Authors: Nancy J. Cohen
“How can you eat so much? It’s nearly time for dinner,” she said, sipping the brew.
“Don’t worry, I’ll be hungry again,” Vail answered, his mouth full. “How’s the coffee?”
“Rich and robust, with no bitter aftertaste. I saw a notice alongside the dispenser that says the brand is Hair Raiser. They must have the concession throughout the ship.”
His eyebrows lifted. “I hope that isn’t a portent since you do hair for a living.”
You and me both, pal. This is one week where I want to lie out and catch the sun, not help you catch killers
. “Maybe I should serve the stuff in my salon. I’ll look it up on the Internet when I get a chance.”
After bolstering their energy, they strolled outside to preview the pool, Jacuzzis, and solarium. Then they went indoors to ride the glass elevator down and ended up by Hook’s Champagne Bar on deck five. Marla stared at the nine-story central atrium in confusion.
“How did we miss the salon, spa, and fitness center?” she asked. “Weren’t they on the same deck as the pool?”
“I don’t know. They could be at the other end. We need to look at a diagram.” A couple of long blasts on the ship’s horn sounded. “Forget it, we’re about to cast off. Let’s take the elevator back up.”
Completely disoriented, Marla pointed to the carpet on their way aloft. “It’s a good thing the design tells you what day it is. I could easily lose track of time here.”
“I wonder if they change the carpet at midnight.”
“You can stay and watch. I’ll be too tired tonight.”
As soon as she stepped outdoors into the afternoon July sun, she felt the vibration increase and realized the ship had begun moving. Jostling for a position by the rail, she felt a rush of excitement. She watched the pier recede before they entered the outlet leading to open sea.
Strains of “Hot Hot Hot,” played from a steel band by the pool, where a costumed man on stilts led a line dance. Waiters hawked strawberry pina coladas as the drink of the day while the ship glided past Parrot Jungle Island, a fleet of anchored sailboats, cars racing by on the causeway, and mansions fronting the Intracoastal. A Jet Ski skipped along the water as the
Tropical Sun
neared the last strip of sand.
Marla tilted her head back, enjoying the fresh air and the warm sun that kissed her skin. They were embarking on a grand adventure, and her final view of the shoreline came with the realization that they’d have more than a week free from phone calls, work hassles, and chores.
Ding dong, ding dong
.
“Good afternoon, ladies and gentlemen,” boomed a male voice on the public address system. “This is Captain Rick Larsen speaking to you from the bridge. Our mandatory assembly drill begins shortly. When you hear the emergency signal, please proceed to your assembly stations with your life jackets. Staterooms and public areas will be checked to ensure that all guests have exited these locations. Smoking, drinking, eating, and the use of cellular phones is prohibited during the drill. Thank you for your attention and cooperation.”
“Come on,” Vail said, signaling. “We have to go below.”
“Let’s take the stairs. I need to work off all the calories I’m going to consume.”
She gave a last glance at the late sun reflecting off the tall buildings of the Miami skyline. Forced activities might be the only cloud on the horizon, but she could tolerate even those if they took away the decision-making process. She’d dreamed of lying on a tropical beach with no decisions to make except which rum drink to try. That being her only goal for the cruise, she could be flexible otherwise.
Then again, she felt like a sailor at military inspection when they reported to their lifeboat assembly station. Upon their arrival on deck, a uniformed officer recorded the cabin number emblazoned on their vest fronts and directed them to join a group of passengers lined up in jagged rows. Squashed between an overweight fellow who sweated profusely and a mother of two whose youngest child wailed at loud decibels, she struggled to fasten her life vest. The bulky jacket forced her neck up at an uncomfortable angle.
Vail cursed beside her. He’d gotten himself tangled in the straps and flailed helplessly while attempting to snag the buckle. Knocking into a muscular guy in the row behind, he mumbled an apology. The fellow must have been easily over six feet tall. He wore a bandanna and tattoos like a biker dude.
“No problem, buddy,” the tattooed man said with a grin.
“You have it on backward,” Marla said to Vail. She bit her lip to suppress a smile. It wasn’t often that she saw her fiancé at a disadvantage, and when she did, she just wanted to take care of him. She assisted him in putting the vest on correctly.
A female staff member wearing all white—blouse, skirt, shoes, and visored cap—glared at her charges. “Listen up, people.” Everyone snapped to attention while she strode back and forth. “Make sure those straps are tight. Otherwise, if we have to pull you out of the water fast, we’ll yank on the vest and you’ll be left behind to sink like a stone. Come on, squeeze closer. This is how crowded it gets in the boat.” She pointed to the vessel suspended overhead.
“Do we get to sit in the lifeboat?!” hollered one passenger.
“Sit, stand, or lie, you’ll be crammed in there. Oh, and another thing, if you have to jump overboard, cross your arms in front like this. Otherwise, the jacket may hit your head upon impact.”
“Oh joy. Something else to worry about,” Marla murmured.
“Your automated light will flash when you enter the water,” the officer continued. “It serves as a beacon. You can use the whistle to draw attention to yourself. Now, are there any questions?”
At Marla’s side, Vail blew the whistle attached to his vest.
“Nice move,” Marla crooned, “especially when you don’t know whose mouth it touched last.” She shifted her feet as she heard the familiar
ding dong, ding dong
from the loudspeaker.
“May I have your attention, please?” said a disembodied voice. “The general emergency signal that began the drill consists of seven short blasts followed by one long blast through the ship’s whistle and internal alarm system. If you are in your stateroom when you hear this signal, grab some warm clothing, gather any medications you may require along with your life jacket, and proceed to your muster station. If you are not in your stateroom, go directly to your station, where in a real emergency, a life jacket will be issued to you. Do not use the elevators, as they will not work in a power failure. Lighting along the floors and stairways will show the route to the assembly stations.”
Marla tuned him out, preferring not to dwell on the unpleasant possibilities. Instead, she contemplated how many times during the day these announcements would disrupt them.
Sweat dribbled between her breasts while she listened to the speaker repeat his message in several languages. “How long is this going to last?” she groused. “I’m dying from the heat.”
Vail regarded her from under his thick brows. “You’ll build up a good appetite for dinner. I wonder where Brie and my folks are. You don’t see them, do you?” He stood on his toes to peer over the heads of taller figures.
Marla’s gaze caught on a handsome older man who murmured something into his companion’s ear. The woman, a blonde who looked about half his age, shrugged away. Not that it was any of her business, but she wondered if that was his wife or his daughter. She caught another person staring at the couple, a fellow with tousled dark hair, a shifty expression, and a camera with which he shot a quick photo of their profiles.
You’re imagining things, she told herself. He s probably just snapping a picture of the lifeboat beyond. People are here to have fun, and so are you.
As soon as the ship’s horn blasted the all-clear signal, she unstrapped her vest and yanked it over her head, mussing her hair. Jostled by other sweaty bodies, she proceeded indoors and followed the mob down the staircase to deck eight.
With a sigh of relief, she opened the door to their cabin and bounded inside to air-cooled comfort. “Man, is that thing bulky,” she said to Vail, as they tossed their life jackets onto the bed. “We’ll let the cabin steward put them away.”
“I need a shower, but it’s time for dinner already,” Vail replied, raking a hand through his hair. He gave her a rueful glance, as though he would have liked to linger.
Hustling to the dining room, Marla despaired of having a minute free. She could end up being busier on this trip than in her salon at home.
At least you don’t have to cook or wait on customers
, she thought gleefully as they were ushered to their table by the restaurant manager. Elegant white linens, vases with fresh orchids, subdued jazz music, and scores of uniformed waiters soothed her nerves as she took a seat.
“Typical of Brie to be late,” Vail said in an indulgent tone. He grabbed a bread stick from a basket on the table.
“You’re just eager to stuff yourself. We’re the first ones here.” Marla nodded at the other empty chairs. “I’m glad we have a table for ten, so we’ll meet new people. Do you suppose the waiter will wait until everyone arrives to take our orders?” She glanced around the room, decorated with crystal chandeliers and floor-to-ceiling windows. “Some passengers may choose to eat in the cafe upstairs.”
“Who knows? Can you pass the butter, please?”
As Marla complied, some of their other table companions appeared. She was startled to recognize the older couple from the lifeboat drill. Even though the newsletter indicated this evening’s dress code was casual, they’d changed into fancier outfits than they’d worn on deck.
“I’m Oliver Smernoff, and this is my wife, Irene,” the man said in a baritone voice. He wore a black suit that contrasted sharply with his graying temples. Most of the hair on top of his head had receded, leaving him partly bald, but his even features and tall stature made him attractive for a man in his fifties. His wife wasn’t as young as she’d seemed at a distance, judging from her hands more than her face. The veins stood out on her overly tanned skin, making Marla rub her own hands and wish for lotion.
Irene attempted to smile, but her stiff facial muscles turned it into a grimace. She wore an elegant blue sheath dress and a necklace that shimmered with diamonds.
The newest arrivals, on the other hand, boasted a distinct age difference. “Thurston Stark at your service, and this is my wife, Heidi,” the man boomed to Marla and Vail. He was a big guy with a confident smile, hazel eyes, and wheat-brown hair. With his broad shoulders, he might have been a football player in his earlier days. Heidi looked about thirty years younger, a typical blond trophy wife with a vapid expression. She wore a black dress so revealing that if the ship rocked, her boobs would risk tumbling out.
While Thurston and Oliver exchanged hearty greetings, their wives acknowledged each other with tepid nods. It appeared they already knew one another. Before Marla could inquire as to the nature of their acquaintance, more of their tablemates arrived.
“We’re out of seats,” Marla noted to Vail in an undertone. “What happened to Brie and your parents?”
“You’re right.” Half rising, he scanned the dining room. “I don’t see them anywhere.”
Marla’s stomach sank. “Great, and I figured nothing could go wrong this week.”
Vail gave a snort of disbelief. “The way you’re a magnet for trouble, sweetcakes, we’ll be lucky to get off this ship alive.”
We’re missing our companions, Vail said to the restaurant manager, a mustached fellow wearing a tuxedo. “We need to change seats so that we’re at the same table with my parents and daughter.” He gave their names and cabin numbers.
“I’ll check my charts,” the man said in a foreign accent, “but be aware the ship is fully booked, and any changes had to be made this afternoon upon arrival.”
“I didn’t realize there would be a problem. We reserved our cruise together. How could we have been separated?”
“Let me see what I can do, sir.” Flashing a conciliatory grin, the man scampered off.
Marla touched Vail’s arm. “Maybe we can find where your folks are sitting and ask someone at their table to change places. I don’t understand how this could have happened.”
Vail scowled. “Neither do I. Hold the fort while I go look for them, will you?”
After he left, Marla smiled at the strangers surrounding her. “There’s been a mistake,” she explained. “I don’t think we’re supposed to be at this table.”
Nonetheless, she and Vail were stuck there, according to what he said when he returned. “I found Mom and Dad, but their table is full, and no one wants to move. This is ridiculous.”
“Another table might free some spaces. Let the maitre d’ work on it.” Their waiter arrived to take orders. “In the meantime, I’m starved.”
Vail plopped down beside her and picked up his menu. “So am I. What are you having?”
She studied the Welcome Aboard dinner choices. “I’ll start with shrimp cocktail, skip the soup course, and have the Boston lettuce salad. Then I can’t decide between the sole supreme, roast duckling, or sirloin steak. Maybe I’ll go with the duck since it’s served with blueberry sauce. Oh gosh, look at that bread. I can’t resist.”
Throwing calorie counting to the winds, she gave the waiter her selections, then plucked a roll from the basket. If she walked up and down the fourteen decks enough times, maybe she’d wear off the extra pounds she was sure to gain.
“Bob, why don’t you introduce us?” said a tired-looking matron from across the table. She nudged her companion, who wore a sports jacket and tie in an outdated style. His slick black hair, wire-rimmed glasses, and squinting mocha eyes gave him a nerdy look. “Fine, leave it to me,” the woman snapped when he merely glanced at her. “I’m Sandy Wolfson,” she told Marla, “and this is my husband, Bob.”
They made a good pair, Marla thought, observing Sandy’s mud-brown hair cut in limp, short layers; makeup that barely provided enough color; and dowdy pantsuit. Bulging bellies set the couple well into middle age. Oh joy, she and Dalton were seated with people who qualified for the condo crowd.
Well, not exactly. A pretty brunette occupied the seat next to her. “Hi, my name is Betsy Marsh,” the young woman said to Marla and Vail after acknowledging the others. “I’m so excited. This is my first cruise,” Betsy added, with an infectious grin.
“Mine, too.” Marla shot a questioning glance at the rumpled fellow sitting next to Betsy. He sat quietly, darting his eyes back and forth between them. The man’s unruly black hair matched his thick eyebrows and seemed to shout defiance, same as his polka-dotted bow tie.
“Kent Harwood,” he grunted as Marla realized she was staring. Was she imagining things, or had he been the man taking the photo at the lifeboat drill? No way; she must be suffering from the heat.
Take a few more olives from that relish dish. All this sea air is affecting your brain. You need to replenish your salt intake.
“I’m Marla Shore,” she offered. Her table companions exchanged startled glances, as though her name meant something. “This is my fiancé, Dalton Vail.”
“How interesting,” Irene drawled, with a raised eyebrow. Oliver poked her, and she fell silent.
Betsy cleared her throat. “Have you ever been on a ship this size before,
Marla?
” she said, emphasizing her name. “Hello, I got lost finding the Coronado dining room.”
“Tell me about it,” Marla said, puzzled by their odd reactions. “We’ll need at least another day to get oriented.”
“You’ll get used to it,” Thurston replied, swiping a bread stick. “We’ve been on tons of cruises, so it gets to be routine. Our last trip took us down the Amazon. You haven’t seen anything until you’ve gotten a glimpse of those piranha. And the snakes are even meaner!”
“You think? I was more impressed by the Nile,” his wife, Heidi, said, pouting her ruby lips. She spoke in a little-girl voice that irritated Marla’s ears.
Irene sniffed, lifting her nose. Unlike Heidi, whose copper highlights blended well with her hair, Irene’s lighter tint shouted overprocessing. “With all the trips you’ve taken, I imagine you’ve been to some Caribbean ports before, darling. After all, the islands are practically in our backyard.” Signaling for the wine steward who circulated among the tables, she placed an order for two bottles. “I hope you’ll join us,” Irene told everybody.
“Ladies and gents, can we get your photo, please?” said the ship’s photographer before anyone could reply.
A costumed pirate stuck his scurvy face beside Marla’s and grinned into the lens. The photographer snapped rapidly as the pirate hopped from person to person, then over to the next table.
What’s next?
Marla thought.
A group picture?
She leaned back when the waiter delivered their starter courses. As soon as they’d all been served, she tasted a morsel of shrimp cocktail, savoring the tangy sauce. “This cruise could be one of the best gifts I’ve ever gotten,” she told Vail between bites, “except that I’ll need a membership at the sports club to lose weight afterward.”
“Not the Perfect Fit Sports Club, where Jolene got murdered, I hope.”
His wry tone made her smile. She’d helped solve that case, to the detriment of her exercise plan. Maybe she should check out the ship’s gym while on board.
Betsy jabbed her arm. “You got this cruise as a gift, too? Hello, so did I. I couldn’t believe it when I opened my mail one day. Inside was the ticket along with a note of thanks for my work at the art museum. When I called the cruise line, they said it was legit.”
“Tell us something we don’t know,” Oliver Smernoff’s deep voice rumbled. “We got the same thing in the mail,” he explained to Marla, wrapping an arm around his wife’s chair. Irene leaned away from his dangling hand. “There wasn’t any receipt or return address.”
“I was blown away,” chimed in Heidi, with a giggle. “Like, who would be so generous? Dearest Thurston makes such large donations to the museum, but this was totally off-the-wall.”
“We all work together at the Camden Palms Museum of Art,” Bob Wolfson pitched in, which made his mousy wife sit up straight. “It’s a privately owned institution in Tampa. I have no clue about our unknown benefactor, despite being the museum’s business manager.” He spoke in a solemn tone that suited his stern countenance. You’d think he was at a meeting instead of on vacation, Marla thought, but maybe being with his colleagues wasn’t his idea of fun.
Their desultory conversation was interrupted by the wine steward, who uncorked the bottles Irene had ordered. When she nodded her approval, he poured for those in their group who’d accepted a glass. Marla noted that Irene quickly downed a few gulps of cabernet sauvignon. For herself, she’d chosen chardonnay. Its cool, fruity flavor slid down her throat.
Kent Harwood spoke after the sommelier departed. His hangdog features and scruffy mien put him a slouch below the others, or maybe it was the way he glowered at them. “Beats me why I was invited on this trip, when I only work at the museum part-time,” he said in a low growl. “Mr. Stark, you’ve been on lots of cruises. How come you tagged along?”
Thurston shrugged. “Why not? Didn’t you ever hear the proverb ‘Don’t look a gift horse in the mouth?’ Besides, we haven’t been on this ship before, and we’ll enjoy the art auctions.” He blinked a couple of times in rapid succession, as though he had a facial tic.
“I can’t wait to check out the music. How many bands do you think they have on board?” Oliver asked, looking at no one in particular.
“Shipboard music doesn’t compare to your classical collection at home, Olly,” Irene said with a sniff.
“So? That doesn’t mean I can’t enjoy it,” he replied, with a quelling look in her direction.
“What about you?” Kent Harwood asked Bob Wolfson. “How did you get the week off?” Taking a toothpick from his shirt pocket, he picked his teeth, impervious to the opinions of others.
Bob scratched his jaw. “I had the hours coming to me. If I got as much time off from work as I deserve, I’d take more vacations. With my luck, it’ll rain when we’re in port.”
Dalton and I are the only ones who don’t belong here
. Marla glanced at Vail, busy digging into his salad, and a wave of affection swept through her. Rarely did he have the luxury of relaxing and enjoying himself. But what a shame about his family. They’d have to catch up with Brianna and his folks later.
“What do you do at the museum?” Thurston asked Kent. “I don’t recall running into you, not that I’m there that often. I’m involved with the foundation, you understand, not the day-today affairs.”
Blink, blink
.
Kent gave him a sly glance. “I run an extermination business.” Finished with his toothpick, he dropped it in his bread plate.
“Is that so? I respect that,” Thurston said in a snotty tone.
“You should. I was called to flush out some palmetto bugs in the cafe. Did a mold inspection while I was there, too. You don’t want any problems to develop because of leaks, especially where humidity control is so important.”
The waiter delivered their entrees and then offered to debone Marla’s duckling. She acquiesced, wishing she had the same service at home.
“Where are you from?” Betsy asked, smacking her lips as she bit into a piece of steaming sole. “I am so going to have a great time this week. Gotta meet some guys, though. You two getting married soon?”
Marla nearly choked on a piece of broccoli. “W-we haven’t set a date. As for where we’re from, we live in Palm Haven. It’s just west of Fort Lauderdale.”
“No shit? I’m from Clearwater. So what’s it like having a live-in? My last boyfriend ditched me before we shacked up together.”
“I have my own town house,” Marla replied. “This will be a second marriage for both of us. We’re getting ready to move into a new home together, but Dalton has a teenage daughter, so we’ve been taking things slowly.”
“You’re from Palm Haven, eh?” Kent piped in. “What do you do there?” he asked Vail.
“I’m in the law field,” Vail responded, meeting the man’s appraising glance. Marla knew he didn’t care to elaborate that he was a police officer.
“You didn’t tell me you called an exterminator to the museum,” Sandy Wolfson chided her husband. “I could have used him at home. We still have that raccoon in the attic.”
“Critter Control handles that type of problem,” Bob said, shoveling a piece of steak into his mouth.
“Don’t give me that crap. It’s typical of you to put all your energy into work instead of our house maintenance.” Sandy’s eyes narrowed into slits. “How long ago did you hire this man?”
“He’s been coming on a routine basis for a few months.”
Thurston half rose from his chair. “Not since the, you know, that night—” He stopped when Heidi put a hand on his arm.
“The waiter is coming around, dearest. Could you please ask him to refill our bread basket?” she said in her child like tone, batting her eyelashes.
The big man either fell for her ploy or decided to drop the subject. He complied as though accustomed to fulfilling his wife’s wishes.
Marla gazed at Kent curiously. “How can you tell if there’s a mold problem? I’m a hairdresser, and I’m about to move my salon to larger quarters. I never thought to check the new building for anything other than termites.”
“Call in a certified inspector,” Kent replied. “Molds produce toxins that can be hazardous to people exposed to them. Sometimes you’ll see thread like white substances or black circles accompanied by a musty odor. The spores themselves are invisible and will land on any moist surface. They can make you pretty sick if you’re allergic.”
“So what do you do during an inspection?”
He chugged down a gulp of water. “I’ll take air samples and swabs. Mold is a living organism that needs moisture to survive. You have to be especially careful where you have leaks, flooding, and condensation.”
Marla noticed how Bob Wolfson kept shooting furtive glances at Oliver Smernoff. Was she sensing an undercurrent of animosity there? And why did Kent strike her as being more educated than the average exterminator? Had he majored in entomology in college before opening his own company?
“So Marla,” Oliver said, pointing at her like a teacher calling on a pupil—she noticed that he’d done a good job of cleaning his plate—“is this a vacation for you, or will you check out the salon while you’re on board?”
“No way; I’m not going near the place. Dalton and I are just here to relax.” She leaned back while the busboy, a young lad whose name tag said he came from Romania, refilled their water glasses.
“Hey listen, they’re playing Mozart’s string quartet number fourteen in the background,” Oliver told them.
“We heard the greatest concert in Vienna,” Thurston boasted in his loud voice. “You’d have appreciated it, Olly. Europe has the most amazing opera houses. You should go to the Baths of Garacalla to see
Aida.
Fabulous experience.”
Marla, feeling adrift, exchanged smiles with Betsy, who cracked her knuckles under the table. “I’ve been lucky to get this far, never mind to Europe. If I ever cut back my hours at the salon, I’ll do more traveling,” she told her new friend.
As soon as she and Dalton finished dessert—he had Black Forest cake, and she’d ordered crème brulee—Marla scraped her chair back. The waiters hovered, whisking dishes off the table so as to reset the dining room before the next horde arrived.
Maybe on another cruise, they’d ask for later seating so they wouldn’t be rushed. In this instance, though, she was glad to escape from her tablemates.
“I need to go back to the cabin,” she told Dalton as she rose. “If you’ll excuse us,” she said to the others.