by Elaine Viets
Suzanne seemed surprisingly alert, as if working in her galley invigorated her. The chef’s white uniform was fresh and her long dark hair was neatly tied back. The galley was far cleaner than Helen’s kitchen.
The late-night feast was ready for the final preparation: The onion rings were battered, the fries were cut and the grease was bubbling in the deep fryer. Thick, marbled steaks rubbed with garlic waited for the grill. The lobster and avocado salads chilling in the fridge looked like pink and green abstract art.
Helen’s stomach growled when she saw them. “They’re gorgeous,” she said, shutting the fridge door.
Suzanne was whisking something in a saucepan with sure, swift strokes.
“Do I smell chocolate?” Helen asked.
“Sure do. That’s a chocolate lime rum cake on the counter,” Suzanne said. “I’m finishing the sauce—it’s caramelized sugar, dark rum and lime juice.”
“That cake looks moist,” Helen said, hoping Suzanne would get the hint.
“It is,” the chef said. “It’s also for the owners and guests.”
It was nearly four o’clock when Beth, Earl and their guests returned. The men’s tuxes looked rumpled and Scotty’s jacket was sprinkled with cigar ashes.
“I’m starved,” Earl said. “When’s dinner?” He’d untied his bow tie and the ends dangled on his pleated shirt.
“I want a T-bone,” Scotty said. “Auto-accident rare.”
“I could eat a horse,” Pepper said.
“Told you that Japanese hash wouldn’t be enough,” Scotty said.
“But it was amazing,” Pepper said. “And I can tell everyone I was there.” Pepper hadn’t lost her sparkle, even at four a.m. Neither had her jewelry.
Beth was glamorous, but a little worn. Rosette looked like a plucked chicken in a designer dress.
“I could do with a nibble,” Beth said. “We’ll have our lobster salads as soon as the steaks are grilled, Mira.”
“The chef says the steaks, fries and onion rings will be ready shortly,” the head stew said. “She’s starting them now.”
“Let’s have a drink while we wait,” Earl said.
The first round of scotches and champagne disappeared faster than water in the desert. The second went almost as fast. Suzanne was plating the steaks, fries and onions when Beth told Mira, “It’s four thirty. We’re tired. We’re going to bed.”
“No food, then?” Mira asked.
“No,” Beth said. “Good night.”
The party rose, yawning and stretching, and strolled off to their staterooms without another look back. Helen saw Pepper heading for the guest head and knew she’d be looking at more cleaning. She stayed out of sight, found her caddy and slipped on another pair of disposable gloves. Sure enough, Pepper had splashed water around like a sparrow in a birdbath.
I’ve either cleaned the last head of the night, or the first of the morning, Helen thought, as she stripped off her gloves and carried the towels down to the crew mess. She’d start the laundry in an hour and a half.
Her radio crackled again. “Help me clear, Helen,” Mira said.
The two stews had the dining room dusted and sparkling in twenty minutes.
“Nobody ate anything?” Helen asked, as she polished the dining room table.
“Not a crumb,” Mira said. “They had too much to drink. Scotty, for all his talk about wanting a T-bone, was snoring in his chair after his second scotch. Pepper had to wake him up to go to sleep.”
“They didn’t even apologize,” Helen said.
“Don’t have to,” Mira said. “They’re guests.”
“What happens to the food?” Helen asked Suzanne.
“Would you like a lobster salad or a T-bone?” the chef asked.
“Can I have both?” Helen asked. She’d nuked leftovers for her dinner. They were delicious leftovers, but that was hours ago. She was hungry.
“Fries and onion rings, too, if you want,” the chef said.
“And a slice of cake?”
“No,” Suzanne said. “I haven’t put the sauce on the cake yet. It will be good tomorrow. I guess that’s today. Either way, the cake will still be fresh in a few hours.”
She fixed Helen a plate heaped with steak, onion rings and fries, and handed her a lobster salad. “Go eat in the crew mess,” she said. “I have to bake bread and muffins for breakfast.”
“Aren’t you angry that they didn’t eat your meal after all your work?” Helen asked.
“It’s part of the job,” she said, and shrugged. “That’s why they pay me so well. Like I said, it’s their money and their food. If they eat it or throw it out, it’s all the same to me.
“Now, shoo. You have to start work in a little over an hour.”
Helen wondered about Suzanne’s unnaturally calm acceptance. Was it real? Or was she hiding her anger?
CHAPTER 27
“Why were you staring at him?”
Helen heard a man’s voice—raging, demanding, drunk. Scotty? It couldn’t be. He was such a good-natured guest, playing poker, pounding down scotch and patting Pepper’s bottom. Mira had said that he was jealous, but Helen had never seen his surly side.
Now she heard his snarl clear back in her cabin.
“I didn’t do anything. He was our waiter. Of course I looked at him.” Pepper. She sounded frightened.
“You weren’t looking at his face,” Scotty roared. “You were watching his ass.”
“No, I wouldn’t do that.” She was pleading. “You know I love you. Let me show you how much. Let—”
Scotty cut her off. “I don’t want to hear it. I know what I saw.”
Helen stepped into her shower, eager to avoid Pepper’s groveling. It hurt to hear the woman humiliate herself. Helen would hide behind a curtain of water until it was over.
After she and Mira had cleared up the dining room this morning and Helen ate her lobster salad and T-bone, she had only forty minutes before she had to report to work. There was no chance to sleep. A brisk shower would have to revive her.
Helen stepped out of her box-sized bathroom in a cloud of steam and heard, “I said I was sorry. But I didn’t look at him, except as a waiter. Please believe me.” Pepper was crying and begging.
“You’re lying.” Scotty’s voice was a dangerous rumble.
“I swear. Ask Beth. Ask Earl. And Ralph and Rosette. They were at our table. They didn’t see anything.”
“I’m not asking,” Scotty said, his voice a whipcrack. “If our hosts and friends didn’t notice your outrageous behavior, I’d rather they didn’t find out what a slut you are.”
“I’m not a slut,” Pepper wailed. More weeping. Then silence. Helen hoped Pepper would pack her jewelry and leave, but she knew the little blonde wouldn’t abandon her steak-eating sugar daddy.
Helen dressed quickly and brushed her hair, trying to ignore the murmurs and sighs drifting her way. Pepper’s voice was light and teasing. “You know I love you. Let me do it the way you like. Come on. Don’t be a stubborn old silly.”
The silence changed to low moans and grunts. Makeup sex, Helen thought. She shut her cabin door and ran into the mess, where she was greeted by the crew eating breakfast. Sam winced when they shouted hello, and gulped more coffee. His face was pale under the tan.
“Helen! It’s steak and eggs for breakfast,” Matt said. “T-bones, the breakfast of champions. Join us.”
“Thanks. I ate an hour ago,” Helen said. She threw in two loads of towels, relieved that her chattering colleagues and the roaring washers drowned out the sounds of Pepper and Scotty in bed.
Helen heard Scotty whistling when he strolled out to the aft deck for breakfast an hour later. She was glad Mira served him. Helen didn’t think she could look at the man. She’d liked him before she’d heard him arguing. Helen bet Pepper wasn’t whistling this morning.
Her radio erupted. “Mrs. Crowne requested a cleanup in her stateroom,” Mira said.
Helen grabbed her caddy and rushed throug
h the passage, wondering what kind of damage the couple had done during their fight.
“Come in,” Pepper said, when Helen knocked on the door to Paradise.
Pepper saw a bare-backed Pepper sitting at her dressing table, combing her bouncy curls. At first, Helen thought she was naked. Then she realized that Pepper was wearing a pink halter top cut low in the back—and probably the front. Her tight pants gripped her bottom. Pepper will do anything to keep that rich old man, Helen thought, and felt sorry for her.
The stateroom was neat, except for the clothes on the floor and the rumpled bed. She tried to block the picture of Pepper placating Scotty on those sheets. A half-empty glass of red wine was abandoned on the nightstand.
“How may I help?” Helen asked.
Pepper turned to face Helen, her eyes glittering with malice. “I had a little accident in bed,” she said. She walked over, picked up the red wine and poured it on the sheets.
Helen stared. She couldn’t believe Pepper had deliberately poured wine on the bed.
“Fix it,” Pepper said. “That’s your job, isn’t it? I’m going to breakfast.” She slammed the door to Paradise.
Helen stripped the bed while she muttered to herself. “I can’t believe I felt sorry for you, bimbo,” she said, pulling off the duvet.
“I hope he screws you blind.” She ripped the pillows out of their cases.
“You deserve to live with Blubber Bucks until you’re so old you have to pay young men to get in your bed.” Helen yanked off the sheets.
“You had an accident in bed, all right. You crawled between the sheets with that cigar-smoking snake.” Helen had stripped the bed. There was no wine on the mattress.
By the time she’d carried the mountain of laundry into the crew mess, Helen decided that living with Scotty was punishment enough for Pepper. When I’m in bed with Phil, I’ll think of you with your flabby old coot. No, I won’t. I’ll think of Phil. My man’s good in bed. You made your bed, Pepper. Now lie in it and grovel.
Helen treated the red wine stains. Mira had said the sheets were custom-made and cost about twelve hundred dollars a set. If she couldn’t get the wine out, would she have to pay for the sheets, too? She’d wind up owing the yacht owners before she finished this job.
Helen still hadn’t a clue who was the smuggler. When Andrei was passed out, she’d missed her chance to search the cabin he shared with Carl. She should have checked the first mate’s bulging backpack. She’d been so sure Andrei was the smuggler. Then she’d talked to Phil and her terrified sister, and her night was consumed by other worries. She was too—
Frantic barks came from the aft deck, followed by a curse, then a crash of glass and china. Apologies poured from Beth. “I’m so sorry. Do you need to see a doctor? Do you need stitches? Can you work?”
Work? Beth was apologizing to a crew member?
Mira radioed Helen. “Come out to the aft deck,” she said. “Help me clean up.”
The outdoor breakfast was chaos. Earl was blotting spilled coffee with a napkin. Scotty was yelling and waving his cigar. Rosette and Ralph had backed away from the table. Pepper had stopped stuffing her face with a blueberry muffin.
Beth, in mustard-colored cotton, gripped Mitzi, who struggled to get free. The poodle wore a topaz collar and had blood on her muzzle. Beth tried to hush her little dog, but Mitzi would not stop yapping at Andrei. She must have bitten the engineer on the ankle. Helen saw blood seeping through his white sock.
A coffee cup and Baccarat glasses were overturned. Mira was carrying away a platter of bacon swimming in orange juice.
“For chrissakes, shut that damned dog up,” Earl said, his voice tight with fury.
“I don’t know what got into Mitzi,” Beth babbled. “She’s never bitten anyone. Ever. She’s such a good dog.”
She still is, Helen thought. And a brave one. Mitzi had attacked the man who’d kicked her. The blood spot on Andrei’s sock was the size of a quarter, but he acted as if he’d been savaged by a pit bull.
“Perhaps I should see a doctor,” he said. “For stitches. Or a shot. Sam or Matt can take me.”
“They have to clean the boat, Andrei.” Carl, the first mate, had been called to the crisis. “I can put a Band-Aid on it. Doesn’t look like such a little dog could do much damage.”
“She did,” Andrei said. “She has powerful jaws.”
Mira, who was clearing more plates, snorted and tried to turn it into a cough.
“I can’t spare anyone to take you to a clinic,” Carl said.
Beth put her hand over Mitzi’s mouth to silence her barks and growls. Was she worried Earl would banish the dog from the yacht?
“Atlantis has a hotel doctor,” Beth said. “They can take care of you. Mira, call the hotel and have them send a cart to fetch Andrei. You can ride in a golf cart, can’t you?”
“Oh, yes,” Andrei said, a little too cheerfully. He turned his face back into a mask of pain. “I’ll manage.”
Helen gathered up the coffee cups and carried them into the galley.
“May I bring you any more food?” Mira asked the guests. “Would you like fresh coffee? Juice?”
“I want to head to the casino,” Scotty said. “What about you, boys?”
“I’ll take the girls to the spa as soon as I speak to Suzanne,” Beth said. “Helen, are you afraid to watch Mitzi?”
“No, she’s a good dog,” Helen said. She carried the poodle into the galley and fed her a peanut butter treat, while Beth relayed her instructions to the chef. “We’d like lunch at three o’clock. Make something local, Suzanne.”
The guests and owners never returned for Suzanne’s lunch of Caribbean lobster curry. But they did turn up at eight that night with four friends from another yacht, expecting dinner for ten.
Somehow, Suzanne made the food appear. The crew ate the lobster curry for dinner, and Earl and Beth’s guests raved over the chef’s spiced pork and pigeon peas and rice.
The day passed in a blur of work for Helen. While she cleaned staterooms and heads and folded laundry, she tried to make her sluggish brain run through the list of possible smugglers.
Andrei was out. Helen had watched Mira unpack the costumes, so it wasn’t the head stew. Sam didn’t seem to think about anything but rum and girls.
Dick the second engineer kept to himself. He was worth watching. So was Matt the bosun. And Suzanne. The chef brought boxes and bags aboard every day they were in port. It would be easy to hide the emeralds in those packages. She had five days to accumulate a stash.
As the day dragged on, Helen got her second wind—and an inspiration. Mira said that Louise had jumped ship carrying a bag.
Helen thought it was risky to board a strange fishing charter. But what if Louise already knew the captain? That was the easiest way to get those emeralds into the States. Especially if Louise knew Captain Swingle was on to her.
The missing second stew would be easy to find. Bahamian officials were pursuing her. Captain Swingle had her Fort Lauderdale address.
Once Louise arrived, Helen and Phil could track her down.
CHAPTER 28
“The girls are tired of champagne,” Beth said. “What else can we serve for cocktails, Suzanne?”
Helen nearly dropped her duster when she heard that request. She was cleaning the plantation shutters in the main salon while Beth planned tonight’s dinner with the chef. Bored with champagne: That seemed to sum up life on a yacht.
Beth looked like a tall, cool flute of champagne with her golden hair, pale gold silk caftan and glowing topaz jewelry. Mitzi wore a matching jewel-studded collar.
“Something island-y,” Beth prompted the chef.
“I could make planter’s punch,” Suzanne said, “or strawberry rum sliders.”
“Sliders look pretty,” Beth said. “Let’s do those. I want a special dinner, a real taste of the Caribbean.”
“We could start with salmon tartare, made with fresh Atlantic salmon,” the chef said.
> “No, Scotty complained about the sushi at Nobu. Better go with a cooked appetizer.”
“How about seared scallops with fingerling potatoes and then callaloo soup?” Suzanne asked. “We’d need meat for the main course. Niman beef tenderloin with mushrooms.”
“Very festive,” Beth said. “The boys will like the beef, but the girls will want chocolate for dessert.”
“A bittersweet chocolate soufflé with cinnamon and caramel sauce,” Suzanne said.
“Perfect,” Beth said. “Have Mira call the dockmaster’s office for flowers. Don’t let the florist make the table arrangements too tall. I want my guests to see one another when they talk. Use the candles and my best china, the Royal Copenhagen. Dinner at eight, then.”
Mitzi yapped a greeting when she saw Helen, and Beth smiled at the lowly stew. “Oh, Helen, watch Mitzi while we shop,” she said. “Look how she runs straight to you. No, no! Mitzi, that’s the carpet, not your puppy pad. Oh, well, looks like you don’t have to walk her after all. See you at eight.”
She sailed out, oblivious that her dog had whizzed once more on a custom-made carpet and that Helen would have to clean it on her hands and knees. Mitzi rubbed her nose against Helen’s forehead while she attacked the spot with an enzyme cleaner.
“It’s a good thing I like you, pooch,” she told the dog. “Otherwise, I’d drop-kick you over the side.”
Mitzi wagged her tail.
The last few days had passed in a blur of work. Helen had cleaned the heads and staterooms and done laundry. She’d checked the bilges and talked to her coworkers, hoping to find out something, anything, that would help her find the emerald smuggler.
Helen was grateful she’d have turndown service and head cleaning tonight, instead of serving Beth’s grand dinner on seven-thousand-dollar-a-setting china. She was so tired, she was sure she’d break something. She felt like she was sleepwalking as she mopped the floor in the Bimini stateroom head. Mira popped in and screamed, “What are you doing?”
Helen was instantly awake. She knew she was using the right cleaner for marble. She’d checked. “Mopping the floor,” she said.
“You never put a bucket of soapy water on a marble floor,” Mira said. “Never. It leaves a ring.” She snatched up Helen’s bucket and moved it to the commode lid.