I gaped down at the concealed room, another half level below the other workstations. I was still nervous about this idea. If I had any sense, I’d wheel Clive in the opposite direction and hightail it back to ocean level. Unfortunately, the only thing on my mind was finding Tantig.
I peered from Clive’s scrawny body up to the panel on the wall. “How’d you get up there?”
He motored around in the wheelchair like it was second nature and opened a closet door. “Ladder.” He gestured inside like he had more upstairs than I gave him credit for.
My heart grew more anxious by the minute. Nothing stopping me now.
I studied the screws on the ductwork, then turned back to Clive. “And opening the panel?”
He burped. “Swiss army knife.” He patted his mostly naked body. “Never leave home without it.”
I looked down at his black Speedo. If he had an army knife on him, I didn’t want to know where it was.
It was spooky being deep in the cavity of the ship, but I studied where the ductwork ended above me, thankfully, out of sight from the action below. A heavy-duty nail file would undo the screws to allow me entrance into the ductwork. I looked over at the closet. Unless it had tools inside.
I wandered into the cubbyhole and scanned the area. A few buckets, mops, and other cleaning supplies. Nothing that would undo the plate. Nail file it was!
I shut the door and turned back to the others.
Phyllis was leaning against a control panel, her fruity hat askew on her head, her hand resting on a valve. She sighed. “My legs are sore.”
“Phyllis,” I said, not wanting to compound my fears, “could you step away from that valve?”
She straightened, looked at what she was leaning on, and backed away.
I combed through my bag, pulled out my nail file, and stepped toward the ductwork.
Clive reached for my arm. “You can’t go now.”
“Why not?”
“Becaush. She’s not alone. Rita’s there with her. And I’m tellin’ ya, she won’t like it when she sees you poking around.”
“How do you know Sabrina’s in there? You saw all this yesterday.”
“I can smell her perfume.”
“From here?” Maybe he had a point. I put my wrist to my nose. Despite the oily smells and dusty air from the fans, my perfume was distinct and lasted forever. I swept my arm in front of Clive. “Can you smell my perfume?”
He wiped his wet nose on my arm. “Heyyy, you’re wearing the same one.”
“You dolt,” Phyllis said. “That is the perfume you’re smelling.”
“Okay,” I said, trying to remain calm. “Assuming Sabrina’s wearing the same perfume, is it possible she could be in there? When did you see her last, Phyllis?”
“Breakfast.”
“And I saw her at lunch.” When she kissed Football Guy and darted for the elevator. Maybe Clive was right. She could’ve left Football Guy and zipped straight to the secret room to keep an eye on Tantig. I fixed my stare back on the ductwork. I’d love to know how she made it down there. Surely, she didn’t climb through the ductwork with Tantig. Which again had me thinking there had to be a connection to someone who knew the layout of the ship. “So, how am I going to get Tantig out?”
Clive shrugged. “But I wouldn’t do it when the boyfriend’s around. He looks big and mean.”
“Boyfriend?”
“The guy with the shnake tattoo. He went storming into the room after Rita took Tantig in there.”
I swallowed heavily. More puzzle pieces were being dumped on me, but I couldn’t put them in place.
“This guy,” I said, “with the snake tattoo. Did he look familiar?”
Clive hiccupped. “Never seen him before.”
Of course. Clive couldn’t remember meeting me five minutes ago. Why was I hoping he’d recognize the tattoo guy? If I’d been on the ball, I would’ve taken a picture of Football Guy in the bistro earlier. Another missed opportunity.
“Did he see you?” I asked.
“Are you kidding? He meant business. I hid in that compartment.” He pointed to a metal box across from the hidden room with slanted vents on the two doors. Reminded me of my old high school locker, only shorter and wider. Not big enough for the Hulk, but comfortable for someone Clive’s size. Or mine. “Wasn’t nothing in it but bags of salt,” he continued. “Rita came back out of the room with the boyfriend, and they did some talkin’. From what I gathered”—burp—“they’re taking turns. I shaw Rita hang up the key after he left, then went back inshide.”
“Did he leave through the ductwork?”
Clive shook his head. “Nope. He dishappeared around that corner of the room. Same way Rita came and went. I followed her this far, then I spotted her down on the lower level comin’ around that corner. That’s when I deshided to go down through the ductwork.”
What scared me most was I was beginning to understand Clive’s slurs and poor grammar, and worse, his thought process. “Where’s the key she hung up?”
He pointed to a blue box near the door. “Over there, hanging on the other side of that box.”
I glanced from the box to Clive. “Look, I can’t leave Tantig down there another minute. I’m going down. You two can get help.”
He clutched my arm. “You can’t do that. If he comes back, he’ll shoot you. And if he don’t, she will.”
“You aren’t saying he has a gun.” I shot him an apprehensive look. “Are you?”
“That’s exactly what I’m saying.”
I sniffed back a sob. Life wouldn’t be the same without Tantig. “I don’t care.” Guilt and fear clawed at me, just thinking about abandoning her. “What kind of person would I be, leaving my great-aunt down there?”
“A smart person,” Phyllis said.
Coming from her, I wasn’t sure that was such a compliment.
“You’re not thinking straight,” Clive said. “And you’re askin’ for trouble. After I saw the hidey-hole earlier, I passed the boyfriend in the hall. I heard him say into his phone that if anyone tried to interfere with their plans, he’d kill the old girl.” Clive shook his head. “He wasn’t messing around. I wouldn’t want Tantig’s death on my plate.”
I listened to his words, choking up inside at the thought of causing Tantig’s death. The sensible thing to do would be to notify the captain. Let him handle it. But if he alerted the wrong people, and someone from the crew was involved, I’d potentially be putting Tantig in more danger.
“Lemme give you some advice.” He straightened in his wheelchair and held his head up best he could. “Go back up to the shunny part of the ship and carry on as if nothing’s happened. Then, come back down tonight when the big dinner is on.”
“What big dinner?”
“The Western-themed dinner. Probably you’ll see Rita and the boyfriend at the meal, and if they’re there, you can come down here.”
It made perfect sense. Of course, at the moment, I was willing to accept anything that sounded reasonable.
“All right,” I said, thinking this through. “Since we’re not sure if Tantig is alone, I’ll come back later during dinner, use the key, and free her.” It was possible later she wouldn’t be alone either, but I was forcing myself to think positively. It was the only way I’d get through this.
“See?” Phyllis said. “Everything works out.”
I shifted my stare to her, wondering how helpful she wanted to be. “Are you volunteering to come back later with me?”
Her eyes went wide. “Not on your life. I’m not climbing down no ductwork. My feet haven’t circulated properly since my hike in the rainforest. And now I feel as if I’ve climbed down Mount Everest.”
Clive’s head dropped low like he was taking in Phyllis’s feet. His matted beard brushed his knees, his lip curled up in disgust. “I need a drink.” He closed one eye like a pirate and stared up at me. “How ’bout that promish you made.”
I swallowed back another sob aching to surface bu
t knew in my heart I had to act sensibly—not impulsively—where Tantig and her kidnappers were concerned.
We trekked back to the pool area, and I planted a fresh espresso in front of Clive. Coffee vapors so strong curled my braided ends into knots.
“Hey!” Clive poked his head over the rim. “This isn’t rum and coke.”
“You’re right. It’s even better.”
“You mean there’s shum of that Irish liqueur in it?” He smiled eagerly.
I put on a smile I didn’t feel. “There’s something in it.”
* * *
Twenty minutes later, Phyllis and I were back in our cabin. We left Clive at the pool bar, slurping espresso, waiting for the kick to kick in.
“I’m going to lie down,” Phyllis said. “I gotta feel better by tonight.”
“Why? It’s just a Western-themed dinner.”
“Then later they’re showing The Good, the Bad and the Ugly under the stars. I want to get the best lounge chair, front and center. Don’t you love that movie?”
“Never seen it.” I worked with a staff every day that resembled the good, the bad, and the ugly. Who needed to watch it on the big screen?
“What? Who’s never seen that Clint Eastwood movie? You should join me tonight. I’ll save you a chair.”
Like she forgot what I’d be doing later. “Thanks. I’ve got to go back for Tantig.”
She threw her fruity hat onto the bunk, and the plastic apple toppled to the floor. “You’re going through with this idiot scheme?”
“Yes, Phyllis, I am.” I picked up the apple and tossed it on her bed.
“You don’t even know if Clive’s telling the truth. He’s unreliable.”
“You’re the one who thought he had something to do with Tantig’s disappearance.” I had my hands on hips. “You were the one interrogating him like the Third Reich. Now, all of a sudden, he’s unreliable.”
She shrugged. “It’s your life. Just don’t cry to me when you need help. I’ll be gazing at Clint Eastwood.”
“When did I ever come to you for help?”
She tugged out of her sarong, and I was reminded of another idiot scheme. The one where Valentine Beaumont promised Grandma Maruska, on her deathbed, that she’d give her eighteenth cousin—fifty times removed—a job because said cousin was unskilled at everything else and was the sore on the family’s butt. And because Valentine was a dope.
I dropped to the floor, tugged off my slip-ons, and gently removed the bandages from the backs of my heels. Blisters were down, redness subsiding. Nice to know something was going right.
“What are you wearing for this Western-themed dinner?” I asked.
“Something I made after my sewing course. I happened to bring it along. It’s going to catch everyone’s eye.”
Phyllis was about the worst seamstress in the world, but she was right: her clothes did catch everyone’s eye.
“What about a hat or cowboy boots?” Partying was the last thing I wanted to think about, but if the kidnappers saw me without a costume, they’d get suspicious.
“Hat’s hanging in the bathroom.” She bent under the bed. “And here are the boots. I picked them up in the costume shop this morning.”
I slipped into Phyllis’s extra-large boots and shuffled around the cabin like I was six years old, clopping around in my mother’s high heels.
Phyllis snorted at me. Then the cabin phone rang.
She picked up. “It’s Romero.” She extended the phone to me.
My heart soared, then almost as fast, plummeted. “Tell him I’m not here.” I clomped into the bathroom, plunked Phyllis’s ten-gallon hat on my head, then dug myself out from under the brim.
Phyllis rolled her eyes and put the phone back to her ear. “She says she’s not here.”
Erg! I flipped my head forward and dropped the hat into the sink, praying Romero wouldn’t be laughing.
Phyllis nodded into the phone, then held it out to me again. “He’s got news on Lucy.”
“I don’t care. I don’t want to speak to him.”
Phyllis relayed this. “He said if you don’t come to the phone, he’s going to cuff your hands and feet when you get home and put your ass in a holding cell with a dozen other thugs until you do speak to him.”
I balled my fists and stumbled out of the boots. How dare he! He couldn’t do that. Could he? I plunked Phyllis’s hat back on the hook and grabbed the phone. “What!” I shouted at Romero.
“Miss me that much?” I could almost see his full lips angling into that damned sexy smile. I shut my eyes tight, erasing his face from my mind. He was just a voice. A cop voice. Nothing more.
“I tried your cell,” he said.
“It was off. No one I needed to speak to.”
“I figured that.” Silence. “Want to tell me why you’re acting like I just drowned your cat?”
“You leave my cat out of this.” I wasn’t going to be all chummy with someone who was having a fling with Officer Belinda. And Lord knows who all else! Fine. I could talk business. I restrained myself and spoke professionally. “What’s the news on Lucy?”
He cleared his throat and, I imagined, loosened his collar in frustration. “Got a copy of the autopsy report. Thought you might want to know Lucy’s neck was broken.”
I took a breath. “What? How?”
“Most likely from a fall. The angle of the break corresponds with the position of the head during probable force of impact. Even with the body freezing, time of death puts it at about eleven forty-five Saturday night, give or take an hour.”
I thought about Chef Roy’s words that Lucy had to be dead when she was stuffed in the ice machine. Then I recalled Kashi and the blue food coloring.
“Then she wasn’t poisoned,” I muttered to myself.
I heard him sigh. “You want to tell me what you’re digging up?”
Awkward silence bridged the phone lines. No surprise, since I hadn’t shared my earlier suspicions on Kashi.
“For whatever reason you’re not making nice,” he said, “I’m still going to confide in you.”
“I’m listening.”
“I want you to be careful. Along with a demented murderer on board, there may be a drug bust, and I don’t want you in the middle of it.”
“How do you know this?” Then it dawned on me. Jock. “Forget it. I already know.”
“He’s a good guy to have around. I just don’t like the way he looks at you.”
“What do you care how he looks at me? You’ve got”—I bit my tongue—“forget it.”
I was glad I stopped myself. Romero would’ve only denied any relationship with Belinda, so what was the point? He was like all men. Untrustworthy and only interested in his own self-gain.
I wasn’t sure how I felt about this new alliance between him and Jock. Part of me was relieved, but then there was a part of me that liked keeping my work separate from my private life. And up until recently, I thought Romero was becoming part of my private life.
“By the way,” he said, “nothing on the Tic Tacs. To date, Tic Tacs haven’t been sold on this cruise. Chances are somebody innocently dropped the pack outside your door, and you happened to pick the unlucky time to find them.”
“What about the bag of Tic Tacs delivered to my door? Another unlucky discovery?”
“You lost me.”
“You heard me. Last night, there was a whole bag left at my door.”
The stillness told me he was considering this. “Okay. Probably not coincidental.”
“Ya think? Especially when that woman they found in San Juan wasn’t Tantig?”
He exhaled. “Sorry it wasn’t her. They’re still looking for your great-aunt. In the meantime, I think you better go everywhere in pairs.”
“What am I, five years old?”
“Just a minute,” he said.
And then I heard it. That damned silky voice. I should’ve taped it so Twix could hear the alluring tone, asking Romero if he was ready. Ready for
what?
Heat soared from my toes to my eyeballs, almost blinding me with rage. How much more proof did I need that Romero was involved with his partner? This woman had shown up at his place. Talked to Twix like she was his lover. Even walked into his house. Now she was back in San Juan with him? Little holiday?
An ache stabbed my chest. I pressed the phone closer to my ear and thought I heard his low, sexy laugh. I knew that laugh and had thought he’d only intended it for me. Wrong again. Loser.
“Go ahead without me,” Romero said to her. “I’ll catch up to you later.”
I’d been through this stage before. Cheating boyfriends. Spewed lies. After they walked all over me, they expected me to smile like I was a goodwill ambassador. Well, no more Mr. Nice Guy. I didn’t need to be kind to a two-timing, cheating fink. Later, huh? He could later this. I slammed the phone down, picked it up again, and gave it another slam.
Phyllis stared at me, her mouth a foot from the floor. She swallowed and gave her head a slow shake. “Brother. No wonder you can’t find a boyfriend.”
* * *
While Phyllis napped, I did some packing, then called Mr. Brooks and enquired about Yitts.
“Boy, she’s a good cat,” he said. “Real happy to see me every morning. Sits patiently on my lap while I slide on her harness and leash. Even likes watching me work across the street.”
My heart panged with a touch of longing to see Yitts again.
“Everything okay there?” he asked. “Sounds like there’s an earthquake.”
“Nothing serious.” I frowned at Phyllis snoring. “Thanks again, Mr. Brooks, for taking care of Yitts. There’s a bottle of rum in my luggage with your name on it.”
He chuckled. “I look forward to it.”
I hung up and stared at Phyllis’s cowboy boots. With the way I was feeling, this Western affair would be another joyous event. I’d be better off stationed with Clive at the pool bar.
At least I had a plan. I’d put in an appearance in the dining room, then slip out, and head back to the bottom of the ship.
I took one last look at Phyllis sleeping, then tiptoed to the door, kicking something with my toe. I looked down at a scrap of white material, figuring it was something that had fallen off Phyllis’s flimsy outfit. I picked it up, but it wasn’t material at all. It was a piece of tissue paper, the kind for wrapping gifts, and scratched in blue ink across the front was KEEP SEARCHING AND GRANDMA GETS A BULLET.
Murder, Curlers, and Cruises Page 20
