a way to find someone on the ship. He said he would check. They can track the pre-paid drink card.”
“Well, I am glad Raoul is so helpful. Do you think he’ll give us away, now that your cleavage isn’t on display?”
“No, because I told him there would be more for him in the morning, if he kept quiet.”
“More what?” Jack said in an unpleasant tone.
“Money,” Zoe said impatiently. “Forget about my cleavage. That’s not what’s important here. We know where Mort is. We need to get moving.”
Jack’s scowl disappeared and his face went blank. “You’re correct. I have no right to be jealous. Let’s go. He might not stay there long.”
Jack swiped his lanyard, which was also the room’s keycard, off the narrow dresser and went out the door. “That’s not what I meant,” Zoe muttered as she looked at the ceiling. Relationships were a minefield. It was a wonder that anyone ever got together at all, she thought as she hurried out the door.
***
BY the time Zoe caught up with Jack, he’d found the Mariner Bar, a larger space fitted with dark paneling, brass lights, and potted ferns. Her conflicted feeling about their relationship—or lack thereof—had to take a backseat. “I don’t see Mort,” Zoe said, scanning the room, which was crowded with people in fancy dress, some around the bar, others gathered around the cushy armchairs and tiny tables, while still others danced at one end of the room where a guy was belting out The Way You Look Tonight in front of a small band.
“It’s crowded. He might still be here. Let’s get a drink.”
Zoe reluctantly followed Jack to the bar, fighting down the urge to search the passageways outside the bar. Jack offered Zoe the single open barstool. “Gin and tonic?”
“Club soda with a twist of lime. I don’t want to get fuzzy.”
Zoe thought she heard Jack murmur, “Well I need one.” She gave him a sharp look, but he didn’t glance at her, only tossed back a swig of his drink. She sipped hers, alternating between watching the door and looking at each face in the room.
A smattering of applause sounded as the song ended. Jack touched her arm. “There.” He pointed with his glass. As the couples on the dance floor broke apart and some left, Zoe spotted a rumpled figure with a thatch of unruly gray hair. She’d never met Mort's wife, Kathy, but the woman with the fluffy blond hair stepping into his outstretched arms for the next dance had to be her. Jack finished his drink and held out his hand. “Shall we?”
She put her hand in his. “Now I wish I’d had a real drink.”
They made for the dance floor. Mort was at the far side, and Zoe was about to push her way through the couples when Jack swung her around into his arms. “We’ll work our way over there. Don’t want to draw too much attention. We are stowaways.”
“Right. I forgot for a moment.” They moved to the music, Fly Me To The Moon, Jack smoothly navigating them through the other couples, a good five inches separating their bodies. “You know, I don’t think we’ve ever danced before,” Zoe said. She had to say something to block out the sudden thoughts about how he smelled like soap and how his shoulder flexed under her hand as they moved. It felt so good in
his arms, so right, which was an absurd thought since his rigid posture and shuttered expression showed he clearly wasn’t enjoying being close to her.
He moved his hand on the small of her back, pulling her closer as he swung her away from a tipsy couple plowing across the dance floor. He swirled them around a few times, and Zoe felt as though she’d had a drink or two by the time he slowed down. “And here we are.” Jack released her, tapped Mort on the shoulder, and offered his hand to Kathy. “May I cut in?”
Kathy looked slightly surprised, but sent Mort a wink as she reached for Jack’s hand. “Can’t pass this up.”
“Why do I think my vacation just ended?” Mort said.
Chapter Nineteen
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“...and you can tell this one is the real one because of the back.” Zoe carefully lifted the canvas to show Mort the marks on the back.
Earlier, at a table in the back of the bar, she had recapped everything that had happened since she entered Lucinda’s backyard. Mort let her get through the whole thing and only asked one question. “The paintings are on this ship?”
“Yes, in our cabin.”
“We better start there.”
Jack and Kathy had come with them, and now the four of them were crowded into the small cabin, leaning over the end of the bed where Zoe had put the two paintings side-by-side.
She moved to the other canvas. “This one, the forgery, is blank. That’s how the dealer in Paris said he knew the one Anna brought him was a fake. Well, it was the main reason. There were other indications. He talked about brush strokes and the signature, too, but the back was the biggest factor.”
