Patricia nodded. “Yes. I thought it was for me. Some sort of bill or invitation or something from the ship’s staff. But once I read it, I knew it was from the same person who sent you the other one.”
Savannah pulled a clean tissue from her pocket, intending to use it as a makeshift glove to handle this new piece of evidence. But before she could make a move to take it from Patricia, Natasha had grabbed it.
As Natasha snatched the paper from her editor, Savannah could see her client’s fingers trembling. Natasha held it up and read the message aloud, her voice shaking even more than her hands:
Count the hours. Hours. Minutes. Count them and enjoy them. That’s all you have left.
Chapter 7
Savannah had always imagined that authors led pretty cushy lives, lounging on satin fainting couches, nibbling bonbons, sipping wine, and dictating their latest book to shirtless Chippendale-esque hunks sitting on overstuffed ottomans at their feet.
That was when they were not getting full body hot oil massages and going on trips to exotic ports of call to “research.”
Hence, Savannah had always wanted to be an author when she grew up someday.
Being married, she would, of course, allow Dirk to take her dictation, as long as he did it bare chested and wearing his snuggest jeans. Since she was so benevolent and considerate, she would even furnish him with a comfortable chair.
But Savannah decided to reevaluate her opinion of the author’s lifestyle as, only a few minutes after they had received that awful note, Natasha Van Cleef was sitting at her dressing table, applying her makeup and twisting her abundance of wild curls into an elegant updo.
Pretty good work ethic, she thought, considering. Most people would be curled into a fetal position on their bed, refusing to leave their suite for any reason whatsoever.
Savannah sat nearby, on the edge of the king-sized bed, watching quietly. But when for the third time Natasha dropped one of her makeup items, she had to say something. “Are you sure you have to go to this predinner meet and greet? I’m sure your fans would understand if you didn’t show up, under the circumstances.”
Natasha bent over and scooped up the mascara tube from the floor. She tossed it into the ostrich-skin makeup case in front of her. “My fans won’t understand, because if I have anything to do about it, they’ll never know. I’m depending upon your agency to be most discreet about this horrid situation.”
“We certainly will be,” Savannah assured her. “But what about the other people who know? Surely you’ve mentioned it to the ship staff.”
“The captain is aware, and yes, we had to alert the security officers.”
“As well as those closest to you? Your friends and relatives?”
“No. The only people I know personally aboard this ship are Colin, Olive, and Patricia. No one else in my personal circles is aware of this. That’s the way I want to keep it.”
“Then I hope everyone involved respects your wishes and protects your privacy.”
Even as Savannah uttered the words, she knew it was a case of “Hope springs eternal, but people have loose lips.”
It was a bit naive to think that people would keep something as spooky and juicy as anonymous death threats to themselves, even personal assistants, editors, husbands, or ship security staff.
Natasha glanced at the clock. “I’m going to have to get dressed. I’m expected in the library in ten minutes.”
Savannah stood. “Then I’ll leave you to it. But first I just want to ask you one quick question.”
Natasha reached into her makeup bag and pulled out an amber medicine bottle. She removed a small tablet and popped it, then pushed her makeup case away from her and turned to face Savannah. “I usually don’t have to take a pill before an appearance. But you’re making me nervous, and that is not what I hired you for.”
“I’m sorry. Truly I am. But it’s just a simple, standard question under these circumstances, so please don’t take offense.”
“Usually people say that right before they utter something highly offensive.”
Savannah chuckled. “That’s true. But I have only the best of intentions. I’m just trying to keep you safe.”
“Ask.”
“From the moment you stepped on this ship until right now, have Mr. Van Cleef and Olive been with you?”
The expression on Natasha Van Cleef’s face went from guarded to serious in a heartbeat. “What kind of question is that?”
Savannah locked eyes with her client and gave her the same sapphire blue lasers that she usually reserved for hardened criminals. “Necessary. That’s what kind of question it is, and I need an honest and accurate answer.”
Natasha rose and walked over to stand uncomfortably close to Savannah. The two women were nearly nose to nose.
“If you start questioning the characters and intentions of the people closest to me,” Natasha said, her amber eyes flashing, “you and I are not going to get along very well or be working together very long.”
“So be it,” Savannah replied with equal intensity. “For as long as we are together, you need to help me protect you. The best way you can do that is to be completely honest with me. Did your husband or your assistant leave your sight at any time since you boarded this ship?”
Natasha stood, glaring at Savannah, her fists clenched at her sides, for what seemed like forever. Finally, to Savannah’s relief, she said, “Yes.”
“Which of them?”
“Both.”
“Together?”
“No.”
“When and what reason did they give?”
“I sent Olive to buy a couple of pens. Bold markers that I like to use for book signing. She forgot to pack them.”
“Was she gone long?”
“Yes. Olive’s a nitwit. It takes her forever to do anything.”
Savannah drew a breath and nodded. “Okay, and your husband?”
“I asked him to go buy us some Bonine. She forgot to pack that, too.”
“Bonine? What’s that?”
“Motion sickness medicine. I highly recommend it, if you intend to enjoy your cruise.”
Savannah filed that tidbit away for future reference. “How long was he gone?”
Natasha sighed, exasperated, and glanced again at her watch. “About as long as it would take to run downstairs and purchase such a thing. I now have seven minutes, Ms. Reid. Are we quite finished here?”
“We are. For now.”
“Then, hopefully, you and I won’t be seeing each other until tomorrow afternoon at the earliest.”
“Tomorrow afternoon?”
“That’s correct. This evening I’ll be dining at the captain’s table. I can’t imagine that anything terrible would befall us there. Then tomorrow morning I’ll be having breakfast in my suite and a nice long massage afterward, again, here in my suite.”
“That sounds lovely,” Savannah said without enthusiasm.
“I’m sure it will be. So I won’t need to be babysat until tomorrow afternoon at the earliest.”
Savannah smiled, but her eyes were anything but friendly. “Oh, no, Ms. Van Cleef. You’ll see me again in just a few moments when you step outside this suite. In fact, you’ll see me every time you step outside the security of this suite. That’s just part of the protection that my agency is determined to afford you.”
Natasha’s cheeks flushed red with indignation. “Now how is that going to look? Everywhere I go on this ship, I’ll have you tagging along behind me? Certainly nothing suspicious about that.”
“I understand,” Savannah said in the most soothing tone that she could muster. “We’ll compromise. It won’t be only me following you. My agency members will take turns. No one will be the wiser, I promise.”
Natasha didn’t look happy, and she certainly didn’t look convinced.
It occurred to Savannah that perhaps this was why John and Ryan were doing less body guarding these days and spending more and more time in their restaurant. More th
an once they had told her stories of clients who paid for their protection, then balked at the lack of privacy that required.
“It’s going to be okay, Ms. Van Cleef. Really. You won’t even know we’re there, unless you need us. You’re going to have a wonderful time on this cruise. Your fans will be delighted to meet you, and we’re going to keep all of you safe and sound.”
Once again, Natasha glanced at her watch. “I now have six minutes to dress and get downstairs to greet my most loyal fans, who have spent thousands of dollars to go on this cruise and to meet and chat with me. Do you mind if I do that?”
Savannah bowed her head in a gracious nod, then headed for the door. “I’ll be waiting outside to escort you down.”
* * *
As Savannah took yet another sip of her Alaska king crab and brie soup, held it in her mouth, and delighted in every nuance of the multilayered flavors, she silently thanked the woman who was seated at the next table. The captain’s table.
So near, and yet so far away.
For the past twenty minutes, as Savannah and the other members of her agency sat at the noncaptain’s regular ol’ table, she had done her best to catch Natasha Van Cleef’s eye, if for no other reason than to reestablish their former rapport. But Natasha had quite successfully avoided her gaze as she chatted happily with the ship’s handsome captain, who was seated next to her.
Apparently he was quite charmed by her, as he neglected his other eight dining companions seated at the large, circular table and focused his full attention on his celebrity guest.
Being invited to a captain’s table on any ship was a cruiser’s dream. But until their dying day, the lucky folk at his table tonight would be sharing their memory of the auspicious occasion with observations like: “It was okay, I guess, sitting at the captain’s table, except for that loudmouthed author. I swear, the more wine she drank the louder she got. The rest of us didn’t have a chance to get a word in edgewise.”
“That Natasha gal was pretty miffed at you,” Dirk said between bites of soup. “What did you say to her there in the bedroom that got her so mad? She didn’t speak a single word to us all the way down to the library.”
While Savannah was relieved to see that he was using his very best table manners—she might have mentioned something about torture, death, and dismemberment if he picked his teeth at the table—she wasn’t in the mood to share every nuance of that miserable bedroom conversation with the entire table.
She shrugged and tried to deliver the briefest of explanations as casually as possible. “I asked her if she knew her husband’s and personal assistant’s whereabouts from the time they boarded until they got that ugly note. Now she’s a mite peeved.”
Granny nabbed another hot roll from the basket, snickered, and said, “I reckon she was. That’s pretty much like asking, ‘Do you reckon your husband’s got it out for you? Think he might be intendin’ to bump you off?’”
Tammy picked at her salad, searching for the darkest green leaves. “Actually, it’s not that outrageous of a question, considering,” she said.
Savannah could practically feel her own ears perking up. “Considering what?”
“Considering what I read on the Internet.”
“By all means, do tell!”
As Waycross selected his own darkest leaves and transferred them to Tammy’s plate, she explained, “I found several gossip columnists claiming that the Van Cleefs are splitting up. More specifically, that she’s leaving him.”
Savannah nearly choked on her soup. “When were you going to tell us this juicy little tidbit?”
Tammy shrugged. “You know how it is. Those gossip mongers aren’t always right. I thought I’d wait for corroborating evidence before I leveled such an accusation.”
Granny gave her an incredulous look. “I applaud your good intentions and noble ethics there, girl. But a body’s gotta be sensible about these things. If you’ve got dirt on somebody, and they’re being threatened with a killin’, you spread it around, pronto.”
“Gran’s right there, Tamitha,” Savannah said. “If you’ve got anything else that you’re holding back, for some goofy reason like common decency, spill it. Here. Now.”
Tammy drew a deep breath. “Okay. He’s having an affair with that silly little personal assistant of hers. He’s a degenerate gambler—gambled away all of his own money. He’s been embezzling Natasha’s. And he got drunk and slapped her at a backyard party they were giving a couple of months ago for their family and closest friends. Everybody there saw it happen and figures she’ll divorce him before the end of the year. Other than that, I gather he’s a pretty nice guy.”
Everyone at the table sat in stunned silence. Finally, Savannah found her voice. “Tammy, I have to tell you, I’m surprised and disappointed in you, keeping all this good stuff to yourself. I thought I raised you better.”
But Tammy didn’t appear to be particularly devastated at the news that Savannah was unhappy with her. Waycross had just delivered his spinach and watercress to her plate, along with a rose radish and spiral of carrot, and she was happily devouring them.
Shaking her head, Savannah finished the last spoonful of her soup and reached down into the tote that she had stashed beneath her chair. “Which reminds me,” she said, addressing Tammy, “I do appreciate the fact that you were able to make copies of that manifest earlier.”
“You’re welcome,” Tammy replied, nonchalantly munching on a bit of cucumber. “Any time.”
Savannah selected two of the four copies and slipped them into a manila envelope. Since each copy was several pages long, it made a fairly hefty package.
Thick enough anyway, she decided as she rose from her chair.
“I’ll be back in a minute,” she said. Then to Dirk she added, “If they bring out the main course before I get back, don’t you dare touch mine. Remember what I told you about dismemberment. Fingers in particular.”
“Your dinner’s safe with me, sugar,” he told her. “Though if it’s got any fresh vegetables in it, Miss Preggers over there might bury her face in it.”
Savannah walked quickly and directly from their table to the captain’s. Natasha Van Cleef didn’t notice her approach. In fact, Natasha didn’t see Savannah at all until she was leaning over her left shoulder.
Natasha glanced up, jumped, and couldn’t have looked more startled if she had found herself cheek to cheek with a werewolf. “You!” was all she seemed able to say.
“Yes, ma’am, just little ol’ me,” Savannah said, slathering on the Southern drawl and charm. “Remember earlier when we ran into each other in the lobby? You said you’d be willing to read those first three sample chapters of my novel and give me your opinion?”
Savannah shoved the manila envelope under Natasha’s nose. “Here it is. I have to tell you this is such an honor. I’m just tickled pink that you’d take the time to do this for me, considering how busy you are.”
Savannah turned to the captain, who appeared to be almost as surprised as Natasha at this impromptu interruption of their fine dinner. “Isn’t she wonderful, Captain?” Savannah gushed. “To take time to help the little people, and her so famous and all. It just restores a body’s faith in humanity. It truly does.”
Tapping Colin on the shoulder, she told him, “I would be plum thrilled to death if you’d take the time to give it a look-see, too, Mr. Van Cleef. You never know, there might be something there that would interest you, as well.”
Sensing that Natasha was about to hit her over the head with the nearest wine bottle, Savannah decided it was time to make a graceful exit.
As graceful as possible under the circumstances.
As she backed away from the table, she delivered a closing remark. “Just look it over, Ms. Van Cleef. I’ll check back with you later to see what you thought of it.”
She hurried back to her seat, convinced that she could feel eyeball darts stabbing her in the back as she scurried along.
When she sat down in her ch
air, she glanced across the table and saw that Dirk was grinning at her, a look of amazement, respect, and disbelief on his face. “You didn’t.”
“I did. That’s what she gets for ignoring me and giving me the cold shoulder. We need her to look over that manifest, and him, too. If they recognize any of those names, we might have our wanna-be killer.”
Savannah glanced down the table at her father-in-law, a retired police officer himself. He was giving her a smirk that was very similar to the one on his son’s face.
“Well done, Daughter-in-law,” he said with a wink. “I can see why my son enjoyed having you for a partner back in the day.” Then Richard turned to Ryan. “Did you get anywhere with the chief security guard about a possible camera in that hallway outside the editor’s room?”
“Absolutely nowhere,” Ryan replied. “It was a total waste of time.”
John nodded. “Not only was he a bloody unpleasant fellow, but they have no cameras installed in their hallways. Not a one.”
Richard looked surprised. “Seriously? For some reason I thought every inch of this ship would be under surveillance at all times.”
“You would think so, would you not?” John said. “Lately, the odd bit of skullduggery aboard such ships has popped up in the news far too often.”
“You’d think they’d be scared of somebody suing ’em,” Waycross added. “If every Tom, Dick, and Harry’s all-night convenience store can afford a camera, you’d think a ship like this could fit it into their budget somehow.”
“You would,” Ryan agreed. “Some ships have full surveillance of all public areas. But it seems the only cameras they have aboard this ship are the ones at the entrances, to capture the likenesses of everyone entering and leaving, and some others positioned over areas where money is being exchanged: shop cash registers, the bars, the casinos, et cetera.”
“That’s a bite in the hindquarters,” Granny said.
“No kidding.” Savannah was about to say more, but the waiter had just slid an amazing plate of food in front of her.
Every Body on Deck Page 6
