With knees bent, I looked down at myself. I wasn’t surgically enhanced curvy or waif-thin, and I didn’t spend inordinate amounts of time at the gym, but thanks to good genes, Zumba class, and biking, I managed to keep in shape. How red I was getting? That was a matter of opinion.
He leaned in until I could smell his exotic scent, his eyes unreadable behind his shades. Grazing my thigh with his hand, he picked up the suntan lotion lying beside me.
He raised his shades onto his head. Then, eyes on me, he squirted white cream onto his palm. I stirred hotly inside at the way his penetrating gaze raked across my bare skin and prayed he was going to lotion his own body. He rubbed the cream in his large, strong hands, then stroked it on my right calf, lifting my leg to get underneath. I muscled my leg back down, my heart thumping madly, but Jock widened the gap as if he was spreading a wishbone.
He rested my leg across his thigh, and I swallowed hard, trying not to look at his trim waist or, dear Lord, anything lower. I focused on his anchor-and-rope tattoo on his left bicep, anywhere but on what his hands were doing to me, inside and out. Okay, I was having indecent thoughts about Jock. I was only human.
He massaged my inner thigh with his thumbs, eyes appreciatively on my stomach. “I like the white bikini. It’s”—his full lips curled up a fraction of an inch—“virginal.”
Gulp. My nipples perked up, and I self-consciously grabbed a towel on the guise of wiping sweat off my collarbone.
He slanted forward to squirt more cream on my bikini line, but I seized his wrist. “No!” I panted. “Thank you. I can do the rest.”
“You sure?” His tone was low. “If you get too much color, I’ll have to rub you down with therapeutic oil.”
I heard the clatter of plastic on wood and noticed the woman beside me had dropped her margarita.
Ignoring the distraction, Jock lifted my shades over my head and looked deep into my eyes. “Of course, I might do that anyway.”
I made a squeak somewhere in the back of my throat, my face hot. “Look…” I somehow scraped together a confident voice. “I’m here for one thing—to win that contest.”
“I’m here to win, too.”
I wasn’t sure if that was a threat or a promise, but something told me we weren’t talking about the same thing. I whipped off my sunglasses and leaped off the chair, thinking I’d cool down in the pool.
In one fluid move, Jock got up and slid his arm around my waist, lifting me off the ground. His lips brushed my ear. “You can’t go this entire cruise avoiding me.”
I broke free and crashed ass-backward into the water. No, I thought as I sank to the bottom, but I’ll probably die trying.
CHAPTER TWO
“You’re going where?” Phyllis was on the bottom bunk, leaning on one elbow, steadying the garbage can under her chin while watching me dab foundation on my burned nose.
“Dinner.” I snapped shut the compact and slipped on a pink halter dress. Then I moved a tiny bouquet of fresh-cut tropical flowers by her bed, hoping they’d make her feel better.
“Uhhhhh,” she moaned. “Don’t mention food. And get that vase away from me. Lilies alone are enough to make me puke.” She hauled herself off the bed and staggered past her strewn luggage on the floor into the bathroom.
I tripped over her shoes, moving the flowers to the other side of the room. Muttering under my breath at her lack of order, I watched her pull back her hair and hunch over the toilet. Her soft mahogany curls were plastered to the sides of her cheeks from sweat, and there was a small patch behind her ear.
My heart mellowed. “What’s with the patch, Phyllis?”
She angled her head toward me. “Ship’s doctor gave it to me. Said I didn’t have food poisoning or a virus. Just seasickness. But now my mouth’s dry and my eyes are blurry.” She faced the toilet again. “I hope the good part kicks in soon because I can’t stand it much longer in this closet they call a cabin.” She slammed the bathroom door shut with her foot and retched into the toilet.
I stifled back a gag and took in the size of the room. I had to agree with Phyllis. Being deep in the bowels of the ship wasn’t the luxury accommodations I was hoping for. There were no windows, the bunk beds were narrow, and the shower looked like it wouldn’t even fit Lucy. And good luck bending over with another person in the room. I grinned. Jock and Max would have an interesting time in their nest.
I finished dressing and was winding the sparkly ties on my pink sandals up my calves when the phone in our cabin rang. It was my mother, apparently testing the ship’s amenities, and announcing we weren’t sitting at the same dinner table.
I coughed in relief. Who could I thank for that?
“Do you think they’re grouping the beauty cruise passengers together?” she asked. “Because I can talk to the captain and see what he can do about this.”
“I don’t think that’s the captain’s department, Mom.” I picked Phyllis’s sunhat off the floor. “They’re probably providing meeting opportunities for people, especially singles.”
“Singles? Forget I said anything.” She quickly hung up.
I put the phone back on its cradle, thinking the bathroom was awfully quiet. “Phyllis?” I tapped on the door. “Do you want me to bring you anything?”
“Yeah, a gun.”
If my mother donned her matchmaking hat, I might need one myself before the night was over.
Phyllis heaved again, and I left her to it. I swung my beauty bag over my shoulder, clicked the cabin door behind me, and faced Max and Jock’s door across the narrow hall. I thought about knocking, then decided against it. Might give the wrong impression. Anyway, I’d see them at dinner.
* * *
Unaccustomed to the subtle rocking of the boat, I wobbled down the hallway, following the spicy aroma to the elevator. Boy, I was hungry. Poor Phyllis. She was missing out big time.
I rode a gazillion floors up and found the dining room decorated like something under the sea. Two elaborate dolphin ice sculptures formed a centerpiece in the middle of the room with an array of exotic flowers floating in a circle around the base. People sat at beautifully set tables of various sizes, already eating appetizers.
I spotted my family against the far wall, sitting with Kashi and three others. The banter seemed lively, and everyone wore a Kashi “Get Out of Town” brooch, except for my father. He wore his wedding ring and a dependable watch but drew the line at silly jewelry.
I turned to find my table and nearly knocked a fruity mai tai out of the hand of a short, gray-haired man in a straw fedora, Bermuda shorts, and a Hawaiian shirt.
“Watch where you’re going in those damn heels,” the man said, his knees and elbows so knobby a stiff breeze could snap them in two.
“Sorry.” I stepped back and looked down under the man’s hat into his face. “Mr. Jaworski?” I blinked wide-eyed at my landlord. “What are you doing here?”
“Valentine Beaumont!” he crowed, waving his mai tai in the air. “I’m on vacation. When you paid your rent the other day and told me you were going on a cruise with your family and a bunch of hairstylists, I decided to treat myself, too. An all-inclusive trip is just what Samuel H. Jaworski needs. Wouldn’t you agree?”
Of course. Why the H wouldn’t I agree? Just because tremors of anxiety were working their way up my spine? I peered from his sandals and nylon socks up to his beady eyes. First, my family. Now, my cheapskate landlord? I eek-ed out a polite laugh.
“I wouldn’t be on this all-inclusive trip if it weren’t for my lovely niece, my brother’s daughter. She’s also a hairdresser.”
I let out a cough. There were two Mr. Jaworskis in the world? “You never mentioned you had a niece who did hair.”
“Yeah, well, I do. When I told them about the beauty cruise, my brother said she knew about it and was already planning the trip, eager to win some contest. Seemed fitting I’d be here, too. I came down a day early, did some sight-seeing, and met up with her after we boarded the ship.” He gave a he
arty head shake. “Wait till you meet her. She’s a real joker, that one.”
“Nice.” I tried to sound enthused, but it was futile.
He patted his shorts pocket. “It’s about time I started spending my money. What good is it if you don’t spend it, right?” He swirled his swizzle stick with a maraschino cherry and pineapple slice on the end. “I’ve got a real nice cabin, too. They even promised to leave those mint chocolates on my pillow every night. Real nice of them. No extra charge for the mint chocolates either. Where do you get mint chocolates for free anymore?”
“Probably nowhere.” I moved back to dodge his rum-soaked breath and glanced over his shoulder. “Where is your niece?”
“She’s around somewhere. Probably schmoozing with other hairstylists.” He hoisted his glass in the air. “These mai tais are tasty. But you gotta tell them about the maraschino cherries. I got cheated last time, and I had to pay good money for that drink. When I buy a mai tai, I want my maraschino cherry.”
If I had a jar of maraschino cherries, I’d dump them on his head just to shut him up. In fact, I’d probably never look at another maraschino cherry without thinking of Samuel H. Jaworski.
He gave me a creepy wink, then waltzed over to my parents’ table.
Ugh. Me and my big mouth. Why did I tell him I was going on a cruise?
I shook off the prickly feeling of having my landlord on the same boat, then wandered in the opposite direction and found my designated table. I sat down, slipped my bag between my feet, and saw Max heading my way, a breath of fresh air in a crisp long-sleeved shirt and Italian-cut pants.
He sat beside me, placed his napkin on his lap, then gave me a once-over. “What happened to your nose?”
I put my finger to my burned nose. “One spot I forgot to lotion.”
He gave me a sharp glare. “You mean Jock forgot to lotion.”
Rat. He smugly took a sip of water, and I was having second thoughts about him being such a blessing.
We were trying to guess who’d be joining us when we heard a commotion at the entrance.
Lucy plowed into the dining room, shouting obscenities to an elderly couple who were obviously slowing her down. Passengers gasped in shock at her language, while Lucy zipped across the carpet like the Energizer Bunny.
Sabrina, in a purple floral dress, strode into the room a safe distance behind.
Smart. Keep the gap. But what was her relationship to Lucy? She never actually said. Were they friends? Co-workers? Relatives? Whatever it was, Sabrina didn’t bow to Lucy’s whims.
“Pretend you don’t see them.” Max studied the cutlery. “Maybe that little Jezebel’s sitting at a table for one.”
I stared at the empty chair beside Max, other things on my mind. “Where’s Jock?”
Max raised his palms. “Said he had things to do.”
“Like?” I tried to keep the anxiousness out of my voice.
He dropped his chin to his chest. “Do I look like his keeper? And why are you so interested? Earlier, you were convincing yourself you didn’t care if he was marking his territory.”
As we were locking horns, two blond, fluffy-haired beach babes clad in bikinis, sarongs, and flip-flops plopped themselves at our table, introducing themselves as hairstylists. They were average in height with above-average hourglass shapes, and their tans looked like they’d been painted on with a roller brush.
“I’m Polly,” the one with the bigger chest said. “And this is Molly.”
I thought Max was going to have a coronary before he ordered his dinner. Since Jock had started working at Beaumont’s, we were used to shapely women coming and going. But these two were showstoppers.
Max sputtered out a hello, extending his hand like royalty. “I’m Maximilian Martell. And this is”—his gaze lowered from Polly’s tanned face to her bikini top, and suddenly the words got stuck in his throat—“Va-Va-Va—”
I gawked at Max while he practiced consonants. “Valentine Beaumont.” I shook their hands, disregarding other eyes in the room zooming in on the blonds.
Polly giggled and pulled up her bikini bra strings. No easy feat, considering the weight being boosted. “We didn’t know you were supposed to dress for dinner,” she said. “But that nice maître d’ at the door said not to worry. And we’re just going back to the pool after anyway.”
Max shrugged, finding his tongue. “Saves a step then, doesn’t it?”
“Exactly!” Polly clapped her hands together, clicking her long, flower-painted fingernails.
A moment later, Sabrina and Lucy docked at the table. Lucy edged up between Molly and Polly’s chairs, her chin barely reaching the table top. She looked right, and then left. “I didn’t know they were serving watermelon as the main course.”
“Where!” Molly exclaimed, breasts bouncing.
The maître d’ wordlessly brought a booster seat for Lucy to sit on. She gave us all a defiant look, then hopped onto the seat and let the maître d’ push her up to the table.
Max smiled, and I could see he was anxious to start the fun. “Polly and Molly—this is Lucy and—”
“Save the introductions, bub.” Lucy nodded at the two empty chairs. “Where’s that fat chick and the motorcycle hunk who were with you?”
Max stuffed a piece of bread in his mouth and squinted meanly at Lucy.
“Phyllis is seasick,” I said. “And Jock”—I stared at the empty chair—“Jock’s a mystery.”
“I’ll say,” Sabrina said. “I saw him go into the captain’s quarters when I was taking a tour.”
“Ha!” Lucy barked. “You mean when you were snooping. Sabrina’s a cruise junkie. She’s already sniffed through every inch of the ship, including the bridge and the galley—or kitchen, to you morons. She’s like a dog. Except I don’t think she’s peed on anything yet.” She cracked up at this, slapping her hand on the table.
Everyone gaped at Lucy.
“What gives, anyway?” She narrowed an eye on me. “What’s this Jock doing in the captain’s quarters?”
It was a good question, but then nothing surprised me with Jock. He appeared when the mood hit him, and he left through trap doors. It was for sure I wasn’t going to sit here, fantasizing over his whereabouts. Jock was an enigma. Period. If he wanted you to know what he was up to, he’d tell you.
“Wait a minute.” Max eyed Lucy. “How did you know Jock rides a bike?”
She shrugged. “I can spot a biker a mile away. I have an eye for that sort of thing. And speaking of eyes”—she closed in on me—“I’ve seen yours somewhere before.”
“Of course you’ve seen our Valentine before,” Max said. “She’s practically a celebrity after solving—”
I kicked him in the shin.
“Ow!” he howled.
Like I wanted the whole ship to know about my past association with homicides. And it wasn’t such a long history. Only three. Plus, I didn’t usually look for trouble. It found me.
“That’s it!” Lucy said. “You stabbed a guy with a tail comb! Almost made a sprinkler out of him.” She cranked out a laugh. “And they say we New Yorkers are crazy. Man, what are you doing here? You should be in the psych ward.”
My jaw tightened. That first case was old news, and it’d happened years ago, and I’d acted in self-defense. Besides, it was the only way, in crisis mode, to stop a killer from getting away. Nonetheless, it continued to haunt me.
Lucy gasped openly. “And that was just the one crook! Any of you morons know she wrapped a perm rod around a guy’s—”
I slammed my hand on the table with the speed of a bullet, and everyone jumped. “Look at that ice sculpture!” I exclaimed. “The dolphin’s spraying water out its mouth!”
Everyone swiveled to look at the dolphin, the spray turning from pink to blue.
“Yeah, yeah,” Lucy grumbled. “You’ve seen one ice sculpture, you’ve seen ’em all. I’m more interested in this contest tomorrow.”
“Yeah!” Everyone piped, huddling closer t
o the table. I was just relieved we were moving on.
“Does anyone know who the judges will be?” Sabrina asked.
Nobody knew.
“I heard the models will be put in a separate room after the competition with their ‘before’ picture,” Lucy said, “judged solely on how they look, not by who styled them or the technique used.”
“I can’t wait,” Max said with glee. “Tantig will look like Zsa Zsa Gabor when I’m done.”
“Tantig!” I swung my head toward him. “When did you ask her to be your model?”
“When you weren’t around.”
I drew my lips into a thin line.
“What!” Max lifted his shoulders. “I figured you’d want to fix up your mother. After all, she’s Sophia Loren incarnate.”
“Don’t try and butter me up. Tantig was my first choice.” I snapped a breadstick in two, mad at myself for not asking Tantig earlier when I had the chance.
“Quit your squabbling,” Lucy said. “Doesn’t matter who you’re doing. I’m going to win that contest if I have to jump the judges’ bones to do it.”
That thought put a sobering silence over the group.
The waiter came by and took our orders, leaving a complimentary bowl of jumbo shrimp on the table. We were all digging into the bowl when Mr. Jaworski strutted over. Splendid. If he mentioned maraschino cherries again, I was going to slit my throat with my knife.
“There she is!” he called out. “My little Lucy.”
I almost swallowed a whole shrimp. This was Mr. Jaworski’s lovely niece? His brother’s daughter?
Lucy gave him a major eye roll. “Uncs, will you stop calling me little?”
I blinked in shock. Lucy was a Jacobs. Why the different last name? I spied her bare ring finger. Was she married but on the cruise alone? This didn’t add up either. I smiled at Lucy. “Aren’t you also a Jaworski?”
“Technically.” She gave a flippant wave. “But you don’t expect me to go by a loser name like Jaworski, do you? Lucille Jaworski. Sounds like a name you’d put on those ass wipes for babies. I changed it to Jacobs when I moved to New York.”
Murder, Curlers, and Cruises Page 3