I let out a breath. “What about the bag of Tic Tacs?”
She shook her head. “Your aunt offered me one that first day on the deck and one the next time I saw her.” She looked beyond my shoulder again at Tantig. “The woman evidently has a thing for Tic Tacs.” She did an eye roll. “And with you showing her picture around, I thought a bag delivered to your door would give you something to think about.”
“But I got them when we thought Tantig was safely on land.”
“I know. Kind of fun psyching you out.”
She wagged the knife at me. “Before you ask, yes, it was me who locked you in the steam room. I saw you and Molly and Polly heading there, and I followed you. After they left, I broke and jammed the door handle, hoping it’d trap you inside.”
“You went to a lot of trouble to keep me silent.”
“Dev saw you go into the galley and talk to Chef Roy. You were a threat. We couldn’t take any chances you’d learn the truth.” She angled the knife sideways, studying the gleaming blade. “There’s a lot of money at stake here. But when Dev’s done with you, we won’t need to worry about that.”
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
I tried swallowing, but my throat seized up.
“Don’t get comfortable,” Sabrina said. “Dev won’t be long.”
She was serious. Devon was going to come down and make sushi out of Tantig and me.
I’d avoided seasickness the whole cruise, but now nausea was hitting me. Or maybe it was the fact I was facing imminent death. I felt light-headed, and I was certain the color had drained from my face. Sabrina didn’t seem to notice. She turned on her heels and slammed out of the room, locking the door and loudly securing the safety latch behind her.
I reached for the chair, my knuckles white, nausea rising in my throat. I gagged, afraid I was going to throw up. Keep it down, Valentine. This room wasn’t equipped for sickness. No sink. No bags. No first-aid kit. I gave a fleeting look at the smelly toilet and gagged again. Wonderful. I’d be dead within hours. What did it matter where I barfed?
I peered over at Tantig—oblivious and content. The only sound other than my gurgling stomach was the TV emitting kissing sounds and soothing words of love. Outside the room, loud whirring and humming noises continued.
A terrified voice inside my head kept repeating, you’re both going to die. What if this was it? What if I never saw Tantig again? All her funny sayings and gestures swam around in my mind. Tears welled in my eyes. I wasn’t ready to lose her. Nor could I bear the thought of causing her death.
I took deep breaths, thinking they might be my last, when a strange emotion surfaced. If I was going to die, I wasn’t going down without a fight. I had to save myself. And I had to save Tantig.
I swiped my eyes, swallowed soberly, and staggered to the door. I jiggled the handle. Yep. Locked. And there was no way to unlock the latch from inside. I pounded on the door and screamed for help. Maybe Molly and Polly were still out there. I waited a beat. Nothing. The noise outside the room was horrendous. No one would hear me. And Molly and Polly were probably under the stars by now, watching The Good, the Bad and the Ugly. I clenched my fists, doing my best to remain calm and focused.
Hold on. There were dozens of machines beyond that door, machines that needed tools for repairs. Surely there had to be a hammer or wrench or screwdriver in here to ward off Devon.
I darted around the room, tearing things apart, spotting a long cardboard roll of tissue paper among other useless things. I hustled over and grabbed the roll, whacking it on my palm. Maybe not the best line of defense, but I could still bonk Devon on the head with this.
I took a closer look at my weapon. A corner of the tissue had been ripped off, and something had been imprinted on the layers underneath. A code? A private message?
I snatched the pencil off the table, held it on an angle, and swept it back and forth across the engraved portion. The area darkened, and the lettering underneath appeared in white and read KEEP SEARCHING AND GRANDMA GETS A BULLET.
I pressed my lips together, anger surging inside. This wasn’t a code. This was where Devon wrote the threatening note. I tossed the roll against the wall. Who was I kidding? Like that was going to have any impact. Silk flowers and napkin holders weren’t going to cut it either. Good grief! There had to be something!
Without warning, I gagged again. This time it wouldn’t stay down. I dashed for the toilet, choked at the smelly sight inside, and retched into the filthy bowl.
Sweat broke out across my forehead, my nose dripped, and my eyes teared. Not one of my prettier moments. My curling iron hanging in my holster knocked against the porcelain toilet. I unleashed it and tossed it on the ground while I finished my business. Ugh. I gave a shaky moan, stood up, and cleaned myself with a wad of toilet paper.
Tantig mumbled something about her show, undisturbed I’d just puked behind her.
I’m fine. I dabbed my forehead, turning slightly toward her. Thanks for asking.
I shivered and tossed the toilet paper in the bowl. Then my curling iron caught my eye, and an idea struck me. I peered over to my great-aunt. “Tantig, let me curl your hair.”
She blinked back at me. “What are you talk-ink about?”
“Your hair looks untidy.” This was an understatement. Tantig’s hairdo looked like she’d been through a typhoon. A good brushing probably would’ve done the trick, but I didn’t need a brush for what I was planning. I swiped my palms on my pants, plugged in the curling iron, then combed my fingers through her hair.
While time ticked away, I fussed and curled and probably created a world’s record for number of ways to use a three-pronged curling iron on short, fine hair. I was telling myself everything was going to be okay when Devon stomped into the room, his Fu Manchu mustache wilting from the corners of his mouth. He had a gun with a silencer in hand, boots on his feet, and a cowboy hat hanging by strings down his back. All he needed was a kid’s stick horse between his legs to complete the Western getup. Unfortunately, he’d still look sinister and creepy.
He shut the door behind him, blocking out the drone of machinery. Meanwhile, I continued curling Tantig’s hair like my life depended on it.
Tantig moved her head slightly toward Devon. “Who-hk are you?”
“John Wayne.” He smirked. “Giddy-up.”
Tantig rolled her eyes and went back to watching soaps.
I wore a stiff upper lip and tried to keep my hands firm on the curling iron. I’d already vomited once. I couldn’t promise I wouldn’t do it again.
Devon nodded at me. “Like my hideout, do you?” He didn’t wait for an answer. “Stumbled upon it a while ago when Chef Roy sent me down for extra tins in the kitchen storage rooms.”
“Nice.”
He scrunched up his nose. “That all you can say? It’s more than nice. It’s private. And it’s going to stay that way. So let’s go, partner. I’m running two jobs at the moment. I haven’t got time to piss around while you play hairdresser with your aunt.”
“Great-aunt.” I tightened my grip on the curling iron, not liking one bit the way he was speaking in front of Tantig.
“Who cares? In a few minutes, she’ll be a dead aunt.” He chuckled and waved his gun in the direction of the door. “Bad enough I had to endure a bronco contest between that Indian and ten-gallon-hat broad. If I’d had my gun on me, I swear I’d have blown a hole right through that bull just to end the suffering.”
I pictured Kashi and Phyllis taking turns on the bronco bull. “Who won the contest?”
“You kidding? The Indian, hands down. That sourpuss broad got thrown a second after starting. What a sucker for punishment. Kept getting back on. Thrown each time right after pressing the button.”
Sounded like Phyllis.
“Boy. Dumb or what.” He stepped a foot toward the door. “Come on. I haven’t got all day.”
I yanked the curling-iron cord from the wall. “Where are we going?”
“Gee, I don’t know. You ha
ve a preference where you’re killed?”
“I guess not. But how do you know nobody will interfere with your plan?”
He guffawed and glimpsed at his gun. “You’re outta luck. Nobody’s interfering with nothin’. You make one peep, and you get a bullet through the skull.”
He moved a foot closer to me and curled up his lip. “Eeeyew. What’s that smell?” He shoved past me and ogled the toilet bowl. “That’s disgusting.”
While he examined things, I asked God for strength. Then I sucked in air, poised my curling iron at him, and jumped on his back. Caught off guard, he lost his balance, and his cowboy hat went flying. I hung on with everything I had inside and branded his neck with the scorching metal barrels.
“Aaaaah!” He fell to his knees. “Stop that! You insane?”
I yanked hard on his hair and poked him again and again. He staggered to his feet, and we went around in circles. He tried to grab the curling iron and throw me off his back, but I hung on tight like lice on hair.
“You’re dead meat!” he shrieked. “Hear me? Dead meat!”
Adrenaline flowed through me, and all I could think was I refused to die in the belly of this ship. At that, I whacked the hot iron on the side of his face.
“Aaaaah!” He shook his head, and the smell of freshly burned skin wafted through the air.
I gasped at my great-aunt. “Run, Tantig! Run!”
For once, Tantig showed speed. She shuffled to the door while I clung on hard to Devon. He jerked me off his back, and the gun flew into the toilet. We both stared at it, sinking to the bottom of the gross stew. I let out a cough, and he rolled up his sleeve and plunged for the gun.
I saw the snake tattoo on his arm, and a fresh surge of anger surfaced. Like a madwoman, I shoved his head down into the bowl, hammering his neck with the curling iron.
“Ouch! Stop it!” He whipped his head out of the toilet, and brown slime ran down his temples. Red-eyed, with burn marks on his cheeks, he aimed the gun at the door. Then he fired a shot. I swiveled my head and saw blood sprout on the side of Tantig’s dress. She slouched and disappeared around the corner.
I went ballistic.
I screamed at Devon, gulping for air. With all my might, I wound my curling-iron arm around like a Red Sox pitcher and clocked him upside the head. He staggered sideways, crashed into the table and some boxes, and landed on the ground. I ran out of the room, slammed the door behind me, and flung open the locker. I was barely thinking straight, but I figured if I took a bag of cocaine, guaranteed Devon would come after me and not Tantig.
I peeked around pistons and fans, doing my best not to follow the spots of blood on the concrete floor. Suddenly, hollow gunshots sounded, then ping, ping, ping. Bullets fired in every direction, ricocheting off ductwork and overhead pipes.
I looked behind me and saw Devon aiming his gun at me. Blood stained his face from where I’d clouted him, and a putrid smell followed him from the room.
He kept firing, and I dove for cover. But he was too quick. He dropped his gun at his feet and was on top of me in seconds, struggling to wrestle the cocaine and curling iron out of my arms. He had me by about sixty pounds, but I kicked and hammered and screamed for all I was worth.
I stabbed the searing barrels into the bag. The heat melted the plastic, sending white powder everywhere. Devon yelped and finally ripped the curling iron out of my grasp.
We rolled on the ground, smacking and scratching each other, his weight suffocating me. I was spent and ready to quit, but I spied Tantig’s shoes from under the machinery, twenty feet away, and a jolt of superhuman power came over me. I thrashed around, looking for his gun or any type of weapon. The only thing surrounding me was cocaine. Gathering my wits, I scraped together a handful and flung it in his face.
He coughed and sputtered and tried to roll me over. I wrestled back, but something jabbed me in the hip.
My nail file!
Without hesitation, I dug it out of my pocket and knifed him in the ribs. He screeched and swatted the file from me, gawking in disbelief from my face to the blood seeping through his shirt. Panicking, he backhanded me hard across the mouth, then lunged for the bag and swept cocaine back inside.
I lay there, my mouth burning in pain, blood on my tongue. Urging myself on, I leaned on my elbow and reached for the gun. Only, he got to it first. Then we heard a loud voice.
“Drop the gun and put your hands in the air!”
Everything went still. We gaped to an upper metal ramp where Jock stood with several security officers—one with a megaphone. Molly, Polly, and Sabrina cowered next to Jock with their hands behind their backs.
Devon blindly fired shots. I scrambled away. Everyone else ducked.
Devon caught me and yanked me to my feet. He wrapped his grimy arm around my neck, his tattoo directly under my nose. He pressed the gun to my temple. By now, the engineers and engine crew had joined Jock and the others. Everyone froze. I wasn’t sure I was even breathing.
The officer with the megaphone spoke. “Put the gun down, Devon, and walk away.”
“Not on your life!” he shouted back, jabbing the gun harder into my head.
Tears were streaming down my face, and blood trickled from my mouth. Past the corner of my eye, I saw Tantig slumped in a chair, head down. Out of desperation to live, or for Tantig’s sake, I bit down on Devon’s arm. The gun discharged and hit something that gave off a disturbing, rumbling sound.
Please, Lord. Tell me that wasn’t the wall of the ship.
There was a moment when everyone held their breath. Then, vast amounts of water sprayed inside the engine room. Within seconds, boisterous alarms honked with angry determination, and everyone sprang into action. Security officers cleared the area, taking the girls with them.
Devon threw me away like yesterday’s scraps and made a run for it. He got about two feet when he slipped on a mass of tiny white ball bearings. His arms went wide, the gun sailed through the air, and his feet flew up like they’d been snagged out from under him. He hit his head hard on the ground and went out like a light.
I crawled over to Tantig, turning a blind eye to Devon’s beat-up face and blood soaking through his shirt. Trying to gain control, I wrapped my arms around my great-aunt. I wanted to see her open her eyes, even if it was only to give me her blasé look. But she remained unresponsive.
I rocked her in my arms, praying she’d be okay. Just then, she opened one eye and grinned up at me. Shocked, I looked from her, back to the tiny ball bearings, wondering what the grin was about. Then realization dawned. Those weren’t ball bearings. They were Tic Tacs. Tantig’s Tic Tacs. She must’ve had a container on her. And Sabrina said she was a senile old lady! I hugged the stuffing out of Tantig, choking back tears of joy.
“You’re going to brrreak my neck,” she said.
“Are you hurt?” I eased up on squeezing her. “I saw Devon shoot you.”
She reached into her pocket and pulled out a candy bar with a clean hole through it.
“That’s what he shot?”
She nodded.
I sighed. The lighting down here wasn’t the best, and I’d mistaken the chocolate drops on the ground for blood. At least this proved Devon and Sabrina had fed her something.
Two officers charged toward Devon. Another aided Tantig.
The sounds of hissing pipes and deafening sirens continued, and a dense fog had developed. The magnitude of the devastation was overwhelming. I was blurry-eyed and drained, but I inhaled a triumphant, shaky breath and told myself it was all over. The killers had been caught, and Tantig and I were going to be fine.
I turned away from the blood and cocaine and room filling with water and trailed behind the others to safety. I had my head down, counting my blessings, when out of the fog, wading toward me through several inches of water, was Jock.
He pulled me close and looked from my bloody, swollen lip into my eyes. Wordlessly, he cupped my face and placed a gentle kiss on the tip of my nose. “You’re my
hero.”
Not expecting that, a fresh tear sprang to my eye.
He wiped away the tear, scooped me up into his arms, and held me tight against his chest. Then, without another word, he carried me out of the wet dungeon.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
The island sun shone on my belly, and clear turquoise water swayed along the shoreline, gently nipping my toes. My skin glistened with coconut oil, my Babajaan hat covered my head, and I was tanning to the right shade of bronze in my white bikini.
I’d found a remote spot on the beach and was sitting on a lounge chair at the ocean’s edge, sipping from a refreshing bottle of water. The only sound, other than peaceful waves, came from exotic birds trilling in the distance.
The ship had reached port last night after disaster struck. Everyone had disembarked with most of their things. Thousands of passengers were put up in ocean resorts while others slumbered along the beach in cabanas provided by the resorts. Others still stood with bated breath at the dock, waiting to see if their rum and cigars would go down with the ship. My parents were among those guests.
Phyllis got over being dragged away from The Good, the Bad and the Ugly. She and Max acted like a married couple and shared a room at the nearest resort. I had a cabana all to myself on a stretch of white sand, and I slept like a baby.
I knew Jock hadn’t slept. Once he’d set me on dry land and made sure I was okay, he’d jogged back to the pier to assist others in disembarking. I was just glad Devon and Sabrina had been taken away and that Tantig was uninjured.
I learned Jock had been keeping tabs on Molly and Polly, faking interest in them to see how much they’d divulge about their drug involvement. He’d also been tracking Sabrina and Devon’s whereabouts, disclosing he’d been looking for Sabrina when he’d muffled me outside my cabin door.
I relished the quiet time on the beach and reflected on my emotions regarding Jock. He was a hero and knight in shining armor. He’d assisted in seizing the crooks and had worked tirelessly to rescue passengers. Whenever I wanted to doubt him, he proved he was an honorable man, a lord among men. I trusted Jock at work, but deep down I knew I could trust him with my life.
Murder, Curlers, and Cruises Page 24