Jaine Austen 8 - Killer Cruise (20 page)

He didn’t seem the least bit foolish now, I thought, eyeing his thick chest and brawny arms.

“You believe me, don’t you?” he asked, with a feral smile.

“Sure,” I lied.

“And you’re not going to tell anyone?”

“I’ll make you a deal,” I said, trying not to show my growing fear. “If you don’t tell about my cat, I won’t tell about the Butterfly Bandit.”

“Okay,” he said. “Deal. Sure you don’t want to seal it with a kiss?”

“I don’t think so.”

I could tell he didn’t really want to either. No, by now he was playing a part. His eyes were no longer hazy with desire, but focused and calculating.

I’d finally succeeded in dampening his libido.

And as he picked up his shirt and headed out into the corridor, I suddenly remembered that there had been two ice picks “stolen” from his supplies. You know what that means, don’t you?

One of them was still out there, ready and available for getting rid of pesky P.I.s.

YOU’VE GOT MAIL

To: Jaineausten
From: DaddyO
Subject: Good as New

I just finished staining the floor, lambchop, and if I do say so myself, I did a magnificent job! You’d never guess in a million years there’d ever been any paint there. Even your mother had to admit it looks pretty darn terrific.

Love and kisses,

Your daddy,

“Handy” Hank Austen

To: Jaineausten
From: Shoptillyoudrop
Subject: A Minor Miracle

You won’t believe this, honey, but Daddy actually managed to stain the floor without spilling anything! Talk about your minor miracles! Now he’s strutting around the apartment, puffing on that dratted pipe of his, talking about his “inner craftsman.” Heavens. The way he’s carrying on, you’d think he’d just painted the Sistine Chapel.

Meanwhile, Lance and I are headed off to check out wedding cakes. I asked Daddy to come with us, but he wants to stay home like an old fuddy-dud and watch golf on TV.

Do you realize how lucky you are to have found a man who actually enjoys the fun things in life like wedding planning? Oh, I just know you two are going to be so happy together!

XXX,

Mom

PS. I ordered you a fabulous peignoir from the shopping channel. Perfect for your honeymoon. It has adorable pink sequined hearts all over the bodice. The show host said the Duchess of Windsor wore one just like it on her honeymoon!

To: Jaineausten
From: DaddyO
Subject: Home Improvement

Your mom and Lance just left to check out wedding cakes. Those two sure are hitting it off. You’d better watch out she doesn’t steal him away from you. Ha-ha.

By the way, lambchop, I’ve been taking a good look around your apartment and I see a lot of home improvement projects I could tackle while I’m here. Track lighting, for one. Marvin, the guy down at the hardware store, says it’s all the rage. And how about some new plumbing fixtures in your bathroom? Those should be a snap to install.

Yep, as long as I’m here I may as well put my Inner Craftsman to good use and spruce your place up. It’s the least I can do for my little lambchop!

XXX,

Daddy

To: Jaineausten
From: Shoptillyoudrop
Subject: Chocolate or Strawberry?

Lance and I just got back from looking at the most gorgeous wedding cakes! Honestly, I’ve never seen anything like them. My favorite was a devil’s food castle—surrounded by a moat of hot fudge! Doesn’t that sound yummy?

The baker was such a charming man. And very attractive. He and Lance hit it off so well, I wouldn’t be surprised if he gave us a discount, too! It’s just wonderful how Lance has won everyone over!

Now you have to decide about the cake. Which do you like better? Devil’s food with chocolate crème filling? Or lemon with strawberry? Oh, why am I even asking? I already know the answer. Chocolate it is!

Love from your very excited,

Mom

To: Jaineausten
From: DaddyO

Just ran out to the hardware store and picked up the plumbing fixtures. Wait’ll you see them, lambchop! The faucets are shaped like beer kegs! Nifty, huh? Marvin said it’s what all the trendy decorators are using. And did I tell you he’s giving me a Frequent Buyer Discount?

I’ll get started first thing in the morning. In the meanwhile, time to sit back and relax with my pipe.

Love & kisses,

Daddy

To: Jaineausten
From: Sir Lancelot
Subject: Wild Idea

Jaine, sweetie, I had no idea the wedding industry was so packed full of eligibles. You should’ve seen the baker we met today. To die for! I swear, getting engaged to you has been the best thing to happen to my love life since spandex bike shorts.

Don’t kill me, but I didn’t tell your mom the truth.

In fact, she and I are having so much fun planning this wedding, I’ve just had a wild idea: Why don’t we go through with it? I mean, I’ve always dreamed of a beachside wedding. We won’t stay married, of course. Once we split up, I can start dating all the men I’ve met. And we’ll cash in the wedding gifts and reimburse your parents for what they spent. This way your mom and I get to have the wedding of our dreams, and you get to have a devil’s food wedding cake with a hot fudge moat. What do you say? Does it work for you?

XXX,

Lance

Chapter 19

“I
swear, Marian, I saw a cat!”

I was standing in the elevator the next morning when I heard those alarming words. I turned to see a middle-aged couple in Holiday Cruise Lines sweatshirts.

The man, a florid guy with a drinker’s web of broken capillaries on his nose, was clearly agitated.

“A cat!” he repeated, in case his wife didn’t get it the first time.

“Don’t be silly, Fred,” she replied, checking her hair in the elevator’s mirrored walls.

“I’m telling you, Marian, I saw that cat as clear as day. It was right outside our door eating french fries.”

Oh, crud. The last thing I needed was this guy broadcasting news of Prozac’s midnight escapades. Thank heavens there was no one else in the elevator. But what if his wife believed him? What if they went racing off to the authorities and they did a cabin-to-cabin search looking for Prozac?

“It was probably just a shadow,” his wife said, now wiping a lipstick smudge from her teeth. “That’s what you get for drinking so many martinis last night.”

“But it looked so real.” Suddenly he sounded a lot less sure of himself.

“Remember the time you thought you saw a mountain lion in our garage and it turned out to be your exercycle?”

He nodded, abashed.

“Tonight you’re having one glass of wine with dinner. And that’s it.”

“Yes, Marian.”

I breathed a sigh of relief. Thank heavens for henpecked husbands.

The moment of truth had arrived. I could put it off no longer. Like it or not, I had to buy a bathing suit for that dratted scuba excursion.

(
WARNING: Sensitive readers beware. Graphic tush-in-three-way-mirror scene ahead
.)

I made my way to the ship’s clothing boutique, where I was greeted by a tiny redheaded sprite. I’m guessing she was about a size zero soaking wet. I hadn’t even tried anything on, and I was depressed already.

There ought to be a law about bathing suit salespeople. Only nice motherly women with generous hips should be allowed to sell them. Not tiny slip-of-a-thing sprites.

“How may I help you today?” She smiled perkily. I’d be perky, too, if I had a torso the size of a Pringles can.

“I need a bathing suit.”

Minutes later I was trapped in front of a three-way mirror (don’t say I didn’t warn you) in a dowdy black number that looked like it was designed by the same mortician who’d come up with my outfit for formal night.

It was a choice between that and a hot pink tankini that left nothing to the imagination except thoughts of suicide.

“See how it takes inches off your waist?” the sprite gushed as I stared at my image in dismay.

Yes, indeedie, it did. Unfortunately, it shoved those inches right down to my hips, which had all the inches they needed, thank you very much.

“Are these all you’ve got?” I asked.

“I’ll go check and see what else is out there.”

Soon she was back in the dressing room holding up a red floral monstrosity.

“How about this one? It’s got a special compartment for incontinence pads.”

“I guess I’ll stick with the one I’m wearing.”

“I think you’ll like it. We sell a lot of them to nuns.”

And ninety dollars later I was walking out of the shop with my black nunsuit.

I was a lot less depressed than I would normally be under the circumstances. Mainly because I was too busy worrying about that missing ice pick. Needless to say, I’d had a hard time falling asleep after Anton’s visit to my cabin last night. I’d just laid there, my head resting on the tiny bit of pillow that Prozac had grudgingly allotted me, wondering if Anton could possibly be the murderer-at-large on the SS
Festival
.

Of course, he was just one of my many viable suspects. If only I could figure out which of them was the killer.

After a while I turned on the light and did what I often do when faced with a thorny problem. I grabbed a pen and paper and began writing. Writing, I find, like fine chocolate, often helps clarify my thoughts.

For the record, here’s what I wrote:

My Suspects
By Jaine Austen

Anton.
AKA the Butterfly Bandit. The latest entry in my suspect sweepstakes. Graham’s blackmail victim. And a man with a known criminal history. In addition to bank robbery and numerous fashion crimes, had he used his own ice pick to stab his blackmailer to death?

Kyle Pritchard
.
The Suspect I’d Most Like to See Behind Bars. Desperate to keep his hands on Emily’s money. Threatened to do whatever it took to keep Graham from marrying Emily. Did that include murder? (True, I didn’t find the cuff links in his safe. But maybe I was wrong about the cuff links. Maybe the killer didn’t take them, after all. Or maybe I was just a lousy cabin searcher.)

Leona Nesbitt
.
Another juicy suspect. Graham had threatened to fire her. Did she kill him to save her job? Was she in cahoots—both in and out of bed—with Kyle? And what about those damp shoes? Did she get them out on deck plunging an ice pick into Graham’s heart?

Maggie Pritchard
.
Mousy on the outside, but a killer on the inside? Compulsive gambler with a nasty habit to feed. Had she wiped out Graham to protect her source of chips?

Chips
.
Wonder if they have any down at the buffet. Yes, chips would be nice right now—with some melted cheese—and maybe some guacamole—

Okay, so my mind wandered a tad. But you’ll be happy to know I did not go tearing down to the buffet for nachos. I couldn’t possibly allow one more empty calorie past my lips, not when I had to show up in front of Robbie in a bathing suit. So for once I reined in the tapeworm that resides in my stomach and went back to bed.

After a while, with the sweet sounds of Prozac snoring in my ear, I finally drifted off into an uneasy sleep.

Sad to say, when I woke up this morning, I was just as confused as ever. Writing down my thoughts had brought me no clarity whatsoever. All I knew for sure was that my murderer-at-large was still very much at large.

With that happy thought bouncing around my brain, I set off for a fun day of scuba diving.

I’d arranged to meet the Pritchards for lunch in Cabo before heading off for our scuba adventure. Heaven knows where those sports nuts had been all morning. Probably squeezing in a triathlon.

Unfortunately, I had to take a cab to the restaurant where we were meeting. I found the cheapest taxi available, a rattletrap VW Beetle that had been around since Goebbels was in diapers, and forked over twenty-two bucks for the privilege of bumping along in a miasma of exhaust fumes.

At last we arrived at our destination, a charming hacienda-style restaurant awash in hot pink bougainvillea, with a spectacular view of Cabo San Lucas Bay. As I walked up the steps to the front patio I could hear the sounds of strolling mariachis inside.