Murder, Curlers, and Cruises

by Arlene McFarlane

  He swung his feet to the floor, got up, and faced the bed, tossing back the covers and pillows like he was searching for something. Boxers? I stole a look—past the smile, past the scar on his ribs—and whoa! What was that nasty mark on the right side of his groin? Another navy incident, or some other mystery?

  He picked his boxers off the floor, pulled them on, and opened the door. He took the tray from the steward. I crawled on all fours, looking for my dress. My heels were hanging from the ceiling fan, so I didn’t waste time on those.

  “Gracias por todo,” Jock said and closed the door.

  Another one of Jock’s talents. He was multilingual. A few months ago, I would’ve said he was showing off. But now, with him standing half-naked in front of me, it was kind of impressive.

  He lifted the lid and took a deep whiff. “Want some?”

  I peered up from the floor. “No thanks. I don’t eat birdseed and soybeans for breakfast.”

  “Maybe you should.”

  I was on my feet now, clutching the sheet, shooting him a look. “What are you saying? I’m gaining weight?”

  “I’m saying cruises are famous for their rich foods. And the buffets are killers.”

  I felt my thighs. “If I’m getting so fat, you can stop looking at me like a bear ready to devour a blueberry bush.” I sank to the floor again and searched under the bed for my dress. Nothing. I caught him grinning at me, and my head gave another massive throb.

  “Your gown is in the bathroom,” he said.

  Cheeky. I opened a door and stomped barefoot into a closet.

  “The bathroom’s over there.” He gestured to my right, chewing on something that looked like it might’ve been bread if it’d been half an inch thicker.

  I rushed past him into the bathroom, dropped my sheet, and slid on my gown. I avoided looking in the mirror. If I looked as bad as I felt, I was better off not knowing, fat thighs and all.

  I put on a bold I’m-your-employer face and charged out of the bathroom, keeping a safe distance from Jock. “What happened to Lucy last night? And why are you always around the captain? And why was I naked in your bed?”

  He pushed the tray out of the way, enjoying my tantrum. Then he strode toward me with an intimidating look on his face. I stood there in my bare feet, feeling less brave than I did a minute ago. By the time he stopped and towered over me, my breasts ached, and a lump formed in my throat. He ran his fingers through my hair, and I swallowed down the lump.

  “Don’t you want to brush your hair?”

  “No, I don’t want to brush my hair,” I said, sounding like a spoiled five-year-old. “I want information.”

  He didn’t look put out by my behavior, and this made me all the more angry. He smiled down at me, his hardened nipples staring me right in the eye. I slid my gaze down his ribs. I’d never been this close to the scar from his navy days. I wanted to reach out and touch it, but I controlled the impulse. And while I was controlling impulses, I resisted the urge to ask about the newly discovered scar on his groin.

  “Okay.” He widened his stance and crossed his arms. “What information do you want?”

  I glared up at him. “For starters, how did Lucy die?”

  “She was murdered.”

  “I guessed that when I saw her looking out at me from a frozen statue.” Then it set in. Lucy was dead. My drunkenness and all the goings-on last night kept me from dwelling on that fact, but now that I was relatively together, sadness engulfed me. I gave myself a moment to grieve for this feisty woman whom I’d never get to know. Then I met Jock’s eyes, my voice soft. “Then how did I end up in your”—I glanced at the bed—“room.”

  “After you passed out on the deck, I brought you here.”

  I imagined him carrying me like a sleeping princess, my hair flowing down over his arms, my gown softly trailing behind him. Then I realized how I probably really looked and was thankful he didn’t leave me sprawled on the deck like a beached whale. “Noble of you.”

  “I thought so.”

  “You could’ve taken me to my cabin, which is technically across the hall from your cabin.”

  “I wanted to keep my eye on you. Plus, I wasn’t about to grope through that sack of yours, looking for your key. And before you say another word…nothing happened.” He must’ve noticed the tormented look on my face because, in all honesty, I didn’t take this lightly.

  “Are you sure?”

  He laughed, showing some teeth. “I’ve never had that kind of response before. And for your information, it wasn’t for your lack of trying.”

  “Me trying!”

  “Yes, you.” He set his hands on his hips. “You came to and were all over me. You hiked up that almost dress of yours, pushed me onto the bed, and attempted to gnaw off my uniform buttons.”

  “That’s impossible!” Not. That ouzo clearly had a terrible effect on me. It brought to mind that night in the Berkshires—what I could recollect—when I threw myself at Romero in a similar fashion. Exactly why you didn’t drink, Valentine!

  “You know, it’s extremely hard to remain a gentleman when a gorgeous woman is throwing herself at you.”

  I hated the fact that I was probably blushing. “And you’re a gentleman.”

  He grinned at my statement. “Not always. Especially when the lady in question isn’t wearing panties.”

  My lips tingled, and my skin turned hot. How could I have been so stupid? No underwear, all because I liked sheer fabric against my skin. I couldn’t decide if I was embarrassed, nervous, or sexually excited. One thing was for certain. Things were becoming too personal.

  “Can we change the subject back to Lucy?” I tossed my hair off my shoulders. “How was she killed?”

  “They’re working on that.”

  “Who’s they?”

  “The captain and ship security are working with local authorities in San Juan.” He motioned over his shoulder toward the sliding door. “Today’s port of call. And fortunately, U.S. jurisdiction.”

  I let this sink in. “Speaking of the captain, why are you two so chummy? And why were you in a naval uniform last night?”

  He took a step back and straddled a chair. “I met Carlo when I was serving. He already had a dozen or so years on me, but we were on the same ship together, worked out of the same naval base.”

  “I thought he was Italian.”

  He smiled. “Raised in the Bronx, but he’s Italian through and through. His charming accent does seem to impress the ladies.”

  Didn’t impress me. Much.

  “About the uniform,” he continued, “Carlo asked me to wear it. I complied.”

  “Nice you obey someone,” I spouted. Miss Holier-Than-Thou.

  He stared at me like he was stripping me back out of my gown, and my face warmed. “After we finished our tour of duty, I went home. He chose to work in friendlier waters. Captain suits him, so does the Caribbean.”

  “Small world, isn’t it?”

  He reached for my hand and drew me in. “Getting smaller all the time.”

  I backed up so I could think straight. “And this is why the privileged accommodations.”

  “You could say that. When you mentioned the cruise, I gave him a call. You and I could’ve bunked together, you know. I think I implied that before we left.”

  “I’m quite happy where I am, thank you.” Liar.

  I mentally stated I wasn’t responsible for Lucy’s death. Which meant Kashi was not a killer. It just didn’t add up. I frowned, wishing I could let it all go, but guilt was a wonderful thing.

  Jock rose from his chair as if he knew there was more on my mind. It was true. And sharing what I saw with him would be a huge relief.

  I told him how Kashi had slipped something into Lucy’s bag at the contest, and the furtive glances between him and Sabrina, not to mention the fact he’d poured something into Lucy’s drink. “Something’s going on. If Kashi didn’t kill Lucy, I’d like to know who did.”

  Jock rubbed his jaw. “
And you think I’m involved in the investigation.”

  I gave him a smug shrug. He knew I was aware of his involvement—whatever that involvement was. I grabbed his chair, climbed on top, and retrieved my heels from the ceiling fan, not daring to question how they got up there. I waited for him to offer anything further on Lucy’s murder, but his silence told me this conversation was over. Dandy. I didn’t need him or his help. I marched past him to the door, and he grasped my arm.

  “Okay,” he said. “There is something Carlo has asked me to look into.”

  “I’m listening.”

  He let me go. “It’s going to cost you.”

  I wasn’t in the mood for games. “Funny way for an employee to talk to his boss.” I slipped on my heels, feeling braver now that I was taller.

  “What if I weren’t your employee? I don’t think I’d have a hard time finding another job.”

  Thoughts of Candace sprang to mind and how she’d tried to lure him away. Even I’d hired him within five minutes of him strutting through the door. Was I willing to lose him? I avoided his eyes, afraid he’d see the truth.

  “All right,” I said. “What do you want? Can’t be sex. You could have any woman you desire on this ship. In fact, Miss Romania looked like she’d be all too happy to curl your tendrils. If you know what I mean.”

  “I know exactly what you mean. Did you see me put the moves on Ivona, or Miss Romania, as you called her?”

  He had me there. In truth, I hadn’t witnessed him do anything more than whisper in her ear. It was more a case of predicting the outcome when I saw him with another beautiful woman.

  “And not that I cared, but she’d planned on disembarking first thing this morning.”

  Oh.

  He took hold of me by both arms. “Look at me.” His tone changed from slightly amused to serious.

  The room went still except for the electricity sparking in my chest. His dark, hooded eyes blazed into mine in a way that made my cheeks prickle. “What I want is you. And whether you admit it, you want me.” He let me go. “You just need to decide who it is you want more.”

  My insides tightened, and all logic evaporated the moment he cleverly brought Romero into the equation. Despite his wild track record and tough past, the truth was I’d never wanted a man like I wanted Romero. But I’d yet to reveal this to him—when I was sober.

  This was another reason I didn’t trust myself around Jock. The pent-up sexual tension I’d built with Romero had, at times, almost erupted around Jock. Whatever Romero’s whereabouts or whatever the current status of our relationship, he was always present in my heart and mind.

  A little voice reminded me Romero had nothing to do with this. I should stick to the issue at hand, even if I couldn’t come up with anything concrete to say. “Ha!” I proclaimed. “I don’t need any information from you.” I pointed a finger at his chest. “I’m good at finding my own news and solving murders!”

  He folded his arms across his chest. “Equipping yourself with perm rods and tail combs again, are you?”

  I grabbed my bag and almost choked myself swinging it over my shoulder. “I don’t need any beauty tools to find a killer. You’ll see.” What was I saying? I wasn’t ready to jump into the middle of another homicide. This might not be Rueland, where everyone knew my unfortunate past, where my life was dissected like a frog pinned to a table. Still, we were on the high seas, and I didn’t know the first thing about solving a crime on a ship. But I wasn’t going to back down now. I did an elaborate pivot on my heels so he couldn’t see the uncertainty on my face. Then I paraded out the door, slamming it hard behind me.

  * * *

  I pressed my thumbs between my eyebrows, attempting to deaden my headache. Everything swam around from last night, right up to my recent discovery of yet another scar on Jock de Marco.

  I looked up and down the hall. I had to get out of here, but I had no idea where I was. My floor didn’t have any natural light, which told me my cabin was probably three or a dozen decks down.

  I hustled down the corridor, all too aware there might be a murderer on board. I didn’t know when Lucy was killed, or even where. Since we spent yesterday in port in Nassau, for all I knew the murderer could still be there and not on the ship. I chewed on my bottom lip. This sounded logical to me. This could’ve been the job of a random serial killer. Of course, it didn’t explain how Lucy ended up in a chunk of ice. And it didn’t lessen my unease since my gut told me she was the intended target, and the murderer was in our midst.

  I peeked over my shoulder, making sure no one was following me to the elevator. Exhaling my edginess, I waited for the doors to open and glanced out a large window. San Juan. Right. Next port of call. There were dozens of light-colored buildings, hotels, and rows of parked buses at the dock. Probably waiting to take passengers on tours. At the moment, I was only interested in getting back to the safety of my cabin.

  The elevator doors opened, and I hurried in, banging into Max, who was running out. I screamed so loud it was a wonder Lucy didn’t come back to life.

  “Where have you been?” Max gripped my shoulders, looking me up and down in my wrinkly gown. “And why weren’t you answering your cell phone. I’ve been a nervous wreck, looking for you.”

  I checked my bag for my phone. Not there. I’d been so preoccupied, I must’ve left it in the bathroom after I talked to Twix yesterday. “I guess it’s in my cabin.”

  “Why’s it in your cabin?”

  “Never mind that!” I gaped at him. “What happened to you last night while I was spying on Jock? Mr. I’ll-Wait-Here-In-Case-You-Need-Backup.”

  He gave a sheepish shrug. “I thought I saw Tantig shuffling down the stairs. She looked disoriented. I didn’t want her to fall overboard.”

  “How could she fall overboard?” I almost shouted. “The railings are practically up to her neck.”

  He looked put out by my comment. “Sue me for showing compassion to the elderly.”

  Oh Lord. “Anyway, Tantig was in the lounge with my parents. Remember?”

  He winced. “I said I thought I saw her. Why? What happened?”

  Self-conscious from my recent remark, I muffled my hand over my mouth. “I fell in a lifeboat.”

  “What?” He slapped my hand away. “What do you mean you fell in a lifeboat? Aren’t the railings practically up to your neck?”

  Smart aleck. “Doesn’t matter now. I’m fine.”

  He groaned. “Good. With Lucy dead, I started thinking something happened to you.”

  “The only other thing that happened to me was that I spent the night with Jock.” I shoved my palm in his face. “And before you say anything, nothing happened.” I muttered. “That’s what I was told.”

  Max’s voice tripled in pitch. “And you believed that hunk of man?”

  “Yes!” I gave him my back-off look.

  “Works for me.” He waited a beat. “So, where’s he staying? And why isn’t he rooming with me?”

  “He and the captain were in the navy together, and since this is the captain’s domain, Jock was given a luxurious suite.”

  “Now everything makes sense.”

  I gave him a strange look. “Nothing makes sense. It doesn’t explain why Jock seems to be involved in this case or why he’s been glued to the captain.”

  “Maybe they’ve been rehashing their glory days.”

  I shook my head. “There’s more. I can feel it. And whatever it is, Lucy’s death is tied to it.”

  We rode the elevator down to our deck, and Max prattled on about Lucy. “Who do you think killed her? My money’s on Kashi.”

  “Kashi!” I got off the elevator and stopped short. “Weren’t you the one giving me theories why he wouldn’t have killed her? Giving her medicine ring a bell? Intimate friends?”

  “Okay. Then who do you think killed her?”

  “I don’t know. And I’m going to keep it that way.” Not exactly what I told Jock.

  “I’ve heard that befor
e. You forgetting your history with homicides?”

  “It’s a bad history. And I don’t plan on getting involved. Got that?”

  Max roamed a cynical eye over my dress where it sagged unevenly off my shoulder. “Know what I think? Jock should’ve spanked your pretty behind while he had you naked under the covers.”

  “Who said I was naked?”

  Max pursed his lips. “If you spent the night with Jock, you were naked.”

  Oy! I picked up the pace to hide the tumultuous feelings I’d been harboring all morning.

  We walked the rest of the way to our cabins in silence. I was about to insert the key in my door when I heard a muffled voice inside that didn’t belong to Phyllis.

  Who was in our cabin? Couldn’t be the steward. There’d be a cart in the hallway. And where was Phyllis? If she’d been there all night, she wouldn’t have let anyone in. On the other hand, it was already after eight. She’d be on land, touring. Bad enough my head was pounding, now a gust of anxiety swept through my veins.

  I poked Max and pointed at the cabin. We put our heads to the door, and Max went wide-eyed. “I’ll get the pirate skull I bought in Nassau,” he whispered, Mr. Courageous all of a sudden.

  “What for?” I whispered back. “We’re not playing Pirates of the Caribbean.”

  “What if it’s the murderer?”

  “Why would the murderer be in my room?”

  Max shrugged, then a suspicious look crossed his face. “What if it’s Kashi? And he’s getting ready to kill you next!”

  I rolled my eyes. “Thanks a lot.”

  “If I had my pirate skull, I could conk him on the head with it.”

  I deliberated quickly. “Fine, go get it!”

  He slid into his cabin and came back seconds later, gripping his five-pound wooden skull that had a patch over one eye, a hoop in one ear, and a red bandana tied across its forehead.

  In silence, I inserted the door key and braced myself.

  Max crashed into the room first like he was 007. He held the skull high above his head and smashed it down on the back of the intruder’s crown.

  The man, who was dressed in black and had his cell phone to his ear, tumbled headfirst into the bunk-bed ladder, then bounced back onto the floor, face up, cell phone beside him.