Live and Lime Die: A Key West Culinary Cozy - Book 8 (2 page)

Saturday
dawned, bright and beautiful. Having fully recovered after a few days of taking
it easy, mainly catching up on paperwork, Marilyn was actually looking forward
to heading out to the yacht club after having closed the shop at two o’clock.
She and Tiara would have to make several trips down to the beautiful boat with
armloads of pies, but the sun was out, the sky was blue, and she felt stronger
than she had in days. Life was good.

They
met a uniformed crew member on the dock, who led them down to the galley. There
was a party going on that seemed to spill over into the entire outdoor area of
the boat, and, as Marilyn and Tiara walked through the air conditioned interior
of the boat, Tiara gasped and quickly ducked behind her mother.

“Sweetie,
what’s wrong?” she whispered, so that the crew member wouldn’t know that
anything was amiss.

“Did
you see the waiter that we just passed?” her daughter whispered back. At
Marilyn’s nod, she whispered again. “That was Samuel Freed,” her eyes were wide
and scared.

Her
mother’s eyes narrowed. “You mean the little…” she bit her tongue. “The guy who
dated you and liked to get into bar fights and leave you defenseless? That
guy?” she hissed between her teeth.

“Yes,
Mom,” Tiara replied, shushing her with a fingertip to her mouth. “Let’s just do
our thing and get out of here before he sees me,” she pleaded. Marilyn nodded.

They
made six more trips to the galley and back, fortunately without running into
Samuel Freed. Marilyn would have had no problem at all giving him the dressing
down that he so richly deserved for the way that he had treated her daughter,
and Tiara just wanted to run away from her memories and shame as soon as 
humanly possible. On their way off of the boat for the last time, they were
intercepted by Jenna.

“Just
where do you think you’re going?” she demanded of Tiara.

Marilyn
appraised the woman coolly, one eyebrow raised, as her daughter responded.

“We’ve
finished the delivery, so we’re heading out. Thanks for your business,” she
didn’t even attempt to smile as she stepped forward, intending to go around the
tiny woman in her path. Jenna made the mistake of grabbing Tiara’s arm. The
younger woman wrenched out of her grasp, and the redhead was furious.

“You
aren’t going anywhere, little pie girl. You neither cut, nor served those pies.
Now get back in there and do it,” she demanded, pointing toward the galley.

Marilyn
saw Samuel Freed appear out of the shadows, having observed the interaction,
and immediately exit when he saw the look on her face. She then turned her ire
to the spitfire who had dared touch her daughter.

“You
listen to me,” she hissed, in full mama-bear mode. “I don’t know who you think
you are, but don’t you dare talk touch my daughter or speak to her in that
way,” Marilyn stepped closer to the woman, who didn’t move an inch.

“Her
mother, I should’ve known,” the redhead scoffed. “I happen to be the customer
who paid dearly for your services and I expect you to deliver what I paid for,
is that too difficult for you to comprehend?” Jenna’s jaw jutted so far
forward, she resembled a rabid bulldog.

“You
insufferable little….”

“Marilyn?”
a familiar male voice called out, sounding puzzled.

She
whirled around, face flushed with fury, to see Cort coming down the stairs
toward the galley.

“Cort?
What are you doing here?” she asked, totally thrown off by his presence.

“I
used to do private security for Mr. Winston, so when he came to the island, he
looked me up. What are you doing here?” he asked, looking back and forth
between the three fuming women.

“Not
her job, clearly,” Jenna remarked nastily, folding her arms.

“Behave,
Jenna,” he warned with a look, then returned his gaze to Marilyn.

“We
delivered pies, and we were just leaving when this little…”

“Mom,”
Tiara interrupted. “Can we just go now, please?”

“Yes,
absolutely we can, sweetie,” her mother promised, glaring at the impudent
socialite.

“Oh
no, you most certainly cannot, until that pie is cut and served,” Jenna
decreed, hands on hips.

“They’re
not caterers, it’s not their job to do that,” Cort interjected, recognizing the
source of the conflict. “You have staff to handle that. Let’s get you back to
the party,” he motioned toward the stairs, and she turned reluctantly and
allowed him to guide her from the room. At the bottom of the stairs, he turned
and mouthed “Sorry” to Marilyn and Tiara, and raised his hand in farewell
before trotting up behind Jenna.

“This
delivery did not turn out at all like I had imagined,” Marilyn mused, watching
him go.

“Let’s
go home before something even worse happens,” Tiara sighed and trudged toward
the stairs.

As
soon as the area in front of the galley had been vacated, Samuel Freed slipped
into the bustling kitchen and pulled one of the empty pie boxes out of the
trash. He noted the name of the bakery from which it had come,
SubLime
Sweets
, and committed to memory the address on the gold foil label that had
sealed the box shut. He couldn’t believe that he’d had the chance to find Tiara
Hayes again. She’d fled after graduation, and he’d never seen her again. He
knew if he could just have a chance to talk to her, that she’d see just how
much he’d changed. He had a steady job and made good money, he hardly ever
drank anymore, and had managed to stay out of jail ever since the fateful night
that the two of them had gotten arrested. He had so much to tell her, so much
to make up to her. He would find her, and he would make her understand.

“Freed,
quit daydreaming and get this tray of pie up to the deck,” the chef’s assistant
barked from across the room, startling him out of his reverie.

“Aye,”
Sam responded, snapping out of the past, and went to grab the heavy tray. He
made his way up to the deck, burdened by the tray of over twenty slices of
Marilyn’s luscious Key Lime pie. He set the tray down on a fold out rack and
expertly lined up the desserts in a pleasing display on the long, linen-covered
dessert table. The party had begun at around nine o’clock this morning, and
didn’t look as though it was going to wind down any time soon, which meant he’d
be later leaving the boat than he had planned. The staff had bunks onboard, but
while in port, if they wasn’t assigned to an overnight shift, Sam and the rest
of the serving and housekeeping crew were free to explore the various ports of
call, as long as they were in position and ready to serve at their assigned
times.

He
had just finished placing the last plate of delicious-looking pie, when he
heard a low, feminine voice purr in his ear.

“Hey
Mr. Freed…I believe I might be in need of turn-down service this evening,”
Jenna’s breath warmed his neck.

Looking
around to make certain that he wouldn’t be overheard, he replied. “I’m sorry, I
can’t tonight. I’m going ashore to meet with an old friend,” he said,
pretending to straighten the table cloth.

“Perfect,”
she smiled like a cat playing with a mouse. “I’ll come along. I’m so done with
this boring scene,” she looked about, curling her lip in displeasure.

“You
can’t,” he blurted. She folded her arms and arched a brow. “What I mean is,
he’s a drinking buddy, and things tend to get crazy and end up gross when we’re
together. We drink too much, eat too much, sing too loud, you know…guy stuff,”
he amended, giving her a conciliatory smile.

“Eww…”
she grimaced.

“Exactly,”
Sam nodded. “It wouldn’t be your scene at all.”

“Fine,”
she sighed. “Go do your guy thing, but don’t even think about coming to my room
when you come back drunk and sloppy,” she pouted.

“I
would never disrespect you like that,” he whispered, knowing what she needed
and expected from him. “You’re a goddess. Next time, okay?”

“Fine,”
she turned her head, flipping him in the face with a mass of auburn curls, and
flouncing away.

**

The
shop was closed by the time that Sam was finally able to leave the boat. Little
did he know, they’d closed early because of the delivery at the yacht club. He
made note of the hours of operation, but saw that he’d have to be back onboard
before it opened. Frustrated, he ran a hand through his hair, trying to figure
out what to do. His appearance had changed dramatically when he’d left the
ship. His hair, which had been tucked up inside his steward’s cap, flowed over
his shoulders in black, shiny waves, and the tattoos that had been hidden
beneath long sleeves, stood out prominently, not hidden at all by the workout
tank that stretched across his muscular body.

He
knew it was a long shot, because people tended to guard their personal
information, but he did a search on his phone under Hayes, looking for an
address. He didn’t see a listing for Tiara, but he found one for Marilyn, and,
knowing how close mother and daughter were, hoped that perhaps his lady love
could be found there. Using GPS, he set out for Marilyn’s house, turning off
the phone and silencing it when he got close.

Finding
good cover in some trees between Marilyn’s house and her next door neighbor’s,
he peered into the darkness, trying to see if Tiara was inside. The plantation
shutters in the living room were closed, but he thought he saw movement in the
kitchen, and, crouching low, he moved up the tree line to get a better look. He
crept closer and closer, then froze when he heard a twig snap behind him. There
was a stinging sensation in his neck, a gloved hand covered his nose and mouth,
and the world faded to black.

**

Samuel
Freed awoke lying in the sand near some trash cans and a homeless person, not
knowing where he was or how he had gotten there. His head throbbed with pain,
and, looking at his watch, he determined that he had precisely 35 minutes to be
in place and serving on the yacht. Leaping to his feet, he turned on his GPS,
nearly passing out from the waves of nausea that gripped him. He lurched in the
direction of the yacht club, swallowing the bile that rose in the back of his
throat. He couldn’t show Tiara how much he had changed if he lost his job.

“That
was quite the fine company you were keeping the other night,” Marilyn remarked,
during drinks with Cort at an upscale bar. She’d worn a dress that was a bit
more daring than her norm, an above-the-knee cocktail slip that clung perfectly
in all the right places. She had known where they were going and didn’t want to
feel like a country bumpkin among the Key West social set. Having accessorized
with care and restraint, she was a picture of classic beauty, and the
appreciative looks that she’d been receiving from the handsome detective all
night served to underscore the fact that she’d chosen well.

“Henry
Winston is a great guy,” he nodded. “It was good to see him again.”

“His
daughter seemed more than comfortable with you,” she observed, trying to keep
her tone from being overtly catty. Cort looked at her closely, a slight smile
playing about his lips. He had the uncanny ability to see right through her
carefully contrived facades at times.

“His
daughter is a piece of work,” he replied, taking a sip of his extra dirty
martini. The man loved olives, so it was a natural choice that felt more like a
snack than a drink.

“Is
there a…past with her?” Marilyn’s curiosity was killing her, so she stopped
being cagey and just asked outright.

“With
me? No,” the detective shook his head. “Not that she didn’t try. Men are mere conquests
for her. She tries to conquer and control every male that she encounters, then
discards them when she’s bored. No, when I said that I didn’t date after my
wife died…I definitely would not have engaged in the type of arrangement that
Jenna Winston would have liked. Besides, she’s practically young enough to be
my daughter.”

“Does
she have Daddy issues?” Marilyn was relieved to hear that Cort had the good
sense to stay away from the vile creature that she’d met onboard.

“Maybe.
Henry is a great guy, but I know that most of his time is spent traveling, and
that’s always been the case,” he shrugged. “Meeting her really bothered you,
didn’t it?” he asked, perceptive as always.

“Did
you see the way that she treated us?” she raised her eyebrows, indignant all
over again, just remembering the encounter.

“Yeah,
unfortunately, that’s not unusual. Any woman that she perceives to be a threat,
she tends to treat really poorly, that’s always been the case. You should have
seen the number of nannies that she went through in middle school,” he shook
his head, signaling the waiter for another round of drinks.

“A
threat?” Marilyn was puzzled. “Why would either of us be a threat to her?
Because we’re intelligent enough to best her in a game of snappy comebacks?”

Cort
chuckled. “Well, you two certainly can hold your own in that regard, but, think
about it – you and Tiara are both incredibly attractive, accomplished, and
independent. Those are things that she can’t even fathom. Yes, she has a sort
of hard-polished refinement, but she’s never had to do anything for herself.
She’s been fussed with, catered to and cossetted her entire life, and I can’t
help but think that she must envy powerful women like you and your daughter,”
he smiled at her in a way that made her blush all the way down to her toes.

Pulling
a Tiara maneuver, she made a joke to lighten the intensity of the moment. “Oh
sure, she lives on a yacht for part of the year when she’s not flitting about
the globe on a jet, but she envies two women who run a pie shop,” she teased,
still blushing. Cort took the hint and changed the subject, still smiling that
gentle smile.

“Who
could blame her?” he raised his glass for a toast, and Marilyn had no sooner
clinked her glass against his when a nasal feminine voice intruded upon their
evening.

“Well,
well, well, isn’t this cozy?” the subject of their well-timed discussion
drawled, with a slight slur.

“Good
evening, Jenna,” Cort said perfunctorily, the smile disappearing from his face.

“Good
evening yourself, handsome,” she gazed at the detective, eyes smoky.
Acknowledging Marilyn for the first time, she looked over and reacted with
disbelief. “You brought the pie lady here?”

“Don’t
you have somewhere to be?” he asked, quickly losing patience with the tipsy
socialite. Marilyn merely looked on, working very hard to keep a neutral
expression on her face while anger churned in her midsection.

“Look,
I saw you over here and I thought you could help me,” she pouted. “You always
used to help me,” she said, reaching out to trail her fingers over his broad
shoulder.

Brushing
her hand away impatiently, as Marilyn took a rather large swig of her cocktail,
Cort frowned at Jenna. “What do you need…and make it quick, I’d like to get
back to my date,” he directed, jaw set.

“Fine.
You don’t have to be so rude,” she sniffed, ironically. “One of our stewards
has been acting strangely, and he’s disappeared tonight. I was hoping that you
might be able to look into it.” She dug in her purse for a second and pulled
out a photo. “This is him. His name is Samuel Freed,” she handed him the photo.
Cort’s eyes met Marilyn’s alarmed ones and she took another gulp of her drink
to cover her reaction.

“Wow,
slow down there, honey,” Jenna sneered at her, receiving daggers in return.

“I’ll
see what I can do. Have a good night,” the detective said, giving her a pointed
look.

“Wow…dismissed?
That’s it? Nice, Cortland, real nice,” she shook her head, picked up his
martini, gulped it down and cringed. “Ugh, I forgot…you like it dirty,” she leered,
with a sultry grin, before turning slowly and sashaying out.

As
soon as she was out of earshot, Marilyn leaned forward. “Do you think he’s
looking for Tiara?” she half-whispered, eyes wide.

“I
would think that it’s a distinct possibility,” he nodded grimly. “Call her, let
her know what’s going on, and I’ll let my guys know to be on the lookout,” he
said, reaching for his phone and heading outside for privacy.