“You’re right about this group here though,” Dirk said. “They don’t seem to need any babysitting.”
Savannah added, “Why don’t you gentlemen stroll around the ship, check it out, get your bearings.”
Ryan gave her a wry smile. “Look for some disgruntled miscreant who might want to murder their least favorite author?”
She nodded. “Exactly.”
* * *
As Savannah stepped into the elevator with Dirk, she noticed that he was scowling. Again. He had done a lot of that lately, which wasn’t out of the ordinary for Dirk. He had been scowling for years.
But now that they were married, she felt it was her wifely duty to cheer him up whenever possible. Before “two had become one,” she might have quietly allowed him to wallow in his wretchedness, because it was blatantly obvious that he secretly enjoyed it.
However, her Southern belle upbringing dictated that she expend every effort within reason to pull him, kicking and screaming if need be, into the sunshine of her love.
“What’s the matter with you?” She punched the appropriate button for the penthouse suite with a bit more vim and vigor than the task required.
Okay, she thought. Cheering up a grumpy guy who doesn’t want to be cheered isn’t the most pleasant task on the Wifely Duty List.
But then, one couldn’t always pick and choose one’s responsibilities. For better and for worse, and all that matrimonial stuff.
“Tammy called me an old coot.”
Savannah could swear that his lower lip was actually protruding in a classic two-year-old’s pout.
“She always calls you names. But to your credit, since she’s been pregnant, you’ve only called her ‘Tammy.’ You get major kudos for that.”
He refused to be comforted. “She usually just calls me stuff like ‘Dirk-o’ and ‘curmudgeon.’ Not ‘old coot.’”
“Curmudgeon and old coot are pretty much the same thing, you know.”
“They are?”
“Yes.”
“I didn’t know that.” He sniffed. Loudly. “For Pete’s sake, I’m only in my forties. That’s a long way from ‘old’ or ‘coot,’ either one.”
Savannah slipped her arm through his. “It is, darlin’. It certainly is. But you have to see it from her point of view.”
“Which is?”
“You’re old enough to be her father.”
“I am not!”
“Are too, and then some.”
She watched him think it over, do the math, and reach the sad conclusion.
“Okay. I am. But only because I got an early start.”
“How early?”
He actually blushed. “I think I should keep that one to myself. I’m not altogether proud of my wayward youth.”
Laughing, she stood on tiptoe and kissed him on the cheek. “Somehow it doesn’t surprise me that you were a bit of a naughty boy back in the olden days.”
Looking a bit hurt, he said, “Why would you think that?”
“Because it would’ve taken you a while to get so good at your, um, technique.”
She was always surprised to see how quickly his depression and grumpiness could vanish. He brightened in an instant and said, “Really?”
“Absolutely.”
“Cool.”
The elevator door opened, and they stepped out into an empty hallway. He wrapped his arm around her waist and pulled her tightly against him. When he looked down into her eyes, she was surprised to see that his were misty.
“You know, babe,” he said, “You might think this is kinda silly, but a lot of times when we’re, you know, together . . . I wish you were my first. My only. Then we could have learned it, figured it all out, discovered it, together. Just you and me. I would’ve liked that.”
In a heartbeat she reached up, wrapped her arms around his neck, pulled his head down to hers, and gave him a long, passionate kiss.
When they finally came up for air, she said, “I would’ve liked that, too, darlin’. In fact, once we get all of our business done, and we’re inside our stateroom, all nice and cozy and alone, I think that’s exactly what we’re going to do.”
He looked confused.
So, she elaborated.
Tucking her chin, looking up at him with big pseudo-innocent blue eyes, she batted her lashes and said, “Why, sir, I do believe you’ve been attempting to seduce me for quite some time now. Even though I’m fresh as the first snowflake of winter, I reckon I might be persuaded to compromise my virtue, just a wee bit. If you play your cards right.”
His deep chuckle went through Savannah like warm cognac as he pulled her tightly against him. “As it turns out,” he said, “I happen to have an ace tucked up my sleeve.”
After giving him one more deep, long kiss, she whispered breathlessly, “You oughta check that ace of yours, Detective Sergeant Coulter. I do believe it and half a dozen card decks have done slid down into the front of your trousers.”
Chapter 6
A few moments later, Savannah and Dirk stood at the door to the ship’s most luxurious stateroom, the penthouse suite, now occupied by Natasha Van Cleef and company.
Savannah patted her hair into place as best she could. Dirk adjusted his clothing. Then she rapped lightly on the door.
It was opened almost immediately by a beautiful Asian woman, wearing a black suit, a crisp white shirt, a navy blue silk vest spangled with golden stars, and white gloves. Her dark hair was pulled back into a chignon that was as perfect as her simple but stunning makeup.
Savannah’s brain took several seconds to process what she was seeing. “Good gracious! You’re the butler.” It was more of a question than a statement. The moment it left her mouth, Savannah felt like an idiot.
But then, she thought, how was she supposed to know that not all butlers were male, British, and heavy around the middle?
She cast a quick look at Dirk and saw her own surprise reflected on his face, as well.
“I never saw a butler that looked like you,” he said to the woman.
The butler gave him the benefit of a coy though still professional smile and asked, “How many butlers have you met, sir?”
He chuckled. “Okay. You’ve got me there.”
“Most of the butlers we’ve seen,” Savannah said, “were on Downton Abbey.”
“Then you probably haven’t been served by nearly enough of our number.”
She opened the door wide and gestured most elegantly with her gloved hand for them to enter. “Please come in and allow me to correct that situation. We’re having champagne and hors d’oeuvres featuring ingredients from the great Pacific Northwest.”
She led them inside the suite, where Savannah’s eyes were dazzled by glimpses of chocolate brown marble streaked with gold and ivory veins, polished brass, glistening beveled glass, and lush tropical greenery.
To their immediate right was a bar, well stocked. Trays of canapés lined its marble sideboard, along with two silver buckets, filled with ice and dark green bottles of Dom Pérignon.
Beyond the serving area, Savannah could see an expansive living room, filled with the most inviting leather chairs and sofa. The accent tables and entertainment center were teak.
Objets d’art complimented the simple and sophisticated furniture: carved statuettes, enameled and bejeweled boxes, metal sculptures that depicted the wildlife of the Northwest, and books with fine leather bindings and gilt-edged pages.
Beyond the room and to the left, a door was open to what was, undoubtedly, the master bedroom suite. She caught glimpses of an exquisite silk bedspread, an enormous television, and the bathroom beyond with a soaking tub, fireplace, and floor-to-ceiling glass wall with an ocean view.
“Don’t get used to this,” she whispered to Dirk. “I’m pretty sure ours won’t be anything like this.”
“We’ll have to kick the chickens out before we can go to bed. Is that what you’re saying?” he returned.
“Pretty much.”
Before they even had time to take in the sights, the nontraditional butler was offering them each a glass of champagne.
Savannah held up her hand. “No, thank you. We’re on duty. We’ve come to discuss business with Ms. Van Cleef.”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” said a female voice from beyond the living room where the glass walls opened onto a large veranda. “Have a glass of champagne. Two if you like, and some hors d’oeuvres.”
Natasha Van Cleef strolled toward them, quite a different figure from the one who had visited their home. Gone was the formal suit and designer accessories. She floated into the room in a floor-length, brightly colored caftan that made her look like an oversized butterfly. Her magnificent silver hair lay, wild and loose, round her shoulders, and at first glance, she appeared to be a much younger woman.
It was only when she drew nearer and Savannah looked more closely that she could see the weariness on the woman’s face, the dark circles under her eyes, the puffiness that hinted that she might have been crying earlier.
Her demeanor seemed far less celebratory than her words as she took two glasses of champagne from the butler and handed one to Savannah, then the other to Dirk.
“This is a cruise,” she said, “and we’re in one of the most beautiful areas of the world. I should know. In my lifetime, I’ve traveled and seen more of it than most people. As your employer I demand you have a good time.”
Savannah looked into her glass and saw the tiniest of myriad, glistening bubbles that distinguished Dom Pérignon in the world of sparkling wines. What a lovely and unexpected treat, she thought.
“To Alaska.” Natasha Van Cleef lifted her glass to them. The miniature book charms on her bracelet glinted in the sunlight. “And to the Moonlight Magnolia Detective Agency, who will be keeping me safe and sound on this wonderful trip.”
“Here, here,” Dirk said, joining them in the toast. “We just want to get you back to Seattle, all in one piece.”
Savannah gulped. Okay, so Dirk’s toast wasn’t the most gracious in the world, but his heart was good. Or at least in the right place.
She stole a quick glance over at Natasha, to see if she was offended. But the author looked more amused than annoyed or nervous.
“Let’s go outside on the veranda and enjoy the view while we talk,” Natasha suggested. “Sooyung, bring along the champagne and those hors d’oeuvres, too. There’s no reason to starve just because we’re discussing business.”
Ah, a woman after my own heart, Savannah thought as she and Dirk followed Natasha. This collaboration might work out well, after all.
No sooner had the butler set a tray of the canapés on a nearby table than Dirk hurried over and nabbed a couple. He closed his eyes with rapture as the first one, some sort of wafer with a luscious lump of crabmeat, went down the hatch.
Savannah cringed when she saw his careless choice for the second tidbit, a cucumber round adorned with a dollop of some luscious cream and sprinkled liberally with red caviar. She remembered all too well his reaction when he had sampled caviar at Ryan and John’s restaurant opening. It had not been pretty. She’d been forced, out of a sense of common decency, to smuggle his grossly soiled napkin home in her purse, where she laundered it thoroughly before returning it.
Dirk despised anything that tasted, in his not-so-humble opinion, “too fishy.” He didn’t even like his fish to taste like fish.
Silently, she tried to send him a strong message using mental telepathy and a stern look. If you do anything other than swallow that, you’re dead.
He seemed to hear her, because he gave her a pathetic look of horror and helplessness before he began to gag. Unfortunately, in typical Dirk mode, he had downed his champagne in a couple of gulps and had none left.
With a sense of great sadness, knowing it would probably be years before she would, once again, have the opportunity to sip Dom Pérignon, she handed him her glass. In quintessential Savannah fashion, it was still mostly full.
In their little family of two, she was the sipper and savorer of the goodies. He was the old-fashioned Hoover vacuum cleaner, slurping up everything in sight without taking time to breathe, let alone savor.
But she did feel slightly satisfied when she saw the look of enormous gratitude on his face, once he had washed down the foul tidbit.
One rather serious social faux pas averted, she told herself proudly. But then, they had set sail less than an hour ago, so there was still plenty of time and ample opportunities ahead for him to embarrass her.
She stole a glance at their hostess to see if she had noticed, but the author’s back was turned to them. She was strolling to the other end of the spacious veranda, where a man was luxuriating in a hot tub. Nearby, a shapely young blonde lay face-down on a chaise lounge, soaking in the sun. She was getting quite a dose of it, too, because the teeny bikini she was almost wearing blocked precious few rays.
Like many sunbathing ladies, she had untied the strings across her back to avoid the telltale white lines that would interfere with the perfect tan.
Assuming they were meant to follow, Savannah and Dirk trailed behind Natasha as she approached the other two. But neither the man in the tub nor the blonde seemed to notice their arrival.
The woman appeared to be asleep, and the man was quite obviously fixated on her. More specifically, on her curvaceous rear end.
When he did notice them, he jumped, as though someone had just goosed his rear end, and donned the classic look of a guilty man caught in the act of ogling.
“Hi, honey,” he said, far too brightly. He ran his wet fingers through his thick salt-and-pepper hair. “I thought you were inside taking a nap.”
Savannah watched Natasha closely as she walked over to him, bent down, and pressed a kiss to his cheek. Apparently, she hadn’t noticed or didn’t mind.
“Darling,” Natasha said, “I’d like for you to meet the two primary members of our security detail. This lovely lady is the famous private detective, Savannah Reid herself, founder and owner of the Moonlight Magnolia Detective Agency. This is her husband, Sergeant Dirk Coulter, a celebrated and decorated detective in the San Carmelita Police Department.” She turned to Savannah and Dirk. “May I introduce my husband, Colin Van Cleef, the best husband any author could wish for. He leaves me alone when I need time to write. He brings me all sorts of delectable delights to keep my strength up when I’m facing tight deadlines, and most importantly, he never advises me on plots or characterization.”
Natasha gave his right earlobe a playful tweak. “Though he does assist me from time to time with research—for the sex scenes, that is.”
Savannah registered the odd and not very friendly look that Colin Van Cleef gave his wife over his shoulder. Though she wasn’t certain how to interpret it.
Annoyance? Deeply held resentment? Perhaps something even deeper than that?
Something told Savannah that perhaps there hadn’t been a lot of “research” going on lately.
She looked at Dirk, who was standing beside her, and she could tell that he was watching, too. They would have to compare notes later.
Natasha walked over to the young woman, who was still sleeping as peacefully as an infant in a stroller being wheeled about a park. Tapping on the blonde’s shoulder, she said, “Olive, dear, wake up. We have company.”
Apparently, the sunbather had been sound asleep, because she jumped up from the chaise as though someone had lit a tiki torch beneath it. So rattled was she that she left her bikini top on the lounge and sat there, displaying her bare bosoms to all present.
“What? What did you . . . I mean, do you, do you need me to do something for you, Ms. Van Cleef?” she mumbled semi-coherently.
“Indeed, I do, Olive,” Natasha replied in a stiff monotone. “I need you to put your bathing suit top on. If you happen to have a cover-up nearby, please use it immediately.”
Still groggy, the blonde looked around frantically, and seeing no sign of any substantial garment nearby, she snatched her
bikini top off the chaise. Jumping to her feet, she scurried away toward the nearest door, clutching her bare breasts in her hands.
“That,” Natasha said, “was my charming and efficient personal assistant, Olive Kelly. She’s better at her job than you might think from that first impression.” She sighed. “Not a lot better though, I must admit. I’ll be keeping her until the end of the cruise. After that she’s gone. I swear, I’m forced to change personal assistants more frequently than the hand towels in my guest bathroom.”
Savannah heard a sound behind her. When she turned she saw the butler escorting yet another woman onto the veranda. The newcomer had short dark hair and wore a black pantsuit and eyeglasses with heavy black rims.
One look at her face told everyone present that she was upset.
Instantly, Natasha hurried over to her and took her hand. “What is it, Patricia? What’s wrong?”
The woman looked at Savannah, then Dirk. “I don’t know if you want me to say anything. I mean, maybe we should speak alone.”
“It’s okay,” Natasha told her. “These are the security people I told you about, Savannah Reid and Dirk Coulter. If you have something to tell me, they need to hear it, too.”
Natasha turned to Savannah. “This is my dear friend and longtime editor, Patricia Chumley. You can trust her completely, as I do.”
Natasha led Patricia over to a chair and gently coaxed her onto it. “Now, what is it, darling? What’s wrong?”
The woman reached into the pocket of her pants and pulled out a white piece of paper.
Before she unfolded it and began to read, Savannah knew instinctively what it was.
Another letter.
Another threat.
Even Colin was concerned enough to crawl out of the hot tub, wrap a towel around his middle, and hurry over to stand beside his wife.
“What is it, Pat?” he asked. “What do you have there?”
“A letter. Someone shoved it under my door,” Patricia said. “It must’ve been while I was unpacking, because I’m sure it wasn’t there when I first entered the room.”
“You’ve read it?” Savannah asked, though she knew from the pallor of the woman’s face that she had, and it was bad.
Every Body on Deck Page 5
