When I began working as a wedding planner, it had been fun. Figuring out creative ways to make a bride’s vision come true was downright magical. Starting out, all my couples had had small budgets. It gave me a thrill to take the bride’s fantasy and turn it into reality with nothing but determination and a hot glue gun.
Nowadays, almost every bride I worked with came to me with a wedding fund that would have made my brain explode back then.
You want a herd of white stallions to lead you in on an exact replica of Cinderella’s gilded carriage? Sure! Oh, you want the horses dyed turquoise? Why not! With their manes coated in genuine gold leaf? Sounds completely reasonable and not like a ridiculous waste of money in the slightest!
Pretty soon, work wasn’t the only place I made concessions. It wasn’t the only place I’d settled.
At first, the gentle rock of the boat was soothing. But after a few minutes I began to get queasy. My luggage still hadn’t arrived, which was where I’d packed my Dramamine. Maybe some fresh air topside would help.
I poked my head out into the hall to make sure Lance and Tammi weren’t there, then scampered up to the pool.
Chapter Seven
The top pool deck was nearly deserted. The only evidence of the cruise director Amanda’s bon voyage celebration was the empty barware scattered about on tables. A lone waiter scurried around, picking up the glasses.
The ship was moving at a fair clip now. A salty wind whipped through my hair as I settled into a lounge chair and yanked out my phone. Cellular coverage from land towers was quickly disappearing, and I hadn’t opted for the cruise ship’s pricey unlimited WiFi plan. I opened my drafts and worked on the explanation email for my clients again, but I gave up after I couldn’t decide on a diplomatic synonym for “traitorous man-slut.”
Hmm. Maybe I should try again after a daiquiri or three.
I hailed the waiter, and he took my order happily.
While I was waiting for my drink, someone sat two chairs down from me. It was Tony, Bebe Bosley’s boyfriend, but with no Bebe in sight. He smiled at me.
“Hey, there,” he said smoothly.
“Hi,” I said and resumed my email.
After a moment, he began to unbutton his shirt. I kept my gaze trained on my phone, but in my peripheral vision, I could see he had applied a liberal slathering of oil all over his chest. He stretched his arms out, glistening like a lithe beached seal. Then he began to shimmy out of his pants and rolled over onto his back. He wore nothing but a Speedo, which left slightly less than nothing to the imagination. Holy mother of ill-fitting banana hammocks.
I averted my gaze, nibbling my thumbnail, desperate for that daiquiri to arrive so I could hightail it out of there and scrub my eyeballs.
“Enjoying your cruise?” he asked jovially.
“Mmm hmm.” I nodded without looking up from my phone.
He flipped to his side and lifted his leg to face me. Wow. Okay. Apparently, even less could be left to the imagination.
“Didn’t I see you with a tall brunette earlier?” he asked.
“Addie? Yeah, she was dropping me off.” I tried to give him a cordial but distant glance, but he was like one of those magic eye posters where I couldn’t figure out where to rest my eyes. And every spot I tried felt so wrong.
“Pity. I’d hate for a pretty girl like you to get lonely.”
The way he said it—ick—I felt like I needed to go take a shower.
“Nope. Enjoying some alone time.” I couldn’t think of a clearer uninvitation to send.
“Are you sure? You look tense. This is a vacation. You should loosen up.” He squirted some tanning oil into his palm. “Want a back rub?”
I whipped around to face him, eyebrows raised.
“No, I most certainly do not.”
On the show, Tony tended to fade into the background. He’d struck me as a nice enough guy, perhaps a bit beleaguered by Bebe’s constant drama. Yet my smarm alarm blared.
He lifted his hands, ignoring me, and moved over to my chair. I scooted away, but his hands were already on my upper arms.
Oh, heck to the no, you perv.
I was about to give him a swift jab to the banana-hammock when a shrill voice pierced the whistling breeze that surrounded us.
“What the hay-ull do you think you’re doing?”
Bebe Bosley stomped toward us. I assumed that she was talking to Tony, given that he was the space-invading, sausage sling-wearing creeper in this scenario. But instead, Bebe stared at me.
“I said, ‘what do you think you’re doing with my man?’” She zeroed in on me, wrath in her eyes.
“Me? Nothing.” Except trying my dangedest to get away from him.
“See? It was nothing, baby. Nothing.” Tony reached out for Bebe, but she brushed him off.
“Wait,” I said. “Let’s back up the Speedo truck here. The way he says, ‘nothing,’ it sounds like something. Which it wasn’t. It was nothing.”
At least nothing welcome on my part.
He glared at me.
I glared back.
“This is the last time, Tony. I swear it.” Bebe stomped her foot. “If I ever catch you slinking around another floozy … ”
“Oh, c’mon, baby. You’ll what?” Tony perched his eyebrows defiantly.
“We’ll be through,” said Bebe, and she stalked off.
I was so busy trying to smear the mango-scented oil off my shoulders that I didn’t have the time to feel outrage over Bebe’s ridiculous floozy comment. She couldn’t be serious. Tony, though, had lost his look of defiance. A glint of fear peeked out from behind his cool veneer.
“But, honey, you know I only have eyes for you.” He wrapped a towel around his waist and ran off after her, leaving his pants behind.
Yeah. Eyes for her, but sleazy grease-covered hands for everyone else, it would seem.
The waiter delivered my drink, and I was pleased to note it wasn’t the watery version of a daiquiri that some cruise lines offered.
A braying laugh sounded in the stairwell, and I slugged the drink down. I was going to need whatever liquid courage I could get.
Lance and Tammi stepped out onto the pool deck.
My cheeks burned involuntarily. I tried to ignore them, guzzling the rest of my drink as fast as I could so I could get out of there.
They gaped at me. I wasn’t sure what I expected of them. Remorse? Contrition? Embarrassment over their blatant villainy?
Instead there was a look of pure, utter confusion.
“What?” I snapped.
Tammi had changed into an adorable sundress and straightened her hair. She tossed it over her shoulder like liquid silk. I ran a self-conscious hand through my tangled frizzes.
She looked around like she wasn’t sure whether I was addressing them or not. Her “innocent” expression, the one she wore every time she’d been caught shoplifting as a teenager. She and I had been close until ninth grade when she got busted at the mall for stealing a glittery cell phone cover from Claire’s and tried to pin it on me.
She didn’t even own a cell phone at the time.
It really was some kind of pathological need she had—to take things that didn’t belong to her. The fact that she’d stolen someone’s groom didn’t surprise me at all. It only surprised me that I hadn’t seen it coming.
“Why are you doing this, Piper?” Tammi wrinkled her nose like she was trying to solve a math problem in her head.
“Why am I doing what?”
“Why did you follow us?” Tammi’s look changed from confusion to pity. Her Southern drawl oozed mock compassion. “Is this some kind of cry for help? A plea for attention?”
“Is this—? Look,” I said, pinching the crook of my nose. “This was clearly a horrible mix-up. I’m getting off this boat tomorrow. Can we just stay as far away from each other as possible until then?”
“Are you still mad about the wedding thing?”
My jaw almost fell out of its socket. Did she just—
? Surely she didn’t …
No one could be that dense.
“Are you insane?” I gaped at Tammi then Lance, who at least had the decency to turn red. “Lance dumped me. For one of my bridesmaids. Who was also my cousin. By text. With all our guests waiting in the chapel.”
His message had simply read, Hey, Piper. Decided to go with Tammi instead.
After much confused back-and-forthing, it dawned on me that I’d been dumped in the most flippant way possible.
“He said he was sorry.” Tammi’s lower lip slid into a pout.
“No,” I shouted. “No, he didn’t.”
Lance pulled his phone out of his pocket.
“Oops,” he muttered. “Forget to hit, ‘send.’”
My phone let out a ding. My mouth burbled open and closed, searching for something to say that might make this situation less awful.
“Oh, c’mon now, Pipesqueak,” said Lance in his deepest good ol’ boy tone.
“Don’t call me Pipesqueak.” It was a stupid nickname, and I’d never liked it.
“Aww, don’t be sore.
“Don’t tell me how to feel.” I grasped the stem of the daiquiri glass so tightly I could feel the crackle of it straining.
“Tammi told you how bummed she was for ruining your wedding.” He shrugged and eked out a sheepish grin.
“Our wedding, Lance.” I stood up and jabbed my pointer finger into his chest. “Our wedding. And no, she did not.”
“She sent you an e-card not half an hour ago.”
“They make an e-card for, ‘Sorry that I stole your fiancé’?”
“Oh, they make an e-card for everything,” Tammi chimed in, tilting her chin up.
“Well, sorry that I haven’t checked my email in the last five minutes and wasn’t able to just get over it yet.”
“Did you not do their unlimited WiFi plan?” Tammi made a tsk-tsk under her breath. “It’s really expensive to pay by the minute.”
Know what else was expensive? A bridal gown made by Vera Frigging Wang.
I fought to keep my breathing steady. My vision clouded over in a purple haze of rage.
“I’m a little broke from wedding expenses,” I said through gritted teeth.
“You should have done what we did and eloped,” said Tammi.
My face blanched.
“What are you talking about?” I’d had to practically pry a ring out of Lance’s clenched fist.
“Well, Pipesqueak, when you and I went to the county clerk to get our wedding license, I realized that the woman I really wanted to marry was Tammi.” Lance took her hand, and they exchanged the most nauseating lovey-dovey expression I’d ever seen.
“So Lance called me and told me to come on down.” Tammi snuggled into the crook of his arm.
“‘Come on down’, like, The Price Is Right? To the clerk’s office? Right then?”
Lance nodded.
“To … get a marriage license?”
“Yup.”
“Immediately after you’d already gotten a marriage license with me?”
“What can I say, Pipesqueak?” Lance let out a hefty sigh. “When you know, you know.”
“Stop calling me that! And let me get super, crystal clear on this.” The pitch of my voice rose with each word. “This was a spur of the moment decision?”
Somehow, that scenario made me feel slightly better.
Lance gulped and nodded, shrinking away.
“And you made this decision the day before our wedding?”
“Yeah, sorry that I forgot to tell you. It was just Tammi and I’s first day as a married couple, and—”
“You forgot to tell me that you’d married my cousin?” My grip tightened around the glass until the stem splintered in two. “Until I was in my wedding dress.”
“See? That right there. Tammi and I didn’t need all the fancy stuff. She was fine with marrying me in her cut-offs. That’s how in-love we are. Cut-offs and flip-flops kind of love.”
“Well, la-dee-freaking-doo-da for you.” I swung the shard of glass a little too close to his face and shuffled away a few feet.
“I thought you’d show a little more class than to crash our honeymoon is all.” Tammi crossed her arms and leaned back all smug-like.
“Did you just say what I think you just said? Because if you did, that isn’t … I mean, you can’t really … I mean … Aaaaaaaarghhhhh!”
I completely lost it. I went into a full-on foot-stomping, fist-swinging hissy fit. After I let out a blue streak of Southern swears that would have made my great-granddaddy proud, I took a deep gulp of ocean air.
I felt better.
For precisely two seconds.
Then the waning adrenaline combined with the rocking boat left me feeling like I had a cinder block in my stomach.
I tossed the remains of my broken glass over the edge of the boat into the trailing white-capped waves and ran to my room.
Once safely hibernating in my cabin, I considered my options. I could stay there cowering like an injured animal. Or I could do the mature thing, gussy myself up to within an inch of my life and rub Lance’s nose in what he had walked away from.
Gussy, it was.
As soon as my luggage came.
Very soon. It should be arriving very soon.
Any day now.
Seriously, why was it not here yet?
My stomach churned. This interior cabin, without so much as a porthole, was going to make it harder to get over my motion sickness. I needed to take Dramamine, but it was in my main suitcase.
The cruise director’s voice rang out over the all-call. “Dinner will be served in ten minutes. We look forward to enjoying a delicious Bon Voyage feast with our guests.”
I couldn’t be the only passenger waiting for her baggage. Maybe this was a common occurrence and the first night’s dinner was a super-casual affair.
I slipped on my flip-flops and trotted up the stairs. With a few minutes to kill before dinner started, and zero desire to mingle with the other passengers, I headed out to the open deck in front of the dining room.
Wasn’t it some sailor’s trick that you were supposed to stare at the horizon to bolster your stomach and get over motion sickness? I stared. And stared. But the only thing that was bolstered was the size of my hair as it further frizzed in the humid sea air.
Nope. I was headed toward drowsy Dramamine-ville, just as soon as dinner was over and I could zonk out in peace.
I popped a mint into my mouth, trying to envision myself on a stable surface. No dice. Silas, the first mate or whatever he was, ambled over. He wore a more formal style uniform than before but the same uptight frown. He was still, ahem, quite attractive.
I pursed my lips and willed him to go away along with the nausea.
“Good evening.” He was the model of politeness as he paused by my side.
“Hello.” All right. I wasn’t being very friendly, but this guy had basically created the current situation I was in. Technically that honor belonged to Lance, but if Silas hadn’t flustered Jenna at check-in, she could have explained the room situation to me. And again, if Silas had let me off the boat pronto when I had asked, I’d be safe on dry land instead of woozy on a rocking boat.
“Have you opted not to come to dinner?” he asked.
“No, I’m coming. I needed some fresh air first.”
“I see.” He lifted his hat off and placed it in the lounge chair behind us. Then, he glanced at his watch. “You might want to hurry. Our chef is excellent but insists that we’re prompt on mealtimes.”
“Umm, okay.” I took a step away from the railing. “Hurry as in walk the five feet to the dining room more quickly?”
“Oh.” He picked up his hat and fidgeted it between his fingers. “I just thought … since you’re still wearing … sorry. You’ve probably never been on a cruise before. It’s customary to change clothes for dinner, but if you’re comfortable in what you’re wearing, we respect our guest’s choices.”
/> “Not really my choice,” I pointed out. “My luggage hasn’t arrived yet, and I couldn’t change.”
“Some of your luggage hasn’t arrived?” His eyes narrowed.
“None of it. Why? Was it supposed to be there by now?”
“Yes. An hour ago at the very latest.”
“But—”
He was on his radio before I could say another word.
“Jenna, we have a code seven-twenty,” he said into the crackling device. “I repeat, a code seven-twenty. Immediate response required.”
“Silas, it’s me.” Jenna’s chipper voice was unmistakable. “What’s a seven-twenty again?”
Silas shot me an uncomfortable glance and swiveled away.
“One of our guests hasn’t received her luggage.”
“I was the last person on the boat,” I said. “Maybe that was the delay.”
He shook his head. “Every piece of baggage should have been delivered by now.”
“It’s all in the rooms,” said Jenna. “I was going to double-check, but Amanda said she was just in the cargo hold. Every bag accounted for.”
“Hmm. Maybe they were mistagged somehow and sent to the wrong room.” Silas turned to me. “How many bags were there? When you were checking in, did Jenna put a tag on each separately or band them together?”
“Oh, Jenna didn’t put a tag on them,” I said.
“What do you mean?”
“I gave them to your porter in the parking lot. Umm, Ed, I think? Yes, Ed. He put the tag on them. I have the claim stub here.” I pulled the paper out of my pocket, and it was … half of a Burger King coupon.
That couldn’t be right.
I dug around in my pocket some more, but it was empty.
“Our porter?” Silas’s face fell. “We don’t have a porter.”
“But … you have to. Ed.” Because if that guy didn’t work for them, it meant—
“I think you might have been the victim of a con artist.” Silas groaned. “What did this person look like?”
“About your height but really skinny. Blonde hair, and it was all greased back. He said he was with your cruise line.”
Death In A Deck Chair Page 4