Murder, Curlers, and Cruises

by Arlene McFarlane

  All things considered, I should’ve been falling for the man. And maybe part of me was. But there was another part that needed to keep him at a distance.

  Lord knew my heart beat nervously when I was near him, and I could only dream about the life he’d led, and what it’d be like with me in it. But more than that, I liked seeing this Hercules every day, working alongside him, laughing, and okay, flirting. I didn’t want that to disappear. If our relationship turned into something more, and then it ended—like they always ended—it’d be goodbye Jock. I wasn’t ready to let that happen. I didn’t know if I’d ever be ready.

  * * *

  I took a break from sunbathing and ran into Clive sipping margaritas at the resort’s beach bar. It was past noon, and he was already rosy-cheeked. He offered me a drink, but after Lucy’s death and my big night with ouzo, I was staying clear of anything that remotely smelled of alcohol.

  We toasted with my virgin margarita, and Clive repositioned his skinny butt on the barstool.

  “All’s well that ends well!” He held up his glass with his bandaged arm in a limp salute.

  I sipped my drink. “Tell me, Clive.” I gestured to his arm. “What’s the story on your snake tattoo?”

  He sloshed his drink, holding his arm up in front of his eyes. “It’s not a shnake tattoo. Whoever told ya that?”

  I did a mental head slap, taking Candace’s word that Clive had a snake tattoo on his arm.

  “Nobody important. She must’ve been mixed up.” Or trying to lead me astray. The witch.

  Clive gave his head a shake, then set his drink down, and unwound the gauze. “I mighta said it looks like a shnake now. But it once was a bee-u-ti-ful mermaid with a long, glorioush tail. Ole ball and chain made me remove it.”

  I stared at the faint image of a mermaid, the squiggly tail now red and partially scarred. I cut Candace some slack. In the right lighting, it could’ve been mistaken for a snake.

  Clive frowned. “The little missus said it looked too wrinkled on my skin. Gosh,” he slurred. “Ith it any wonder I came on a cruise? Can’t drink. Can’t have a tattoo. Wha-the world coming to?”

  I smoothed my hand over his arm. “You’re one in a million, Clive. I’m sure your wife will be glad when you return home.”

  He sipped on his drink. “Ya think?”

  I pictured my own parents, not happy unless they were arguing. “I’m sure of it.”

  He gave a dopey nod and saluted me again. “By the way, my name’s not Clive. Ith Henry.”

  I shook my head, confused. “How’d Phyllis get Clive from Henry.”

  “Beaths me.” He gazed up at me. “That sourpuss works for you?”

  I refrained from rolling my eyes. “Yes.”

  He held up his glass. “And I’m the one drinking?”

  I kissed the top of his head and said goodbye, then moseyed back down to the beach, thinking about home and how my goal of donating money to the hospital went awry. I went on the cruise to win a contest. With Lucy’s murder and Tantig’s kidnapping, I’d lost sight of that. Okay. I failed miserably at making goals. There had to be a way I could help.

  I pulled my chair back from the shoreline, put my feet up, and reopened my water bottle, pondering how to come up with some money. Fast. I enjoyed playing the piano. Still had it in me. But did I want to spend my nights in a bar? The answer to that was always no.

  My gaze fell to my sandals, half-covered in the sand, and my thoughts turned to my shoe that fell in the lifeboat. Then I was hearing Mr. Jaworski’s shoe tirades. I shrugged. Maybe he had a point. It wouldn’t kill me to part with some fancy heels and make a few dollars at the same time. Probably a good idea to scale down anyway, right? Ridiculous owning so many shoes. And in the grand scheme of things, what did a few girly possessions mean? Heels and jewelry could be replaced. Children couldn’t.

  I was plotting my purge on eBay when a pair of feet striding along the shoreline entered my line of vision. I raised my chin under my wide-brimmed hat to get a better look. Hmm. A tanned pair of muscular legs, too. I tilted my chin up another notch and checked out the long white swim trunks printed with huge orange flowers. Then I saw a bare, hard-muscled chest covered with dark hair.

  I chugged water so I could take a friendly look without seeming interested. My hat tipped back, and I had a perfect view of the wavy hair curling over his ears and dark stubble on his jaw.

  Romero!

  I sprayed water onto my belly, my heart skipping a beat. What was he doing here? Looking all virile in nothing but a pair of swim trunks.

  I tugged my hat back in place and gave my stomach an angry swipe. Like I should be happy to see him. Ha! What about Twix’s discovery and the new woman who was moving in? If I could’ve trusted he cared about me, if he wasn’t a two-timing jerk, I would’ve run into his arms. But I resisted. And my beautiful serene moment had just ended.

  I swiveled myself in the opposite direction and sprang off the chair. I checked my bikini was in place and huffed down the beach. Not an easy feat with my bare heels sinking in the sand. Well, who cared what I looked like? I had nothing to say to Detective Romero.

  On second thought, I spun around and stomped toward him. “What are you doing on my beach?”

  We were standing six feet apart, and he used that space to his advantage, taking his sweet time appraising me from my head, down the curves of my bikini, to my toes.

  Standing this close on an almost secluded beach, under the hot sun…holy moly. Sexual tension escalated inside from his penetrating stare, and my breath caught in my throat as a familiar ache swamped me. I’d gone two days without seeing him, and instantly I was back to being drawn in by his raw masculinity and charm.

  He winked and that almost undid me. “When I heard a cruise ship was on the brink of sinking in the Bahamas, I told the staff sergeant I needed to come out here.” He paused, trying hard to keep from smiling. “And I didn’t know it was your beach.”

  “Well, it is. And you’re trespassing.”

  “Like how you trespassed into an unauthorized area on the ship a mere day ago? Instead of telling security and leaving it to the professionals to save Tantig?” He cocked an eyebrow. “Good thing charges aren’t being brought.”

  I was relieved about that, too, but I crossed my arms in front, acting all indignant.

  “And I just ran into your father. He told me you were over here.”

  I fumed. “What makes you think the man was my father?”

  “He was dressed like a buccaneer. I figured he was related.”

  I rolled my eyes. “He’s going through a phase. And just so you know, I had nothing to do with that hole in the ship…directly. Anyway, they patched things up.”

  He took a step closer, his voice deep and sexy. “They patched things up.”

  My knees went weak from the way he repeated those words, and I avoided looking up into his eyes. “Yep.”

  Amused, he took his thumb and gently brushed my lower lip. “Swollen mouth you’ve got there.” He said this as if he wanted to do something about it, and not in a medicinal way.

  I wasn’t sure if it was the scorching sun, or his enticing Arctic Spruce scent drifting in my direction, or his touch that blazed into me like fire on ice, but my insides quivered like I was being licked with hot flames. In a moment, I was going to melt into the sand.

  I angled back so I could regain some perspective. “It looks worse than it is, and if that’s all you came to say, I guess you’ll be leaving now.”

  He didn’t budge. “I have a few more things to say.”

  “Such as?” I put my hands on my hips. I was at a disadvantage being half-naked. But I put on a bold face, refusing to feel intimidated by his powerful presence.

  “You were pretty brave, putting your life on the line to save your great-aunt.”

  Why did he have to go and say something so sweet? I swiped away a bead of sweat rolling down the center of my stomach, finding it difficult to look tough when I was getting t
urned on.

  “And I thought you might like to know the case I was working on in California was tangled up in this mess.”

  My eyes went wide. “It was?”

  He nodded. “Molly and Polly were working for a drug lord who divides his time between California and his homes in Boston and New York. Guy goes by the name Toro. Has quite the harem. Likes women with big…hair.” He grinned. “Sends them on drug runs so he can stay home and operate his racketeering business. Actually believes he’s doing someone a favor offering protection.”

  I thought this through. “So Molly and Polly weren’t hairstylists.”

  “What?”

  “They took part in the makeover contest. I thought they were hairstylists.” I recalled the Western hoedown and guys lining up to be shaved by the girls. No wonder men were walking away with nicks on their faces and throats. Molly and Polly couldn’t shave a balloon to save their lives.

  “They were nothing but coke addicts,” Romero said, “willing to do anything for a high.”

  They did always seem extra happy. Maybe they’d shared some of that happiness with the guy loading boxes into the hull in hopes of discovering where the cocaine was hidden.

  Romero grimaced, and tiny lines of frustration creased the corners of his mouth. “Toro’s tentacles stretch from Boston and New York to California, the Caribbean, and Miami. We almost brought him down several years ago when one of his New York dealers was found dead in Rueland. But his lawyers are savvy, and he got off. Then a year ago, another member of his New York posse was caught trafficking. The guy didn’t like the idea of wearing an orange jumpsuit for the next ten years, so he decided to turn state’s evidence against Toro. A week before the trial, the stoolie was found trick-or-treating as a corpse.”

  “The body on Lucy’s salon awning.”

  “The very same. Lucy’s shop basement was a depot. Drugs were running in and out of there like Grand Central Station. A couple of her employees quit, not wanting to be involved in any illegal activity. Sabrina stayed on.” He shook his head. “Devon had a perfect setup on the cruise ship. As long as someone smuggled drugs on board, Devon moved them into Miami via flower vases and floral foam. Another crook distributed from there.”

  I wasn’t sure I understood all this. “Why didn’t the parties know about each other’s involvement?”

  “That’s how Toro operates. Drop-off points. Pickup times. Everyone’s allocated a duty. No overlaps into another’s territory.”

  I wiggled my toes in the sand, thinking how coincidental it was that Molly and Polly were assigned the same table on the cruise as Sabrina and Lucy. Was this intentional on Toro’s part? Stretching his tentacles even onto the ship to keep his eye on his operation?

  “Then what was Devon doing in New York?” I asked. “I saw his picture in the New York Post from last year.”

  “Seven years ago, he started working in New York City at Chef Roy’s restaurant—one of Toro’s favorites. Probably when he’d met Lucy and Sabrina. Then a year ago, he got recruited to work on the cruise ship with Chef Roy. Jumped at the chance. Being employed at the restaurant, he overheard and learned a lot about Toro’s dealings. Maybe Devon approached Toro, seeing this as the perfect opportunity to make some big scores smuggling. He’d already been laundering drug money, so Toro likely asked him to prove himself by becoming the assassin, and Devon agreed.”

  He shifted his weight and wiped the sweat off his brow. “Devon probably hung around the crime scene for kicks when the media showed up. He’d just started with the cruise line, and after the murder he conveniently disappeared. Nobody fingered him, and we didn’t know the connection to Sabrina until Jock tied the pieces together.”

  “But what were you doing in California?”

  “Putting heat on Toro. We knew he was there, and it was a matter of days before making an arrest, this time, one that would stick. When I worked in New York, he was the boil on the backside of vice. Seeing him walk after the Rueland murder was like cutting off my right arm. I wasn’t going to let him go free again.”

  Romero had lived through a drug case about five years ago that hit close to home. I knew how important it was for him to see justice prevail.

  The sun beat down on him, outlining his broad shoulders and lean hips. He caught the appreciation in my eyes but stayed focused. “With murder, racketeering, trafficking, possession for the purpose of trafficking, importing and exporting, carrying a concealed weapon without a permit, and a few other charges, Toro will be backing into the corner of the prison shower for a long time.”

  He rubbed his chin, his powerful gaze on me. “I have a question for you.”

  I gave my lip a gentle bite. “Yes?”

  “I just came from interviewing Devon. Why does his face look like a George Foreman grill?”

  I tried to look innocent, but I could see by the know-it-all grin on Romero’s face I’d have a better chance at being swallowed by a shark than getting one by him. “It’s this three-pronged curling iron I have.”

  He put up his palms. “I’ve already heard enough.”

  “Then why’d you ask?”

  He gave me a stern look, then pulled something that resembled a black tarantula out of his back pocket.

  I screamed and jumped back, falling ass to the sand. “What is it?”

  “Don’t worry. It’s not alive.” Sand covered his feet as he bent down and helped me up.

  Once I was standing again, we studied the furry object in his hand. Black hair strands laced around black gems, and there was a tiny sparkly boat glued on top.

  “A little Indian guy at the pier pressed it into my palm. Told me to give it to you.” He dropped it in my hand. “Said he’d do it himself, but he didn’t trust your impulsive nature.”

  I pressed my lips tight at that remark. I took my finger and pushed it around in my palm just in case it sprang at me. In a weird way, it was kind of beautiful even though my inner instinct was to squash it with my foot.

  “He called it a ‘Get Out of Town’ brooch. What the hell is a ‘Get Out of Town’ brooch?”

  “Kashi, the little Indian guy, makes them.” I twirled it in my hand, amazed at the intricate detail. “Did he have a specific name for it? He names all his brooches.”

  Romero gave a thoughtful nod. “He did. Said this was his ‘Get Out of Town Titanic.’ He made it especially for you because you’re scary”—he pointed to the spidery limbs—“and everywhere you go, disaster follows.” He tapped the miniature ship and chuckled.

  I swept away his menacing fingers. “Yes, I got that. Thank you.”

  “Before I forget,” he said. “The cruise line is awarding you two thousand dollars for helping in uncovering a smuggling ring.”

  I straightened. “What?”

  “I told them you couldn’t accept since you’re partly responsible for the patch on the ship.”

  I smacked his arm. “You did not!”

  I couldn’t believe it. It wasn’t the full amount I wanted to donate to the new wing at Rueland Memorial, but it was a hefty start.

  He gave me another sexy wink. “The check will be waiting for you when you get home.”

  “Great.”

  None of this explained the new love in his life and who was playing house back in Rueland. Well, I wasn’t going to stand around, pretending everything was okay. “Now that you’ve explained things, goodbye.”

  He sighed big time, looking down at me. “I’d bend you over my knee and tan your pretty hide if I thought I’d get away with it. But Nancy Drew might exact revenge by setting fire to my house.”

  “You needn’t worry about Twix.” I huffed. “She’s got more interesting things to do than try to understand why you’d drop me for Belinda.”

  He creased his brows. “Am I missing something here?”

  I was glad it was out. “Yes. Your partner.”

  “That’s what this is all about? Belinda?”

  “Gee, I don’t know. Every time we talked on the phone, s
he seemed to be in stroking distance.” A breeze swept by, and I yanked my hat down to keep it from blowing off. “Sounded like she was practically attached at the hip in San Juan.”

  He massaged his forehead in exasperation. Who could blame him? I was acting like a child. But I couldn’t help it. I wanted the truth. I needed to hear with my own ears he was moving on.

  “For your information,” he said, “Belinda is no longer assigned to me.”

  My eyebrows went up. “Why not?”

  “Because I requested she be transferred to another precinct.”

  I narrowed my eyes. “Why?”

  “Because I didn’t like her work habits or attitude.” He gave me a grim look. “And before you ask why again, let’s just say she was insubordinate. I already have one female in my life who drives me crazy. I couldn’t handle another.”

  I crossed my arms, choosing to ignore that. “Even if she looked like a Victoria’s Secret model?”

  He gave a short burst of laughter. “Where’d you get that impression?”

  “Nowhere.” Damn Holly. Putting ideas in my head. “Then what was she doing in San Juan?”

  “She wasn’t.” He frowned, clearly not understanding. Then he gave a slow nod. “Ohhh, the phone call yesterday.” Like he just realized what I was talking about. “The woman you heard in the background was one of the officers in San Juan. Some of the cops were having drinks after their shift. They were trying to make me feel welcome.”

  He stared at me long and hard, then blew out air. “As for Twix, tell her the next time she wants to snoop at my place, I’ll leave the back door open. The neighbors won’t get the wrong idea that way.”

  “She was just being a good friend.”

  “And Cynthia was being a good sister.”

  “Cynthia? It was her?”

  He nodded, folding his arms in front of his toned chest.

  “Sounded like she wanted Twix to believe she was something more.”

  He gave a wicked smile. “I told you before she could be a pain in the ass. She was just having some fun.”