“Hey, Marla,” Vail said, approaching, “Mom says we should go into Ballerina Jewelers for wedding bands.”
She swallowed, feeling the nuptial noose tighten around her neck. “I just want to get this for Brie; then I’ll be ready to move on. See if the bracelet fits, honey.”
After making her purchase, she parted ways with the teenager and her grandparents, who’d promised to stop by the beach before heading back to the ship.
“I’d like to get something for your mom,” she told Vail as they headed across the busy street. Squealing brakes competed for decibels with car radios and motorcycles. Fresh sea air dispelled the exhaust fumes but not the heat vapors that rose from the asphalt. Respite from the sun came only in the shade from awnings or palm trees.
He guided her with a hand on her midback. “How much more time do you plan to spend here? I don’t want to be late for dinner. They have lobster on the menu tonight.”
“Are you thinking of food again? We just ate.” Marla shook her head. Men had large appetites, both for sex and for meals.
“I’m always hungry. Let’s look in here.” Inside the jewelry store, he asked for the recommended salesperson. “We’re interested in wedding bands,” he said, his voice firm.
Marla remained silent. Was she ready for this step? Getting wedding bands meant a commitment, and even though she wore a diamond engagement ring on her finger and they’d put a down payment on a house together, she’d hesitated to set a date. Now there would be no avoiding it, and she already had enough on her plate between moving into a new salon and furnishing a new home. Then again, for Brianna’s sake, she and Dalton should be married before they merged their households.
“Shall we get yellow or white gold?” Vail asked, jarring her thoughts.
“Uh, I’d like white gold this time.” Bite your tongue, Marla. You shouldn’t have put it that way. Vail wasn’t too fond of her ex-spouse, Stanley Kaufman.
“How about these brushed-gold designs? I kinda like that look,” he said, pointing. “Or do you want one with diamonds?”
She smiled at him. “Nothing too fancy that I can’t wear to work, thanks.” Hooking her arm into his, she thought how lucky she was to have him. He’d been learning to consult her before making decisions that affected them both, and she appreciated his effort. They were each pigheaded, butting their heads often, but the challenge acted as a stimulant to their relationship. She almost wished they were already married.
Making their decision, they took their wrapped package and bustled out the door for more shopping. Marla found a pink pearl necklace for Kate, trinkets for her colleagues back home, and a few other items later on at Havensite Mall by the pier, including a Mont Blanc pen for Vail, after he boarded the ship ahead of her.
Burdened by her bundles, her feet hurting, and dying for a drink, she stumbled up the gangplank. She handed her identity card to the security officer, stuck her packages on the moving belt through the X-ray machine, and passed through the metal detector gates before being allowed to proceed.
“You had me worried,” Vail said, jumping to his feet from the bed when she entered their cabin.
“Last-minute shopping,” she said, tossing her packages along with her handbag onto the couch. Grabbing the water bottle on her nightstand, she swallowed several gulps in quick succession. Satisfied, she peeled off her sweat-soaked top.
“I hope you left some money on the credit card for the rest of the trip,” Vail drawled, sauntering toward her with a gleam in his eyes.
Her blood heated. “No problem. Look, if you don’t let me take a shower first, you’re gonna regret it. 1 won’t be long.”
No joke there. The shower stall, shaped in a circle the size of a New York sewer cover, didn’t allow for much movement. At least the ship wasn’t rocking since they were docked, but she had to stick her legs in the sink to shave them afterward.
Vail, who’d been pacing impatiently, drew her into an embrace when she emerged from the bathroom wearing her underwear. She’d just lifted her chin to kiss him when the phone rang. Cursing, Vail broke off to answer, his tone curt.
“Yes, we’re back okay…. No, we hadn’t heard about it. When did this happen?…Christ, we just saw her in port.”
“What is it?” Marla asked, reaching for her clothes.
Vail raised a hand. “I see. What condition is she in? Is she conscious?…All right, you can tell us more at dinner. Thanks for checking in.”
He replaced the receiver, his mouth a grim line. “That was Kent Harwood. He wanted to make certain we got back from shore okay. Apparently after she returned to the ship, Helen took a tumble down a flight of steps, one of those narrow curving stairs on an outer deck. She hit her head and was admitted to the infirmary.”
Marla’s jaw dropped open. “Oh gosh, will she be all right?”
“Harwood doesn’t know the details, but he said he’d try to find out. We’ll talk more about it at dinner. Finish getting dressed, will you? You always take too long with your make-up.”
His uncharacteristic short temper alerted her to his distress. He hadn’t been so upset when Martha was missing. Maybe now he actually believed someone meant them harm. Not them exactly, but the museum people.
On their way into the dining room promptly at six o’clock, they passed a miniature boat filled with fruit by the entrance. The waiters, wearing colorful tropical shirts, scurried around while a steel band played Caribbean music in the background. Pausing by Kate and John’s table to greet the elder couple and Brianna, Marla noted Helen’s empty seat.
“Helen didn’t make it,” said Cliff Peters, looking scruffy despite his open-collared shirt and Dockers slacks. His brusque manner didn’t seem suited to the elegant surroundings.
Marla’s heart skipped a beat. “What do you mean?” she asked the museum’s security guard.
“She’s in sick bay. Had some sort of accident.” He stuck a bread stick in his mouth.
Marla let out a sigh of relief. Oh, he hadn’t meant that Helen had, well, gone to Davy Jones’s locker, or whatever the seagoing expression was called.
“We know,” Vail said. “Kent phoned us.”
“Yeah, what’s with him, dude? He’s, like, just a bug man, but he’s been nosing around like some damn cockroach.”
Isn’t it your job to nose around at the museum? Marla thought, wondering how he’d ever gotten a job in security.
“Don’t sweat it, man,” Brooklyn Jones cut in. He looked like one of the band members with his dark skin, tropical shirt, and easy grin. “I’m more worried about Helen. I told that gal not to wear those tipsy shoes on the ship.”
“Kent promised to see what he could learn about her condition,” Marla said. “Brie, what are your plans for tonight? We have tickets to the ice show at nine, remember?”
“We’re making costumes for the pirate party later tonight,” the teen said, buttering a roll. “I’ll just stick with you guys until then.”
“Okay. I’d like to attend the art auction at ten-thirty. Kate, will you join me?”
The older woman smiled. “No thanks, dear. John and I are going to the Love and Marriage Game Show.”
John grimaced, his lack of enthusiasm evident. “I agreed to check it out, but I didn’t promise I’ll stay.”
Marla took that as her cue to leave. “See you later,” she said, steering Vail toward their own table.
After ordering a crabmeat and avocado appetizer, salad greens with papaya and pineapple, and broiled lobster tails accompanied by garlic butter sauce, she addressed their companions.
“Tell us about Helen,” she said to Kent Harwood after greeting the others and inquiring about their shore excursions. Vail, munching away on a crispy conch fritter, kept his ear tuned in her direction.
Kent shrugged, an easy proposition in his loose-fitting jacket. It needed a good press, like the rest of him. His jowls sagged, and his hair hung in stringy strands about his weary face. He may have gone snorkeling, but he could have made him
self more presentable. Betsy had been on one of those tours, and she looked as bouncy and fresh as a new perm.
“I stopped by the infirmary,” Kent replied. “They said Helen couldn’t have any visitors. They’re monitoring her condition but think she’ll be okay if nothing further develops.” He chewed on a toothpick, waiting for delivery of his Bimini grouper. He was the only one at their table who hadn’t ordered lobster.
Marla noticed he always skipped the soup and dessert courses, as though watching his weight. At least he had more discipline than Dalton, who’d loosened his belt at least once that evening.
“Did she trip and fall?” Betsy asked, licking her fingers. She’d gotten the seafood cocktail with brandy sauce for her appetizer. “Poor thing. This will ruin her vacation.”
“No one saw her tumble down the stairs,” Kent told Betsy before scanning the others. “Right?”
“You know, mister, I don’t care for your tone of voice,” Thurston Stark snapped. “Are you implying one of us had a hand in Helen’s accident?” His eyes twitched. Blink, blink.
“Am I? You tell me. It’s mighty strange that Martha doesn’t make it back to port, and then her roommate is put out of action. In my mind, I’m wondering who’s next?” Chomping on his toothpick, he glared at the museum foundation chair.
Marla glanced at Vail. She hadn’t shared with him the conversation she’d had with Helen, in which Helen had confessed selling her life insurance policy. Helen had also mentioned knowing what Bob was up to before she ran over to snag his attention. Hadn’t Martha Shore said something similar to Oliver Smernoff in San Juan? She’d mentioned to the museum director that he should keep an eye on Bob when they docked at Grand Cayman.
Her gaze swung to where Wolfson sat beside his dowdy wife. Sandy had a smug grin on her face for some reason, while Bob wore his usual sour expression. What did Martha and Helen, and quite possibly Oliver, know about him that could be dangerous?
“I wonder when Alden Tusk’s triptych will be up for sale,” Irene commented. “Are you all attending the art auction tonight?” Sipping from her martini glass, she eyed them like a beauty contestant might survey the competition.
“Of course we’re going, aren’t we, dearest?” Heidi said.
“Wouldn’t miss a chance to pick up some new works for our collection, baby.” With a fond glance, Thurston draped his arm around her.
Across the table, Oliver hummed along to the tune of “Yellow-bird,” playing in the background. Irene, casting him an annoyed glance, drew her elbows inward, as though she couldn’t stand his proximity. “Aren’t you sorry you couldn’t get your seats changed?” she called to Marla with a sniff.
“I feel bad that Dalton’s parents paid for our trip and we’re not even sitting with them,” she acknowledged.
“Who the hell paid for ours?” Bob grumbled. “I’d like to find out who knows so much about us.”
“I’ll bet you would,” Marla muttered under her breath. Next to her, Vail raised his eyebrows.
Bob gave the foundation chair a shrewd glance. “You’re not pulling the wool over our eyes, are you?” he asked Thurston.
Thurston slapped a hand to his chest. “I may be generous in my contributions to the museum, but regrettably, it wasn’t I who thought to treat everyone to this voyage.”
“You think he’s the only one with money?” Irene demanded, appearing affronted. With a jerky motion, she tucked a strand of teased hair behind her ear, showing off the diamond stud on her lobe. “Some of us just aren’t as showy with our wealth.”
Oliver wagged his finger. “Thurston is very kind to make such large donations to the cause, and remember, I’m beholden to him for our children’s art program. I would never have gotten it off the ground if it weren’t for his support of our fund-raiser,” he told his wife in a chastising tone.
“Speaking of the fund-raiser,” Betsy spoke in a quiet voice, “can someone tell me how Alden’s missing panel came to be here?”
“Talk to Eric Rand,” Irene suggested. “He’s got what it takes…to get answers,” she concluded, although Marla figured that wasn’t what she meant. Her husband’s face purpled but he kept silent, while Marla got the impression Irene had just won a battle of wills between them.
“I just love that cute bow tie that Eric wears,” Heidi purred in her little-girl voice.
“Listen,” Thurston said, hunching his shoulders “if y’all let me make the high bid on Tusk’s series, I’ll show my appreciation by making a significant contribution toward the museum’s next traveling exhibit.”
“Oh, we’re not going to let you have all the fun,” Irene said, her voice dripping sarcasm. “Are we, darling?” She nudged her husband, who’d been gnawing on a piece of lettuce.
Swallowing, Oliver jabbed his finger in the air. “Certainly not. I already have some of Tusk’s work in my collection. I’m not passing up a chance to get what could be the highlight of his career.”
“Alden considered that piece to be his redemption,” Betsy mumbled. “Said it would give him back a part of his soul that he’d lost.” The others stared at her. “What? I’d…admired his talent. We…we communicated with each other.” Her face flushing, she lowered her head.
After a moment’s silence, Oliver laughed. It was a harsh, grating sound. “No kidding? You’re our public relations specialist. You had to be in contact with him to arrange for publicity.”
“Sure, that’s it.” Betsy lifted her chin, beaming brightly. “So who’s going to the ice show later on?”
She effectively switched the conversation to a more neutral topic and chatter flowed easily from then on. But Marla sensed she hadn’t been entirely truthful and indeed knew more about Alden Tusk than she let on. Resolving to delve into their history at the art auction, Marla dug into her lobster tail when it arrived. Enjoying their meal became paramount, but she bit back a remark when Dalton ordered seconds and then thirds on the seafood. Lord save me, we’d better add that treadmill to our new house. She knew Ma’s boyfriend had a predilection for buffets, but now Dalton was turning into a fresser as well. Did all men expand their waistline after they found a woman?
“Aren’t you too full for dessert?” she finally said after the waiter cleared their plates. “I’m going to order the coconut cake. You can have a taste.”
“Nope, I can’t pass up a slice of Key lime pie.” He waved off the wine steward who circulated with after-dinner drinks in fancy-colored cups.
She patted his thigh. “Just keep eating, and you’ll need to get your wardrobe adjusted before we leave the cruise.”
He gave her a wolfish grin. “Keep your hand there, and I’ll need something else adjusted instead.”
One appetite led to another, and they paused for an interval in their cabin before venturing forth to join Brianna and her grandparents. The ice show was spectacular, better than the theater productions. After it concluded to a standing ovation, Marla strolled toward the photo gallery alongside the teenager.
“Did you find out what happened to that lady who fell down the stairs?” Brianna asked, giving her a concerned glance.
“You’re an angel to care, you know that?” Marla said, squeezing her in a brief hug. “Mr. Harwood said Helen should be all right. I hope she doesn’t have to spend the rest of the week in the infirmary, though. That would be an awful vacation.”
“She doesn’t have her roommate anymore, does she?”
They halted before a rack showing formal portraits from the previous evening. Passengers could pose for free in front of various backdrops, but the eight-by-ten photos cost nearly twenty dollars each. Kate had expressed a wish for a family picture.
“We haven’t had any word on Martha, if that’s what you mean,” Marla answered.
Brianna shook her head as though Marla were daft. “I mean, if Helen is lying there in an infirmary bed, she has nobody to bring her things from her cabin.”
“Oh. That would be a thoughtful gesture, wouldn’t it?” She glanced a
t her watch. “I only have fifteen minutes until the art auction, and aren’t you supposed to meet your friends?”
“We’re meeting at ten-thirty. I can be late.”
“I’ll tell you what. In the morning, before we arrive at St. Maarten, I’ll stop by sick bay. Even if Helen is conscious, she’s probably sleeping by now. The nurse may let me in to see her tomorrow, and then I’ll ask Helen if she wants me to bring her anything. I’ll tell her it was your idea.”
Marla smiled, pleased with her plan and the potential chance to question Helen.
CHAPTER 9
At the art auction, Marla sat on the sidelines, away from the museum people who had claimed front-row seats. She’d arrived early to find Oliver Smernoff talking privately to the auctioneer, who repeatedly shook his head as though replying negatively to whatever Oliver was saying. With a snarl, Oliver took his seat, while the auctioneer’s assistants flanked him for escort to center stage.
Irene, already on a refill of her bubbly, shifted away from her husband’s bulk with a distasteful glance. She caught Eric Rand’s eye and lifted her shoulders in a questioning gesture. He gave a barely perceptible nod, then straightened to search the crowd. His glance seemed to fall upon Kent Harwood, sitting several rows back. The exterminator slumped in his chair, passing on the free champagne while he idly thumbed through the catalog provided by the gallery showing samples of works for sale. A toothpick hung from his mouth like an attached tentacle.
Up front, Eric spoke into his headset microphone. Tonight he wore a pale-yellow shirt, black trousers, and a lemon and steel bow tie. He’d fixed his graying hair in a brushed style like a television newscaster and flashed a smile worthy of a toothpaste commercial.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” he said after explaining the rules for any newcomers, “tonight we’ll start off with a fifteen-hundred-dollar piece by Fanch. He’s considered one of the top ten artists today. Look at the vibrant colors in this beautiful serigraph. Don’t you get the impression that someone has just left the room, from the blazing fire in the fireplace and the bowl of fruit on the table?”
Killer Knots Page 10