by Laura Levine
I studiously avoided eye contact with Robbie, afraid of the disappointment I was bound to see in his eyes. I couldn’t help taking a peek at his bod, though, which was taut and trim. As was Ms. Nesbitt’s. I was hoping she’d have at least a love handle or two. But she was sculpted tight as a drum, probably from all those hours of sexual calisthenics. Only Kyle showed signs of a burgeoning martini belly.
Miguel, our bronzed Adonis of a scuba instructor, looked me over and frowned.
“I take it you’ve never been scuba diving before.”
“Oh, yes, scads of times. Why do you ask?”
“You’ve got your wet suit on backward.”
Oh, groan. How could I have been such an idiot?
“Um. That’s the way we wear them in Hermosa,” I said, referring to my hometown of Hermosa Beach.
“I’m sorry, but you can’t wear it that way here.”
“I’ll go back to my cabana and change.”
“We really don’t have time for that,” Miguel said, checking his watch.
And so, in a moment that haunts my dreams to this day, I had to stand there in front of everyone and struggle out of my wet suit. Which meant that Robbie got to see me in my nunsuit, after all.
As I righted my wet suit faux pas, Miguel began handing out the rest of our scuba gear. I never realized there was so much involved in a simple dip underwater. It’s all très technical, so I won’t bore you with the details, but eventually I wound up with an air tank strapped to my back and enough connecting hoses to open my own garden supply store.
Around my waist I wore a tire-like contraption to keep me afloat. (Just what I needed—more inches!) Top it all off with fins and face mask, and voila—instant Creature from the Black Lagoon.
When we were all strapped in and hosed up, Miguel gathered us around in a circle.
“I realize you’re all experienced divers,” Miguel said, with a dubious glance in my direction, “but I want to go over a few basic rules before we begin.”
I paid frantic attention to the basic rules. The most important of which was to press a little doohickey on my wrist (known as the “regulator” to bona fide scuba divers) when I needed air from the tank strapped to my back.
“All set, everybody?” Miguel said when he was through. “Are we ready for some fun?”
The only thing I was ready for was a nap. And possibly a brownie or three.
“You okay, Jaine?” Robbie asked as we waded out into the water.
“I’m fine,” I assured him, still not making eye contact.
By now we’d reached the sandbar where the water suddenly got deeper.
“Let’s do it!” Miguel shouted. “Follow me.”
This was it. Zero hour. I said a quick prayer and took the plunge.
Thanks to swimming lessons as a child (where I first discovered that Mr. Bathing Suit was not my friend), I already knew how to dive underwater. So I was actually able to follow the others.
Much to my relief, I managed to work the regulator thingie on my wrist, sending air through a hose to my mouth as I needed it. It took a minute or two to get used to breathing through my mouthpiece, but soon I began to relax and enjoy myself. All sorts of amazing fish were swimming past me.
Then Robbie swam up to me and waved. I waved back.
Gee, this was fun. Maybe I had an aptitude for water sports after all. Could I possibly have a future with Robbie? Who knew? Maybe he liked a gal with a few extra pounds under her wet suit.
Before long I was lost in a fantasy of me and Robbie frolicking at the beach, running hand in hand across the sand to our cottage by the sea, where, after frantic whoopsy doodle, we’d cuddle together sharing a pint of Chunky Monkey. (Okay, a quart of Chunky Monkey.)
I was in the midst of deciding what to name our first child—Owen, if it was a boy, Marissa or Heidi, if it was a girl—when I suddenly realized the others were nowhere in sight.
They must’ve dived down deeper. I briefly considered trying to find them, but no way was I going any deeper, not by myself. It was probably time I got out of the water anyway.
I was just about to head back up to the surface when I felt someone moving behind me. Before I could turn to see who it was, I felt a sharp tug on my air hose. And the next thing I knew, the hose was floating in front of my face mask—severed from my air tank.
Omigod! My air supply had been cut off! Suddenly water was rushing in through the remaining stub of hose in my mouth.
I spat out my mouthpiece and struggled to the surface holding my breath, my heart racing wildly. I didn’t think I’d gone down far at all, but now it seemed to take forever to get back up. By the time my head finally emerged from the water, it felt like my lungs were going to burst.
Frantically I gasped for air, sucking it up in enormous gulps.
Then, with trembling limbs, I paddled to the sandbar and waded back to shore.
If I wasn’t mistaken, the killer had just struck again.
Emily and Maggie hurried to my side as I staggered out of the water.
“Jaine, dear!” Emily cried. “What on earth happened?”
But all I could do was cough in reply.
Now the others began emerging from their dive. Soon they were all huddled in a circle around me.
“What’s going on here?” Miguel wanted to know.
“Someone tried to kill me,” I said, my voice hoarse from coughing.
“That can’t be!” Emily’s eyes were wide with disbelief.
“Someone swam up behind me and cut my air hose. Look.”
I showed everyone the severed cord.
“Do you suppose a fish could have bitten it?” Maggie asked.
“Don’t be absurd,” Nesbitt snapped. “It was probably one of the locals.”
She gazed in disdain at a Mexican family playing in the sand.
“Really, Leona,” Emily said. “Why would a local want to harm Jaine?”
“They’re hot-blooded Latins. You never know what they’ll do.”
Miguel shot her a livid look. In case she forgot, he was one of those “hot-blooded Latins.”
“It looks to me like she may have cut it on a rock,” he said, running his finger along the severed edge.
What a crock. He just didn’t want an attempted murder on his watch.
“I was nowhere near a rock!”
“I think we should call the police,” one of the others suggested.
“We don’t have time to call the police,” Nesbitt scoffed. “We have to be back on ship in less than an hour.”
“You never should’ve allowed her on the tour,” the eightieth-birthday girl scolded Miguel. “She clearly wasn’t experienced. Anyone could tell she didn’t know what she was doing.”
I wished she’d stop talking about me like I wasn’t there.
“It’s my fault,” Robbie said. “I should have been watching you, Jaine. I thought you were following us, and by the time I realized I’d lost you, it was too late. I’m so sorry.”
For the first time since I put on my wet suit, I looked into Robbie’s eyes, and they seemed to be filled with genuine concern.
In the end, we did not call the police. Nesbitt was right. We simply didn’t have time. Instead, we trudged back up to our cabanas to change out of our wet suits.
And as we walked along in the sand it suddenly occurred to me that there was someone missing from the circle of people who’d surrounded me.
“Where’s Kyle?” I asked.
“He must’ve gone ahead to change,” Maggie said.
Very interesting. Kyle Pritchard was the one person who didn’t come over to find out what happened to me. Maybe because he was there when it happened.
To hell with Paige and her rules. No way was I joining the others for dinner that night. I was convinced Kyle was the one who tried to drown me that afternoon, and I was not about to break bread with the guy.
Instead, I stayed huddled in bed with Prozac, eating a roast beef panini I’d brought back from the
buffet.
“Oh, Pro, it was so awful,” I moaned, unable to forget my near brush with death.
She’d long since inhaled the whitefish I’d brought for her dinner and was now eyeing my sandwich hungrily.
“Suddenly all that water came rushing in through my air hose, and I couldn’t breathe!”
Yeah, whatever. Can I have some of that roast beef?
She thrust her pink nose at it eagerly.
“Oh, for crying out loud. Just once, can’t you show a little sympathy?”
I scooped out a hunk of meat and put it on her plate.
Gone in sixty seconds. So I gave her some more. I was lucky she let me eat the roll.
I polished off the few remaining crumbs from my plate and spent the next few hours staring glassily at a movie on TV. But I couldn’t concentrate. For all I knew, it could’ve been a test pattern.
Finally, I turned out the light, but sleep didn’t come. I couldn’t shake the awful memory of that water rushing in through my air hose. Figuring a glass of wine might help me relax, I threw on my jeans and a sweatshirt and set out in search of liquid comfort.
I wandered into the first bar I came across, a dimly lit lounge with leather booths and soft music tinkling in the background. The place was fairly deserted. Everybody was probably off watching the entertainment in the Grand Showroom.
I took a seat at the bar and ordered a chardonnay from a sleepy-looking bartender.
Just as he was bringing it to me, I heard someone call my name.
“Yoo hoo, Jaine!”
I looked up and saw Maggie getting up from one of the leather booths. I checked the booth for signs of Kyle, but thank heavens he wasn’t there.
Maggie lurched across the room unsteadily, drink in hand, and plopped down next to me at the bar.
If she was concerned about my recent brush with death, she showed no signs of it.
“You really should try one of these,” she said, pointing to her elaborate umbrella drink.
From the way she was slurring her words—and from the two paper umbrellas stuck in her hair—I got the distinct impression this was not her first drink of the evening.
“A toast,” she said, raising her concoction aloft. “To my upcoming divorce!”
“Your divorce?”
I blinked in surprise. Not that I blamed her for wanting out from her marriage. I just didn’t think she’d have the nerve to cut lose.
“To my miserable rat of a husband,” she continued, still in toastmaster mode. “May he fly tourist class straight to hell!”
Hello. There was a story here, and, her tongue well oiled by booze, Maggie was about to tell it.
“Would you believe Kyle’s been cheating on me with that prune Leona Nesbitt?”
“No!” I said, doing my best to look shocked.
“I thought something was fishy when he ditched the tour in Mazatlan. Said he had a headache. Trust me—Kyle doesn’t get headaches. He gives them.
“So I ditched the tour, too, and followed him back to the ship. Just as I was getting off the elevator I saw him slipping into her cabin. I heard those two moaning and groaning all the way down the hallway. Oh, Kylesie! You’re the best! The best?? Puh-leese! I’ve had sneezes that lasted longer than Kyle.”
Oh, my. This was quite an earful, wasn’t it?
“And then today,” she said, tucking the paper umbrella from her drink alongside the others in her hair, “when I checked his e-mails in the ship’s computer room, I found out the two of them are planning to run off together.
“To think,” she sputtered, “that I’ve been worried sick about all the money he’s been embezzling from Aunt Emily.”
Whoa! Kyle had been embezzling money from Emily?
“What a dope I was. Scared senseless he’d wind up in jail, and all the while he and Ms. Nesbitt were planning to take the money and run off to the Cayman Islands.”
So that was what Maggie had been worried about that day on the jogging track. Not that Kyle was a killer—but an embezzler. He and Nesbitt didn’t need to kill Graham; they’d already stolen enough money for a new life in the Caymans. The only sins they’d been guilty of were embezzlement, adultery, and extremely tacky taste in sex games.
“I’m going to divorce that man so fast his head will spin,” Maggie was ranting. “When I’m through with him, he won’t be able to afford an olive for his martini.”
Then she looked down and realized her glass was empty.
“Bartender!” she called out. “Another Cabo-cabana!”
But I barely heard her, a queasy feeling growing in the pit of my stomach.
I was convinced that whoever killed Graham had tried to kill me that afternoon. And there were only three people in the water who knew me: Kyle, Nesbitt, and Robbie.
If Kyle and Nesbitt were off the hook for Graham’s murder, that left only one other person:
Robbie.
I knew from the get-go he was a bad boy. I just never dreamed he was this bad.
YOU’VE GOT MAIL
To: Jaineausten
From: DaddyO
Subject: Not My Fault!
I don’t care what your mom says; I did not start that fire.
XXX,
Daddy
To: Jaineausten
From: Shoptillyoudrop
Subject: A Bit of Bad News
I hate to break this to you, sweetheart, when I know how much fun you must be having on your cruise, but I’m afraid Daddy has set fire to your apartment.
It’s all because of his stupid pipe! Would you believe he emptied the dratted thing into the trash along with all the flammable rags from the paint and turpentine and walnut stain? It was only a matter of time before the bundle caught fire.
It must have been smoldering for hours. But we didn’t notice it until we got back from a walk we took after dinner, where Daddy told me about some ridiculous plan to install beer keg faucets in your bathroom.
When we walked in the front door, the apartment was billowing with smoke. We raced to the kitchen and saw the trash can on fire and your kitchen curtains going up in flames.
Daddy tried to put out the fire with a bottle of Diet Coke, which, of course, didn’t work, but luckily one of your neighbors smelled smoke and called the firemen, who came bursting through the front door and got everything under control in no time. No thanks to Daddy, I might add, who was hovering over them, giving them “pointers” on how to put out a fire! Honestly, I thought I’d die.
I’m happy to report that aside from your kitchen curtains nothing got destroyed. But I’m afraid your walls are covered with soot and have to be repainted. I called Ricardo, the handyman, and he’s starting the job tomorrow. To think! If your father had only paid him that $30 in the beginning we wouldn’t be paying an arm and a leg now!
But try not to fret, honey. Just remember you’ve got darling Lance waiting for you when you get back.
Love,
Mom
PS. The smoke in your apartment was so bad, we had to check into a hotel, a charming little place right across the street from the Century City shopping mall. I’ll have to trot on over there to see what they have in the way of trousseau items, although I doubt they’ll have anything as lovely as that pink sequined peignoir from the shopping channel. Did I mention it comes with a matching pink feather boa?
To: Jaineausten
From: DaddyO
Subject: Unjustly Accused!
I suppose your mom has written you all about the fire. Naturally, she blames me. She claimed the ashes from my pipe started it, but I’m not sure I sign off on that theory. I say those rags caught fire all by themselves in a burst of spontaneous combustion.
Needless to say, your mother panicked at the sight of the flames, but good old Daddy sprang to the rescue and put the fire out with some Diet Coke. Some idiot neighbor called the fire department, which was totally unnecessary. By the time the firemen showed up, I had everything well under control.
In spite of my herois
m, I’m still in the doghouse with your mom. To keep peace in the family, I’ve agreed to let her hire that highway robber Ricardo to paint your apartment. Not only that, I made the supreme sacrifice and threw away my pipe. If that’s not true love, I don’t know what is.
Gotta run, lambchop. Your mom wants to go to the mall. And I can’t afford to keep her waiting.
Hugs and kisses,
Daddy
PS. I know this is going to come as a blow, but I’m afraid I’m going to have to give up my plans to spruce up your apartment.
To: Jaineausten
From: Shoptillyoudrop
Subject: How Could You?
We just got back from the mall and found the most disturbing message from Lance. I can’t believe you called off the wedding!!! How could you break Lance’s heart like that—leaving him for a Cabo San Lucas cabana boy?
Your very disappointed,
Mom
PS. The only piece of good news I’ve had all day is that Daddy finally threw out that dratted pipe of his.
To: Jaineausten
From: DaddyO
Guess what? While your mom was running around shopping, I wandered into the most interesting store called Cigar-A-Rama. The sales clerk said I had the definite air of a cigar aficionado. I think he may be right. So I bought a few to try them out.
See you soon, sweetheart!
XXX
PS. What’s all this about you being engaged to a cabana boy?
Chapter 21
What a fool I’d been to ignore Robbie as a suspect.
All his talk about being a laid-back surfer dude was just an act. The guy was undoubtedly just as moneygrubbing as Kyle and killed Graham to protect his inheritance.
I should have listened to my gut when I first met him. He was never really interested in me. He pursued me out of boredom, because there were no other women his age around. Then somehow he figured out I was investigating and got nervous. So he arranged for me to come along on the scuba excursion—not for the pleasure of my company, but to shut me up forever.