No one paid any attention. Everyone was having too much fun trying to kill each other. Finally, Max did one of his ear-splitting whistles, and everyone froze mid-swing.
Phyllis nodded her thanks to Max, then glowered down at the crowd. “I spent all day yesterday puking in my cabin, and I finally got myself together to compete in this contest. I’m not about to get disqualified because of a bunch of loose-cannon hairdressers.”
A guy with green hair poked his head above the throng. “Who died and made you king?” Silence followed, along with the smell of fear. “I mean, queen.”
Phyllis narrowed her eyes. “And my vision’s almost twenty-twenty, so I’d watch what you’re saying. Now, I aim to fix up my model and win that money. Anyone else with the same agenda, shut up and get back to work.”
“She’s baa-ack,” Max sang.
Everyone gloomily picked up combs and brushes off the floor.
Tantig blinked straight ahead. “Do I look young-air?”
“Almost, Tantig.” Max worked fiendishly. “Almost.”
* * *
After three long hours, I gave my mother a final appraisal. Not only could she have passed for a younger, gorgeous Sophia Loren, but there was a radiance to her complexion and timeless beauty to her face that even I had never noticed before.
I gazed over at Tantig. Max had worked wonders on her. Her white hair was swept up with soft curls kissing her face, and her makeup had been applied with such grace and precision, twenty years had easily been erased. It was up to the judges now.
We all filed out of the auditorium, snacking on hors d’oeuvres while the judges deliberated. There was a lot of guessing as to who would win, and after a tense hour, we were herded back in for the results.
Jock stood at the head of the room beside two senior crew members in white uniforms and a raven-haired supermodel who represented Adore It Products. Naturally. Couldn’t send a middle-aged guy from management to represent the company. Nooo. Had to be a gorgeous knockout.
I rubbed my sore butt, hoping the blow dryer didn’t bruise me when I fell on it. Then I looked down at myself, covered in powder, red dye that had now darkened, and other goop. So what. If I won that prize money, I’d be the one looking pretty.
Max flicked powder out of my hair. “What’s Jock doing up there?” he whispered.
“He’s Superman, remember? Leaps over tall buildings, has extraordinary hearing, X-ray vision.” Boy, did I know about the X-ray vision. My loins warmed just thinking about his power to see through me.
Jock spotted me in the crowd and gave one of his penetrating looks, like he’d heard every word.
I almost swallowed my tongue, not that he’d care. He looked pretty cozy, standing beside the supermodel.
“He was a judge?” Max asked.
I shushed him. “We’re talking about Jock, right? Anything’s possible.”
Max leaned in closer. “Isn’t that what’s-her-name, the Romanian supermodel?”
“Shhh,” Phyllis hissed. “I’m trying to hear.”
The supermodel put her lips to Jock’s ear and whispered something that brought a devilish smile to his face.
He nodded and whispered something back, and I was having a hard time keeping calm. No wonder he wasn’t participating in the contest. Probably contributing to the competition backstage. Animal.
Miss Romania brought her attention back to us minions and waved a check in the air. Then she spoke with a strong accent. “And the winner is…”
I held my breath, closed my eyes, and chanted, “For the kids, for the kids.”
“Lucy Jacobs!”
“Woo-hoo!” Lucy dropped her bag by Sabrina. “Look out, you lowlifes. Let the winner through.” She shoved people out of the way, and I choked back tears. I’d almost tasted that prize money. Now I’d let those poor kids down.
I glanced over at Lucy’s model and fixed a sincere smile on my face. She did look incredible. More than incredible. Plastic surgery couldn’t have breathed life into her like Lucy had in the past few hours.
There was grumbling among the crowd. Then Kashi slid a small item into Lucy’s bag. Sabrina was two feet away, watching him. He moved closer and said something to her. She nodded and replied.
My eyes opened wide. What was that all about? Did Sabrina know Kashi? Were they playing a trick on Lucy? And what about Molly whispering in Sabrina’s ear earlier? Was something going on? Or was my imagination running away with me?
“This is so unfair.” Phyllis crossed her arms. “All I had to go through with Clive, and she wins. I’m going to the after-dinner buffet, then bed.”
I knew how Phyllis felt. Disappointment flooded my veins. My pledge to the hospital wasn’t enormous in the grand scheme of things, and it wasn’t critical to the wing being built, but a promise was a promise. On top of which, Valentine Beaumont wasn’t a quitter. I’d simply have to find another way to get the rest of the money.
“Don’t forget,” Max sang as she shoved off. “Only spareribs and cornbread. No fruit or veggies.”
Lucy finally made it to the front and ripped the check away from the supermodel’s hand. “I’ll take that.” She strutted down the aisle like a peacock, stopping short in front of Max and me. “Drinks are on me in my cabin.” She gathered her things. “You losers coming?”
“Sure,” Max said under his breath. “I love going where I’m appreciated.”
* * *
Lucy’s cabin was identical to Phyllis’s and mine, same floor, different wing. Two bunks. Pee hole for a bathroom. She shared her cabin with Sabrina, who was presently pouring wine for everyone. There was a picture on the nightstand of Sabrina and Lucy that I thought odd but sweet.
I wasn’t much in the mood for a celebration, but I congratulated Lucy on her win. While she was rehashing her big moment, I eyed the photograph. Looked like a third person had been cut out—all but one arm—so the photo would fit in the frame. I didn’t want it to appear that I was snooping, which I was. But even from a distance, I could see there was something on the person’s arm. A birthmark? A tattoo? A scrape in the photograph?
Sabrina held out a glass to me.
“No wine for me. Thanks.”
“She can’t handle herself after one sip.” Max swooped the glass out of Sabrina’s hand. “I’ll have her share.”
A few minutes later, there was a knock on the door. “Anybody home? It is I, Kashi.”
Lucy flung open the door. “Cashew! Come on in. Hey, you’re in a new suit.”
“Yes.” He overlooked the slight on his name. “My luggage arrived safely and soundly. I say we bury the steel hatchet.” He pulled his hand from around his back. “To celebrate, I bring chocolate-dipped strawberries. Fit for a princess. You like?”
“Sure, I like. What do you want to drink?”
“Kashi is easy.” He placed the carton of strawberries on the table. “A raspberry daiquiri in a martini glass with a slice of pineapple pierced with a green umbrella. Two straws.”
Lucy cocked an eyebrow up at him. “We’ve got wine or beer.”
“Beer is good.”
The minutes flew by. I munched on a strawberry, trying to listen enthusiastically to the chatter though my mind was still on losing and letting down the sick kids. Max said something funny, and everyone laughed. Everyone but Kashi. He was busy emptying a vial of blue liquid into Lucy’s red wine that was sitting behind her on the nightstand.
I almost choked on my strawberry. I gasped for air and grabbed Max’s wine out of his hand.
“Hey!” He watched me toss back the last ounce of his drink. “What are you doing?”
“Time to go,” I sputtered, heady from the wine rush. “Tomorrow’s the first port of call.”
“But Lucy was telling me about the time she played Dorothy in The Wizard of Oz.”
He could’ve told me cannibals pee in their soup. Kashi spiking Lucy’s drink alarmed me, and I had to do something before I screamed. I set the glass on the nightstand, deliberatel
y knocking Lucy’s glass over.
“Oops!” I feigned shock. “Clumsy me.”
“No problem.” Lucy reached for an unopened bottle of wine. “I can drink from the bottle.”
* * *
“What was that all about?” Max wanted to know once we were stumbling down the hallway.
I pulled him aside to let another couple pass. “I saw Kashi slip something into Lucy’s drink. What if it was poison?”
“I knew there was a reason I liked him.”
I clouted him in the arm.
“Ouch! What’d you do that for?”
“This isn’t a joke. What if Kashi had killed Lucy?”
He did a small shrug. “Then the judges will have wished they’d picked another winner.”
Why me? “He also slid something in her bag when she went up to collect her winnings.”
Max gave a dismissive wave. “Maybe he dropped a mint by mistake.”
I blew air out my nose in frustration. “It wasn’t a mint. And it wasn’t by mistake. Look, something’s going on, and I’m getting freaked out. I’ve had enough experience to recognize bad karma, and I want to be far away from any disaster should there be one.”
“Why didn’t you say so? We’re Thelma and Louise! You say scoot, I’m ready.”
“You’re never ready. You’re always fussing, or moaning, or giving excuses.”
“Yeah, but I’m ready when it counts.”
Oh Lord. If Thelma and Louise had days like this, it’s no wonder they drove off a cliff.
“Look,” Max said, putting on his Mr. Rationale hat. “You’re not thinking straight. All this sun and sea air is probably getting to you.”
I tapped my toe. “We’ve been at sea for one day.”
His eyebrows went up. “Okay. Maybe back in the cabin you didn’t see what you thought you saw.”
“I saw Kashi empty a vial of blue liquid into Lucy’s red wine. What else could it have been?”
He looked up at the ceiling, pondering this. Then he brightened. “Maybe Kashi slipped Lucy something to help her sleep off the excitement of the day.”
He evaluated my deadpan face. “Or maybe they’re closer than we know, and he was giving her medicine.”
I tried to keep from rolling my eyes, but they seemed to have a mind of their own.
“What!” Max countered. “We don’t know what it’s like to be a little person. Maybe Lucy needs certain supplements or medication to help her function.”
He had a point. “Sabrina’s her roommate. Why wouldn’t she be the one to give Lucy meds?”
Max tilted his head back and forth. “Maybe Lucy and Kashi are more…intimate.”
“Thanks for that thought.”
Clearly, I’d be on guard from what I witnessed tonight. I’d especially keep my eyes and ears open where Kashi was concerned. But was I overreacting? Was Max right with his theories? I bit my lip. How would a detective view all this? More especially, what would Romero think? Should I call him and find out? Reluctantly, I had to admit that getting his take on things would be a huge help.
We arrived at our hallway, and Max gave me a hug goodnight, then slid into his cabin. I tiptoed into our room, hoping Phyllis was asleep. I wasn’t in the mood for more tirades on how unfair the contest was. I was in luck. She did a couple grizzly-bear snorts, then rolled toward the wall.
I slipped into the bathroom, dumped my bag in the fishbowl of a sink, and dug out my cell phone. I glared at the screen, apprehension suddenly filling me about calling Romero. Where was he? What was he doing? And why was I calling him about anything? He didn’t even have the decency to let me know if he was alive or injured in some California alley.
I strummed my fingers on the countertop. It’d be too expensive to call anyway. Probably cheaper to wait until we pulled into port. But what about what I saw tonight? If nothing else, Romero would offer professional advice. Furthermore, hadn’t my wealthy clients Birdie and Betty Cutler paid for a mega international calling plan as a going-away gift? Darn right they had.
I kicked off my heels and stood there, wiggling my feet on the cold tile, thinking of the night not long ago when Romero had shown concern about my foot. True, I was injured at the time and in the Berkshires investigating a murder. Not exactly a romantic getaway, but he’d been there and was worried about my well-being.
I stared at my phone, my heart giving a thump. I’d simply call his house on the off chance he’d wrapped up his case early and was now back in Rueland. That was acceptable, right? I absolutely drew the line at trying his cell number. If he was still working in California, he wouldn’t appreciate me distracting him because of something I saw—something that was probably totally innocent. He’d only think I was checking up on him. I pressed my lips together, dialed his home number, and waited.
This was pointless. He wasn’t home, and he likely never used his landline. If I hadn’t found his home number on my own, I wouldn’t even have it. I was about to hit END when someone picked up. My heart lurched, the anticipation of hearing his low, sexy voice almost too much to bear.
“Hello?” answered a voice. Not Romero. A woman.
What? Did I dial wrong? I gasped into the phone, then glanced at the readout. Right number. Wrong person. I forced back a dry swallow and hung up. There. Happy? Now this woman would tell him some heavy breather called and hung up. Like I was a stalker. Erg!
Mumbling miserably to myself, I threw everything back into my bag, shook the powder out of my hair, washed up, and snapped off the light. I had enough happening in my life without worrying about who Romero was bonking. I’d handle my suspicions about Kashi on my own, give a handsome donation to Rueland Memorial once I’d saved up, and live my life to the fullest.
Romero? Ha! Who needed him?
CHAPTER FOUR
I pounded back the covers at six-thirty the next morning. I’d had a fitful night’s sleep, agonizing over where I stood with Romero. No more. I was a woman in control. I had other things to concentrate on. Like this business with Kashi and Lucy. And Max’s theories. I climbed down the bunk ladder, grabbed my cell phone, and slid quietly past Phyllis into the bathroom to call my best friend, Twix. I needed a sounding board. And since I couldn’t talk to Romero, what were best friends for?
Because it was Sunday and there was no daycare, she’d be sleeping in, letting Tony look after the kids. I didn’t want to wake her, but in a few hours, I’d be heading into Nassau, and I had to talk before I left the ship.
“I agree with Max,” Twix said, after I shared my Kashi story. “I think you’ve gotten involved in one too many murder cases. It’s starting to cloud your thinking.”
“Gee, thanks.”
She yawned loudly. “You’re the one who phoned me at the crack of stupid, remember? Anyway, why don’t you just call that hunk, Romero?”
“Because.”
“Because why?”
I filled her in about my attempted phone call and Romero’s whereabouts. The more I talked, the more ticked I became. After I explained about the female voice, an idea struck me. I closed my eyes tight and made a teensy request.
“You want me to what?” The way Twix said it, it almost sounded wicked.
I opened my eyes wide. “You think I’m nuts?”
“What, because you want me to drive over to his place, snoop through his mailbox, peek in his windows, and see who he’s pumping?”
“When you put it that way, yes!” I frowned. “Wait. Forget I said anything. I must be going crazy.”
“No, you’re not.”
“I don’t want you snooping in Romero’s mail,” I said. “He’s ten minutes away. Drive by and see if there’s any sign of life.”
“You mean, see if they’re doing the dirty deed on the front lawn.” I could see the smile spread across Twix’s face. “Quite a change from the I-don’t-want-any-men-in-my-life Valentine I used to know. I’m almost afraid to ask what it’s like being on a cruise ship with Jock.”
Twix was mesmerized
by Jock. When she was in his presence, I’d often had to slip her a tissue to wipe the drool from the corners of her mouth.
“Good. Don’t ask.” I didn’t want to visualize Jock and Miss Romania together, and I wasn’t going to share any doubts about him with Twix. It was true. I didn’t even know myself anymore. And I hated that I sounded desperate where Romero was concerned.
“You could call the station,” she suggested. “They’d tell you where he is.”
“I’d rather drink a peroxide milkshake with a”—I stumbled for the perfect garnish, then thought of Mr. Jaworski—“maraschino cherry on top.”
She snickered. “Cops still ribbing you about your past perm-rod caper?”
“Nooooo.” I did a sarcastic tongue click. “They’re all adults there. They’ve moved on.”
She sighed. “What the hell. I’ll do it. After all, what are best friends for?”
This was what I had to put up with in a best friend? Why was I so blessed?
I showered, brushed my hair, and stroked on mascara. Since my skin was beginning to tan—something I had going for me—I applied only light makeup and picked out pretty sundress number two. Most people would be jaunting around in T-shirts and shorts, but I didn’t do T-shirts, and I wasn’t sure I even owned shorts. Besides, what could a T-shirt do that a cute summer dress couldn’t do better?
I hiked from our air-conditioned cabin to the deck where the hot sea air blew on me in a morning salute. I leaned over the railing and watched crewmen anchor the ship against the dock. Vendors along the pier were displaying clothes, baskets, and sandals. Lure for disembarking passengers.
I turned away from the railing, my thoughts circling back to Kashi and Lucy and my probable misconceived notions about him poisoning her. Twix was right. Those past cases were clouding my thinking. I was on a cruise, for Pete’s sake. Nobody was poisoning anyone.
I waved to Sabrina in her jogging suit as she did a lap around the ship. Then Tantig stepped onto the deck in her white Nikes and a fresh polyester, patterned dress, her beautiful hairdo from yesterday looking like it’d been jammed in a wind turbine. It was already eighty degrees, and she was clutching a sweater. She steadied herself, then shuffled off in the other direction.
Murder, Curlers, and Cruises Page 5
