I reread the note and gasped for air, huffing and puffing like I was drowning in peroxide. Phyllis stirred, and I inhaled and fanned my face, trying to get myself under control. This wasn’t happening. But it was happening. Whoever had Tantig meant business. Clive was right. They’d kill her if they found me snooping.
Wait. All I had was Clive’s word on any of this. What if he’d delivered the note? What if he was a deranged serial killer? Maybe the whole drunk act was a charade. Leading us to the bowels of the ship to find Tantig. Couldn’t be. He smelled the part. But could I trust anything he said? Was Football Guy really the big mean boyfriend? Had to be. I didn’t tell Clive about the snake tattoo.
I crumpled the note in my palm and stepped out into the hall, looking both ways, hoping for clues as to who left it under our door. Up until now, I wasn’t certain what to believe. But there was no mistaking it. Tantig had been kidnapped. And if I wanted to save her, I needed to be persistent and stay one step ahead of her captors. Perseverance I had. The rest I was hoping would fall into place.
I threw the note in my bag and closed the door behind me. Who even knew where our cabin was? Sabrina had never been here—that I knew. Molly and Polly…the Tic Tacs? Possibly. Kashi? Unlikely. Think, Valentine, think.
What about the cabin stewards? They were up and down the hall all the time, making beds, cleaning rooms. I’d never had any interaction with them, so I couldn’t be sure I was heading in the right direction with this line of thinking. And apart from ordering room service for breakfast this morning, I hadn’t had much to do with that staff either.
I walked by a cabin with a discarded tray out front, and suddenly I envisioned Devon, the guy from the dining room, wheeling his cart down the hall this morning, picking up dirty dishes.
I stared at the tray, pins of anxiety piercing my chest. Devon was well acquainted with the layout of the ship, wasn’t he? He knew where my cabin was, ten thousand leagues under the sea. But he was an employee, like the housekeeping staff. I was a passenger. So what if he knew where my cabin was? Except I didn’t like the fact that he knew. That bothered me. And what troubled me more was that I was bothered by this.
I told myself I was being ridiculous. It was his Fu Manchu mustache putting disturbing thoughts in my head. That didn’t make him a suspect. And what had he done to look suspicious? There was no connection to Lucy or Sabrina that I knew. Still, I couldn’t stop the unease plaguing me.
Let’s say Devon was the kidnapper. Suppose he took Tantig. There had to be a reason. And what reason could there be other than her witnessing a crime or seeing something incriminating. The most obvious crime was Lucy’s murder. Again, did Devon even know Lucy? Maybe he was the friend who came to the room Saturday night when Kashi was leaving. If so, he would’ve had a snake tattoo on his arm, and I’d only seen Devon in long sleeves.
What would Romero do to follow up this information? I rolled my eyes. I knew exactly what he’d do. He’d saunter up to Devon, flash his badge, and ask if he’d mind rolling up his sleeve. After gasping for air because of Romero’s intimidating presence, Devon would roll over and play dead. End of problem. My trouble was, I couldn’t swagger up to him like Iron Man and demand his cooperation. Ha! Wouldn’t that be rich? Me, in high heels and a dress, scaring a guy like Devon.
I recalled Jock saying the captain suspected one of his staff was involved in a drug run. I figured he’d meant someone with power. A distinguished official. The first mate. A helmsman. But Devon? Was he at the bottom of this? Was he involved in Molly and Polly’s dealings? Was that the drug run Jock was referring to?
What about the drug dealer’s murder in New York? Was Devon involved in that, too? Was he the guy on the sidelines with the tattoo? Was it his arm in the ripped photo now missing from Lucy and Sabrina’s cabin? I couldn’t even research his background since all I had was a first name. Did I risk insulting Chef Roy by asking more questions about his staff?
I marched to the costume shop with purpose. I had no proof Devon was our man, but I had to get through the next few hours so I could free Tantig if she was where Clive had said she was.
The costume shop was along a galleria that housed other games and fun activity stores. The costumes displayed in the window ran from a knight in shining armor and pin-striped gangster suits to Wonder Woman and French maid getups. Maybe I’d find a saloon-girl dress and petticoat to wear, or something else frilly.
I wandered around aimlessly, gazing at beautiful costumes, my mind flip-flopping from Devon to Romero’s news about Lucy. Suddenly, I was back to the night of her big win. If Devon was the guy who came to the door as Kashi left, what happened later in that cabin? Could Lucy have gotten into a fight with him? Or with Sabrina? Could one of them have broken her neck? She was three feet high. How could she have broken anything falling from a standing position? Unless she fell from a higher location.
The salesclerk watched me dig through outfits with a pick-something-already look on her face. I finally decided on a long tan duster, chaps, a holster, jeans, boots, toy rifle, red handkerchief, and a cowboy hat. It wasn’t my first choice of getup, but the saloon-girl dresses were all taken.
I traipsed out of the shop with my outfit when Molly and Polly skipped over from the arcade. Great. I hadn’t spoken to them since my episode in the steam room. And I wasn’t too crazy about greeting them now.
“How are you, Valentine?” Polly peeked nosy-like in my bags.
Their cheery dispositions weren’t fooling me. If Polly cared about my well-being, why’d she lock me in the steam room?
“Oh, you know.” I gave a fake smile. “Going with the flow, so to speak.”
“Going with the flow.” Molly giggled. “You’re funny, Valentine.”
I did an internal eye roll.
“Got your costume for tonight?” she asked.
I lifted the bag in mock enthusiasm. “Yee-haw.”
“We’ve been so busy we haven’t had a chance to pick ours out.”
Yeah. I grinded my teeth. Busy trying to kill me and flirting with Jock and the captain. I thought again about their illegal activities. Were they part of the drug scene that Romero had referred to when he said there may be a bust? I certainly wasn’t going to tip them off. “Get any more souvenirs yesterday?”
“Why do you ask that?” Molly stepped a foot closer, a shifty look on her face.
Prickles of perspiration dotted my forehead. “Because you said you were going back on land when you left the steam room.”
“Oh yeah.” She blushed. “We got a few.”
“Come on, Molly,” Polly said. “We better get on it. I don’t want to be without a costume.”
“Good luck,” I said. “There’s not much left to choose from.”
I aimed toward the elevator when Polly grabbed my arm. “Did Sabrina find you yesterday?”
I gulped. “Sabrina?”
“Yes. When we left the steam room. We met her in the hallway. Said she was looking for you.”
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
It was after six by the time I arrived at the dining room. I walked under a large Western-style sparkly brown banner that read Welcome to the Hoedown! Stationing myself beside bales of hay, I listened to a country singer twang the latest country hit. Couples line danced on the chalk-dusted floor under festive lights, and Western cow folk moseyed into the mock saloon, barbershop, and general store.
Now that I was here, I had to play it cool. If the butterflies in my stomach settled, I’d grab a bite to eat, do some mingling, then dash off to find Tantig. I patted my jeans pocket, double-checking that the nail file was where I slid it when I’d dressed. I admitted I was ready for the challenge ahead of me. But first things first.
I attempted to look interested in the activity around me, gazing from the dance floor to the buffet table. My mouth watered at the sight of barbequed ribs, fried chicken, coleslaw, and corn on the cob. Guess I was hungry.
I stepped forward to check out the horseshoe-shaped table filled
with assorted pies when a lasso flung past my head and snagged on a bale of hay next to me. Instinctively, I leaped away from whatever idiot was tossing a rope. I spun around and saw the idiot. Phyllis, in her ten-gallon hat, white blouse, and blue-jean skirt with enough dips and furls to cover Montana. Denim bunched at the seams, and frayed threads dangled to her boots. Phyllis couldn’t sew a raft to save a sailor, but she did have tenacity.
She shook her lasso, trying to unsnag it from the bale of hay. “So, this is Western theme night. I could’ve told you it’d look like this. Being a seamstress, I’ve got a good sense of design.”
Standing beside Phyllis, I looked like Woody from Toy Story. I gave her a half-hearted smile and tapped my three-pronged curling iron by my side. The cord was tucked inside my chaps, two prongs in the holster. Pretty slick since the costume shop had run out of revolvers. And if nobody looked closely, the third barrel was a dead ringer for a pistol. Just what I needed tonight.
I didn’t see my parents and presumed they were missing out on account of Tantig. After tomorrow, we’d be heading back to Miami. Then what? A rush of familial guilt struck me. What was I doing here? Parading around like a cowboy when Tantig was in danger. Stay calm. You’ll get her.
“Giddy-up,” a voice sang behind me.
I turned around before getting galloped over by Max, slapping his leg in his cowboy suit, singing the theme song to some old Western show.
“When does the fun start?” He zoomed in on the mechanical bull.
“I don’t know. I just got here.” I poked the brim of my hat up with one finger and noticed him staring at me. “What!”
He shrugged. “You’re not dressed how I expected.”
I puffed out a sigh. “What did you expect?”
“Frills. Lace. Petticoat. Push-up bra.”
I flattened my lips. “The Mae West costumes were all gone.”
Max nodded toward a row of men waiting for shaves from Molly and Polly. “Looks like the Dallas Cowboys cheerleader costumes were taken, too.”
I leaned on my rifle and watched the girls in their skimpy outfits lather up two clean-shaven men. “Not exactly Western clothes, are they?”
“I don’t know,” he said with a tilt of his head. “They’re wearing cowboy boots.”
I looked at their boots. “You’re right. I didn’t notice them.”
“Neither did anyone else.” He grinned, then looked pointedly at Phyllis, unraveling her lasso. “What’s she doing?”
“Laying cable to Massachusetts.”
Max rolled his eyes, and I focused on the staff, both of us trying not to watch Phyllis get more tangled in her cord. Max tugged out his gun, twirled it around his finger, then slid it back in the holster with a smack. “I can’t stand it any longer. Oh Lord, why did You give me a conscience?” He helped Phyllis untangle her lasso, did some pointing to the mechanical bull, then sashayed to the buffet.
I wasn’t sure what Max was up to, but before I joined him, I took note of the waiters, dressed in plaid shirts, jeans, and cowboy hats, serving trays of mini roasted wieners and gooey s’mores.
Devon was working his end, smile on his face, ponytail at his back. Fu Manchu goes country. He caught my eye, stopped what he was doing, and offered a friendly smile that sent shivers down to my boots. I pretended not to notice and quickly averted my eyes to the food line.
I spotted Sabrina selecting some ribs. She was dressed in a ruffled, high-collared blouse and a long skirt, and her hair was swept into a no-nonsense bun. She looked like the leader on a temperance committee from the Wild West. She didn’t resemble a kidnapper.
I pursed my lips, recalling Molly and Polly’s news that Sabrina had been looking for me after they’d left the steam room. A burning question hounded me. Did she lock me in that steaming room? It was easier to blame the bouncing duo, but the truth was they might be innocent. Sabrina might have wanted me to stop my search for Tantig, figuring heat exhaustion—or worse, death—would be the answer.
Was Sabrina holding Tantig captive? Was I getting too close to the truth about Lucy? I didn’t know what to think. But instinct told me whoever was responsible for taking Tantig was the same person who killed Lucy. Tantig must’ve stumbled onto something she shouldn’t have, and the killer wasn’t taking chances.
I glanced from Sabrina to Devon, turning things over in my mind. If they were in this together, then nobody was with Tantig. I could make my exit now. But wait. Devon wasn’t necessarily our man. Football Guy could be the boyfriend Clive had mentioned. I’d witnessed for myself Sabrina kissing him. They were involved. No question.
If Sabrina knew Devon, I had yet to see any communication between them. Wouldn’t there be a twitch of recognition? A nod? A wink? I got nothing. No stares. No smiles. Nada. My mind went back to the dinner table the first night of the cruise. Lucy had teased Sabrina about snooping around the ship. That was what had been nagging me.
Sabrina might’ve looked carefree and relaxed, but she didn’t seem like anyone’s fool. I had a feeling she had a keen sense of what was going on around her at all times. But what if it was more than knowing her surroundings? What if she’d staked out the place because she was planning a murder? Or maybe she was an accomplice to murder. I narrowed my eyes on Devon. Why did I suspect he was the one involved in all this? Did I have an aversion to men who resembled Fu Manchu? To waitstaff?
If I was wrong and it was Football Guy, where was he now? I scanned the crowded dining room. The football posse was pigging out on corn on the cob, noisily toasting with beer mugs in the air. Candace, who’d snagged the Mae West costume, was in the middle of the gang.
Darn. I still hadn’t asked what she’d seen, if anything, regarding tattoos and the sports jocks. I wasn’t sure that even mattered anymore. Except, of course, for Football Guy. And at the moment, the guys were all in long-sleeved Western shirts. One thing was certain. I didn’t see Sabrina’s main squeeze or know whether he was again with that group. If he was Tantig’s abductor, he could be down in the depths, harming her.
A sick feeling roiled in my stomach. I had to get on with the night. I had to free Tantig.
Sabrina carried her food to our table where Max was sitting. I was anxious to break away from the crowd, but first I wanted to saddle up beside her and see if I’d learn anything about Tantig’s disappearance.
I stepped forward and felt a hand slide under my duster and pinch my behind.
“Whoop!” I slapped my butt and spun around.
Jock. The devil. Good thing my gun wasn’t loaded.
He stood there coolly, hands on his hips, dressed in black from his cowboy hat down to his boots. His hair spilled over his collar, and a bushy handlebar mustache covered his lips.
“I do reckon it’s Calamity Jane,” he said, not taking his eyes off the room.
I had a flashback of Jock naked in bed, large muscular thighs, hard rippling abdomen, larger and harder parts in between. Hot. Air. I grabbed a glass of lemonade from a nearby table, guzzled it back, then loosened the handkerchief around my neck.
He slid his hand on top of mine and stroked the rifle. “You’re not planning on shooting anyone with that thing now, are you?”
I calmed my beating heart. “No, but the night’s young.” I snatched the rifle away from his wandering hands. “And I was going for Annie Oakley.”
His face showed no sign of expression, but I could tell by the way his mustache twitched he was grinning underneath.
I tried not to be taken in by his extraordinary good looks or his suave gunslinger demeanor. He was an employee. Right?
I took a second to note all four of us were together in the same room. Just like at work. Yet we’d rarely been together all week on this huge city of a ship. And who knew where I’d be in another hour. I shuddered inside at the thought of trudging alone to the bottom of the vessel, rescuing Tantig. But I had no choice.
“Last time I saw you”—his eyes drifted to Molly and Polly—“you were scooping coffee beans off
the plaza floor.”
I gazed in the same direction. “You should’ve seen me an hour later.”
“What?” He angled his head, the humor replaced with genuine interest. “Where were you?”
I squared my shoulders, attempting to show how brave I was. “In the pit of the ship.”
I’d been hesitant at sharing anything with him because, for one thing, I didn’t know if I could trust him. And secondly, there was his questionable association with Captain Madera—which, as it turned out, wasn’t so questionable, but the fear rising up my spine prompted me to unload. If I searched for Tantig and never surfaced again, someone had to know where I’d gone.
I glanced over at Phyllis and swallowed the growing panic. Phyllis couldn’t solve a multiplication problem. I wasn’t going to trust that she’d help if I went missing.
“Is this another one of those stories where you used your tools to dig your way to China?”
I stuck out my bottom lip. “No. But contrary to popular belief, Tantig is not back in San Juan. I’m going on a reliable source that she’s being held captive in a room off the engine room.” I thought of Clive, my reliable source. I couldn’t believe I was going through with this half-baked scheme because of a lead from a drunk who resembled a garden gnome. But there it was.
“And you’re planning on rescuing her tonight.”
“Yep.”
“You think that’s wise?” He crossed his arms, bringing my attention to his huge biceps tightening against the silky material of his black shirt.
“Wise has many definitions.” I stared from his biceps into his eyes.
“I don’t want you going down there alone,” he said. “Not only that, you’ll be entering a prohibited area. You need to involve security on this.”
“No need. I have a plan.” Yeah. Sneaking through a maze of ductwork and miraculously flying out of the metal contraption like a superhero. “And I won’t be talked out of it. I’m going down, and I’m getting Tantig.”
Murder, Curlers, and Cruises Page 21
