He sighed. “What if you get hurt?”
“Pff.” I tapped my rifle. “Got it covered.” My churning stomach didn’t match my confident voice.
He peeked behind my shoulder. “Where’s your beauty bag?”
“In the cabin.”
“I thought you never left home without it.”
I twirled around. “Wouldn’t go with the outfit.” Plus, I had what I needed.
My eyes slid over to Devon. “Tell me something. Do you know anything about that waiter with the Fu Manchu mustache?”
Jock gave Devon a discreet look. “I know I wouldn’t go near him if I were you.”
Exactly how I felt. “I received a warning earlier about searching for Tantig. I think he may have kidnapped her.”
He grimaced. “Look, I can’t let you go down there by yourself.”
“You can’t stop me.”
He gave me a wicked grin.
“Jock, you are not stopping me. She’s my great-aunt. I’ll do anything to rescue her.” I stuck out my chest. “Remember, I’m your boss.” Like he gave two hoots about that.
“I know who you are. You’re a reckless, determined, curious buttercup. And if I had any sense, I’d tie you to those saloon doors to keep your pretty ass safe.”
I tried not to blush, but I knew I was unsuccessful. “Now you sound like Romero. And if you don’t mind, I’d rather not think about him at the moment.”
He rolled his eyes, and his bushy mustache flattened. “I don’t like this idea, and I can’t help you because I’m going to be busy tonight.” His eyes shifted once again to Molly and Polly. “If I wrap things up early, I’ll join you.”
I followed his gaze back to the blonds. Gee, don’t let me interrupt your night. Why was everyone mesmerized by Molly and Polly? I watched them shave a couple of men, their breasts all but falling out of their teensy jackets. Okay, maybe I knew the answer to that question.
I was going to lay my life on the line, and Jock was likely planning a ménage à trois. Ooh. I wanted to trust him, but he wasn’t making it easy. Fine. I wasn’t going to waste time stewing about it. I didn’t need him anyway. Good thing, too, because in a blink, he was gone.
* * *
I plodded to the buffet, feeling a pity party coming on. Jock was Mr. Worldly, and what did I have to show for my fabulous Caribbean cruise? I’d lost a contest, was in the middle of another murder investigation, I’d rescued Max from a Puerto Rican jail, had been embarrassed and injured in more ways than one, and the worst part was Tantig had been kidnapped. If this was a holiday, I’d have had a better time at home, inhaling second-hand smoke from Mrs. Calvino next door and watching Mr. Brooks crucify his yard with power tools.
I took some food from the buffet and joined Max, Phyllis, and Sabrina at my table. My heart was knocking in my chest, and my armpits were sweaty. Breathe, Valentine, breathe. Act cool and composed. I didn’t want to tip off Sabrina that I was onto her. I just prayed Phyllis wouldn’t drop the bomb either. Seemed I didn’t need to worry. Phyllis was yakking Sabrina’s ear off about her day in the rainforest. So Max took this opportunity to yak off mine.
“Guess what?” He buttered his corn on the cob.
I was biding my time until I could make my exit. “I’m all out of guesses. What?”
“I’m over my fear of water.”
I gave him a dubious look. “How’d that come about?”
“It was due to Kashi.” He leaned toward me, opened his vest, and stuck a colorful, hairy ornament under my nose. “Do you like it?”
I backed up in case it bit. “What is it?”
He looked offended. “It’s one of Kashi’s ‘Get Out of Town’ brooches.”
“Why is it so colorful?”
“Because this is his rainbow version. Hairs of every color.”
“Because you’re so vibrant?”
“Exactly. Kashi calls it ‘Get Out of Town Elton John.’”
Naturally. I looked around the dining room. “Where is Kashi? I haven’t seen him all day.”
Max wiped his hands on his napkin and lowered his voice. “After you left the pool, he came by. You know, lovey, he’s not such a bad guy. Taught me Indian meditation exercises to calm myself when I’m agitated. It’s helped. I don’t feel anxious anymore near the ocean. We even tested it. I walked straight to the railing and viewed the rolling waves. Nothing. Not even a tummy flip. I’m cured.”
I watched Phyllis nod at Sabrina, then lick butter off her plate like an animal.
“What else can he cure?” I muttered, shoveling coleslaw into my mouth.
“What?” Phyllis stopped short at something Sabrina said. “If that doesn’t take the cake!” She swung her head so fast from Sabrina to me her ten-gallon hat almost toppled off her head. “Get a load of this.” She nudged my arm. “When Sabrina got back from port yesterday, she found a bar of soap in her toilet. Boy, those cabin stewards don’t deserve much of a tip.”
I coughed and sputtered, trying to look innocent. Everyone gawked at me.
I pointed to my throat. “Cole…slaw…stuck.”
Max gave me a hard wallop on my back that just about sent me into next week.
“Thanks.” I cut him a gruff look, grabbed my water, and turned from the table, lapping it up. As water trickled down my throat, Football Guy sauntered into the dining room, dressed like Clint Eastwood in a spaghetti Western—maybe even The Good, the Bad and the Ugly. Poncho over his shoulders, flat-topped cowboy hat angled low over one eye, holster slung low on his hips. He caught sight of the team and within seconds his poncho was flipped back, and he was belly up to the bar, slugging beer with them. Hmm. Funny he didn’t look for Sabrina. Maybe the romance was over.
This answered one question. Football Guy was one of the jocks, which also likely meant he wasn’t part of the murder or kidnapping. After all, he was a passenger, and passengers didn’t know the ship inside out. Right? Unless you were Sabrina—the cruise junkie. Of course, this didn’t explain Clive being in the engine room. But wait. He was only following Sabrina. And if she was involved with Devon, Devon could’ve told her where to hide Tantig. Which also meant Tantig had most definitely witnessed something incriminating for them to have seized her.
Phyllis went on. “I told her strange things have been happening in our cabin as well.”
I shook my head no. “Nothing so strange, Phyllis.”
She gave me a flippant wave. “What do you mean, nothing! What about that bag of Tic Tacs that was delivered?”
I avoided Sabrina’s gaze. If she looked into my eyes, she’d see the light bulb clicking on. It all made sense. Sabrina had planted those Tic Tacs on the doorknob. If she’d taken Tantig, the Tic Tacs were a warning. Maybe the lone container I’d stepped on earlier was Molly’s missing Tic Tacs, an accident, a freak occurrence. But without a doubt, the bag on the doorknob was intentional. Who else would’ve put them there?
“And I don’t know why,” Phyllis continued, “but every time I walk into our cabin, it smells like nail polish remover.” She glared at me. “Have you noticed that?”
I shook my head emphatically. “No. Must be your sinuses.” I rubbed my forehead. “And speaking of sinuses, I feel a headache coming on. Probably the motion finally getting to me. I’m calling it a night.”
“But lovey,” Max said. “You’re going to miss Phyllis showing us how to ride the bronco bull. Aren’t you, Phyll?” he asked, hopeful, any compassion he’d held for her a few minutes ago swept away by a new desire to see her thrown off a mechanical bull.
“Welllll…” Phyllis puffed out her chest. “I know I’d be good at it.”
“You can tell me all about it in the morning.”
“What about The Good, the Bad and the Ugly?” Phyllis asked. “You need to watch the movie.”
What was this? Normally, no one cared where I went. Now, all of a sudden, everyone needed me here. “Look, I’m going to rest. My duster weighs ten pounds, this hat’s rubbing on my ears, and I didn’t
sleep well last night.”
“Don’t look at me,” Phyllis said. “I can’t help it if you didn’t sleep.”
“I hope you’re feeling better in the morning,” Sabrina said.
Her words were soothing, so why did I have this feeling a knife was about to be stuck in my back?
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
I made it halfway through the dining room when Candace bustled up to me in her Mae West costume, a large-brimmed red feathery hat on top of her head, a tight red gown pushing up her boobs. “Where are you sneaking off to?” She backed me into a corner.
I squeezed my toy rifle, half wishing it was loaded. Calm breath. I still wanted answers from Candace about the jocks and their tattoos. Retaliating with sarcastic remarks would only make things ugly. “Nowhere. Just heading to the bathroom.”
She pulled back a long plume, dangling in her face. “I’m not going anywhere.” She glanced over her shoulder. “Those boys are what a girl needs.” She smiled wickedly. “This girl, anyway.”
“I’m glad you’re having a good time.” I was all out of niceness and decided to simply come out with it, hating that I had to ask Candace anything. “Speaking of the boys, have you noticed if any of them have a snake tattoo on their arm?”
“Snake tattoo.” She gave me an odd look. “What’s this all about, Valentine? You changing your hobby from assaulting men’s genitals to breaking arms with tattoos?”
I gave a fake laugh. “Something like that.”
She curled up her lip, pulling back her feather again. “I’ve only seen one guy with a snake tattoo on this cruise, and it belongs to that little drunk who looks like Papa Smurf.”
I blinked, wide-eyed. “Clive?”
“That his name? I don’t pay much attention to men unless they’re tall, dark, and handsome.”
Don’t forget loaded. “Then how do you know he has a snake tattoo?”
She blew out air through her collagen-enhanced lips. “I saw him at the bar the other day and asked what was underneath the bandage.”
“And you’re sure he said it was a snake tattoo. I mean, he slurs a lot. Maybe he said he had a mole removed. Snake tattoo. Mole removed. Almost rhymes.”
Her eyes bugged out at me. “What do you take me for? Some kind of idiot?” She huffed. “He said snake tattoo. I even saw a bit of it poking out from under the gauze. End of story.” She glanced over her shoulder. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got a posse to round up.” She shoved up her boobs, thrust back her shoulders, and pranced back to the gang. Mae West reincarnated.
I stood there, stumped. Was Candace playing with me? If not, and Clive had a snake tattoo, why would he be wearing a bandage over it? Was it new and he was told to keep it covered? Was it really a snake? If so, why didn’t he mention this coincidence when he told Phyllis and me about the boyfriend’s snake tattoo? This was too absurd to be anything but a fluke.
I was still thinking about this when I turned on my way out of the dining room and plowed into Kashi. He was dressed in white. White cowboy hat. White T-shirt. White jeans. White boots. He looked like an Indian version of Mr. Clean, with a touch of yee-haw. And he was in a hurry to get past me.
“Whoa, Nellie,” I said.
“Who is Nellie?” He panted, pushing his glasses up his nose. “And more importantly, am I late?”
“Whoa, Nellie means slow down. And late for what?”
“The bronco riding contest.” He breathed past my shoulder. “I, Kashi, am an expert bronco rider. When I was a child, still living in India, I sometimes rode cows bareback. They like to wander the streets, you do know.”
“Yes. I’ve heard that.”
He dipped his head. “As an expert bronco rider, I will show their scrawny butts how it is done.”
I moved aside. “Don’t let me stop you.”
* * *
Ten minutes later, I’d commandeered a wheelchair from the pool area. I didn’t see Clive anywhere and didn’t know if I should be thankful or worried, especially after learning about his tattoo. Logic told me he was simply a passenger who liked his booze. No need to be troubled by a rosy-cheeked guy like that, right? He could’ve moved from the pool bar to one of the lounges. Then again, he could’ve passed out on his way from the pool bar to one of the lounges. But I couldn’t concern myself with Clive or his whereabouts now. I had Tantig to think about.
I didn’t know what condition she’d be in when I found her, and I wanted to be prepared. How I’d hoist her back up through the ductwork was another issue. But one problem at a time. I steered the wheelchair down to the last level where the service elevator let me off. So far, so good. Everything was as I remembered.
Psyching myself up, I trekked down the metal ramps that led me to the noisy engine room. I stopped at the spot Clive had shown Phyllis and me earlier. From my corner I saw crew members, like before, busy at workstations below.
Part of me thought again about going for help since the last thing I needed was to be stopped and reproached by the crew. But I didn’t know who to trust. What if there were others involved in Lucy’s murder or Tantig’s kidnapping? I couldn’t take a chance. If I handled this right, I wouldn’t run into anyone. I’d find Tantig, free her, and no one would see us.
My heart hammered a thousand beats a minute, hiking up my anxiety level. All guilty parties—that I knew—were above sea level, playing cowboy. I swallowed, determined to ignore my reservations, and center on what I had to do.
I backed the wheelchair into the corner by the closet, hung my cowboy hat on the handle, threw my duster on the back, and leaned my rifle against the side. I dragged the ladder out of the closet, pulled out my nail file, and pushed up my sleeves. I could almost hear the Mission Impossible music while I undid the panel that would provide me access into the ductwork.
Once the last screw was loose, I popped open the metal plate, set it on the ground, and gaped into the passage. Gulp. No one said it was going to be this narrow. Not good when you were mildly claustrophobic.
I pushed back a quiver and thought about what Tantig had been through. What if she’d been beaten? Starved? Humiliated? There was a lot more at stake here than my fear of suffocation. I’d waited long enough to come back down. I couldn’t chicken out now.
I rammed the nail file back in my pocket. I had no choice. I had to go in that tunnel.
I went to grab my bag. Right. Didn’t have it with me. I cuffed my forehead with the heel of my hand. Dummy. There was barely enough room for me in that passage. How did I suppose I was going to lug my beauty bag? Maybe, while I was at it, I could shove in the wheelchair.
Okay, Valentine. You’re overanxious.
Darn right I was overanxious. How could I have thought I was up for this challenge? It was a lunatic, pea-brained plan. That’s what it was.
I took several deep breaths to calm myself and said a short prayer. Then I wiped a wayward tear off my cheek and climbed to the top of the ladder. I crawled headfirst into the ductwork. I got three feet in when I scrambled back out and almost fell down the rungs.
My heart was racing, and I couldn’t catch my breath. I paced the corner, blinking madly, shaking the nervousness from my hands and shoulders. “Come on, Valentine. You can do this.”
No, you can’t, a voice said inside my head.
“I have to!” I drew in air through my nose and out through my mouth, repeating this until I wasn’t shaking fiercely. I needed something that would relax me. I closed my eyes, pretending I was on a warm beach, listening to soft waves rolling onto the shore. That usually worked. The tenseness eased out of my shoulders, slid down my arms, and fled from my fingertips. Okay. Now I was ready.
I shoved myself back into the passage and edged forward on my hands and knees, my mind bouncing back and forth between saving Tantig to the calm, sandy beach. Pinging, humming, and whirring noises above and below were muffled by the steel shaft. I considered this a good thing. I just hoped the sounds of me inching along would be muffled as well.
What seemed like three days later, I reached the bottom panel, undid the plate, and hammered it open. I dropped to the ground, inhaled fresh air big time, and did an all-over shake at being free. Then I looked over my shoulder to make sure there wasn’t anyone around. Whew. Clive was right. A few pumps and fans for scenery and oodles of crates and old equipment. But the area was secure.
Not wasting any time, I grabbed the key, crept past the crates and paraphernalia, and found the secret room Clive had said Tantig was in. My heart pounded so violently at what I might see, I did more deep breathing to prepare myself. Then I undid the lock and safety latch, slid the key in my pocket, and slowly opened the door.
A table and chair were the first things that greeted me. Sitting on top of the table were a box of crackers, a dirty mug, papers, a pencil, and small cans of brown paint and glitter. Plastic bins of old theme-dinner and cruise props were scattered across the room. Silk flowers, napkin holders, soiled tablecloths, and party supplies poked out of the bins.
A toilet and a roll of toilet paper sat in the far-right corner of the room. The unpleasant smell in the air told me there was a plumbing problem and clearly no ventilation. I put my wrist to my nose and sniffed hard on my Musk’s floral scent. Whoever kept house never would’ve passed my mother’s inspection. Despite that, I didn’t intend on staying long in this…this forgotten storage room.
My gaze drifted from the toilet to the other side of the room, and the sight there made my heart swell. Facing the left wall in a recliner in the upright position was Tantig watching one of her soaps on a TV. She didn’t seem to hear me enter. Either that, or she didn’t care. She certainly didn’t look agitated or afraid or like she’d been hurt. She was in a paisley-patterned dress with support hose on her legs and Velcro running shoes on her feet.
“Tantig!” I rushed over, stumbling past the table and chair, momentarily forgetting about the stagnant smell.
Murder, Curlers, and Cruises Page 22