“Funny, she mentioned a game, too. She said that if we knew all the answers, the game would be over, and that that was the whole point of this voyage.”
“Weird.”
Marla glanced up to note a conga line snaking in their direction. Grabbed from her perch by a squinty-eyed fellow in a flowered shirt, she tumbled into place between a stick-thin youth and a pimpled preteen.
“Ole, ole,” sang the crowd, bouncing along to the Caribbean beat. Trapped between a tangle of arms and legs, Marla fought to free herself until she spotted Heidi Stark bumping and grinding her body against Cliff Peters nearer to the band. Hmm, maybe she could ask him about the photo in which he stood talking to Kent.
Her view eclipsed by other dancers, she sidestepped without looking where she was going. A sudden shove thrust her toward the pool’s edge. Flailing her arms, she lost her balance. Her glance took in the loose safety netting over the pool, drained for the night. She screamed, the sound drowned by a trumpet blast from the band.
A hand grasped her ankle as she tumbled backward. She grabbed at a loose piece of mesh, hoping to avoid hitting her head against the concrete wall. Strung out between the netting and her rescuer like a fish being reeled in, she closed her eyes to a wave of dizziness.
“Hold on,” she heard Vail’s voice slash into the background noise. More hands reached out and hauled her backward while the music ended to a chorus of shouts.
Slung onto the pool deck, she heaved in short, shallow breaths. Sweat oozed from her pores. She couldn’t move, couldn’t contemplate what had just nearly happened.
“Are you all right?” Kneeling by her side, Vail peered into her face. His own complexion appeared ghastly.
“I’m fine. Thanks.” Tremors shook her body while she squeezed his hand in silent gratitude. It took a few moments to regain her composure. “Did anyone see who pushed me?” she asked in a shaky voice.
“It may have been that dude in a flowered shirt,” said a familiar gruff voice. Marla twisted her neck to view Kent Harwood crouched beside her. “He disappeared, but I think it’s the same man who yanked you out of your lounge chair.”
“You were watching us?” Vail said, his steely eyes flashing.
The heavyset man plucked a toothpick from his pocket and stuck it between his teeth. “I just happened to be passing by, buddy. Don’t get all uptight.”
“Passing by, my ass. Who are you?”
Kent’s beady eyes scanned the crowd. “This isn’t the time or place. Can you stand, Marla?” His unkempt hair fell into his face, reminding her of Professor Snape in the Harry Potter movies. Which side did the exterminator represent, good or evil? His concerned tone indicated the former, but she wasn’t ready to trust anyone from the museum.
With the men’s assistance, she regained her feet. Other than being shaken and feeling her shoulders throb, she seemed okay. Dalton fussed over her like a mother hen, which touched her heart. But when Brianna suddenly flew into her arms with a cry of dismay, Marla burst into tears. Mortified, she attributed her weakness to shock and fatigue.
“Hey, I’ll be all right, guys. Let’s just go to our cabin, Dalton. Brie, do you want to come with us tonight? We can ask the steward to put down the extra bunk bed.”
“No, thanks,” Brianna said. “I told Grandma I’d be in by one. I’ve gotta go. Are you sure you’re not hurt?” Her coffee eyes looked large and round in the moonlight.
Marla hugged her, planting a kiss on her cheek. “I need a good night’s sleep, that’s all. Kent, let’s talk tomorrow. If you put your cards on the table, I’ll put mine. Deal?” She looked him squarely in the eyes.
He gave her a steady gaze in return. “You’ve got it,” he replied, chomping on his toothpick.
Stepping closer, he invaded Marla’s personal space. He smelled like diesel fumes and stringent cleaning solution. Do your laundry, pal, she thought with an inner grimace.
“Anybody see Brooklyn Jones?” Kent added. “I’ve been looking for the fellow since dinner.”
“Have you tried his cabin?” Vail suggested.
“Yep. No one answers. I’m just wondering because Brooklyn said he had something to tell me. We were gonna meet for pizza, but he didn’t show.”
“Maybe he forgot,” Marla offered, turning toward the sliding glass doors leading inside to the bank of elevators.
Keeping pace, Kent gave her an oblique glance. “Maybe. In the meantime, watch your step, will ya? We wouldn’t want you to have another accident.” Breaking off from their group, he trounced down the stairway.
“That guy is nasty,” Brianna remarked. “You should offer to cut his hair, Marla. Did you smell him? He stunk like a truck.”
“You’re right. I wonder if he’s been prowling below decks. And if so, why? He couldn’t expect to find Brooklyn there.”
Vowing to ask him the next day, Marla retired to their cabin. No more snooping, she promised herself, at least not until the art auction on Thursday afternoon.
Marla’s plan to avoid complications succeeded during the morning, when she ate a leisurely breakfast, strode laps around the sports deck with Vail, then plunked herself down on a royal blue upholstered lounge chair in the solarium. Other than sore shoulders, she seemed none the worse for wear from her incident last evening.
A bunch of men cooking their skin in the Jacuzzi shmoozed loudly about their recent stock purchases. Marla winked open one eye to regard the woman who took the chair beside Vail. She wore a red shirt with white shorts and held a Nora Roberts novel. Another guy in bright orange swim trunks strolled by listening to his iPod, while a man with a paunch studied his Tropical Tattler. She heard the swish of waves over the muted popular tunes playing on the loudspeaker.
Ding dong, ding dong. “Good morning, ladies and gents. This is David, your cruise director, reminding you that at eleven o’clock, we have our Win-a-Cruise bingo game where one lucky winner will take home a certificate for a free seven-day Caribbean cruise. We’re also giving away lots of cash, so we hope to see you there!”
A woman walked past carrying a coffee cup and a plate of breakfast pastries. Marla’s mouth watered from the aroma of cinnamon and baked bread.
“I’m hungry again,” she told Vail as she patted her stomach.
Glancing at the skin exposed by her bikini, he coughed. “If you eat much more, you won’t fit into those things.”
“Oh, like you should talk. Who ate an omelette and three doughnuts this morning?”
“Cops are supposed to eat doughnuts.”
“Not so many. I could use another cup of coffee and maybe a yogurt. I’ve been eating too many carbohydrates.”
He threw down the Michael Crichton novel he’d been attempting to read. “I’ll get it,” he said, jumping up. “I can’t sit for so long. I’ve got schmaltz.”
Marla repressed a chuckle. “Schmaltz is chicken fat. You mean, you’ve got shpilkes. You’re restless.”
“Right. I’ll be back.”
Ding dong, ding dong. “This is Eric, your auctioneer, inviting you to attend our champagne art auction this afternoon immediately following the towel-folding demonstration, puffy eye seminar, and men’s belly flop competition. You won’t want to miss this chance to add pieces to your collection at forty percent or more off retail prices. Whoo-hoo!”
I wonder if John brought along any of his stained-glass pieces, Marla mused. The former museum curator could evaluate their worth. Eric’s validation might convince Kate to support her husband’s efforts. Spying her future mother-in-law tromping through the solarium, she stood and waved. She’d saved a couple of extra seats just in case and leapt at the opportunity to talk to Kate undisturbed.
“Tell me,” she said after they’d greeted each other and Kate had spread her towel on one of the empty chairs, “did John bring any of his art pieces with him? I’d love to see what he makes.”
Kate pressed her lips together, then said, “They’re too fragile, and we didn’t have any extra space in our suitcases.
I’m sure he’d be happy to show you samples when we’re in Florida.”
“Do you really hate his hobby that much, or is it the thought of traveling to art exhibits that bothers you?” Marla wiped a line of sweat off her forehead. Her skin felt heated, and the breeze seemed to have died. Speaking of John, where was he? She hoped for Kate’s sake that he wasn’t kibbitzing with Irene again. Afraid to ask, she waited for the older woman’s reply while keeping one eye tuned for Vail’s return.
“I don’t begrudge him his interests,” Kate said, twisting a strand of red hair around her finger. “And it isn’t that I don’t like to travel. What bothers me is that John doesn’t consider my needs. I can’t just up and run off to these events when I have my own schedule. It’s as though my life doesn’t exist.”
“I get you. Dalton is like that sometimes. He’ll make plans without consulting me first.”
“Besides, this could just be a passing fancy. He was never into crafts until he retired and took a class at our church’s senior citizen center. Then he goes out, buys all sorts of supplies, and works himself into a frenzy. I just don’t understand.”
Marla crossed her legs. “It could be that while he was working, he didn’t have time to express himself artistically. I’d think most wives would be grateful their retired spouses found something to do. Otherwise, he might hang around the house and annoy you.”
Kate winced. “I suppose you’re right. On the one hand, I’m glad he’s occupied so I can go about my own business. On the other hand, he’s so passionate about this new hobby that he doesn’t talk about anything else. We’ve got travel brochures lying around the house. He wants to participate in juried art shows. Why? To sell his work, or to win prizes?”
Marla sought a glimmer of comprehension. “Possibly he’s looking for validation to make himself feel useful. When people retire, often they lose their source of self-esteem. It has to be a blow to the ego, so perhaps this is his way to compensate.”
“If that’s true, I haven’t helped by putting him down.” Bending forward, Kate pursed her lips, then continued, “I’ll try to be more encouraging, but only if John asks me before he makes any travel plans. I might be willing to go with him, assuming we have nothing else on the calendar.”
Marla heard what her future mother-in-law wasn’t admitting, that she feared John would go off on his own. Retirement could lead to marital strife if a couple found themselves veering in opposite directions. She supposed they had to work at compromising all over again.
Holy highlights, marriage is hard work. Do I really want to dive into this morass? she asked herself. It’s better than diving into an empty pool with a torn safety netting and no one to catch you, she reasoned. Let that analogy be a lesson. If you don’t want to go through life alone, you have to make sacrifices.
She cleared her throat. “Where is John now?”
“He’s playing bridge in the card room. We’re meeting you for lunch. Brie should be finished with her makeover session by then. Her group is spending the morning in the spa,” Kate explained. Leaning over, she patted Marla’s arm. “Brie talks about you all the time. You have no idea how much she respects you. You’re a wonderful role model, dear. Dalton is a lucky man to have you.”
“Thanks,” she said, a warm glow spreading through her.
After lunch, Marla went searching for Kent Harwood. She only had an hour before the art auction. When she didn’t find him in any of the public lounges or on deck, she gave up and headed to the gallery.
Dalton had refused to accompany her, citing fatigue as his excuse. Brianna had run off with her crowd, John had headed below for a nap, and Kate had made a beeline for the Internet Cafe to research wedding reception sites for Marla and Vail.
Finding a seat next to Betsy, Marla scrutinized the patrons. Irene, Brooklyn, and Kent remained absent. Strange; they’d shown up for nearly every other event. Chatting idly with her friend, she kept her eye on the door but none of them entered.
The auction proceeded, with people waving their bid cards excitedly over a mystery set. It turned out to be a minor artist’s work, making the museum members grumble in disappointment. Only one painting sold from Tusk’s collection. Thurston won the nude woman gazing at a vase of flowers.
“Where’s Irene?” Marla asked Oliver as they squeezed down the staircase after the event concluded. She held the free limited-edition seriolithograph she’d gotten for attending, a tropical scene by Pauker.
The big man ran a hand over his partly bald head. “She had an upset stomach and went to rest in our cabin.”
“Betsy and I might stop by the Cargo Cafe. I like their Hair Raiser brand coffee.” She hesitated. “Would you like to join us?”
“No, thanks, my dear. I’ve got things to do.”
“I’m hoping to run into Kent. I was disappointed he didn’t come to the auction. Neither did Brooklyn. Have you seen them around?”
“Sorry.” He shook his head. “Isn’t there a kitchen tour this afternoon? That’s where I would go to find Brooklyn.”
“Good idea. Thanks.”
She and Betsy signed on for the tour, which gave them a tantalizing glimpse into the culinary department. Standing beside gleaming stainless steel stations, white-uniformed chefs demonstrated their technique, offering samples to taste. Her appetite whetted for dinner, Marla proceeded to search for Vail after the tour concluded. Brooklyn still didn’t show up on her itinerary, and neither did Kent.
Her manhunt turned up Irene Smernoff having a cocktail with Eric Rand in a quiet corner of the Pirate’s Grotto. Irene recovered fast from her indisposition, Marla thought, edging her way toward their booth while trying to remain out of sight.
Irene had one hand around her martini glass and another hand on top of Eric’s wrist. Leaning inward, she offered him a view down her cleavage.
I don’t understand how you ‘re not cold wearing such a skimpy dress in this air-conditioning. Maybe that’s why you keep scooting nearer, to share his body heat, Marla mused.
Irene murmured something in an imploring tone, but Marla couldn’t make out her words. Stepping closer, she fumbled when the ship swayed and knocked her against a bronze statue of a grizzly bear with glowing red eyes. It didn’t budge, fortunately for her. Even the smallest sound would echo in this space.
“I can’t,” Eric’s voice carried clearly. “Do you think you’re the only one? Everyone’s made an offer to buy Alden’s triptych. You’ll have to wait until the last night, like everyone else, my love.”
Holding the bear to steady herself, Marla inched around its bulk to a better vantage point. No one else sat in the dimly lit room. The pair must have obtained their drinks from the bar on the upper level then come down here to talk in private.
“He’s threatening to tell Delaney about us,” Irene replied.
“That’s always been a risk.” Marla heard the censure in Eric’s radio announcer voice.
“Please. I’ll even…”
Irene lowered her decibels and Marla had to strain her ears. No luck. Darn, she wanted to hear what they said. From the way they kept touching each other, she gathered they’d shared a more intimate relationship in the past.
Venturing forward, she didn’t watch her footing and tripped over a cable taped to the floor.
“Marla!” Irene sprang from her seat, alarm crossing her features.
Eric rose more slowly, a look of anger on his face. He no longer had the boyishly cheerful mien he put on for the auctions. His mouth tight with determination, he marched toward her. His heavy footsteps resounded on the polished wood floor.
Irene scurried to reach him. “No, Eric, don’t.”
CHAPTER 14
What are you doing here? Eric demanded.
Marla backed up a step. “I was looking for Kent Harwood. Have either of you seen the man? He missed the auction and I need to talk to him.” She heard dishes clanging and ice rattling into glasses from the bar upstairs.
“Haven’t seen the guy.”
“But you know who he is. You’re acquainted with everyone from the museum.”
“Evidently, so are you. Kent isn’t here. Go look elsewhere.”
“I will.” She swung her gaze toward Irene. “Your husband said you weren’t feeling well and were resting in your cabin. You should’ve seen that colorful beach serigraph by Fanch at today’s auction. I was tempted to bid on it myself.” She forced a chuckle. “Eric is such a great auctioneer that he makes me want to raise my bidding card on everything.”
Eric balanced on the balls of his feet, as though he couldn’t decide whether to rush her or leave her alone.
“What do you want?” he growled, seeming so different from his usual cheerful personality that her mind went momentarily blank.
“We’ve never properly met,” she gushed, extending her hand with a bubbleheaded grin. “I’m Marla Shore.” She nodded at Irene. “Irene and I are dinner companions.”
Pressing his lips, Eric gave her a quick handshake. His sweaty palm told her he was unnerved by her abrupt arrival. He still wore his bow tie and sports coat from the auction. Its dark color matched his slicked-back ebony hair, tinged with gray.
“I’ve heard about you,” he replied in a flat tone that didn’t hint at his opinion. “Somebody screwed up, and you were seated at the wrong table.”
“Yes, I believe my fiancé’s parents were slated to sit with the Smernoffs. We should have been at the other table with his daughter. Did you arrange that ahead of time, Irene? John must have been terribly disappointed when your plans didn’t work and you were seated at separate tables. You had arrangements to discuss with him, isn’t that correct?”
“What’s this?” Eric said, twisting to regard his companion. He didn’t sound pleased from his cutting tone.
Irene plunked down her empty martini glass. “It has nothing to do with us,” she reassured him in a shaky voice. Her body swayed, and she stabilized herself by grabbing a nearby column. The ship’s rocking motion seemed more pronounced here, or else she’d just imbibed one drink too many.
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