“What about Andy?”
There was more giggling behind the stage, which we both listened to before Sam answered, after it got quiet again.
“I don’t know. I thought he went back to his room after he ended the Q&A session early.”
There was the sound of a door unlatching, and then someone saying, “Shh.”
Grabbing each other’s arms, Sam and I snuck into the second row of seats, crouching down onto the ground. In the dim light, you’d have to be really looking to spot us, and hopefully they wouldn’t be.
“Look, there’s no one here! We can be as noisy as we like. La, la, la la,” sung Andy. “Ow! What’d you do that for?”
“I don’t want to get caught. Now, stay here and wait at least five minutes before you come out. Okay?”
“Okay, okay, fine. Off you go.”
Footsteps clip-clopped across the wooden stage and then down the stairs at the side. From our vantage point, I could see the woman’s legs as she went by. They were long legs. Catwalk legs. Zara’s legs. Just to confirm, I peeked my head up once she was past us, and I watched the tall platinum-haired woman as she carefully ran a palm over her head, smoothing her hair down while she walked up the center aisle.
When she reached the back of the room, she opened the door and then paused. I guessed she was checking to see if anyone was outside. She must have decided the coast was clear, because a moment later she exited, closing the door quietly behind her.
I hunkered down to wait. Five minutes could be quite a long time in the dark. But as it turned out, we didn’t have to wait five more minutes. Almost as soon as the back door was closed, we heard the greenroom door open again, and heavier footsteps made their way outside, across the stage, and down the stairs.
“Five minutes? Ridiculous,” he muttered.
When he passed us, I looked up as I had before, and confirmed what I already suspected: it was Andy. Not Very Awesome At All Andy.
He walked out of the room with more of a carefree attitude than Zara had, swinging the door at the back open hard enough that it crashed into the back row of chairs with a thump. He then yanked it shut behind him, slamming it with a bang that seemed to make the whole auditorium shudder.
Sam and I both got to our feet.
“Well, that was interesting,” said Sam, an amused smile on her face.
“Yeah. So much for them all being friends.”
“That’s two couples in about as many minutes that don’t seem to be doing all that great, huh?” asked Sam.
“Sure seems that way...”
“Come on. Let’s get out of here for real this time.”
So, following after Zara and Andy, we did exactly that.
Chapter 9
Having had enough of people for the moment, I decided to try and take some pictures of food. At least food didn’t criticize my work, which is what I’m sure Andy would have done if he’d seen my recent photographs.
The best place to take food photos aboard our ship—at least if you want to take lots of them, which I did—was the International Buffet. With a massive array of dishes from around the world in every color of the rainbow, there was plenty to snap.
There were several rows of pre-prepared dishes, as well as another row along one wall with chef stations preparing fresh dishes on the spot. In all, there were well over a hundred different options available at lunch and dinner time, and they filled the cavernous restaurant with the different scents of a dozen different global cuisines.
Keeping to myself, I chose a table and began to arrange plates of food to take pictures of. I tended to just put a single piece or small artistic pile on each plate; I only did fully-loaded buffet-mountain plates when I wanted to show off how much you could get on there at once. For general food shots though, less was more. Not that I was an expert, as Andy liked to remind me.
After each shot, I did my duty toward the planet by not wasting the food, instead popping it into my mouth. Waste not, want not. There was also the added benefit that every single thing I tasted was another thing I could write about on blog posts or in articles.
I’d gone through a sushi roll, a cheese plate, a small serving of beef bulgogi, a taster of paella, a lamb medallion with accompanying rosemary crushed potatoes and red berry jus, and six mini-scoops of different ice creams when I figured I’d eaten enough. I mean, when I figured I had enough quality shots.
On my table sat several empty plates—I’d needed a clean one for each new shot, naturally—so I decided to take them into the kitchen. I felt bad making other staff members wait on me, especially if I was technically supposed to be working myself. I mean, I was working; it was my job to eat delicious food and document it, at least sometimes, but still, I felt it was only right that I cleaned up after myself.
“Shall I get those for you?” asked a friendly looking busgirl.
“Nope. I’ve got it. And I might get a few pictures in the kitchen while I’m at it.”
“Ooh, are you with Awesome Andy?” asked the girl with some excitement.
“Unfortunately!” I said with a laugh.
She gave me a slightly confused look. My negative answer accompanied by my cheery attitude threw her for a loop.
“Anyway, he’s out there too, taking pictures with Greg Washington.”
Huh. Great.
The girl didn’t bother to ask if I knew who Greg Washington was. She just assumed I did, because everyone on the ship did.
He was one of the senior chefs, and a colorful, flamboyant, and often dramatic figure who just about everyone had run into at some point. While he rubbed some people the wrong way, he was a pretty good guy overall. I wondered how he was getting on with Awful Andy.
When I arrived in the kitchen area, I dumped my plates at the wash station and scanned the room. Even with the noise of pots clanging, doors slamming, orders being shouted and the hustle and bustle of people moving around, I could hear them before I could see them.
I could hear Greg at least.
“Oh. My. God. How did you do that?”
My eyes locked onto them and I walked over to Greg and Andy, who were standing next to a stainless steel prep table. Andy was holding out his camera so that Greg could see the small screen, which he was staring at in transfixed delight.
As I got close, I snapped a couple of pictures of my own, from the side, getting some natural, unposed looking images of the pair of them before they noticed me.
“How’s it going?” I greeted them.
Andy flicked his eyes toward me and then back to his camera, the briefest of eyebrow raises being his only greeting.
“Adrienne! Girl, look at this. This man is a genius!”
I went to see what the fuss was about. Unsurprisingly, I was underwhelmed.
“It’s a piece of cake,” I said.
“But don’t you think he’s captured the essence of the thing? You can really see the character of the cake, don’t you think? You look at this and you think, honey, that cake has attitude.”
I stared down at the screen again. It looked like an inert piece of cake to me, with neither character, attitude, nor any other anthropomorphic characteristics.
“She doesn’t have an eye for it like you do,” said Andy, giving Greg a squeeze around the shoulders.
“It looks a bit washed out against the stainless steel,” I said.
Andy frowned at me but didn’t argue back. He knew I was right.
I’d taken some pretty nice pictures myself, out in the buffet. I was particularly proud of one where I’d set up a slice of sushi roll to casually lean against the rest of its family, the background artistically unfocused while the rice in the foreground was caught in amazing detail. But I didn’t want to show it to Greg now, with Andy standing there. I knew it’d end in tears. My tears.
“Now, Andy, you have to give me a camera recommendation. You just have to.” Greg spoke with such earnestness it was as if Andy would be doing him the biggest favor in the world if he would comply.
Greg was a man of passions, and when he was passionate about something he was really passionate about it. But with the exception of cooking, those passions would often be short-lived.
“I’ll write a couple down for you. One for if you’re really interested in becoming a pro, and one if you want to be more of an amateur.” With the final words, Andy looked my way.
“Oh, I am interested.”
Andy withdrew a fountain pen from his pocket and then a business card from a small silver case. On the back of the card, he began to write down the name of a camera. He wrote with bold strokes in a beautiful cursive script that annoyed me just seeing him do it. It wasn’t just the shape of his lettering that was beautiful; it was also the ink he used. It wasn’t normal blue or black, but a bright aquamarine that reminded me of the afternoon ocean near Cozumel.
“And how much would that be, do you think?” Greg asked airily, as if money would be no object, but I could see from the wary look in his eye that it most certainly would be. I didn’t think he had much disposable income after his wardrobe budget was taken into account.
“The base unit’s about ten, and then if you want some decent glass with it—”
“Glass?” asked Greg with a frown.
Andy chuckled and gave a tiny shake of his head.
“Lenses. You need several lenses if you want to take this seriously. Anyway, for some nice glass, and some cases and bags, you’ll want to budget another five at least.”
Greg nodded his head up and down thoughtfully, but I could tell from the way his lips were pressed together that he wasn’t quite understanding something.
“When you say ten...”
“Ten thousand dollars, of course,” said Andy laughing. “For some serious amateur equipment. Of course my personal collection is well into six figures.”
I stood back and watched. I could see Greg working out how to handle what he’d just heard. There was no way he wanted to spend ten thousand dollars on a camera, no matter how excited he was at the minute. I think deep down he knew that his new passion wouldn’t last much longer than the length of the next cruise.
“And you were going to write down another one?”
Andy chuckled again. “Sure. I’ll write down a cheapo one for you as well, if you’re not going to be a serious hobbyist.”
Andy wrote down another camera name and model with more big flourishing strokes of his pen. The two camera recommendations together covered the entire back of his business card.
When Andy was done, he picked up the card and Greg reached to take it.
“Uh, uh, uh,” said Andy, shaking his head and holding it away from Greg. He proceeded to shake it like an old Polaroid picture. “Got to let the ink dry. I use a real pen, you see.”
Greg and I both stared at the business card as he flapped it in the air. I was pretty sure he did it longer than necessary, because it was a full minute before he was finally satisfied, and a minute is a long time to watch a man shake a little bit of card.
“There you go.”
Greg took the business card and I could see that even during my brief time next to the pair of them, his love for photography had already waned. I bet he wouldn’t even buy the cheaper camera. By the time we were back in port, he’d probably have a new passion.
“Right, I think I deserve some lunch now. Don’t you?” asked Andy to us.
No.
“Help yourself to the buffet. We have some wonderful dishes,” said Greg, a little of his enthusiasm returning. I think he was pleased that Andy was leaving now. The talk of ten thousand dollars had frightened him.
“It tastes even better than your pictures look,” I said with practiced innocence.
“I doubt that,” said Andy, the annoyance in his voice clear. “Goodbye.”
When he finally left, Greg and I looked at each other.
“He’s something, isn’t he?” said Greg.
“Yep. Catch you later.” I waved at him as I left, making sure to exit through a different door in case Andy was loitering outside of it.
On the way out of the International Buffet, I grabbed a plastic cup and some iced sparkling water, tossing in a few slices of lime I liberated from the Mexican food station.
Outside, at a quiet part of the deck, I sat on a bench and stared out at the sea. I was looking east, so there was nothing to see but sky and ocean all the way to the horizon.
There was something about Andy that made me think. Not just thinking horrible thoughts about him—which I definitely was—but about my own life too. Was being a social media manager really what I wanted to be doing? I mean, I knew it wasn’t. Working as a journalist had always been my dream. But what I was doing now was a good stopgap, wasn’t it?
Andy had been condescending about my photos. Maybe he was right. Maybe if I took better photos, I’d be better at my job.
I sipped my drink, enjoying the acidic spike the lime had added to the water. Sometimes I wondered how I wound up here. How did a girl from the Cornride, Nebraska, who grew up without ever seeing the ocean, end up on a ship out in the middle of the Gulf of Mexico, hanging out with Arrogant Andy? Some of it was great, like being with Cece and Sam and my relationship with Ethan, but there had been tough times too since I’d started working. Far tougher than anything that had happened shoreside.
Except for one thing.
The kidnapping last year.
Now that I knew a bit more about the captain’s history, I wasn’t sure how it connected with what had been happening to me. What was the relationship between the captain, his drug trafficking, and my kidnappers? Was there even one? And what about the fake housekeeper that Cece had seen boarding the ship again?
I liked to think I would figure it all out, work out what was going on, but it was impossible not to let doubt creep in.
I’m not sure how long I sat there, but it was long enough that Andy had time to eat his lunch and exit the buffet. I had just finished my drink and stood up to go back inside when Andy emerged. Right in front of me. Just what I didn’t want. I forced a smile anyway.
“The food was not as good as my pictures,” he said. “It’s lucky you need neither good eyes nor a good palate for your job, isn’t it?”
Goodness. He was the absolute worst. I’d had enough of him and decided I wasn’t even going to dignify that with a response. I was going to pointedly ignore him from now on. Unfortunately, he didn’t get to experience me ignoring him, because someone interrupted us.
“Andy! Andy! Andy! It is you,” said a rapidly approaching woman.
I squinted in her direction. She was another one of the VIPs I’d met while boarding, the lady I’d asked if she was a model. Raina.
Andy glanced at me and then looked furtively over his shoulder, back inside, like he was trying to figure out an escape route.
I decided to help by reaching out and grabbing hold of his arm, turning him toward Raina. If he didn’t want to see her, I was going to make him.
He glared at me as I turned us both to fully face Raina.
“Hi,” I said with a genuine grin on my lips.
Raina beamed at me while she stretched out her arms to envelop an Awkward Andy in a giant hug.
When she finally released him, she took a step back, joy practically radiating off her as she ran her eyes up and down him.
This was too good.
“How do you guys know each other?” I asked brightly.
Raina was thrilled to explain.
“Andy took my wedding photos two years ago! I’m so excited to see him here. It’s such a surprise!”
She clearly hadn’t read much about the cruise she signed up for if Andy being here was a surprise. On the positive side, Andy seemed just as surprised to see her, and not too happy about it.
“I did, didn’t I? I’d almost forgot,” said Andy.
Raina gently swatted his arm with an open palm. “Oh, you. Like you could forget me. Now, I’ve been trying to get in contact with you, but your secretary
doesn’t seem to pass on my messages.”
Gee, I wonder why.
“Oh, is that so? What’s it about?” Andy asked his question in exactly the way you would say it if you really didn’t want to know what she wanted, but were forced to ask by social convention. Because that’s exactly what was happening.
Raina looked around the deck and then gave me an awkward smile.
“I have a proposition for you—” Andy winced at that “—a rather lucrative one. There could be a lot of money in it for you, Andy. Six figures. Come along and let’s talk in private.”
Raina stepped forward and I was delighted to step aside so that she could link her arm with his before he could even respond. I wasn’t sure if Raina was completely clueless as to how uninterested Andy was in talking with her, or whether she was just ignoring it. I suspected the latter.
“Six figures?” said Andy in a small but curious voice. It seemed money could get his attention at least.
“Oh yes, definitely.” She turned to me. “Lovely to see you again, Adrienne.”
I beamed back at her. She remembered my name even though we’d only met briefly. I was liking her more and more. “Have a good meeting!”
With a happy smile, I waved them off. I was burning with curiosity, though.
What on earth could be worth six figures? I didn’t think photography paid that much.
I slowly ambled along behind them. Coincidentally, they were going in the same direction I was—toward Minnie’s café.
The café itself was mostly outdoors, arranged around rows of giant planters filled with trees and shrubs which overhang the seating areas. Due to the placement of the planters, several different sections to the café were created by the divisions made by the trees.
Raina led Andy to a secluded table for two, surrounded by potted bamboo that soared up eight feet above them. I walked past where they had gone in.
“Adrienne! Stop!”
Surprised, I looked to see who was calling me and was delighted to see Cece. I motioned for her to come toward me urgently. With an excited smile playing on her lips, she did exactly that.
Cruise Conundrum: A Cruise Ship Cozy Mystery (Cruise Ship Cozy Mysteries Book 5) Page 6