Killer Knots (13 page)

“He owns land in Mexico?” Glancing at her watch, Marla cursed under her breath. Twenty minutes until the show started. While she yearned to hear what the countess had to say, being with her family took priority.

“Can you believe the man had told his wife nothing about the real estate purchases he’s made during each of their yearly cruises?” her companion countered. “Mrs. Wolfson was totally in the dark.
Mon dieu
, I had no idea she was so ignorant when I approached her. It came as quite a shock to the poor woman.”

Marla struggled to focus. “So you want to buy a piece of property that Bob owns in Mexico? And his wife didn’t know anything about it? Why is he investing his money there?”

“Ah, you do not understand much, do you?”

You ‘re supposed to be enlightening me
.

The countess paused, swirling the wine in her goblet. “The legend of the Totonacas began in blood, and so the goddess returns to extract her toll again. You see, Wolfson does not appreciate this valued heritage. He plans to build a resort when his holdings are large enough. Such sacrilege will despoil the land meant for growth. Tonoacayohua is offended. The goddess has infected the mortal’s colleagues with tendrils of evil in retribution for his selfish acts.”

“What legend are you talking about? What goddess?”

“It began in the Land of the Resplendent Moon. The ruler was blessed with a beautiful daughter, who dedicated her life to serve Tonoacayohua, the goddess of crops.

“One day while gathering flowers in the forest, the girl came upon a young prince. He fell in love with her and persuaded her to run away with him. The priests stopped them and beheaded the doomed couple. Their hearts, cut from their bodies, were given as an offering to Tonoacayohua.”

“That’s awful.”

“I am not finished. In the spot where their blood spilled, a bush grew. From the earth sprang a vine that twisted around the bush like a pair of lovers embracing. Orchids sprouted on the vine, and when the flowers died, slender green beans developed, releasing a powerful perfume. Thus, vanilla was born from the blood of a princess and thereafter offered as a tribute to the goddess.”

Marla took a moment to absorb her words. “Great story, but getting back to reality, let’s think about what happened to me in St. Maarten. I’ve concluded that someone drugged my drink. A man entered the shop after me, so it could have been him. The only other person would be your friend, Madame Nadine.”

“That is absurd. Nadine would have no reason to harm you. More likely it was that man who followed you inside. He could have been an islander hired by…whoever wanted you to be delayed.”

Marla grabbed the check from the table and scribbled her signature. “Who do you think is responsible? Please tell me what you know,” Marla urged when the countess rose to leave.

“Ah. If we had the answer to your question, mademoiselle, the game would be over. That is the whole point of this voyage.”

More bewildered than ever, Marla hustled toward the theater. She had just enough time to sink into her saved seat and mutter a greeting to her relatives before the lights dimmed. Drat, she’d wanted to discuss the countess’s information with Vail. She hoped his detective brain could figure things out, but it would have to wait.

Turning her attention to the dance troupe on stage, she dropped her jaw. Holy hot rollers, their costumes didn’t leave much to the imagination. If this were a movie, their thongs and feathers would earn an R rating.

Mesmerized by the pounding music, flashing strobe lights, and glitzy numbers that followed, she forgot her concerns until they filed from the theater at the end.

“Did you learn anything from the countess?” Vail asked her in an undertone.

“I found out why she’s so interested in Sandy Wolfson, but she hinted at other things I don’t understand. We’ll talk about it later.”

“No fair,” Brianna chimed in. “I wanna get the scoop.”

Turning to the teen, Marla hugged the girl. “You’re on this cruise to have fun, honey. Have you been down to the photo gallery to see if the photos are up from St. Maarten? We could stop by there, and I want to see the silent-auction items at the lounge across from the atrium steps.”

“Do you really think Eric would show the triptych this openly? My guess is he’s saving it for a mystery item on the last night,” Vail said on their way past the lower entrance to the Pirate’s Grotto.

“You’re probably right. In the meantime, maybe I’ll find one of the pictures Alden painted of me,” she replied.

Splitting from her family at the martini bar, Marla wandered along, gazing at the paintings on display. Unfortunately, she didn’t find a single item of Tusk’s among the pieces displayed. Too bad; she’d have to wait for the next live auction.

Crossing to the photo gallery, she perused the racks of pictures. It was hard to find her group among the hundreds of people. Scanning the rows, she stopped at a picture of Cliff Peters and Kent Harwood among the tour bus crowd. Deep in discussion, they appeared oblivious to the turmoil surrounding them. Cliff’s posture was hunched while Kent smiled in a manner befitting a crocodile approaching its victim.

“Hey, Marla, we should buy this photo. You and Dad look great,” Brianna said, tugging on her elbow. She held up one of the shots from formal night.

“Okay, let’s add it to our collection. What else have you found?” Unable to resist several souvenir photos from their ports of call, more shipboard poses, plus an album bearing the cruise line’s logo, Marla ended up with a stack of items.

“Ninety-nine dollars and eighty cents?” she said to the cashier. “Holy highlights, these things add up fast.”

Kate ambled over and paid for a few of her own. “I always swear I’m not going to buy any more photos, but I do regardless.”

“We’ll enjoy them when we get home,” Brianna chimed in. “Hey, it’s time for me to meet my friends. I’ll catch you guys later. We’re going to the party on the pool deck.”

“Don’t be too late getting back to our cabin,” Kate called.

“Why not? We’re at sea tomorrow. I can sleep all morning.”

Marla’s brows drew together. “Your grandparents will worry if they wake up and you’re not there.”

“Where the heck else can I go?”

Vail glowered at her. “Don’t be rude, muffin. If Grandma tells you to be back by a certain time, I expect you to obey. You’re not old enough to stay out all night yet.”

“You just can’t accept that I’m growing up, Daddy.” With a sniff, Brianna turned away and bounded toward the elevators.

With that responsibility lifted, Marla turned to the elder couple. “So Dad, what’s this I hear about you being a fledgling artist? Being new to the art world myself, I have a lot to learn. It’s nice that you have someone like Irene on board to offer advice.”

“Marla says you’ve been spending time with that woman,” Kate snapped. “Perhaps more so than Oliver.”

“Have you noticed how they’re almost never together?” John responded, his voice laced with anger. “Irene keeps company more often with a drink in her hand than with her husband. I feel sorry for her.”

“Sorry?” Kate sneered. “That’s just your excuse to pester her. I wonder if she really thinks you’re such an art prodigy or if she’s using you as a male door prize.”

His complexion reddened to the extent Marla feared he’d have a stroke. “You don’t like my hobby. I have talent, and you won’t acknowledge it because that might make your stuff less important. Well, I’m retired now, and I’ll do what I want!”

Kate drew herself upright. “Fine. Enter all the art shows across the country. See if
she’ll
travel with you.”

Lifting her chin, she spun and stalked away.

I’ve never seen Dad so upset, but then I haven’t lived at home for a number of years. Vail stretched his tall form onto a chaise lounge by the pool deck, where they’d gone to spy on Brianna. Well, not spy exactly. They’d only wanted to make sure she had found her group of friends.

It gave Marla a thrill to watch her almost stepdaughter gyrating on the dance floor. Brianna would give them anxiety attacks when she got older. Her spirited nature wouldn’t keep her at home and already she bristled at restraints.

Settling onto a lounger near a lamppost, Marla inhaled the salty night air. From their vantage point, she could see the dancers, but the steel-band music was pleasantly muted.

“Do you think Irene is using your father like your mom suggested? If Irene isn’t getting enough attention from Oliver, she could hope to make him jealous by flirting with another man.”

Vail scowled. He didn’t look at all relaxed, his shoulders tense and his head bent forward. Silver framed his temples. “I doubt that’s the case, especially if you saw them talking to an art dealer. Dad obviously hopes to gain an introduction to the art world from his connection to her.”

“So? She could be preying upon his interest. You know, hang around with me, darling, and I’ll set you up with the right people.”

“Dad is smart enough to recognize when he’s being taken for a ride. He’s a retired attorney, remember?”

“Following a dream can make you desperate.”

“Uh-uh, not Dad. He knows the score. Mom, on the other hand, would rather keep her eyes closed. I think his retirement has been really difficult for her.”

“Well, if he starts entering art competitions and winning, she’ll have to acknowledge his talent.”

“I’ll ask Dad about that dealer on St. Maarten. Maybe the guy wants to buy some of his work. It’s possible Dad sent a sample ahead, but that would mean he’s been in cahoots with Irene from the beginning. In other words, this cruise wasn’t the unexpected treat we’d been led to believe.”

She heard the hurt in his tone. “I’m sorry if things aren’t going smoothly for your parents. Their problems will iron out eventually. The best we can do is offer your dad encouragement. He and your mother will have to find common ground themselves.”

“It was a mistake to let Brianna stay in their cabin. She’s caught in the middle.”

“Your daughter is smarter than her years, Dalton. Don’t worry about her. Look what a great time she’s having.”

A waiter circulated in their direction, carrying a tray of green drinks that looked like frothy seawater. “Care for an Anchors Away, one of our specialty beverages? Only eight-ninety-five, and you get to keep the glass.”

“No, thanks,” Vail barked.

Judging from his harsh response, changing the subject seemed a safe route. Marla didn’t want him to brood about his parents the entire trip. It might make him have second thoughts about their wedding.

“I need to tell you about my conversation with the countess,” she commented, brushing a tendril of hair off her face. “She said Bob Wolfson possesses land in Mexico, and her family, which is into vanilla plantations, has been trying to get him to sell. When he refused, she approached Sandy. Bob’s wife didn’t know anything about his real estate purchases there.”

“Is that the whole megillah?” Vail asked, grinning. He’d taken to learning Yiddish words to impress her clan at their recent family reunion.

“Not quite.” Marla shifted so she could see him clearer. Tiny white lights strung about the deck provided illumination, along with lamps. Relaxing with the ship’s swaying motion, she heard splashes from below as the bow cut through the swells. Then the steel band swung into a rendition of “Hot Hot Hot.”

“Countess Delacroix suggested it was the man who’d followed us inside the guavaberry shop who’d drugged my drink, and that he’d been hired by someone on the ship.”

“No shit. Like whom? Tell me, and I’ll go bust up the guy.”

“She didn’t know. The countess gave me some mumbo jumbo about a legendary goddess being offended by Bob’s sacrilege. Apparently, he wants to build a resort in Mexico when he has enough land. He buys more property during each annual cruise.”

Vail’s eyebrows raised. “Where do you think Bob gets the funds to invest?”

“Good question. Countess Delacroix claimed the goddess is getting retribution for Bob’s selfishness by infecting everyone from the museum with evil.”

“If Bob keeps buying more property, why can’t she beat him at his own game?”

“Funny, she mentioned a game, too. She said that if we knew all the answers, the game would be over, and that that was the whole point of this voyage.”

“Weird.”

Marla glanced up to note a conga line snaking in their direction. Grabbed from her perch by a squinty-eyed fellow in a flowered shirt, she tumbled into place between a stick-thin youth and a pimpled preteen.

“Ole, ole,”
sang the crowd, bouncing along to the Caribbean beat. Trapped between a tangle of arms and legs, Marla fought to free herself until she spotted Heidi Stark bumping and grinding her body against Cliff Peters nearer to the band. Hmm, maybe she could ask him about the photo in which he stood talking to Kent.

Her view eclipsed by other dancers, she sidestepped without looking where she was going. A sudden shove thrust her toward the pool’s edge. Flailing her arms, she lost her balance. Her glance took in the loose safety netting over the pool, drained for the night. She screamed, the sound drowned by a trumpet blast from the band.

A hand grasped her ankle as she tumbled backward. She grabbed at a loose piece of mesh, hoping to avoid hitting her head against the concrete wall. Strung out between the netting and her rescuer like a fish being reeled in, she closed her eyes to a wave of dizziness.

“Hold on,” she heard Vail’s voice slash into the background noise. More hands reached out and hauled her backward while the music ended to a chorus of shouts.

Slung onto the pool deck, she heaved in short, shallow breaths. Sweat oozed from her pores. She couldn’t move, couldn’t contemplate what had just nearly happened.

“Are you all right?” Kneeling by her side, Vail peered into her face. His own complexion appeared ghastly.

“I’m fine. Thanks.” Tremors shook her body while she squeezed his hand in silent gratitude. It took a few moments to regain her composure. “Did anyone see who pushed me?” she asked in a shaky voice.

“It may have been that dude in a flowered shirt,” said a familiar gruff voice. Marla twisted her neck to view Kent Harwood crouched beside her. “He disappeared, but I think it’s the same man who yanked you out of your lounge chair.”

“You were watching us?” Vail said, his steely eyes flashing.

The heavyset man plucked a toothpick from his pocket and stuck it between his teeth. “I just happened to be passing by, buddy. Don’t get all uptight.”

“Passing by, my ass. Who are you?”

Kent’s beady eyes scanned the crowd. “This isn’t the time or place. Can you stand, Marla?” His unkempt hair fell into his face, reminding her of Professor Snape in the
Harry Potter
movies. Which side did the exterminator represent, good or evil? His concerned tone indicated the former, but she wasn’t ready to trust anyone from the museum.

With the men’s assistance, she regained her feet. Other than being shaken and feeling her shoulders throb, she seemed okay. Dalton fussed over her like a mother hen, which touched her heart. But when Brianna suddenly flew into her arms with a cry of dismay, Marla burst into tears. Mortified, she attributed her weakness to shock and fatigue.

“Hey, I’ll be all right, guys. Let’s just go to our cabin, Dalton. Brie, do you want to come with us tonight? We can ask the steward to put down the extra bunk bed.”

“No, thanks,” Brianna said. “I told Grandma I’d be in by one. I’ve gotta go. Are you sure you’re not hurt?” Her coffee eyes looked large and round in the moonlight.

Marla hugged her, planting a kiss on her cheek. “I need a good night’s sleep, that’s all. Kent, let’s talk tomorrow. If you put your cards on the table, I’ll put mine. Deal?” She looked him squarely in the eyes.

He gave her a steady gaze in return. “You’ve got it,” he replied, chomping on his toothpick.

Stepping closer, he invaded Marla’s personal space. He smelled like diesel fumes and stringent cleaning solution.
Do your laundry, pal
, she thought with an inner grimace.

“Anybody see Brooklyn Jones?” Kent added. “I’ve been looking for the fellow since dinner.”

“Have you tried his cabin?” Vail suggested.

“Yep. No one answers. I’m just wondering because Brooklyn said he had something to tell me. We were gonna meet for pizza, but he didn’t show.”

“Maybe he forgot,” Marla offered, turning toward the sliding glass doors leading inside to the bank of elevators.

Keeping pace, Kent gave her an oblique glance. “Maybe. In the meantime, watch your step, will ya? We wouldn’t want you to have another accident.” Breaking off from their group, he trounced down the stairway.

“That guy is nasty,” Brianna remarked. “You should offer to cut his hair, Marla. Did you smell him? He stunk like a truck.”

“You’re right. I wonder if he’s been prowling below decks. And if so, why? He couldn’t expect to find Brooklyn there.”

Vowing to ask him the next day, Marla retired to their cabin. No more snooping, she promised herself, at least not until the art auction on Thursday afternoon.

Marla’s plan to avoid complications succeeded during the morning, when she ate a leisurely breakfast, strode laps around the sports deck with Vail, then plunked herself down on a royal blue upholstered lounge chair in the solarium. Other than sore shoulders, she seemed none the worse for wear from her incident last evening.

A bunch of men cooking their skin in the Jacuzzi shmoozed loudly about their recent stock purchases. Marla winked open one eye to regard the woman who took the chair beside Vail. She wore a red shirt with white shorts and held a Nora Roberts novel. Another guy in bright orange swim trunks strolled by listening to his iPod, while a man with a paunch studied his
Tropical Tattler
. She heard the swish of waves over the muted popular tunes playing on the loudspeaker.

Ding dong, ding dong
. “Good morning, ladies and gents. This is David, your cruise director, reminding you that at eleven o’clock, we have our Win-a-Cruise bingo game where one lucky winner will take home a certificate for a free seven-day Caribbean cruise. We’re also giving away lots of cash, so we hope to see you there!”

A woman walked past carrying a coffee cup and a plate of breakfast pastries. Marla’s mouth watered from the aroma of cinnamon and baked bread.

“I’m hungry again,” she told Vail as she patted her stomach.

Glancing at the skin exposed by her bikini, he coughed. “If you eat much more, you won’t fit into those things.”

“Oh, like you should talk. Who ate an omelette and three doughnuts this morning?”

“Cops are supposed to eat doughnuts.”

“Not so many. I could use another cup of coffee and maybe a yogurt. I’ve been eating too many carbohydrates.”

He threw down the Michael Crichton novel he’d been attempting to read. “I’ll get it,” he said, jumping up. “I can’t sit for so long. I’ve got
schmaltz
.”

Marla repressed a chuckle. “
Schmaltz
is chicken fat. You mean, you’ve got
shpilkes.
You’re restless.”

“Right. I’ll be back.”

Ding dong, ding dong
. “This is Eric, your auctioneer, inviting you to attend our champagne art auction this afternoon immediately following the towel-folding demonstration, puffy eye seminar, and men’s belly flop competition. You won’t want to miss this chance to add pieces to your collection at forty percent or more off retail prices. Whoo-hoo!”

I wonder if John brought along any of his stained-glass pieces
, Marla mused. The former museum curator could evaluate their worth. Eric’s validation might convince Kate to support her husband’s efforts. Spying her future mother-in-law tromping through the solarium, she stood and waved. She’d saved a couple of extra seats just in case and leapt at the opportunity to talk to Kate undisturbed.

“Tell me,” she said after they’d greeted each other and Kate had spread her towel on one of the empty chairs, “did John bring any of his art pieces with him? I’d love to see what he makes.”

Kate pressed her lips together, then said, “They’re too fragile, and we didn’t have any extra space in our suitcases. I’m sure he’d be happy to show you samples when we’re in Florida.”

“Do you really hate his hobby that much, or is it the thought of traveling to art exhibits that bothers you?” Marla wiped a line of sweat off her forehead. Her skin felt heated, and the breeze seemed to have died. Speaking of John, where was he? She hoped for Kate’s sake that he wasn’t kibbitzing with Irene again. Afraid to ask, she waited for the older woman’s reply while keeping one eye tuned for Vail’s return.

“I don’t begrudge him his interests,” Kate said, twisting a strand of red hair around her finger. “And it isn’t that I don’t like to travel. What bothers me is that John doesn’t consider my needs. I can’t just up and run off to these events when I have my own schedule. It’s as though my life doesn’t exist.”

“I get you. Dalton is like that sometimes. He’ll make plans without consulting me first.”

“Besides, this could just be a passing fancy. He was never into crafts until he retired and took a class at our church’s senior citizen center. Then he goes out, buys all sorts of supplies, and works himself into a frenzy. I just don’t understand.”

Marla crossed her legs. “It could be that while he was working, he didn’t have time to express himself artistically. I’d think most wives would be grateful their retired spouses found something to do. Otherwise, he might hang around the house and annoy you.”

Kate winced. “I suppose you’re right. On the one hand, I’m glad he’s occupied so I can go about my own business. On the other hand, he’s so passionate about this new hobby that he doesn’t talk about anything else. We’ve got travel brochures lying around the house. He wants to participate in juried art shows. Why? To sell his work, or to win prizes?”