Cooks Overboard (3 page)

“Sven!” The Hydra called out his name in a harsh whisper as she marched up to where he lay sprawled across three chairs placed side by side in a dark corner of the passenger lounge. Except for him, the lounge was empty. “Are you insane? What in the hell are you doing?”

He clumsily turned his head to face her. Although the grimace that twisted his lips lasted less than a second, she noticed it.

“Get up!” she ordered.

“The passengers can see I’m sick,” he said with a whine. “Miss Amalfi said I should lie down.”

“When
Miss Amalfi
runs this ship you can listen to her. Until then, get your butt off those chairs!” She watched him struggle to sit up, then press his arm against his forehead. Was that perspiration on his brow? Now it was all over the sleeve of his uniform. What was wrong
with the man? Who would want a steward who had been sweating all over himself?

She tried to swallow her irritation as she stepped closer and spoke, her voice scarcely above a whisper. “Give me the microfilm. Quick.”

“I can’t.”

“What?”

“It’s in my cabin. I didn’t want to carry it around. It’s too valuable—right?” He stared at her.

“It’s…it’s of some value. Of course. But that’s none of your business. Your job was to get it and pass it to me. Now, do your job.” She hated working with fools, but they tended to take orders better than the smart ones.

“Maybe I’m not quite ready to do the job you paid me so little for,” Sven said. He was sitting, his hands gripping the seat of the chair to steady himself. “Maybe that microfilm is worth a lot more than you’ve given me. Maybe it’s time we renegotiate our deal, or I find out who else is interested in that film.”

“You miserable excuse for a man! You think you can threaten me? Remember, Ingerson, you’re just a steward.”

“Well, you’re just a—”

“Shut up, Sven! Do as I say, and without argument, or you will live to regret it, I promise you that.”

“Why did the cook try to jump off the ship?” Sven asked abruptly.

“How in the hell should I know? The man was crazy. All men are. So are you. Get moving. I’ll follow behind you. I want that microfilm now.”

Sven opened his mouth to argue but then seemed to think better of it. His legs were shaky as he stood and crossed the lounge to the door. He had almost reached it when Angie Amalfi appeared.

“Oh, how lucky to find you,” she cried. “I was just looking for some coffee. My friend is trying to keep awake, but it’s a losing battle. I was hoping there might be some already made here in the lounge.”

“Miss Amalfi! Uh, yes. There is usually a pot going, but it’s empty now. I’ll make some.”

“I’ll help. You still look a little peaked, I’m afraid.”

“You’re much too kind. But I think we—” He turned around, his hand out as if to indicate someone with him.

Behind him, the room was empty.

Paavo sat on a chaise longue next to Angie’s, a cup of coffee at his side, and stared out at the ocean. He didn’t have to do a single thing if he didn’t want to. It felt strange. When Angie suggested they not bother to unpack, yet, but simply sit and talk, he had imagined it would be easy. It wasn’t. His mind raced with what was going on back in Homicide, with what would be happening there tomorrow, and with all he’d been ordered to stay away from.

With all he’d decided to leave behind.

Now if he could only stop thinking about it, he’d be fine. He had to turn his attention elsewhere. To Angie, to their future.

Once he’d understood how much their vacation together meant to her, he’d bought the tickets himself. The cruise was his gift to her, a gift he hoped would show her what he was so bad at putting into words: that he loved her.

He took a deep breath and reached for her hand, feeling how delicate it was, how soft her skin was, the steady rhythm of her pulse. He lifted her hand and kissed it. Big brown eyes flashed at him and she smiled in that secret way that told him she loved him and wanted him, just as he did her. He shut his eyes, trying to relax in her glow, her warmth. Trying to unwind. Trying to forget all that he didn’t like about the world.

Trying to forget that just before he had left the city, his life had gone to hell.

At the sound of approaching footsteps, he opened his eyes again. Julio Rodriguez stood before them.

“Dinner will be served soon,” Rodriguez announced with a click of his heels. “Captain Olafson requests the honor of your presence at his table.” He helped Angie to stand as she picked up the big tote bag she’d started carrying soon after they boarded. In it she had put her wallet, passport, sunglasses, and the myriad other things that Paavo couldn’t begin to understand why she, and many other women, seemed to think they needed to cart around with them.

Julio held out his arm to Angie. “With your permission. Mr. Smith, I will help Miss Amalfi, since the ship is rolling quite a bit.
Señorita?
” The courtesy, from his lips, sounded far too much like a caress to suit Paavo. Besides, he hadn’t noticed the ship swaying any more forcefully than earlier, and Angie had been able to walk just fine.

He stepped forward. “That’s all right. I’ll see to the lady.”

Julio took one look at Paavo’s expression and scurried ahead.

In the dining room, Captain Olaf Olafson greeted Angie and Paavo, a glass of vodka in his hand. Paavo noticed that it didn’t appear to be his first. The captain’s cheeks were flushed and his eyes overly bright. He wore a black uniform that fit a bit too snugly, with slightly bedraggled gold epaulets.

Julio introduced them, then seated Angie and Paavo at the table, with Angie on the captain’s right. The room was surprisingly small and cozy, with one large round table covered with a white cloth and set with white china. The crew ate in a separate mess. Already seated at the captain’s table were Ruby and Harold Cockburn.

“I shall introduce your traveling companions,
ja?
” Captain Olafson said grandly, waving his vodka glass at a couple across the table. They greeted the Cockburns, then the captain turned to another couple who had just entered the dining room.

“This is Mr. and Mrs. Marvin Nebler, also from the U.S. of A. I have the honor to introduce Miss Angelina Amalfi and her companion, Mr. Paavo Smith.” Paavo stood to greet them.

This couple, too, was clearly pushing the age limit.

“I’m Nellie.” Mrs. Neblar held out her hand to them. She was wearing a yellow and green flo
ral print blouse with starched yellow Bermuda shorts, rolled bobby socks, and white sneakers. Ghost-white arms and legs jutted from the clothes.

On her head she wore a big, bouffant, golden blond wig with the hair shellacked into place.

“How nice to meet you,” Angie and Paavo said.

Her husband spoke. “I’m Marvin, once Marvy Marv of automobile fame.”

“Really?” Angie said. Marvy Marv was a short, round man, with thin wisps of dyed reddish brown hair and beady brown eyes. Angie tried not to stare at his hair, but the color and texture looked a lot more like the result of shoe polish than of Grecian Formula. His loud red and white Hawaiian shirt was fashionably unironed, as opposed to Nellie’s starched Bermudas, but with it he wore dark brown gabardine trousers—the sort usually found as part of a suit.

“Yes. ‘
Buy the best used cars from Marvy Marv, Burlingame and South San Francisco
.’ I’m sure you’ve heard that radio commercial.”

“I’m sure,” she said. Sure she hadn’t, but who was counting? “How do you do?” Angie held out her hand to Marvy Marv himself.

He stared at it, as if unsure what to do with it, then gave her and Paavo a quick shake before stuffing his thick hands into his pockets.

She sneaked a glance at her hand, wondering what he’d found so objectionable. He was a used-car salesman if ever she saw one. Except
for the handshake. Maybe that’s what used car salesmen did when they retired—they stopped shaking hands.

As they sat, Marvy Marv caught her eye and said, “Ruby Cockburn told us you’re the expert on this ship.”

“I’m not an expert—”

“She’s lying again,” Ruby announced. “You’ve got to watch her. She’s been on this ship a lot. Knows the whole itinerary. But she likes to keep it to herself.” She gave Angie a hard stare. “Soldiers were court-martialed for less in my day.”

“There’s been a misunderstanding, I’m afraid,” Angie said. She glanced at Paavo, expecting to see some reaction from him, some defense of her honor, but he sat there smiling pleasantly at the group.

All this smiling was starting to get on her nerves.

Just then, Johansen, the first mate, joined them with apologies for being late.

Soon wine was poured, and the meal was served.

Captain Olafson stood, holding a wineglass in the air. “This is a goot day for the
Valhalla
, bringing us so many fine people to be our guests. I propose a toast to your goot health.”

They all raised their glasses, and soon the typical small talk and light laughter of a dinner party began.

The meal was uninspired—roasted chicken, mashed potatoes, vegetables, and peach tart for
dessert. Compared to the lavish meals Angie had had on other cruises she’d taken, this was a definite downside to freighter travel.

“So, Miss Amalfi,” Captain Olafson said. “Tell us about yourself. What brings you to the
Valhalla?
”

She met Paavo’s gaze and held it, as if to remind him, as she answered. “Paavo and I are here for a long-awaited vacation.”

“What do you do in San Francisco?”

The question sliced through her. “What do I…
do
?” This was a sore point. As much as she had tried to find an interesting, important, and well-paying job, nothing had worked out the way she’d expected. She’d been a newspaper columnist, a talk radio assistant, a culinary adviser for an inn, and a chocolatier, and she had even tried her hand at TV. Each had failed.

She did have her assignment for
Haute Cuisine
magazine, though—it’d pay all of three hundred dollars, if and when it ever got published. She decided to ignore the time and expense of getting to Acapulco and paying for big meals in a number of fine restaurants. “I’m a restaurant reviewer,” she announced. “An
international
restaurant reviewer, in fact.” She could lay it on as thick as the best of them.

“Ah!” the captain cried. “I must warn our cooks to do well or they will find themselves with the black mark. Maybe zero forks,
ja
?”

“This dinner is very nicely prepared,” Angie said, then added, “For simple, basic food. It’s
good someone else was able to take over after what happened to the cook…whatever it was.” It would be impolite to come out and
ask
, even if she were dying of curiosity.

“That’s so sweet,” Nellie interjected. “To write lovely articles for wonderful magazines.”

“When I buy a magazine, it ain’t for the articles,” Marvy Marv said, waggling his eyebrows.

“Marvin, really!” Nellie said.

Angie tried again. “Captain Olafson, about the cook—”

“Never did cook much myself,” Ruby said, pushing around a piece of peach that seemed to be sticking to her plate. “I let the boys assigned to KP do it. I had
real
work to do. Anyway, she doesn’t look like a cook to me. Too skinny.”

“I think Miss Amalfi looks just right,” Olafson announced with a self-satisfied smile, as if pleased over his charming ways with women. “And you, Mr. Smith. Do you work?”

He caught Paavo in the middle of a yawn.

“Paavo’s a hom—”

He squeezed her hand—tightly—stopping her words. “I work for city government,” he said with a smile. “Just a bureaucrat.”

Angie stared at him. He’d been practically comatose since the meal started, and now awoke to call himself a bureaucrat? And to smile about it? Was this the new Paavo?

“I don’t believe he’s telling the truth, either,” Ruby announced.

Paavo gawked at her.

“He looks too tired to be one of those people,” she said. “They just sleep on the job. Right, Harold?” She prodded her husband.

“Huh?” he said.

“Harold used to work for the Department of Education,” she said, then shouted. “Know all their tricks, don’t we, Harold?”

Captain Olafson chuckled. “Ah! No wonder Mr. Smith wanted to ride on our big boat. The bureaucrat’s life is very dull,
ja
?”

Paavo nodded and smiled.

Angie gave up trying to talk to any of them. Including Paavo.

As soon as Marvin finished his last bite of dessert, he announced it was his bedtime, although it wasn’t even seven o’clock yet.

“Oh, my, this has all been so fascinating,” Nellie cried as she stood up. “It’s all so very…cosmopolitan. Good night, dearies,” she said to Angie and Paavo. Then she turned to Marvin and added, “Young love is so sweet!”

Angie’s eyes jumped to Paavo, expecting to see him cringe.

To her amazement, not only was he nodding and smiling that smile she was growing really sick of, but he was wishing them pleasant dreams as well.

Professor Von Mueller looked at the big clock over his desk. Eight o’clock. He really should be thinking about going home. But what did home offer him? He thought of the small, sterile apartment. Nothing. Soon, though…

A villa along the Riviera would be nice. He’d always wanted one. Or maybe something smaller, like an apartment in Venice. On the Grand Canal.

He got up, put his flat brown cap on his head, took his cane in hand, and hobbled toward the door. He was about to shut off the light and leave when his eye caught his unopened mail. It couldn’t be anything that would interest a man soon to possess five million dollars, but nonetheless, he had some curiosity about it.

He took off the hat and sat down at his desk, listening to the creaking of his joints as he did so. Adjusting his glasses, he picked up the large
envelope from his colleague and studied the address once more. He hadn’t heard from Professor Luftenberg in years. In fact, it seemed he’d been told the man had died. Obviously, his memory was faulty in that area.

Not in all areas, though. Not where it mattered. He thought once more about his discovery. About his formula.

He tried yanking the envelope open, but it was one of those self-stick Tyrek packets. He soon gave up and grabbed a pair of scissors. This was truly a wonder product. How something so light and simple could be so airtight and strong was quite amazing. He almost wished he’d invented it, but then dismissed the idea.

A man who had come up with the discovery that would revolutionize the world, would change the future of mankind, had no business wasting his time with packaging material.

Whistling tunelessly, he cut the envelope. When he pulled it open, a puff of powder billowed out at him, tickling his nose. He sneezed, then drew in his breath and sneezed again. As the powder settled into his mouth and lungs from his deep inhale, he began to feel a tingling sensation, then nothing.

His mouth, his nose, his tongue turned numb, then grew paralyzed. Panicking, he opened his mouth, trying to speak, to cry out for help. No sound came. His tongue seemed to slide back into his throat, cutting off his air. He clawed at his mouth, his fingers reaching deep
into the back of his throat as he pressed his tongue out of the way.

But his lungs wouldn’t work; they wouldn’t inhale. He was suffocating…and he knew it.

His arm hit the cane, knocking it aside as he stumbled toward the door. His glasses fell from his face. He could scarcely see. Where was his grad student? His helper?
Susan!
His mind shrieked for her, but his voice was still. He needed air, needed to breathe.

He reached the door, and yanked it open.

The hallway was empty. No one, no help…He stepped into the hall and fell to his knees, then onto his back.
Susan!

The only movement on his face was a single tear that rolled down his wrinkled cheek.